Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was never a day so misty and grey,
That the blue was not somewhere above it.

There was never a mountaintop so bleak,
That some little flower does not love it.

There was never a night so dreary and dark,
That the stars were not somewhere, shining.

There is never a cloud so heavy and black,
That it has not a silver lining.

- UNKNOWN

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s meagre dinner left her body as she vomited, again. Her head hung limply, her matted hair sticking to her sweaty neck as she waited for the retching to subside. With a frustrated sigh, she looked at her pallid features in the mirror.

Pathetic. She felt and looked pathetic.

Tired and sick, she’d suffered through two whole weeks of this. The heaviness wouldn’t stop clawing at her. There was little she could do but just let her body get rid of the toxic shock in whatever way it saw fit.

During her first week of recovery after the Blood Rite, she’d spent time in the House of Wind with Nesta, Emerie and Mor. She’d gaze at the view of Velaris everyday, feeling the sun on her face from one of the many balconies, scenting the smell of the sea on the horizon. It was only when she’d returned to her life in the library a week later - to her small dormitory among the other Priestesses, with the weight of a mountain above her and the deep silence - a silence that used to calm her - that the nightmares found her again.

She closed her eyes now, trying to push away the images from her recurring nightmares.

Abusive, painful hands seizing her, pinning her down, her strength giving out as sheer panic and paralysis spread through her body. She could even remember the stench of the sweaty, vulgar males that hurt her, one of them gripping her by the throat. She’d screamed as they dragged her twin sister in by her dark hair, their filthy hands all over her perfect body. Gwyn had cried and cried, trying to call out her name, before they cut Catrin’s head clean from her body. The bone-chilling scream that ravaged Gwyn’s throat in that moment was the last sound she made that night. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and block out everything that was happening to her as she thought of the children - the children that were safe unless she… unless she failed again.

She thought about the younglings, huddled in the hidden cellar beneath the table she was on. The filthy stench of the Hybern soldiers gagged her senses, there was nothing she could do as they took away the purest, most sacred thing to her; her choice. Over and over again, they robbed her of that, of her very soul.

Death. She had felt death all around her. She even prayed it would find her next - that Death would save her from the agony.

But then every night, the nightmare would shift. She’d find herself running through the Illyrian mountains and forests, her clothes torn, her body bloody, her heart beating out of her chest. Her violent pursuers would catch her within moments, forcing her down again, attacking her, ravaging every sense. The dream would shift then and it wouldn't be her face or body they were abusing anymore, but Nesta’s. Emerie’s. She’d wake up at that point, a scream lodged in her throat, drenched in sweat and hyperventilating, still feeling the vulgar weight of the males on her. Then every night, she’d rush out of bed and straight to the toilet, where she’d purge herself of the trauma, again and again.

Sleep never found her again after the nightmares. So she’d make her way to the library to find her studies or her stories, not minding if she fell asleep in one of the cosy benches whilst reading. But she never did. Instead, as dawn approached, she traversed up the steps, following the red-brick corridors to the House of Wind’s training ring. With the cool, crisp dawn air greeting her, she’d slowly make her way over to the training mats against one side of the ring. Once there, she’d start her mind-stilling practice. Whether she was there for minutes or hours, she’d end the practice repeating her mantra, ‘I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.’

But it was a lie, and Gwyn knew it. She did feel broken. Somehow, she had let it break her, again and she had no idea how to climb her way to the top of this indomitable mountain.

Chapter Text

Considering she spent every moment of her life cloistered in a library, Gwyn found it surprising that her favourite room in the House of Wind was none other than its very own decadent, yet cosy private library. It had become The Valkyries' little sanctuary - the one where Emerie, Gwyn and Nesta could truly let themselves find peace. Peggy, the miniature Pegasus they liked the House to conjure up, was sleeping soundly in her make-shift pen. The faelights flickered all around them to cast a luminous glow as the females lounged for girls night.

Nesta was stuffing her face with an obscene amount of chocolate, no doubt trying to replenish her energy after a day with her mate in the Spring Court’s forests. “Scouting for trouble,” Nesta had said by way of an explanation. Gwyn had scoffed, no doubt it was the two of them causing the trouble in the first instance. Emerie’s head was resting on Gwyn’s lap, where she was reading a particularly filthy passage from one of their favourite romance novels - out loud, no less. Nesta was hooked on every word, adding suggestions in places that she thought would, “better the scene,” as she put it. Emerie had giggled mischievously but Gwyn was hardly listening.

Looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering expanse of Velaris below, Gwyn watched the droplets of rain traverse the panes of glass. It was a soft, constant sort of rain - one that made evenings like this, sitting in the comfort of the house with chocolate and good books, the perfect pastime.

Idly stroking Emerie’s dark hair, she recalled how during her first night in The House all those months ago, she’d expressed her hopes of one day leaving the sanctity of The Library and heading into the city proper. She’d been forced to go to the River House after Ramiel had transported them directly to it after the Rite, but did that count as seeing Velaris? Gwyn didn't think so, and she desperately wanted to explore it with her friends without the fear of her dark thoughts and phobias taking away the pleasure, the beauty.

Nesta’s voice cut her reverie, “What do you think, Gwyn?”

Gwyn shook her head, her vision blurry after staring for so long. “Sorry, what was that?”

Nesta looked at her, a hint of worry creeping on her features, “Cassian asked if you’d both be up for restarting training tomorrow?”

Gwyn felt that uncomfortable pull in her chest again. In the first week after their ordeal, they’d all stayed at the House of Wind together, simply recovering. Nesta had insisted that Emerie and Gwyn not leave until Cassian was back from a mission the High Lord had sent him on. So they stayed, with Mor keeping them company too. They hadn’t trained during that time though, simply gone to the ring to do some stretches in the morning sun, sometimes even a lap or two to get the blood thrumming through their bodies – but never proper training. Never wielding a weapon.

Mostly, they just slept. Slept and read their books. In the evenings, they would make dinner together - Emerie taking the lead as Gwyn, Nesta and Mor were all terrible cooks. Despite it, the four of them had fallen into an easy rhythm, though not without Nesta and Mor bickering throughout.

“Would training help, Gwyn?” Emerie’s voice was calm.

Could training be the missing piece? Would it afford her the release she needed, mentally and physically?

“Cassian says Azriel will be back tomorrow too, so we can all start together.” Nesta’s expression was shrewd but not unkind.

Gwyn simply looked back at the view of Velaris, her mind racing with the last memories she had of Azriel.

Touching the black monolith at the top of Ramiel had winnowed them directly to The River House - the High Lord and Lady’s residence.

That’s when they heard the screaming.

The wraiths, Nuala and Cerridwen had brought Emerie and Gwyn tea and insisted they stay downstairs, claiming everyone was with the High Lady as she was giving birth to her son. Gwyn could recall the sickly pallor of their luminescence skin as their worry ebbed into the air around them. She sat in silence with Emerie for less than a minute before nerves made her do the only thing she knew would help calm them...she started to sing.

It was a heartfelt, soothing prayer - one that her mother used to sing to her and Catrin to relax them before bed.

She closed her eyes, lost in her memories, hoping the happiness and light she’d felt during those times would somehow reach those in the present moment. She hoped it would bring the females around her some comfort, despite the blood-curdling screams that now travelled from the floors above them. She sang until her throat was raw, blending one prayer and song into the next. Whether it was minutes or hours, she didn't know but when the screaming stopped, she opened her eyes to find Emerie, Nuala and Cerridwen staring at her - their jaws hanging open. Holding her breath, she strained her fae ears, listening for any signs of life outside the plush room they were in.

The double doors had flown open and Nesta emerged, rushing to her friends. They’d held each other tightly, relief pulsing. Nesta had tears streaming down her face as she cupped each of their faces in turn, searching for their injuries. It was then that Gwyn remembered what Nesta had done, the sacrifice she made which meant she hadn’t been there. Could not call herself a Carynthian, despite every drop of blood, sweat and skill she’d used to keep herself and all of them alive.

But Nesta had simply waved Gwyn’s anger away in that irreverent, no-nonsense way of hers before giving them all a brief story of what happened with her and Cassian. How Briallyn and Koschei had nearly destroyed everything, how she’d accepted Cassian as her mate and defeated Briallyn in the process, only to come home and find her sister and the Night Court’s unborn heir, on death's door. She didn't explain what happened after that, only that it took an ancient magic to save them. She promised to tell the full story when they weren’t all ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“Have you offered Cassian food yet?” Gwyn pushed instead.

Nesta had only scoffed, incredulous. “When exactly would I have done that, Gwyneth? Before or after I had to defeat an undead queen and bargain with The Mother to save my sister, brother-in-law and nephew?”

Gwyn and Emerie both paled at that. Nesta had bargained with… The Mother? Gwyn squeaked before making a holy marking on her forehead in silent tribute.

Nesta simply scoffed again, “So no, not yet.” But then her arrogance disappeared. “How do I do it?”

“Just give him food, something you’ve made or found yourself. Go now, no time like the present!” Emerie pushed her light-heartedly.

Nesta had looked uncharacteristically nervous at that, so Gwyn added, “Well, seeing as you’re on some sort of winning streak, now may be the only time to do it?” They had all laughed, the events of the last seven days culminating to this moment - this shared triumph where they were safe and together again. Nesta’s whole body was thrumming with energy when she left to go searching for some food. 

Gwyn was about to ask Emerie what they would be expected to do now, when she felt the air around them shift. A tug in her core had her looking up to see Azriel enter the room.

He was covered in dirt and blood, his midnight hair dishevelled as it fell into his face, which held a taut, pained expression. His eyes swept up and down her body, evidently checking if she was alright before locking with her own. A moment later, he let out a long breath then he smiled.

Gwyn’s heart fluttered, her whole body alert. In that one gesture – his entire face had transformed. The usual cold and cruel, unreadable face of the Shadowsinger and Spymaster was gone, replaced with a certain softness and a smile…a smile that lit up his entire being. Gwyn wondered if this was Azriel’s true side - one he let very few see. Although always beautiful, he was now blindingly so and she could even see…were those dimples?

“You did it,” His long strides brought him closer, his shadows dancing on his shoulders, reaching towards them.

“We did it,” Gwyn beamed back. The world seemed to disappear around her as she held his gaze. She’d always had a keen awareness of Azriel’s presence - always felt that strange connection to him, probably because of the circumstances in which they first met. Perhaps there was a kinship in knowing they’d both seen each other in the darkest moment at Sangravah. But in this moment, she only felt light. Pure, euphoric light. Something primal in her settled at it.

Emerie’s wings rustled next to her. “We heard about Nesta, Cassian and the human queen. And about the High Lady and the birth… is everyone really ok?”

His eyes glowed, even though she could see exhaustion rippling from him as he nodded. “Shaken, but ok.” Blink and you’d miss it, but Gwyn could have sworn she saw the relief pulsing from his shadows at the admission.

“I’ve come to take you both back to The House of Wind,” he announced, his usual flat tone back.

“I need to go home.” Emerie’s wings flared.

But the cool mask of the Shadowsinger had returned. “You can’t go to Windhaven, not yet.”

Emerie was about to argue with him but he added earnestly, “What you did, what all three of you did…” He looked to Gwyn then, his eyes shimmerin. “The Illyrians won't be happy. You won't be safe there, not for a while.” His voice was as cold as death again.

Gwyn could see the anger in his stance, could sense the fight he would put up to keep Emerie away from Windhaven. She took her friend's hand, squeezing it tightly. She understood this was hard for Emerie, who was proud and didn't want to be pushed away from her home.

Azriel simply continued, “Come back to the House of Wind. You’ll be able to recover there safely. The High Lord will make sure you’re not left wanting from the business.” Then he added, a bit more gently this time, “Let us look after you...both of you.”

Gwyn searched his face. She could see an underlying trauma there, something that made this more personal for him. “He’s right Emerie. In their eyes, we did something bad. We are wrong.” She said it with a venom that had even Azriel’s shadows darkening in response. “I don't want them to punish you, but we need to get our strength back.” She knew her friend needed a goal to work towards, to help her get through this. “Then, when we’re recovered, I’ll gladly help you go toe-to-toe with the Illyrians, and show them the true meaning of being a Valkyrie.”

Emerie’s body still held a tightness, but she eventually nodded and Gwyn felt her exhaustion keenly. Azriel only inclined his head at Gwyn slightly then gestured to the door.

As they turned, Nuala and Cerridwen were there, staring expectedly at Azriel.

Some sort of silent exchange happened and Azriel nodded in a reassuring way – Gwyn could almost taste the scent of their fear, then the rush of their relief. They both looked over his shoulder at Gwyn and Emerie and a sudden pang in her heart reminded her that she too, had once been a twin. She had that unwavering fortitude of togetherness once. As though they could read her thoughts, they both inclined their heads at her and Emerie, then disappeared. No doubt winnowing to where they were needed most.

As Azriel led them past the sweeping staircase in the foyer, Morrigan came running down the stairs, her golden hair unbound, dark eyes blazing. Azriel turned and stepped closer, gazing up at her as she froze on the last step.

Mor’s eyes searched Azriel’s face, her bottom lip quivering before she threw herself on him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Nyx, they’ve called him Nyx,” she whispered, though loud enough for Emerie and Gwyn to hear too. When she pulled back, his hand remained on her waist, holding her tightly as two silent tears rolled down her exquisite face.

From their position by the door, Gwyn couldn’t see Azriel’s face, but she watched as he took both her hands in his, kissed them reverently and held Mor’s eye contact for such a long time that Gwyn almost felt unnerved by it. Mor’s in response flickered with an emotion Gwyn couldn't place but she suddenly felt hot all over, like she was intruding on something incredibly private and intimate. Mor had simply inclined her head at him and Gwyn wondered if it was perhaps gratitude, maybe even understanding that shone there.

When Mor’s eyes snapped up, locking on to Emerie and Gwyn, she wiped her face roughly and leapt down the last step towards them, looking as though she was about to envelope them both in hugs too. Instead, she grabbed their hands. “You did it, you actually did it!”

Gwyn felt herself still as Mor added, “You have no idea how much you’ve just done for the females of this generation and ones to come.” She squeezed their hands. “Not just for those in Illyria, but the whole court, the whole of Prythian…” Then Mor, the Morrigan, the war hero who had saved countless lives and helped so many heal - who had even helped save Gwyn too - said the words that Gwyn would never forget, words she would cherish forever. “I am honoured to know you,” she touched two fingers to her brow, then to her heart, bowing her head in respect.

Lightheaded and flushed from emotion, Gwyn wasn’t sure she could stand for much longer. It was Emerie who replied, her voice shaking ever so slightly, “We are honoured to know you too, Morrigan - for all that you’ve done already for the females of this court.” Emerie repeated the gesture of respect. Mor held Emerie’s gaze for a long moment, searching her features. Eventually, a shy smile graced her mouth and Gwyn watched the interaction, feeling a strange shift in the air again.

A polite cough sounded behind them. “Shall we?” Azriel laid his hand on Mor’s lower back, guiding her towards the door. She gave him one of her dazzling smiles in return and Gwyn watched their interaction greedily.

“A lot has happened in the last 24 hours. Our powers are all but drained, for various reasons,” Mor shared a knowing look with Azriel whilst they walked towards the lawn at the front of the great manor. “We can’t winnow in or out of the House of Wind, but we can winnow close enough that Azriel can catch us and fly the rest of the way.”

Gwyn barely felt her body move, somehow drifting closer to Azriel. His shadows lingered on his shoulders and his wings, where she focused her attention, finding their constant presence reassuring.

Mor stilled, “I’m sorry Gwyn, it means…” She stopped short but Gwyn was already looking up at Azriel.

She’d already made up her mind the moment Azriel had said where they were going. She knew she needed to do one more thing to truly take control of what had happened this week. She’d faced seven days of abusive touch during the Rite, could still feel the painful grabs of the males, still had their blood caked under her nails, staining her baggy, stolen clothes. But maybe Azriel, by flying her, could provide a positive memory to take away the negative. A touch to help, not to harm.

She recalled looking deep into those hazel eyes and somehow just knowing - she trusted him. If she was going to allow a male to touch her, to hold her - it would be Azriel. 

“Would it be ok to fly all the way?” Her voice sounded quiet, even to her own ears but she felt determined. Azriel looked momentarily confused, his eyes snapping to Mor’s before locking with Gwyn’s again. His shadows were a maelstrom around his shoulders, but a moment later he nodded.

Gwyn looked towards Emerie, whose eyes shone as she nodded too – pride glowing on those exhausted features. Gwyn steeled her breath and looked back at Azriel, who had slowly extended his hand towards her.

But then, she froze.

She’d seen his hands a hundred times before in training, up close and from afar - but as she looked upon the scars mottling his skin, realisation struck. She could sense it then, a deep sadness within him. She looked back at his face, a steely determination shining back at her. He was offering her a chance to start fresh, to take this challenge. With one last breath, she placed her hand in his much larger one. Cold and strong, textured from the scars, but not abrasive. With her hand in his, she suddenly felt sure she could do this…

He moved closer and her whole body reacted. There was a flash of light inside her head, her skin burning as her vision blurred - she tried to find his hazel eyes again, but he was a blur. She couldn't remember where she was, what she was doing…

Only darkness, loomed around her.

Gwyn had woken hours later, with soft light illuminating a large and comfortable room. She was in a plush bed, one that was far larger than hers in the Priestess dorms under the Library. Before panic could set in, she noticed the wings and dark, long hair from the corner of her eye.

Reaching over, she touched Emerie’s hand where it rested on her thigh, stroking her fingers gently, the movement a calming and reassuring gesture, something she’d done as a child, growing up with her sister at the temple in Sangravah. Emerie’s eyes opened in alarm, but when she realised who it was, she only smiled sleepily at her.

‘‘What happened?” Gwyn’s throat burned, but she forced the words out as she tried to piece together her muddled mind.

Emerie explained that Gwyn had passed out on the front lawn of The River House before they could even take off. Azriel had caught her and immediately taken her back into the house, asking Madja, the Court’s most trusted healer to check her over.

Emerie and Mor had been there when Madja reassured them that Gwyn was just exhausted, dehydrated and burnt out. Azriel had pushed her to keep looking, but Madja had simply told them to let Gwyn rest.

“She checked me over too, she said she wasn’t sure how either of us were still standing, given everything our bodies had been through in the last few days.” Emerie was facing Gwyn in bed, stretching her wings behind her where the light from the tall windows behind them cast gorgeous shadows across the room. “She gave us both healing tonics, then Azriel and Mor brought us back to the House of Wind.”

Gwyn was angry at herself for passing out, but Emerie pushed on, “Azriel was being quite the territorial bat,” she grinned coyly. “He flew you himself and wouldn't let you out of his sight, except when we changed you, of course. Then Cassian flew Nesta back before he came in and told Azriel something - it looked serious. They both had to leave after that - I haven’t seen them since.”

Gwyn wondered at that, “Where’s Nesta now?”

Emerie grinned lazily. “Oh, she’s the hero of the Night Court, she’s probably being smothered with attention and riches by the House or by The High Lord.” They had giggled at the image of Nesta pretending to loathe all the fuss, but secretly revelling in it.

Before long, the events from the last day flooded back in, overwhelming her. She placed her hand delicately into Emerie’s. “Thank you.” Tears pooled on her cheeks. “For saving me, for carrying me up that damn mountain and for not giving up on me. For staying with me.” Was it possible to feel shame and gratitude at the same time?

Love and understanding shone on Emerie’s face, “We kept each other going, we both made it up Ramiel. We stick together, always.”

Gwyn shivered with the power of the promise, “Always.” They had fallen back asleep after that, warm, safe and together.

Cassian had returned a week later, claiming Azriel’s mission had led him further afield and that he would be gone for another week. It was at that point, when Nesta had her mate back and Emerie had insisted that she was ready to return to Windhaven, that Gwyn decided she needed to be back in the library. She missed her routine, she missed the other Priestesses, the evening services and Clotho.

Which was when the nightmares returned. The hyperventilating, the vomiting, the sleepless nights. Merrill was relentless in making her catch up with work she’d missed in the weeks she’d been away too, making even her waking hours painful.

“Gwyn?” Nesta’s voice broke Gwyn's tumultuous thoughts, pulling her back to the present moment in The House of Wind’s library. Right, girls night.

“Where’d you go?” Emerie looked at her closely. Gwyn considered her new, chosen sisters. She loved them and the new life they had all started to build for themselves, so why couldn’t she shake the storm in her mind? Why was she suddenly questioning it all – the training, her feelings, her future as a Valkyrie?

“One day at a time, Gwyn,” Nesta had moved from the couch and now sat before her, understanding gracing her formidable features. “We take it one day at a time…together.”

Chapter Text

Azriel sat in the semi-darkness, his shadows providing a constant, reassuring presence on his shoulders as he watched the castle ahead. He’d been here a week already, monitoring for any further activity after Briallyn’s attempt to kill Cassian and Nesta. Before that, he’d spent two weeks combing every inch of Prythian for further signs of death, deceit and deception.

Not that three weeks alone were outside the realms of ordinary for him, but even he had to admit, he was starting to get restless. After Briallyn and Koschei’s betrayal, he’d wanted to make sure the activity was limited to what had happened with Nesta and Cassian. Azriel knew he could have sent his various sources to deal with the issues, he had enough in his employ to ensure all the areas between Spring, Vallahan, the Lake and the Queen’s Palace were covered. But after everything, he needed to do this himself. To make sure he was the one to find any inconsistencies. Cassian had been away, dealing with the Illyrians and Eris before returning to Velaris, and Mor had already returned to Vallahan. Now, Azriel thought hopefully, after weeks with no sign of change, perhaps it was time for him to go home too. To see his family, to return to training the Valkyries…

The last time he’d seen them, with Gwyn unconscious in his arms… he couldn't shake the dread that somehow, it had been his fault. Gwyn and Emerie had been shocked and exhausted, yes, but Emerie had remained standing. Azriel feared that it had been his touch that had caused Gwyn to pass out, the moment too overwhelming. Before he could cringe at the memories, his shadows reacted.

The Priestess was tired, Singer.

He scoffed, what did they know? Gwyn’s history, her trauma – the one he’d witnessed all those years ago in Sangravah – it wasn’t something he could ignore.

Azriel often thought about that day. About the blind, annihilating rage he’d slipped into when he got there and massacred each and every one of those soldiers. He often thought about the male that raped her, and the others that held her down, about how he wished he could have taken his time and killed them more brutally, to rip them apart, limb by limb and gut them over and over again. Then he’d think about how he’d been too late to even stop it in the first place. How, if he’d been even a few moments sooner…

He put his head in his hands, the roaring in his mind, in every fibre of his being, the same he'd felt that day, threatening to consume him entirely. He had failed that day.

But he vowed to continue to support her regardless - to continue to support all of the Valkyries. The strong females that had conquered so much. He, Rhys and Cassian had already agreed to continue training them, to help them push past the painful memories, to replace trauma with strength, just like Mor had, and Feyre. On top of that, he wanted to help them heal in a way his mother never had the chance to. Ironically, that was the exact reason why he’d tried to be gentle when Gwyn asked to fly with him after the Rite. But his craft wasn’t gentleness. He could only offer death, secrets and misery. That’s what he was, that’s what she no doubt expected, why she reacted in that way.

He ignored his shadows this time as they hissed at him. Perhaps it was better if he just stayed away from Gwyn. Besides, the other female he’d last come in close proximity with - well, that hadn’t exactly gone to plan either. He could still remember Elain’s slender neck, how her skin had felt so soft when he put the necklace on her…

But Rhysand’s order still held. An especially painful one – one that forced their hands and had, until recently, put a strain on his relationship with his brother. Elain hadn’t spoken to him since, even immediately after Nyx’s birth, they’d avoided each other. Not that he blamed her, she’d been preoccupied with caring for her sisters, both of whom had nearly died. Azriel similarly had been busy ensuring Rhys truly had survived, and that the Valkyries were cared for.

Then Mor, who’d looked at him with such joy after Nyx’s birth. Who had held him in an embrace that meant so much to him. Yet, in that hold, he had felt the shift between them, a turn in the wind. Nearly four centuries later and for some inexplicable reason, he suddenly didn’t want her anymore. Not in a physical or romantic sense, at least. He only wanted her friendship, her companionship, her happiness in all things, but not her love.

He couldn’t place what had changed. Rhys had been right to question him about it at Solstice. Was it his desire for Elain, or something more? Either way, in that moment, holding Mor – he knew they would never be romantically involved, and somehow, he was ok with that.

Azriel shook his head - the day that changed everything. His shadows wrapped around him reassuringly. He was a male that deserved nothing and no one – but even he could admit when he missed his family and his friends.

It was time to go home.

Chapter Text

Azriel’s shadows seemed thin in the early morning sun. Yet they were still at one with him as he waited with bated breath for the Valkyries to arrive for training. 

Not all the Valkyries. Just Gwyn. She was uncharacteristically late. He already knew, even without his shadows warning, that she was slowly making her way up the stairs, taking her long, mindstilling breaths and psyching herself up for the first session back. He was grateful for that. He needed to get his own head back in a reasonable state, readying it for company and conversation again after three weeks of solitude. 

But when she did arrive, stepping out of the shadows from the archway to the house and entering the ring, it wasn’t his own lack of appropriate conversation that shocked him. 

She was thin. So much thinner than the last time he’d seen her. His shadows swirled quickly as he looked for other signs of illness or injury, his eyes sweeping over her lithe form, taking in every inch. He could find none. Gwyn had always been slender and tall, but there was something painful in her much leaner frame this time. But how? How had Nesta, Emerie, Cassian – even the gods-damn House not noticed that Gwyn was getting slighter, weaker? Her coppery hair was a beacon in the morning sun, her freckles stark against her always-pale skin. But her smile, the one that usually lit the entire training ring, was strained.

Without instruction and without him even noticing until it was too late, a few of his shadows tore from his shoulders and flew towards Gwyn, sidling up to her and stroking her cheeks. Mortified at their unusual brazenness, he was about to call them back to him when she let out a surprised gasp and smiled softly at them where they caressed her arms. This time a much warmer, real smile graced her features as she let them roam over her. Her eyes snapped to his and immediately, that smile of hers faltere. An uncomfortable ache lodged in his chest. Was that still fear in her eyes? Or something else? He couldn’t detect her scent, couldn’t read her at all. 

The Priestess seems nervous, she has not been sleeping.

He tried to offer her a welcoming nod of his head, one meant to reassure. She just stared back at him with those luminous eyes of hers.

“You’re late, Gwyneth,” Cassian barked, pulling Azriel from his rumination. His tone was laced with playfulness, but the way Nesta jabbed him hard in the ribs told Azriel enough. “But I’ll let you off because I hear Merrill’s been giving you a particularly tough time with this work of hers.”

Gwyn just stared at him too, still saying nothing. Azriel knew Cassian’s bluff for what it was - a diversion.

“How about we get this show on the road, get you all back up to full strength and remind her why it’s best not to get on the wrong side of a Valkyrie?” His brother’s voice was strong; a balm to his senses which had been fraught with tension these last few weeks. It seemed to have a rallying power over the females too. They walked towards the training mats where he was already making some space for them. “How does that sound?” He threw them his best slashing smile.

“Yes yes, you’re a very motivating warrior general,” Emerie quipped with an eye roll.

“Who just loves the sound of his own voice …” Nesta muttered under her breath.

Azriel’s shadows would usually quiver in amusement at her, but even they seemed distracted by the reserved coppery haired priestess today.

“So, do we start with swords or daggers today?” Nesta raised her eyebrow suggestively, a wildcat ready to pounce.

“You wound me,” Cassian put his hand over his heart for emphasis, “But, no.” Nesta’s scowl reminded Azriel of that famed Archeron attitude. “You’ve been out for three weeks. It’s back to basics today I'm afraid.” Collectively, they groaned, but Cassian continued undeterred. “First laps, then strength work. Then we’re going to talk about what exactly you did during the Rite, and more specifically what exactly, you did wrong.” Before Nesta, Emerie or Gwyn could start arguing, he ordered “Now get going or I’m going to double your number of laps.”

Emerie grumbled and Nesta looked like she wanted to cook his innards, but Gwyn’s face had become a mask of focus. She tucked a few strands of hair back into her braid and took off, leading the exercise.

Azriel waited for Cassian to come back over for his professional consensus on his troops.

“Today won’t be easy, they’re still a bit shaken up, even though they’re pretending they’re not,” Cassian supplied. He’d been back with them for the last few weeks, this was his show after all. Azriel listened intently, keen to understand what shifts had occurred to change Gwyn so significantly.

“Emerie is still in survival mode, thanks to her insistence on being back in Windhaven. Something I don’t agree with at all,” he muttered angrily, his wings flared in annoyance, Azriel’s own wings mirrored the action as he watched the strong female power through the lap, her dark hair glistening in the morning sun. Neither of them reined in their anger, the ancient Illyrian prejudices still caused unnecessary harm to a female that had proved herself, twice over.

Cassian continued, “Nes’s rage and iciness is easier to dispel, thanks to a few new tricks we’ve learnt in the bedroom.” Pure male satisfaction edged his voice as Azriel scoffed. Trust his brother to make this sexual.

“But Gwyn,” Cassian crossed his huge arms over his chest and Azriel stilled. “We’ve tried to get her to come back and stay at the house, but she refuses. Says she needs the normality of the priestess work.” Azriel’s shadows were darkening around his shoulders. “It’s clear Gwyn hasn’t worked through everything that happened during the Rite.” Azriel’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched Gwyn move to her third lap, leaving Emerie and Nesta in her dust. “Nesta’s sure she’s been avoiding the topic of training and it sounds like she’s working herself to the bone down there in the Library.”

Azriel’s shadows were a maelstrom around his head, blocking out the rest of the world as he watched them a moment longer. He could feel his brother’s assessing gaze on him, so he faced Cassian. “We need to help them.”

Cassian watched him a moment longer than he liked, contemplation clear on his handsome features. But Azriel’s own thoughts kept racing, it was as though he could see it, even across the sunny training ring. He had seen the same darkness consume Mor after she’d slept with Cassian and the punishment her family put her through for it. More recently, he’d seen it in Feyre, Nesta and Elain, to varying degrees. He couldn’t let any of them sink further into that darkness. Cassian's warm gaze found his before he nodded, understanding.

Azriel looked back towards the females, his shadows simmering on his shoulders in solidarity.

Chapter Text

Cassian and Azriel walked the Valkyries through every single day in the Rite. Nesta had explained most of it already, but having Gwyn and Emerie’s side of the story was just as important to them.

Gwyn could have sworn that Azriel’s shadows swayed as Nesta explained how Gwyn lured the beasts of the forest to the Illyrian males’ camps. But as the session went on, well past normal training time, what became clear was that the Valkyries, despite winning and despite being pulled in without warning and with less training than all the other Illyrian males combined – had made countless mistakes.

Cassian was running through these mistakes, Azriel chiming in here and there adding a dark point or just to shake his head in frustration - both of which riled Gwyn more than necessary. Nesta, it seemed had finally had enough. “Well if you're so godsdamn perfect, why don’t you just do it again,” she said hotly.

Fighting as foreplay, that was Nesta and Cassian’s style. Gwyn could practically see Cassian quiver at the challenge, sending his mate a slashing smile and spreading his wings, readying for battle – whether physical or verbal, they were yet to find out.

But as Cassian’s feral pleasure was about to be unleashed, a deep rumbling power filled the space around them, seeping into their very bones and spreading through the training ring and around the entire house, forcing all five of them to stand straighter, to pay attention.

“Oh there’s no doubt Cassian could complete the Rite with little to no effort or mistake,” a smooth, sensuous voice sounded behind them.

They collectively turned to see The High Lord descending into the training ring, his huge wings spread wide as he held the High Lady in his arms. She in turn cradled their newborn son, Nyx. 

Gwyn had met the High Lord plenty of times, and had seen the High Lady from afar, but had yet to meet her officially. She didn’t know whether to cower or bow, whether to avoid eye contact or stand up straight and look them directly in the eye, with respect, with adoration. But the High Lord simply continued as they gracefully touched down, “It’s whether he’ll be able to do it with competition, that’s the real test.” He tucked his wings in as they strode towards the rest of the group, holding his mate’s hand, who had angled Nyx between them protectively. 

Standing mere feet away from the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, Gwyn felt Emerie give a stiff bow. Gwyn followed, holding both Rhysand and then Feyre’s gaze, nodding respectfully. They smiled warmly in return, inclining their heads. Feyre, as disarmingly beautiful as Nesta, with those same blue-grey eyes that saw everything, continued to hold her gaze, kindness shining through.

It seemed they needn’t bother with formalities either way, as Cassian scoffed loudly, “Oh please, and who’s going to stand against me ?” Nesta’s returning grin to her mate became equally feral and Gwyn not only scented but felt the shift in them, she shook her head in amusement. These two were absolutely insatiable.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Rhysand shifted, right in front of their eyes, his elegant black suit transforming into pristine black fighting leathers, a great sword strapped to his back between his wings. Gwyn noticed that Azriel had switched his position too, standing side-on to both the High Lord and Cassian, to be a buffer or referee – Gwyn couldn’t’ tell.

Cassian’s returning arrogance set even Gwyn’s heart racing, “Oh please Rhysie, you’ve been out of practice for months now, you really think you could take me on?” He unstrapped both broadswords from his back for emphasis, edging them slightly so they glimmered against the midday sun.

The High Lady smirked as Nesta stepped closer to coo at Nyx, Gwyn realised with surprise. “Oh no doubt you would raise hell, but what if a third option evened the odds?” Feyre’s husky voice carried as she levelled a smooth look at Azriel. He simply inclined his head in respect and shifted his stance, now angled side by side with The High Lord and The General. Unsheathing Truth Teller, he tapped his siphoned knuckles impatiently, as though this was all very tedious to him.

Gwyn held back a small smile, sensing his mock irreverence, knowing that underneath that mask was cool calculation, already weighing up how best to attack.

“Still manageable,” Cassian snorted, folding his arms across his broad chest and flaring his wings, “More fun this way too,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Nesta, who bit her lower lip in response. Gwyn didn’t even want to know what that exchange was about…

Rhysand let out a soft, sensual laugh, one Gwyn had never heard from the High Lord. One that reminded her that he wasn’t just night and darkness incarnate, but something more, perhaps something softer, more real. But before he could speak again, Feyre had conjured up four chairs and a small water station, which Nesta immediately made use of.

Feyre repositioned her son in her arms, looking at her mate with a coy grin, “As I understand, there’s no magic or weapons allowed in the Rite?” Feyre gazed pointedly at her sister, Nesta smirked in response, cutting a glare at Cassian. Feyre smiled dangerously at the Illyrian warriors in front of her as she sat on one of the chairs, tucking Nyx protectively into her side in the process. 

Rhysand’s gaze darkened with what Gwyn assumed was desire. A sensual smile tugged at his lip as he dipped his head at his mate and snapped his fingers. Immediately, three sets of colours – red, black and blue – merged then twirled around the High Lord’s fingers. The Siphons on Cassian and Azriel’s leathers dulled and Rhysand’s own darkness seemed to ebb as each of their powers were nulled. The High Lord, not once taking his gaze off his mate, simply purred back, ‘Beautiful, wicked female,’ before clicking his fingers and letting the colours disappear into thin air.

Gwyn’s mind was reeling. To be powerful enough to simply take away others’ powers? She shook her head, suddenly grateful that she was in the Inner Court’s good graces - the thought of fighting against them made her feel sick. The High Lady simply looked at him pointedly, raising her brow. Rhysand gave her a mock pout, then winked at her as all their weapons disappeared too. 

She watched as the three males drew together, each staring at the High Lady, as though she had another trick up her sleeve. In response, she simply waved her wrist and the entire training ring turned into some kind of death trap.

Using whatever power she had cultivated in her few years as a high fae, she’d conjured up enough obstacles - deathly ones at that, to wipe out an army. Gwyn’s mouth went dry at the imagination it took to create such a course. Even though Gwyn had completed the Rite, had survived it - even just, the thought of doing this course made her knees weak. Gwyn didn’t know the High Lady well, but suddenly she realised how powerful this female sitting next to her was. Gwyn was used to powerful females, had spent enough time with Nesta and Mor to understand the burdens that came with that power, but somehow, even with all this power, Feyre seemed at peace, comfortable and kind even.

The males bowed their heads, accepting the challenge she laid out. But as they straightened, Cassian turned his attention to Azriel, crossing his arms over his expansive chest, “Come on brother… all’s fair and that.” Azriel raised an elegant brow in question and Cassian let out a frustrated sigh. “You can’t have your minions with you when we’ve got nothing,” Cassian pointed at Azriel’s wispy companions accusingly.

Rhys merely chuckled, flicking a piece of dust off his leathers as he waited patiently, no doubt well accustomed to this spectacle between his brothers. Azriel levelled a cool glare at Cassian, not breaking eye contact. No doubt, that same look had sent legions of trained warriors running for the hills, but Cassian held his ground. Eventually, Azriel rolled his eyes and flicked his wrists.

A breath later, his shadows were swirling around his shoulders, his head, his hands and his wings – seeking his permission. He simply nodded and they flew with a renewed vigour, Gwyn realised with no small amount of shock, straight to her. She squirmed under their shadowy caress, letting out a soft sigh as a few tickled her neck, her cheeks, some even going as far as tucking in between her braid. They’d always seemed gentle enough, curious even, so she let them settle. She drew her gaze back to the group, only to find every single pair of eyes on her, utter shock on all their faces. She frowned as she beheld Azriel’s far-off look. 

Cassian raised his brows, “Well, whatever that was…are we going to get on with it or what?” Gwyn held her breath as The High Lord watched her keenly for a moment longer before returning his attention to Cassian and nodding at his brothers.

Feyre smiled, flicking her wrist again so all three of them were suddenly blindfolded. Gwyn and Emerie found seats next to Nesta and Feyre, but Gwyn’s stomach was tying itself in knots. Nesta’s face was serious too, as though she was keen to see how this played out - how her mate fared. Gwyn realised she had never seen the warriors fight before, had never experienced all three of them unleashing their skills - her blood thrummed with nervous energy.

The three warriors simultaneously moved, angling their powerful bodies inward to face one another. When they started circling each other, Gwyn realised they were using their senses to ground themselves, to give them their bearings. Cassian’s feral grin remained, the High Lord’s air of amusement and excitement seemed to ripple around them too. Only Azriel, in his own cool way, remained stoic, though there had been a wicked glint in his eyes that Gwyn knew meant he was going to thoroughly enjoy this. They circled each other three times, before Feyre used her magic to whip off their blindfolds and plunge them all into semi-darkness.

Cassian made the first move, feigning right before throwing his weight left and making a run for the most complex looking obstacle. His brothers were hot on his heels, Rhys as the slightest of the three caught Cassian easily, throwing him off course. Azriel was upon them seconds later, his wings angled as Cassian drew back to his full height and squared himself, ready to parry.

Gwyn held her breath as the first crush of fists sounded. The three warriors gracefully taking calculated moves to find each other’s style. Gwyn had no doubt they knew each other’s true style by heart, but for this – for a challenge as an exercise, they could utilise a handful of different forms, feign a style, choose a new technique, anything to give them the edge as they sparred.

They continued to fight carefully, using an arsenal of techniques, until it seemed that Cassian remembered the point was to complete the course, not just beat the others. He took his opening, deflecting Azriel’s swing easily and leapt onto the first course. This time Azriel recovered much quicker and followed with ease, throwing enough power into his move that it set the whole obstacle wobbling. Rhys observed them both, before taking a different route and veering off to the side. In the semi-darkness, Gwyn could make out Azriel’s powerful and sure movements as he mirrored Cassian’s, flying through the blades that were slicing towards them, barrelling down the watery canyon on the next leap and sliding through a low hanging set of spiked vines after that. He’d just about caught up to Cassian, who, although was strongest, was also the heaviest and took longer to work through the manoeuvres.

Gwyn sucked in a breath as she felt a knot in her chest - anticipating the next move - a shot of darkness as Rhys emerged out of nowhere and hit Azriel side on, Cassian flying off course to avoid the hit. Azriel glared as he recalibrated himself, but seemed unhurt. She let out a breath as The High Lord simply smirked, did a mock bow to his brother then took off, sprinting in the opposite direction.

“How did you know he was going to hit him?” Emerie whispered as she continued to watch in awe, the warriors making their way through the various traps and tricks.

Gwyn shrugged, looking to the shadows at her shoulders, “I guess these really do make you feel things others can’t?” she whispered back, though the shadows around her hadn’t moved or changed at all.

The three Illyrian warriors continued to battle each other and the obstacles in their path. Feyre was carefully lighting various areas of the course, simulating a new day starting, as it would in the rite. As she watched, she marvelled at how sure they were with the decisions they made. Even when they turned the wrong way and came face to face with an even deadlier obstacle, they would square their shoulders and battle through.

And when they were battling each other…The warriors weren’t just practising - they weren’t just showing Gwyn, Emerie, Nesta how to complete it - they were playing. Grinning at each other as they kept fighting, taking it in turns to rally against each other for an added challenge. It was both utterly terrifying and wholly beautiful, what these males could do with their bodies. How they’d honed themselves over the centuries to be able to eliminate every obstacle, counter every attack, take on every opponent.

First they mobilised against Cassian, with The Shadowsinger and The High Lord working together to gain the upper hand on The General. Gwyn couldn’t take her eyes off the pair as they pushed Cassian back, Azriel’s cunning movements working in tandem with the High Lords' elegant attacks. Then later down the course, The General and The Shadowsinger worked together to give their High Lord a run for his money, pushing him further back and using their considerable bulk and strength to tire him out. Gwyn had never seen the High Lord fight before today, but she knew at that moment that he had to be one of the greatest warriors, as well as the most powerful High Lord that Prythian had ever seen.

Eventually it was Azriel’s turn to take the brunt of the partnership between The General and High Lord. But his face was one of concentration tinged with a bit of amusement. He was enjoying this. Not scared, not nervous – as Gwyn had been, the brothers were enjoying this. They were rallying each other, challenging each other and coming out stronger for it. Gwyn could see the power radiating from each of them and felt herself grow more confident as she learnt from each of their moves.

Each battered obstacle led to a more divisive next move, until they were only two out. With bated breath, Gwyn watched as Feyre conjured up beasts of water and flame – the watery wolves leaping towards the warriors as flaming falcons swooped in on them. It was then that Gwyn marvelled at what they did.

Instead of fighting each beast separately, one-on-one, the three brothers went back-to-back and angled themselves as a unit, a solid force. Within moments, each magical beast was slain, the watery wolves in puddles and the ring’s floor scorched from the extinguished falcon flames. Rhys turned towards his mate, a suggestive wink and sensual quirk of his lips the only sign that he enjoyed her impromptu challenges.

In a flash, all three were back on each other’s tails, rushing through the course. Azriel, who was ever so slightly in the lead, cast a calculating look at his brothers. One second he was sprinting, rushing towards the end, the next he spread his wings wide and Gwyn’s breath caught in her throat as his considerable wingspan reached to hit both of them squarely with the sharp talons at the ends of his wings. Cassian swore and ducked low, just in time to have a disoriented Rhys barrel right into him. They went down in a tumble, teeth flashing and wings sprawling.

The semi-darkness seemed to ebb away slowly, Rhys and Cassian blinking at the sun as it came back out. Feyre was chuckling, “It seems, we have our winner.”

Everyone looked towards the end of the course, where The Shadowsinger sat nonchalantly, his wings draped gracefully as he held a shining white ribbon.

Chapter Text

Azriel’s power flooded back to him, his shadows resuming their perch after briefly defecting to Gwyn.

He tied the ribbon onto his wrist then jumped off the wooden beam and returned to his brothers. Both were bloody and bruised, no doubt he was too, but all of them felt the air of excitement. They hadn’t had a release like that, hadn’t had fun like that in months. Not even the last Solstice snowball fight had touched the edges, thanks to his and Rhys’ disagreement the night before. But now, he took both of his brothers forearms, smiled at Rhys warmly and then at Cassian, “Well met,” he inclined his head at them both.

Rhys’ own power was rippling around them again, filling the air with his amusement, “Indeed,” he winked, casting a quizzical look at the shadows. 

Cassian seemed less enthused and said earnestly, “You need to get back into training, brother.” He stared pointedly at Rhys, “You know we went easy on you. Now that Feyre is back up and about again,”  he added more softly, knowing the trauma his brother had endured. “It’s time.” Rhys simply gave a shallow nod, the most acknowledgement he would allow.

As one they turned back to the group, finding Feyre, Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn in conversation. No doubt feeling her mate’s attention, Feyre was the first to turn her gaze back to them. Smiling softly at Rhys, she passed Nyx over to him, “What do you think, Nyx? Your dad still got it?” Rhys cooed, earning a jab in the ribs from Feyre.

“Illyrian baby, so desperate to be coddled,” she cooed in response, angling her head at her mate. Rhys flicked her nose playfully. Cassian had taken up his stance behind Nesta, his hands on her shoulders as she massaged them. The casual intimacy, the easiness of their touch jarred Azriel.

The Valkyries are unaware of how to act in the current company, Singer

He felt the words, rather than heard them. He shifted his gaze towards Gwyn and Emerie, who were both standing slightly to the side. He walked towards them casually, hoping to reassure them rather than make anything more intimidating.

Gwyn was the first to speak, lifting her chin, “Impressive.” Azriel sensed the effort it took for her to rally even that boldness.

He allowed himself to smirk, “It’s easy to win when you have Cass and Rhys trying to show off to their mates, it makes them sloppy.”

“It didn’t even look like you were really trying though... any of you,” Emerie breathed, incredulous. “How did you make it look so easy, like you could do it all again within a heartbeat?”

Trying to catch Cassian’s gaze, he hoped his brother got the message, “This isn’t something that happens overnight,” Azriel supplied calmly, “You have to keep learning, keep training, keep trying.” He shrugged as he admitted, “It’s the only constant thing in our lives.”

“Not to mention, it makes you look so godsdamn good in the process…” Cassian puffed out his chest, winking at the females, earning an eye roll from Feyre and Nesta and a wry grin from Rhys. Emerie and Gwyn said nothing but the joke had at least cut the tension slightly.

Before Azriel could find another point to make, Feyre stepped in, “I personally, have seen and heard enough of the pompous Illyrian ways,” she cut a playful glare towards Cassian before he could chirp back. “I’d much rather like to hear about the battling and bonding of the Valkyries to get through the Rite - to win it, no less!” She smiled warmly at all three of them, earning a triumphant grin from Nesta, who looked at Gwyn and Emerie with pride.

Azriel noted how Gwyn’s face reddened lightly at the compliment and Emerie’s wings tucked in a bit tighter, as though they were uncomfortable with their victory. Feyre’s voice interrupted his observations, “We dropped by today to start talking about arrangements for Cassian and Nesta’s mating ceremony. If you’re free for tea now, we can get started?” Feyre looked towards her sister and Nesta nodded. “Then tomorrow, why don’t we all have dinner together at the River House, so we can learn more about the indomitable Valkyries?” Feyre suggested warmly.

Rhys was by her side in an instant, sliding an arm around her waist as he passed Nyx back to her. “I too, would be honoured to dine with our Valkyries in training,” he held Emerie and Gwyn’s gaze kindly. Azriel felt a surge of gratitude to his brother and his High Lady, for helping Emerie and Gwyn find pride in what they had achieved.

But it was Gwyn’s reaction, so much more reserved than her usual boldness, that doused him in cold again. She simply inclined her head respectfully but her eyes glazed over, her posture stiff - giving no indication as to whether she accepted the invitation or not. Feyre nodded softly, understanding shone in her eyes as she turned with Rhys and headed into the House of Wind.

Nesta gave Gwyn a reassuring squeeze of her hand then followed in after them, Cassian in tow. Emerie stepped up to Gwyn and gently whispered, “You are the rock against which the surf crashes…”

Gwyn’s eyes focused again as whispered back, “Nothing can break me.” Emerie nodded at her before kissing her friend’s temple, the affection surprising Azriel.

Emerie looked towards him, “Shadowsinger, would you mind taking me home? I have a shop to run, I’ve already been away too long today.”

Azriel tore his eyes away from Gwyn’s form, where she was now holding herself and staring at the sprawling expanse that was Velaris. Nodding, he offered his hand to her and allowed his wings to stretch out behind him. She took it easily and with one last pointed look at Gwyn, she frowned up at Azriel, sending him a silent appeal.

She’s asking us to help the Priestess

His shadows only confirmed what he could already see in Emerie’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Gwyn was hyperventilating.

Not enough to cause her to pass out, like she had done in years past. But enough to make her insides coil anxiously. Her breathing was too rapid, her skin clammy. She put her hand over her heart, willing calmness, trying to steel her racing thoughts - but the idea of leaving the sanctuary of the House of Wind tonight - to voluntarily take a step away from the refuge that she’d had for the last few weeks - caused her to spiral again. Especially after what happened the last time she had left it willingly… to go to Windhaven to help her friend, only to be kidnapped and forced into the Rite mere hours later.

Gwyn looked up at herself in the small mirror above the vanity in her room. Her freckles stood out starkly, her cheekbones too defined to look healthy, her eyes tired and heavy. She knew the weeks of restless nights were weighing on her, even her work for Merrill was getting sloppy. She shook her head, ashamed of how her thinking, her previous strength - honed by months of training with the others, had regressed again.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the memories, forcing herself to start her mindstilling practice; the only thing that brought her clarity these days. One breath at a time, ‘I am the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me .’

She counted her breaths and repeated the truth to herself - she wanted to leave tonight, despite her bodily reaction to the thought. She wanted to be there for her fellow Valkyrie sisters and more importantly, she wanted to leave for herself.

After a time, her breathing slowed, the clawing in her mind and heart easing ever so slightly. She was grateful beyond measure for the practice of mindstilling. Though at times it was difficult to concentrate on it, to force herself to submit to the silence - today it had served its purpose. With one last breath, she picked up her hair brush and started to ready herself, donning her priestess robes. She picked up her invoking stone, tucking it into the inner pocket of her robes. Its weight in her pocket reminded her of where she came from, of her mother and her twin. She always had it close to her, not to wear, but in memory of them.

With one last look at her reflection, she sighed and turned to leave, but spotted the dainty gold necklace with its rose charm, hanging from her vanity instead. She’d been gifted it just after Solstice, Clotho seeking her out to give it to her. She’d been surprised, not understanding where it came from, or from who. Clotho had smiled in that warm and easy way of hers and wrote, ‘a friend’ . Though Gwyn had pestered Nesta and Emerie relentlessly, neither had confessed to giving it to her. She had friends among the fellow acolytes and priestesses, but none that would have the means to gift such a unique item. Despite that, she hadn’t worn it yet, hadn’t had the occasion to. Looking at it now, she wondered whether tonight would be an occasion special enough…

No, tonight was a casual gathering, among friends and fellow warriors. She didn’t need to build this up too much in her mind. Besides, it would be hidden underneath her robes, its beauty tucked away. She decided it was best left for another occasion, one which would allow her to wear it proudly. Whether she ever had the courage to go to such an occasion was another matter…

Gwyn nodded at the necklace in promise and tucked her hair behind her arched ears. Taking another long, deep breath, she left her room. 

Yes, she thought, walking the dim library halls, tonight was about celebrating how far they had come. To acknowledge all the paths they’d taken since coming together all those months ago. For Nesta to introduce her family to her new chosen sisters, her fellow Valkyries in training. To celebrate Emerie, and her unending bravery and boldness as an Illyrian female and Carynthian. To toast Nesta and Cassian and the tumultuous journey they’d taken to be happily mated. Gwyn smiled slightly to herself at the thought, thinking of how many times that in itself could have led to bloodshed. For Gwyn, tonight was to prove to herself that she had control of her anxious thoughts, her body, her future.

As she walked the red brick steps through the Library and into the House, taking her time to keep to her mindstilling breaths, she thought back to yesterday afternoon. 

Watching the High Lord, Cassian and Azriel train reminded her of how much her, Nesta and Emerie had left to learn. They’d gone over some of the moves and sequences this morning in training, just to remind their bodies of their strength. She wanted that – wanted to get stronger and to work towards clearing her mind. Starting with tonight’s dinner. She steeled herself, taking one last soothing breath.

“Gwyn!” Nesta called as she stepped out onto the balcony where they were to meet to go to the River House. Nesta and Cassian were already there, dressed casually. Nesta in her favourite pewter grey dress and Cassian in a tunic and leathers, his siphons still on his hands. A necessity, he had once told her. He and Azriel never took the ones on their hands off.

It was a balmy evening, the air still warm from the day's sun but the soft wind from the sea was a welcome touch of coolness. Above them, the Night Court's stars shone as bright as ever, providing a guiding light for Gwyn as she walked towards them slowly, conscious to keep her breathing even, hoping they wouldn’t hear her pounding heart. She had nearly reached them when Azriel stepped out from the shadows and she had to remind herself to breathe normally, allowing herself to take him in.

Beautiful. He was utterly, heart-wrenchingly, beautiful.

She’d never seen Azriel without his fighting leathers or his battle suit, but tonight he was in a well-fitting pair of dark trousers and a navy linen shirt which was slightly open at the top, showing off a small portion of his broad, golden brown chest and Illyrian tattoos. The moonlight cast an illuminating light on his usual set of shadows, which still rippled from his striking form, as his blue siphons glowed dimly on his hands. His hair looked slightly wet, like he’d rushed out of the bath. For the first time, she noticed how strong his scent was; night-chilled mist and cedar.

Powerful, dangerous, alluring. 

She’d always appreciated Azriel’s beauty. God’s – half the priestesses, despite their difficult histories, would sigh willfully in The Shadowsinger’s presence. But tonight, there was a gentle openness to his gorgeous features, one she hadn’t seen before. Before she could think on it, Nesta enveloped her in a hug, the affection so unlike the Nesta of old. Gwyn breathed in her friend’s strength and inner fire – it would be what helped her get through tonight.

As she pulled back, holding her at arm’s length, Gwyn asked, “Where’s Emerie?”

“Oh Mor insisted on getting her from Windhaven,” she grinned crookedly. “We’ll meet them there. You look lovely, by the way.” She waved her hand and Gwyn blushed. She knew she was in no way close to the raw unbridled beauty that the Archeron sisters were famed for, especially when she was simply in her Priestess robes, but she appreciated Nesta’s compliment all the same.

“Remember, you don’t have to do this. We can venture away another night, or choose another location or simply just do it whenever you’re ready. There’s no pressure.” Nesta said firmly but not unkindly. Gwyn watched the steely determination in her friends eyes, it kindled her own courage.

“I am ready,” she let her friend see the fire in her own eyes. Nesta simply nodded, though Gwyn could sense pride too.

“Come on, you look like you need a hot meal…or six.” Cassian joked, earning a glare from his mate.

Gwyn frowned, she hadn’t realised how obvious her physical changes had been to the others. Fortunately, Azriel’s shadows chose that moment to dance towards her, filling the space and drawing her attention to the Shadowsinger again.

He inclined his head at her, his face back to that cool, unreadable mask he usually donned. “Am I flying with you, Shadowsinger?” She tried to sound nonchalant, snaking her finger around the sole shadow that had edged further in front of her. His rich hazel eyes flashed, but it was gone in a blink.

“If you feel comfortable doing so, myself or Cassian would gladly fly you.” His voice rumbled through her, goosebumps following in its wake. “Otherwise, we can wait for Mor and we can…”

Gwyn shook her head immediately, cutting him off. She knew the wards around the House made the logistics complicated, even though she was grateful for those wards.

She had promised herself that tonight she wouldn’t let her fear hold her back. “No, I’m ready to fly again, I am…” She insisted, smoothing down her robes before admitting, “And, I’ll fly with you - if that’s ok? I’m just annoyed I was unconscious the first time.”

There was that flash in his eyes again, but he only nodded and Cassian moved closer to Nesta as Gwyn made her decision.

“Very well, Priestess. But the moment you want to leave or feel uncomfortable, just say the word.” His voice was like darkness and dreams as he extended his hand towards her slowly, his eyes laser-focused on his own fingers.

Gwyn looked at his hand, then back at his face, wondering what he was staring at. She took one last look back at Nesta, who smiled in encouragement as Cassian lifted her into his arms. Gwyn turned back to Azriel before she could second guess herself and took his hand. 

A shock raced through her at the sensation as he curled his fingers around her hand, the touch featherlight. She lifted her gaze to his as he asked, “Are you ok with this?” She looked from his fingers to his face, trying to decipher the emotions. Taking a breath, she nodded.

“I’m going to come closer now, then I’ll lift you into my arms.” Had his voice dropped lower? She nodded again, not trusting her own voice. “You’ll need to put your arms around my neck…”

Her eyes shot to those damp, slightly curling ends of the midnight dark hair grazing his neck, her heart beating wildly. “Not too tightly, of course,” he added, throwing a wry grin at her. No doubt hoping to ease the tension he could probably sense. She watched as his shadows wound their way along her arm and slid around her shoulders, the sensation like a cool caress.

“Are you ok with all of that?” He was still watching her keenly. She only nodded once more, biting her lip to stop the anxiety taking root.

“I need to hear you say the words,” he frowned.

“I’m ok,” her voice sounded quiet, though that was probably because the frantic beat of her heart was making all the noise.

There was a rush of warmth around her as Azriel stepped closer, angling his body. He paused for a moment - giving her time to back away, she realised. When she didn’t, he dipped slightly, lifting her easily so she was in his powerful arms, flush against his body.

She was pretty sure she’d forgotten how to breathe and couldn’t remember what to do next until he softly guided one of her arms and looped it around his neck. She allowed herself to breathe in his scent again, finding that it helped to ground her. She looked at his beautiful face only to find that he was staring at his hands again as they held her. 

Was he nervous too, perhaps taking this so slowly for a reason other than her anxiety? Her heart tightened at the thought, she didn't know where her confidence came from, as she said, “Thank you, for being considerate. But I promise, I’m ok.”

He’d been there, at Sangravah, he knew what this moment meant, but she honestly did feel fine. In fact, her heart was racing not due to nerves, but because of the strange flipping sensation in her stomach, from the warmth of his body so close to hers.

“Good,” his voice was strained. “Now, hold on Priestess, I promise to make this a gentle flight.”

She was so close to his face, she could see every lash framing his striking eyes and couldn’t help but wonder if this position, holding someone like this as he flew, whether it was just a means to an end for him? For her, it was a wholly new sensation, the most intimate position and moment she'd experienced in recent years.

Suddenly, her stomach felt like lead.

It was quickly replaced by sheer exhilaration as he leapt into the sky, his powerful wings spread wide as he took them up into the night. She gripped onto him, hyper-aware of his expansive muscles. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked from his face to his huge wings behind them, watching as they beat gracefully - marvelling at the incredible detail and strength of them.

She felt his shadows lounge around them, as though monitoring for her reaction. Looking between Azriel's wings, to his shadows then his face again, she realised that she didn’t feel fear or even worry about being in a male’s arms. In fact - she felt alive. She decided to keep testing her newfound braveness and relaxed her grip a bit as she looked down at the city of starlight, the glittering expanse of Velaris.

Being this high above it all, seeing the world beneath her - it was thrilling. She finally let her breath out, the shadows following her exhale excitedly before returning to their master’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry if it bothers you,” Azriel’s voice was so close, it sent a shiver through her. “They seem to be very reactive to you.” His words were strained, as though admitting it was a mistake.

“I don’t mind, they seem more curious than anything.” The lightness of her voice surprised her, and because she had felt him try for quiet humour earlier, to reassure her, she did the same as she added, “But don’t worry, I’ll keep your little secret…”

Azriel stiffened, glancing at her, their faces so close, “What secret?”

Gwyn let herself grin, “That the ‘oh-so terrifying’ Spymasters shadows simply tickle when they touch your skin, not - as many believe, incinerate you on the spot.”

Azriel cocked a brow, “People don’t truly believe that.”

Gwyn shrugged, “They don’t know what to believe, there’s such limited information about Shadowsingers'.” She’d know, she’d been trying to find books about it for months, with little success. “But I like them. They are strangely…” she searched for the word, nodding as she admitted, “Reassuring.”

He watched her carefully, a slight frown etched on his perfect face. “You’d be the first to feel that way.”

She added an irreverent shrug, “Glad to keep you on your toes, Shadowsinger.” He chuckled lightly, his wings slowing as he started their descent. She almost felt disappointed that the flight was over so quickly.

Far more gently than she’d ever dreamed of, he lowered her. Forcing Gwyn to unhook her arms from their place around his neck, he held her gaze as she did so, her stomach flipping at an alarming rate. Or was that due to the flight? She couldn’t tell anymore.

“Thank you.” She forced herself to step back from his body, the loss of contact jarring her as she found her feet on cold, dewy grass in front of the River House. His hazel eyes were soft, his face contemplative.

“Are you ready?” He gestured towards the House ahead.

She’d forgotten how large the River House was, how grand it looked from the outside. Certainly no palace, like the House of Wind, but something far more authentic, homely even. She locked her spine and nodded. It was now or never, she was nearly there….

As they walked to the front door, she spotted Cassian and Nesta, their heads bent in a muttered battle. Nesta wore her notorious frown, but Cassian only winked casually at Gwyn, nodded to his brother then disappeared into the main area of the house, leaving Gwyn, Azriel and Nesta in the foyer.

As Azriel shut the magnificent marble front door, Gwyn marvelled at the house, realising she hadn’t fully taken it in after the Rite. Not the grand staircase, dazzling chandelier and other expensive-looking decor - but the paintings. So many paintings, full of light, colour and stories. She recognised the one of Nesta - holding the Pass of Enalius. Gwyn hadn’t seen the moment in real life but she understood the significance of it.

She sucked in a breath, “You were incredible.” She tore her eyes from the portrait and to her friend's face.

Nesta waved her hand idly, “I’ll share my memories of you facing that ribbon with Feyre and demand she paint that instead. Now that’s an awe-inspiring piece.” She nudged Gwyn playfully.

Gwyn started, “The High Lady painted these?”

Nesta only rolled her eyes, “Yes yes, but please try not to suck up too much, every bat and fae in this group is already insufferable.”

Azriel’s snort of amusement sounded. She turned in time to see him school his face back into his usual mask as Nesta whispered conspiratorially, “Except Az of course, but that you already know,” she winked and Gwyn’s cheeks flushed at the insinuation, Azriel’s shadows swirling around his head. Before either of them could respond, there was a small noise above them.

For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Gwyn’s breath was knocked straight out of her as she watched the most beautiful fae female she’d ever seen gracefully glide down the grand staircase. 

In a lilac, off shoulder gown that shimmered as she moved, her dark-caramel coloured hair glinted in the chandelier's light. Her brown eyes were warm, her skin luminous and her smile kind. Everything about the female sparkled and Gwyn suddenly felt magnificently underdressed and ill prepared if this is what the other guests looked like.

As the female stopped at the bottom of the stairs, Gwyn realised there was something almost unnerving about her, apart from her obvious beauty. Something felt taut, foreboding, like whatever magic she possessed was clawing at her, assessing those in the vicinity. 

As the female’s eyes locked onto Azriel’s, Gwyn felt something dark stir in her chest.

Nesta’s voice cut through, “Elain, I’d like you to meet Gwyneth Berdara. Gwyn, this is my sister, Elain.”

Of course, Gwyn thought - only the Archeron sisters, with their Made qualities, could possess this level of raw beauty and power. Gwyn had gotten used to Nesta’s over the months, but Elain’s was different somehow. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt uneasy in Elain’s presence.

Her rich eyes turned to Gwyn as she smiled, “It’s an honour, Gwyneth. My sister hasn’t stopped talking about you…or your ribbon, of course.” Her voice was soft and calm, but her words felt empty. Gwyn’s own voice had failed her completely, she could just about smile in response, dipping her head politely. But Elain’s eyes were already back on the Shadowsinger.

Gwyn watched as Azriel and Elain continued to stare at each other, their gazes charged. His usual pre-natural level of stillness was off somehow, and his constant menagerie of shadows were nowhere to be seen. Gwyn searched his features, his expression - it looked almost pained? But no, Gwyn couldn't have read that right, could she? Elain looked only at him, with a voice soft as silk and ever so gentle, she played her hand on his forearm and asked, “Are you well?”

He only nodded back in a dazed sort of way.

Nesta’s huff of impatience sounded next to her. “Come on, let’s go rescue Emerie from Mor and Amren’s polished claws.” Gwyn let her friend drag her along the wide corridor, but not before she cut one last glance at Azriel and Elain, who were standing much closer to each other now.

Suddenly, a burst of irritation flared through her. She felt a low heat in the pit of her stomach before having to fight down the urge to growl. Her skin felt taut across her bones as she fought against her body's reaction. Even though she’d made no sound, somehow Nesta had sensed something and stilled as she looked back at Gwyn. Even Azriel tore his gaze away from Elain, his eyes wide as he looked over at them.

Gwyn blushed, furious at herself and pushed past Nesta, into the living room filled with the rest of the Inner Court.

Chapter Text

Ginger lily, lotus flower and something warm and familiar - like crackling fire. That’s what her scent was. Such lingering aromas, blending to make up the enigma that was Gwyneth Berdara.

It was the only thing Azriel could think of as he flew her to the River House. Even though he’d felt sick at the thought of his scarred hands touching her, knowing that it could trigger her again… the moment her scent had filled his senses, that fear disappeared. Without the dirt, blood and grime from the Rite, without the lingering terror he’d scented on her those few weeks ago, he could finally make out her true scent.

It rippled through him, grounded him - even his shadows had calmed.

He’d been relieved to see her walk onto that balcony at the House of Wind tonight. So much so, that he’d completely forgotten that tonight would not just be Gwyn’s first step into the world again, but it would also be the first time he’d see and spend time with Elain since Nyx’s birth. They’d barely been in the same room for longer than a few moments since last Solstice.

How he’d managed to tuck her away in his thoughts was beyond him, especially now, as she stood mere inches away from him, her slight hand touching his forearm. Her scent - jasmine, honey and the lingering essence of that mating bond with Lucien - taunted him.

He stiffened as he looked at her, those gorgeous eyes and soft lips. He’d been so close to kissing those lips, so close to ruination.

There was a shift in the air, a sudden heat spreading through him as a strange energy rippled down the hall. He snapped his eyes to the source of it, only to find Gwyn frowning at him as Nesta held her arm. Subconsciously, he tried checking with his shadows, to see if they detected what just happened, but as was normal when he was around Elain, they’d completely disappeared.

Azriel considered Gwyn and Nesta for a moment longer before looking back at Elain. His earlier reverie now broken, he allowed himself to take her in for one more moment, before lifting her delicate hand off his forearm, bowing his head politely and following Nesta and Gwyn down the hall. As much as it pained him to leave her there, without a kind word or gentle hello, he knew his orders.

He entered the great living room where the whole group was already at leisure. Feyre was greeting Gwyn and Nesta excitedly, already peppering Gwyn with questions while handing her a glass of wine. Cassian was standing sentinel over Emerie as she chatted with Mor and Amren, who were bickering about something trivial. Rhys was…

“What, pray tell, was that all about?” Rhys drawled from behind him, having appeared silently, holding two tumblers of amber liquid, one of which he handed to Azriel.

He took it gratefully and gave his brother a bored look, “What was what about?’ his shadows had returned, stroking his neck reassuringly.

The High Lord suspects you and The Seer

He refused to acknowledge the information. As he sipped, he felt dark talons tapping at his mental shields. He opened the cell door to his mind, irritated that he’d been here for less than five minutes and was already being interrogated. Was he ever allowed a moment of peace?

‘There will be peace, Az - if you can stay away from Elain,’ Rhys’ smooth voice rumbled in his mind, the threat casual yet no less confronting.

‘We weren’t, we aren't...’ Azriel was at a loss for words. ‘I haven’t seen her since Nyx’s birth, Brother.’ He added the last word with a touch of venom, hoping it would remind Rhys that they were family - on the same side.

Rhys cut him a cool glance, before nodding softly, ‘ I do not wish to admonish you,’ Azriel would have liked nothing more than if they left it at that. But then Rhys added, ‘ I felt that ripple of power… a remnant of Nesta’s?’ Rhys’ voice held an air of curiosity. Azriel shook his head, despite the fact that they weren’t physically speaking words out loud. He had to remind himself not to look so obvious when having a mental conversation.

‘Not sure, I felt heat and light and …’ Azriel sipped his drink, ‘I can’t place it.’

Rhys angled his head, taking a long sip as he mentally continued. ‘I’m sorry for the order to stay away from her. I wish it weren’t so, Brother.’  He added too, picking up on Azriel’s thread. ‘But our future is not clear, not yet.’ He put a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, as much a gesture to reassure as to remind.

Azriel simply bowed his head as Rhys left the conversation, heading over to where his mate was, still chatting to Gwyn and Nesta. Azriel’s gaze snagged on Gwyn’s form - her shoulders certainly looked more relaxed, but he knew her posture - knew she was simply putting on a front. He wondered whether the wine she had in her hand would help to ease her tension, eventually. Taking a long sip from his own drink, he decided to head into the kitchen to check in with Cerridwen and Nuala instead. At least that way, he’d stay out of trouble.

An hour later, sandwiched between Amren and Mor, he pushed a stray runner bean around his plate as he silently took in the multiple conversations happening around him.

To his left, Mor was happily swigging her red wine, recounting a story about her most recent visit in Vallahan to an adventure-starved Emerie. She listened and watched Mor’s face intently, no doubt wondering whether Mor really could put away that many glasses of wine and still hold a conversation.

That's not the only thing she’s thinking about, Singer

His shadows were in a playful mood it seemed. He paid them no heed, he wasn’t in the mood to talk riddles with them.

To Emerie’s left, Feyre was dipping in and out of her conversation with Mor whilst also trying to get a word or two out of Elain, who sat on her other side. Elain’s face was unreadable, but her posture said enough; she was avoiding conversation.

She’s not the only one.

Azriel mentally scoffed at the shadows. Busybodies.

To Elain’s left, at the other head of the table, her posture positively regal, sat Nesta. She also seemed to be attempting conversation with Elain, though she definitely wasn’t trying as hard as Feyre. She’d tut with irritation then turn her head to Cassian, who was on her other side. Their eyes would glaze over and they’d bend their heads together to whisper. No doubt, judging by Cassian’s body language, it wasn’t polite dinner conversation. Either about fighting, or fucking.

It’s both actually, they are quite ravenous…

This time he let himself grin at his shadows. They weren’t wrong.

But it was the conversation on the other side of Cassian that had Azriel hyperaware. Rhys was sitting next to Cassian, but his attention was wholly focused on Gwyn, who was between him and Amren.

If being sandwiched between two of the most powerful beings in Prythian put Gwyn on edge, then she wasn’t showing it. Azriel marvelled at the way she gesticulated, watching as she passionately told his High Lord about something she’d read during her studies.

Something about travelling across overlapping worlds…

Yes, that was it. Travelling across worlds - no wonder Rhys was enthralled. Amren too seemed to be lapping up whatever Gwyn was saying. Though she remained silent whilst sipping her wine, whereas Rhys kept asking Gwyn more questions. If he couldn’t see and physically feel the excitement pour off Gwyn as she recounted some of her learnings, Azriel would have asked Rhys to give it a rest. His brother could be tireless in his pursuit for further knowledge, after all. So Azriel was comfortable to sit at the table like this, listening to his family and his new friends. In fact, if it wasn’t for the tension at the other end of the table in Elain’s form, it could even be a perfect evening.

The Prince of Night is stirring, Singer

Azriel tapped his siphons gently, feeling their thrum of energy and power before he put his napkin on his plate and stood. The whole table quieted as he did so, Feyre’s eyes shot to his in question.

“Nyx,” he said by way of an explanation, pointing to the ceiling above them. The next second, the babe’s wail cut through their silence.

Rhys chuckled from his seat, bowing his head gratefully at his brother, “Be our guest Az.” He gestured to the ceiling.

Azriel nodded, making his way out of the luscious dining room and up to Nyx’s constellation-decorated nursery.

He entered the darkness but could easily make out Nyx’s bright eyes and puffy face. “Shhh Nyx, uncle Az is here,” he cooed with a voice reserved only for his new nephew. 

Picking him up gently to avoid hurting his little wings, Azriel carefully tucked Nyx into his arms. His shadows were like irresponsible children, darting out here and there to swirl around Nyx’s form. His star-flecked blue eyes followed them around with curiosity, his tiny fingers trying to grab them at times. Azriel simply chuckled, “Enough of that,” he told his shadows. “He needs to sleep, not play.” His shadows turned towards him, rippling with challenge - irresponsible little things. So he did the one thing he knew they couldn't resist, the only true power he held over them in any situation.

He started to sing.

Softly in his rich baritone voice, he sang an old Illyrian lullaby. He watched Nyx with every fibre of his being, walking around his room so the mixture of movement and singing would calm the babe. His shadows, currently gripped by his song - their true master - swirled hypnotically around them, casting the room deeper into a cocoon of darkness.

Although initially enthralled by the shadows and the dull glow of Azriel’s siphons, within moments Nyx was fast asleep again. Azriel watched him for a little longer, overcome by the love he had for his little nephew. For everything that he already was and for everything he symbolised to them all. He allowed himself this moment of pure emotion, before carefully sliding Nyx back into his crib.

The High Lady is here…

Azriel turned slowly, careful not to make a sound as he found Feyre at the door, watching him with tears in her eyes.

“Az, that was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.”

Azriel smiled softly but replied quietly, “Don’t get used to it, it’s not something I let myself do often.” He didn't want to admit how he came to find that singing was the best, most effective way for him to get the most out of his shadows.

She merely nodded, “It’ll be our secret,” her smile warmed him. She came over to the crib, tucked Nyx in a bit more and soothed some of his night-dark hair out of his face. Then for the second time that evening, he felt a tap in his mind, this time from the beast claws that belonged to his High Lady.

You were quiet at dinner? Her voice reverberated around his mind, he couldn't tell if it was an accusation or a question.

He shrugged, ‘There was a lot going on. ’ As though that would explain it.

She pushed anyway, ‘You weren’t the only one…’

Before he could stop them, images flashed across his mind. Elain’s tense shoulders at the dinner table. Her soft hand on his arm earlier by the staircase. Her sumptuous lips on solstice night, so close to his own…

He clamped the bars in his mind shut, wanting to stop the unravelling before Feyre saw any more that would compromise him.

She turned from where she was standing, now letting her gaze settle on him. ‘I know Az, I know,’ her voice sounded sad.

He cocked his head, hoping to look confused as opposed to obtrusive.

She simply replied, ‘ You and Elain. I know. After Rhys kept the circumstances of Nyx’s birth from me, I made him promise never to lie to me again.’ Hurt flashed through Azriel, the memory of that day jarring his senses.

He didn't know what to say, so he remained quiet and still. Feyre continued, ‘For what it’s worth, I wanted you to be mates too.’

He hung his head in shame. ‘I know…’ He didn't know if his voice sounded as pathetic in his mind as he felt thinking it. ‘I heard you. The day we first brought Elain and Nesta from The House of Wind to the Town House.’

Feyre’s brows drew together, so Azriel explained. ‘I was in the garden, watching over Elain as you and Rhys prepared for our visit to the Court of Nightmares. I heard you ask Rhys about the mating bond, about how the Cauldron chooses…’

Feyre sucked in a breath, putting her hand softly on his arm, ‘ Az…’

But now that he’d opened his mind, he felt the need to tell her, to make her understand. Perhaps it would help him understand too. ‘ I always liked Elain, we’ve always seemed to have an understanding. Then, when it became clear that Nesta and Cassian were…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence, even in his own mind.

He shook his head, going over the memory of what he had said to Rhys. He was ashamed of himself for his outburst, for believing so strongly that Elain was his mate that he insinuated she belonged to him. Like she didn’t have a choice in the matter, as though he was owed her, entitled to her - just like every other vile Illyrian male out there. He hung his head, sick with disgust for himself, for his actions.

He let out an impatient and frustrated huff, the most he could do in the silence of the nursery. ‘I told myself what I wanted to be true.’ He let the admission wash over him, ‘I am happy for my brothers, happy beyond reason for you all. But I think I’m coming to the realisation that perhaps I do not have a mate.’

Feyre was shaking now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. She pushed his arm aside and gripped him by the waist in a tight hug. He stood there, with his High Lady, the fear, sadness and guilt he kept locked away in a vault suddenly threatening to tear through him.

After a few long moments, he heard her voice again, quiet but determined echoing through his mind. ‘Maybe that’s ok, Az? Maybe it means that you, and only you get to decide who and what you want now. No more waiting for a Cauldron-blessed moment…you make your own fate.’ Her fierce eyes held his, the strength of her seeping into his very bones. He could do little but nod his head in acknowledgment.

But Azriel knew the truth.

Deep in his soul, he believed that the reason he didn't have a mate out there, was because he didn't deserve one. No, not the Spymaster of The Night Court. His only true companions were pain and death.

Chapter Text

Stargazing in the gorgeous gardens of the River House, Gwyn sat under a pavilion lit by fae lights and surrounded by heavenly scented rose bushes. She hadn’t been in a garden in years, not since Sangravah in fact. Hadn't scented fresh blooming flowers and enjoyed her surroundings so freely in a very long time.

She’d snuck away from the group as they had made their way into a more comfortable parlor designated for lounging and - Gwyn couldn’t believe it - more drinking. She’d taken a few sips of the wine Feyre had given her before deciding that its effects would just cause her more nervousness and queasiness, neither of which she was particularly keen on.

Nesta, being the only one in the group who hadn’t drunk, spotted Gwyn as she made her dash for one of the big open doors towards the gardens. She’d simply smiled conspiratorially, then guided the attention of the group in the other direction. Gwyn’s gratitude for her friend was immeasurable.

As she sat in the decadent grounds, enjoying the quietness of her surroundings, she couldn’t help but reflect on how comfortable she felt with the group. They were some of the most powerful beings in all of Prythian, perhaps even in all of the world. But they were also so… normal.

She smiled as she recalled Cassian and Mor bickering with each other, even though they were at opposite ends of the dinner table. How Amren, acting like a scolding aunt, had put them both in their place before Azriel let out a long sigh that indicated this was a very regular and normal occurrence. How the High Lord and High Lady, not bedecked in jewels and riches, but dressed simply in warm sweaters and pants, had displayed such easy and loving affection, such casual intimacy. Even Nesta, who Gwyn had seen at her darkest, with her adder-sharp words and aloof ways, had been smiling openly, warmly even at her family.

But where did Gwyn fit in? She appreciated the gesture of being invited and formally introduced to the Inner Court, even enjoyed recounting her studies to The High Lord and his Second over a simple dinner. Yet, she felt woefully outmatched by them, in every single way. Even if she kept studying, kept poring over every book in the Night Court’s Library, even if she could fight and even if she kept training and getting stronger…would it ever be enough to truly be with this group? Especially when she could hardly stomach the thought of leaving the House of Wind on any given day? She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. The sleepless nights were obviously weighing on her…the logical part of her knew there was no need to be so negative, especially after what she felt had been a relaxed and pleasant dinner.

“Mind if I join you?” Gwyn whirled to find Mor standing at the edge of the pavilion, looking a bit dazed. Gwyn nodded with enthusiasm, she’d always enjoyed Mor, with her easy smiles and boundless kindness.

Mor sat down, craning her neck to look at the stars, before a loud hiccup escaped from her perfectly painted red lips. “I may have had one glass too many,” she admitted. Gwyn let out an amused huff.

Mor simply cocked a brow, her kohl-lined eyes sparkling as she instructed, “Rule number one of being friends with Illyrians. Never challenge them to a drinking game…” Gwyn gave a mock salute in acknowledgment.

They both laughed, holding each other's gaze. Mor’s lashes bobbed as her eyes shifted. “Are you ok, Gwyn?” She said it mildly, neither judgement nor expectation sounded in her voice. It made Gwyn hesitate before answering.

She trusted Mor, who had been there for her after Sangravah, who had helped to save her, then helped put her on the healing journey in the library among the other acolytes. But would it be weak to admit to her now that the fears, the anxiety, the rolling sickness from that time - that it was all back? That Gwyn could feel herself suffocating under its heaviness once more…

“It’s not the same,” she tried, turning her head back to the starlight above her. “Since we returned from the Rite; since it happened, things have not felt the same. I can’t really explain it, but I feel a bit…” Gwyn’s voice shook ever so slightly, but she breathed deeply. “I know I need to carry on. I survived so that I can carry on. I’m just not sure how and sometimes even why.” Gwyn struggled to unravel it in her own mind, and couldn't quite figure out what she really wanted to say. Mor remained silent either way, giving Gwyn the space to try.

“I just…I’m just not sure where I fit in now. Which way to go.” She whispered it to the stars, breathed her admission into the silence of the garden and let it hang in the air alongside the scent of the Sidra.

“I felt the same once,” Mor’s voice was painfully quiet. Gwyn tore her eyes from the night sky to look at the brave female in front of her. “I had a traumatic experience too…” Mor’s voice shook but she took a steadying breath, “But after, I focused on trying to heal, repairing my mind and my body…” Gwyn stilled, not sure of how to react given she didn’t know Mor’s full story. She continued, squeezing Gwyn’s fingers. “As I got stronger, I realised something else...” There was a new sparkle in her deep eyes as she looked at Gwyn. “I had to choose to go out and carve my own path, or else let those who wronged me win forever.” The corner of her mouth tilted up in a ghost of a smile. “So I chose my own family, my own fate. I created a life that I’m proud of. A life that could flourish - despite the horrors I’d faced.” Her throat bobbed, then as she looked back up at the stars again before whispering, “There are days where I still feel lost and a little broken. Still wonder whether I am worthy of it all -  this love and beauty I’m surrounded by…” She waved her hand elegantly at Velaris, at the family inside the house behind her. “Then I remember that only I can decide what I’m worthy of.” Steel entered her voice, “So I keep training, keep serving my Court, my chosen family and most of all…I serve myself.”

Gwyn held her hand in solidarity, turning Morrigan’s truth over in her mind.

Chapter Text

Azriel was flying Gwyn back to The House of Wind and the awaiting library beneath.

He’d made sure not to drink too much tonight. Knew that when the time came - Gwyn would want to be back with her fellow priestesses, but wouldn’t want to begrudge anyone a good time. It was why he hadn’t told anyone that he wasn’t really drinking, bar the welcome one Rhys had given him.

Cauldron knew no one else would have been able to take her home. Mor had been curled up on a cream armchair in the corner of the room, Feyre draping a thick midnight blue blanket over her after the last drink. Cassian had been sprawled in an adjoining armchair, talking idly to Rhys - though Azriel could tell by the way he angled his wings that he’d had more than would be safe to fly. Beating Mor at the drinking games hadn’t helped.

Amren and Elain had excused themselves hours ago. The former muttering about a jigsaw that needed to be completed, the latter simply stating that gardening was an early bird’s work, before she’d swept out of the room without so much as a good night to anyone.

Sitting casually on Rhys’ lap, his fingers wound in the tips of her long hair, Feyre’s eyes were half closed, bathing in her mate's affection. Just before she could sink fully into his touch, her eyes focused on the Valkyries, who were lounging on the other plush settee - deep in conversation. Feyre untangled herself and kissed Rhys chastely on the forehead, looking ready to excuse herself and as though she would extend an invitation to both Gwyn and Emerie to stay the night too. Azriel decided to step in - to avoid Gwyn the discomfort of having to say no to her High Lady - he told himself.

He cleared his throat as he stood, looking pointedly at Gwyn and Emerie as they lounged with Nesta on the settee.

“If you’d like, I can take you both home?” He’d tried to say it casually, yet Nesta had still raised her brow at him.

She finds you quite intriguing, Singer

Of course Nesta, with her razor focus and sobriety could immediately sense his intentions. Though he could swear he saw a flash of gratitude in her eyes too.

Feyre butted in either way. “Neither of you have to go, we have plenty of rooms here if you’d wish to stay?” She threw Azriel a quizzical look.

Azriel kept his focus on Emerie and Gwyn. The former shrugged nonchalantly. “‘Windhaven won’t miss me for a night, I’d be honoured to stay, thank you Feyre.” Emerie nodded and Nesta threw her a saccharine grin.

Gwyn however, faltered. She chewed her bottom lip, looking over at Nesta and then Feyre, and then finally settling her gaze on Azriel. Those depthless teal eyes were shining with worry, his shadows swirled cautiously.

It was Nesta who answered.
“Gwyn, Az prefers to stay at the House anyway, you’d be doing him a favour by giving him a reason to fly back.” She waved her hand lazily, faking an eye roll to really sell it.

Oh, she’s good…

He couldn't agree with his shadows more. His eyes shone at Nesta’s irreverence even as he continued to hold Gwyn’s stare, hoping she’d understand the sincerity of his offer.

Blinking at him, she turned to her High Lady, “Thank you for your hospitality, I’ve had such a wonderful time tonight, but I like to be up early for morning service, so it’s best if I do go back now.”

Expertly done…

He agreed with his shadows as they cooed in his ear. A half lie wrapped in flattery, with a kernel of truth - and well delivered too. She’d make an excellent spy.

With that, they’d said their goodbyes and walked silently onto the grass lawn to start the ascent.

But something made him stop. “I could winnow us to The House and then fly the last few metres past the wards. Less time being…airborne?”

She tilted her head, her richly scented hair brushing her cheek as she moved, putting her hands on her hips. The old Gwyn, the one that was pure challenge and crackling fire was back in that moment, giving him an assessing stare. “I’ve got this far tonight, Shadowsinger, I’m not about to …” She stopped abruptly, looking cautiously at his face then his shadows, then down at herself.  “Unless you’d prefer to winnow? If it’s easier for you…less…” His shadows weaved in and out of his eyeline as they tried to decipher her emotions.

She thinks you do not wish her to be close to you…

Azriel’s jaw worked. Typical - his intention backfired, causing more worry and doubt as opposed to giving her options. He tried reaching for the right words, caring ones - words to reassure. He only said, “Flying is fine.” His voice sounded flat. He felt flat.

We really need to work on your people skills…

He ignored his shadows as he tentatively reached his scarred hand, palm facing up, towards Gwyn. She watched him for a heartbeat longer, before taking a breath before stepping into his space.

Immediately, her scent wrapped around him. Feeling almost dizzy, as though he’d been the one at drinking games with Cassian, he focused on his own breathing, his heartbeat. His shadows wrapped them protectively as Azriel lifted Gwyn back into his arms. “

As they flew over Velaris, he thought of countless things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to ask if she’d enjoyed dinner? He wanted to ask why she looked so much thinner now than she had three weeks ago? He wanted to ask about her time in the gardens with Mor, which he’d noticed when he saw them both leave earlier. He even wanted to ask about the overlapping world's theories she’d talked to Rhys and Amren about. But mostly, he wanted to ask if she was ok, if she was coping, if she needed any help? Instead, he settled with, “You did well tonight.”

Immediately she snapped her gaze, which had been taking in the view and occasionally looking over at his wings, back to his face. “I didn’t realise I was being judged. Her voice was cold.

He stiffened at the response, instantly regretting his words, as usual. “I just know that tonight was…”

Relax Singer. Just be honest with the Priestess

She suddenly felt so tense, her whole body thrumming with it. He sighed, “It was just nice to see you enjoy an evening away from the House of Wind and The Library.” For she had enjoyed herself, his shadows assured him that much.

She kept staring at him, her form unnaturally still as she held his gaze with that pure assessment. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t take his eyes off those incredible teal ones. Fortunately, he knew the route back to the House by muscle memory. After what felt like an age, the beat of his wings the only sound, she blinked.

“I wasn't aware my nervousness about doing so was quite that obvious.” His chest constricted.

To help ease her tension, and perhaps partly his own, he offered, “I’m not good with words like my brother. Or graced with the easygoing, confident nature of my other brother. So forgive me if I come across…”

“Aloof?” She supplied, cocking a brow. He could have sworn his shadows sat up at her tone.

“No…” he started, frowning.

“Intimidating?” She chimed.

He shook his head, “No…”

“Oh…judgmental.” She drawled and his shadows sniggered.

He lifted his brows. “Why don’t you say how you really feel, Priestess?”

She gave him a small grin of triumph just as he started the descent to the House of Wind’s balcony. As they touched down, she slid her arms away from his neck and shoulders, her warmth leaving him instantly.

She straightened her robes then tucked her hair behind her delicately arched ears, “Well, everyone else seems too scared of you to say it so, why shouldn’t I?” That challenge lit up her features.

“And you’re not?” He wanted to laugh, but that would ruin the game, so he kept his voice cold and crude.

She smiled softly, a smile he was confused to see was tinged with sadness before she replied. “No Shadowsinger, I’m not scared of you, or your shadows.”

His thoughts darkened as he realised how little she truly knew of him. “People are right to fear me, Priestess,” 

She simply continued to stare at him in that way of hers, the energy around her crackling, as though she could see through the storm of his thoughts and shadows. “Perhaps. But you’ve never harmed me, so I stand by my original assessment.”

He’d already said too much, already descended too far into his own heavy mind, so he decided to keep his mouth shut this time, for fear of ruining it all. They continued to hold each other’s gaze and he couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her mind. Long moments passed until she seemed to catch herself, casting a glance over his shoulders to where his shadows were peering at her.

She blushed, only slightly but enough to draw his attention. “Well, thank you for the…” She waved her hand at his wings and the sky.

It is not often The Priestess is lost for words..

“See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,” she said, a bit shyly this time. She flicked her hair over her shoulder as she made her way back to the House.

Chapter Text

A wave of nausea washed over Gwyn, again. 

Staring at the row of swords, daggers and spears in front of her, her mind was a living tempest, flashing back to every moment in the Rite when she punched, stabbed, sliced and killed her way to Ramiel. It was like they were right there with her, those hands that harmed her, that harmed her sisters - like they were back on her body. A sinister shiver unleashed itself on her body, bile rising in her throat…

“Gwyn, are you ok?” Cassian's booming voice cut through her rumination.

Training… they were at training. In the Ring at the House of Wind. Not in the Illyrian wilderness. Not at Sangravah. No males, bar Cassian and Azriel in sight. She was far enough away from them that she couldn’t hear their whispered words, the mumbled accusations - but she knew they all stared at her with pity in their eyes. Poor, miserable Priestess.

Fuming with herself, she finally looked back at Cassian, Emerie and Nesta. Azriel mercifully was at the other end of the ring, instructing the other group of priestesses. Though she had no doubt his shadows already reported her pathetic breakdown to their master.

She’d been fine last night, happy with her night of escape and freedom, felt lighter than she had in months because of it. Proud of herself, even. She arrived at training this morning ready to start fresh, to give her body and mind over to the calm that, in the past only training had afforded her.

But after an hour of workouts, including countless laps around the ring and way too many sets of strength sequences… Cassian instructed them to get their chosen weapon for basics again. That’s when it all fell apart. The exercise had steadied her, focused her. It felt good to use her body to build rather than just purge. But the moment she was faced with picking up a weapon again - she froze.

Nesta stepped forward, somehow understanding what was happening. “Let’s just work with shields today instead? We can do group exercises with them, those are my favourite.”

Lie. They all knew Nesta’s favourite was swordplay, her temper and strength helping to hone her craft. Emerie’s was spears and shield work. Her precision and defensive tactics were second to none. Before her current pathetic mess, Gwyn’s had been dagger work and hand-to-hand combat, her nimble and lithe body suiting the close quarters of the discipline best.

“Yes, shield work!” Emerie grinned wickedly, making her way over to the rack to grab her chosen shield. Gwyn’s mouth was dry, but she had to keep pushing, had to keep pretending she hadn’t nearly vomited at the thought of picking up a weapon again.

She angrily grabbed her own shield and stalked back towards the group.

Cassian relented and started explaining a series of blocks that involved lunges, squats and even some jabs, instructing them how to work through the steps to move forward as well as defend. Gwyn was only partly listening thanks to the roaring in her head. 

A light breeze brushed over her skin and she noticed a stray shadow snaking its way around her wrist. Immediately she sought out Azriel, who was standing on the other side of the ring. He wasn’t even looking at her, yet somehow she felt as though he was privy to every raging thought going through her mind. She shook her head angrily, forcing her attention back to Cassian, who was now showing the move with Nesta to the wider group.

Soon they were split off into smaller teams to do the manoeuvre themselves, Cassian working his way around to give instructions.

‘Squat, drop, block, push, lunge, squat…’ Emerie was recounting the steps to Gwyn, instructing her as Nesta tried to find an opening in Gwyn's formation to strike with a blow. Gwyn’s mind drifted. Had Azriel sent one of his shadows to her? Why did he even care? Or maybe he didn’t, maybe the shadows always monitored the group and she just assumed it was about her. Classic, Gwyn thought as she continued her steps, she always had a habit of making a bigger deal out of something than it needed to be. Her twin Catrin had been the fearless one, never thinking, always just doing. Not letting fear or worry or doubt get in the way of her achieving something. Gwyn wished with all her heart that her sister was here now, to see her, to be with her.

No, Gwyn corrected herself darkly, she didn’t want Catrin to know that once again, Gwyn had become scared, that she had let the demons back in.

“Nesta, stop!”

Emerie’s shout sounded milliseconds before Gwyn felt a punch land squarely on her nose, a sickening crack reverberated through Gwyn’s whole body, the whole ring.

“Gwyn! I’m so sorry!” Nesta’s voice was at a much higher pitch than normal. Hot tears of embarrassment lined Gwyn’s eyes where she cupped her broken nose.

“It’s not your fault, I lost my concentration, I’m sorry.” Gwyn angled her head to ease the bleeding.

“Come on Gwyn, rookie error!” Cassian must have heard the commotion. “Focus is a key foundational pillar, remember!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him racing over, “Come on, let’s have a look. I’ve set a fair few noses in my time, I can help.” He went to move towards her but Roslin cut across him, having brought over a towel to help dab away the blood.

“No no, it’s ok, we have our own ways,” she took Gwyn by the elbow. “Gwyn is done for today.”

She led Gwyn away back to the House. As they neared the doors, Nesta shouted back. “I’ll have the House send you cake as my apology!”

Gwyn turned to tell her friend it wasn’t necessary, that she’d brought this on herself, when she saw Azriel staring at her, his shadows ominous behind him. Gwyn’s face blazed with embarrassment, she turned back to Roslin and left the ring.

“Brute strength, war strategy and navigating Nesta Archeron’s moods - that’s what Cassian is good at. That’s what he should stick to. Not the art of healing.” Roslin tutted as she used her invoking stone’s powers to set Gwyn’s nose right.

“He only tried to help,” Gwyn provided, trying to maintain her balance as she perched on a rickety wooden table in the Priestess quarters beneath the mountain.

“Well, I wouldn’t let a male touch you anyway, it’s better this way.”

Roslin meant well, her own history giving her an understanding of why Gwyn wouldn’t usually be ok with a male’s touch. She wondered what Roslin would say if she found out that Gwyn had not just let Azriel hold her hand, but also let him pick her up and fly her. How her body had been flush against his, how she had felt the pulse against his neck as she held him, how…

“Gwyneth?!” A shrill voice bounced off the red stone walls. She opened her eyes to see Merrill looming in the doorway, impossibly imposing as she towered over them. “What in the Cauldron are you doing?” 

“We were training, Gwyn took a slight hit, I was just helping her…”  Roslin, like many of the Priestesses, dissolved into nervous rambling the moment Merrill appeared.

“And what are you wearing?” Merrill cut Roslin off, her voice grating.

Gwyn shrugged, trying not to let Merrill see or sense her sudden nervousness. “Illyrian fighting leathers, easier to move in than my robes, they…”

“I don’t care,” Merrill interrupted, her voice sharp as steel. “They are obscene.” Gwyn had to hold her breath to avoid saying something she’d regret but her hands were shaking again. “Now, get changed and come to my office, we’re hours behind schedule.” She turned on her heel and flew down the corridor, as though the wind itself was carrying her.

Roslin looked back at Gwyn, her caramel-coloured eyes hesitant. “I don’t know how you can stand her.”

Gwyn had little choice in the matter either way. So she stood, thanking Roslin before heading back to her own dormitory to get changed.

Chapter Text

Azriel’s hands were raw and bloody.

His mutilated hands - still strong and able to wield weapons to perfection, were just that - tools that he used to inflict pain. He didn’t care if they hurt, he just cared about beating the shit out of the trunk currently poised as a punchbag in the training ring atop the House of Wind.

Before his most recent trip away, he was used to being up here most nights, working on his rage. Training his body, yes, but also allowing his mind to reset. He enjoyed the quiet the midnight hours afforded him. Until a certain coppery-haired Priestess entered the equation on Solstice night last year, taking him, his shadows and his anger by surprise.

The Priestess seems to enter your thoughts a lot, Singer

He huffed impatiently, stopping his relentless attack on the tree stump to wipe the sweat from his brow. Scheming shits.

“What do you want from me?” He grunted darkly at them, re-wrapping his hands. They seemed to snigger mischievously in response.

“You know they say it’s the first sign of madness…” A light voice sounded behind him. He whirled to find Gwyn in her Priestess robes, sitting on the training mats stretching her long legs as she watched him.

“What?” Azriel demanded, shocked that he hadn’t heard her enter the ring, and that his shadows hadn’t alerted him either.
Scheming shits, indeed.

“Talking to yourself…” She cocked a brow, “the first sign of madness.” She wiggled her fingers towards her slippered toes as she stretched.

He shook his head, sweat droplets flying. “I didn’t hear you come in?”

“Again, happy to keep you on your toes.” She gave him a mock salute, her eyes looking behind his head at the shadows on his shoulders and his wings, as though greeting them. They were practically singing their welcome back to her.

Then her eyes dipped, focusing on Azriel’s chest before travelling down to his abdomen. He looked down, realising a second too late that he had taken his shirt off before he’d started training.

He coughed,

“Sorry, I um…” He scrambled for his shirt, slinging it over his body and wings. Her eyes were dazed but focused on his wings now, a faint blush creeping over her high cheekbones.

She seemed to catch herself a moment later. “I’m sorry for interrupting, it looked like you had quite the score to settle with old stumpy over there.” She moved positions, now holding a lunge, her stretches progressing.

Feeling awkward at his own idleness while she was stretching, he cautiously walked towards her. Conscious of appearing relaxed - a far cry from what he had felt moments ago.

He couldn’t talk about the rage he slipped into when he had to work off the more sinister side of his job. To work off the memories of his childhood, to work away the pain he felt day in and day out. Just today, after their training, he’d been to the borders of the Autumn Court to check on a contact of his that insisted Beron was planning something, but didn’t know what exactly. Azriel had been concerned enough that he took the news straight to Rhys, who in turn needed to work out his own irritation with a few rounds in the Ring.

Cassian had been happy to oblige, Azriel hanging back to let his brothers work as he mulled over their options. But he couldn’t tell Gwyn about any of it, so instead he asked, “How’s your nose?”

She wrinkled it in annoyance then let out a frustrated huff. “Fine. Stupid mistake, I deserved it.” He almost grinned at her child-like irritation.

Instead, he nodded. “We all make mistakes. Better for it to be in training than out in a real fight.” Leaning against the stack of training mats, he slowly unwrapped his hands and wrist guards.

“Aren’t you meant to inflict damage on the thing you’re attacking, not the other way round?”  Her voice breathless as her eyes locked on his bleeding hands, a frown etched on her freckled forehead.

“It’s nothing, I hardly feel it.” Grabbing a towel, Azriel briefly dabbed the remaining blood away but she didn’t look convinced. They were silent for a long minute, Azriel now wiping the blood from his leathers, Gwyn stretching as she looked at the stars overhead.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked eventually, knowing her mind had wandered. He decided to sit on the mat opposite her, close enough to talk but far enough that she wouldn’t feel imposed upon. He pretended to do his own stretches too.

Smooth, real smooth Singer

If he could roll his eyes mentally, he would.

She watched him carefully, the hesitation clear in her posture. So they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. When he realised she was still deciding whether to talk, he took out Truth Teller and his whetstone and started to sharpen the blade as he waited.

“That’s the blade that killed The King of Hybern.” Her voice sounded far off and cold, remote even. He looked at her to see those huge teal eyes of hers fixed on the darkness of the dagger. He decided to try a new tactic, one he’d used in far more sinister ways during his interrogations, but perhaps it could work in a friendly situation too.

“I’ll tell you more about Truth Teller, if you tell me what happened in training today.” He pointed the blade towards her as he posed the question.

She scoffed, flicking her hair. “Nothing happened at training, you were there the whole time.” He simply cocked his brow and continued to silently hone the blade.

Silence followed for a few more beats, he knew he only had to be patient. Gwyn craved knowledge, her need to know more about ancient history would outweigh her own stubbornness, eventually. He hoped, at least.

She sighed, he looked back up to see her lie down on the mat, holding the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “I just got lost in my own thoughts,” she admitted. “I was thinking about the Rite, about what we had to do to survive, about what happened years ago at Sangravah, about my sister, about …everything.” The words tumbled out of her, halting his actions completely. His shadows seemed to ripple with tension at her admission.

He watched her too-thin, too-tense form, the breeze ruffled her robes slightly - allowing her scent to reach him. He had been there, had seen what she survived at Sangravah. Had seen that her sister had not. He had survived the Rite himself - only just. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like being a female in the Rite, surrounded by males that would…males that had probably…

You need to stay calm, Singer. For the Priestess, stay calm…

He took a deep breath, “Truth Teller always strikes true. It doesn’t make those it touches tell the truth or anything of that nature, but it does give the one wielding it the ability to hit their target, their true target, every single time.”

Gwyn sat up, her teal eyes bored into his own, as though she was trying to sense if that was all the information he would offer. Eventually she nodded, “I figured that much.” She said confidently, going back to her stretches.

Clever Priestess

Before he could push her for more, she continued, “Is that why you gave it to Elain Archeron to wield?” His shadows stilled.  She must have sensed it somehow, because she simply shrugged at him, “Nesta’s a real gossip.”

He would have smirked at her irreverence, had he not felt exposed by the question. Shaking his head at the memories, he tried to figure out the answer to a question all the others had asked him too - yet he’d never responded to them about it.

“Elain is…” he cleared his throat. “She hasn’t trained, not like her sisters have. That day, during the battle, I was severely injured after we…” He stalled, the memories of his ravaged wings, his anger at being told he was grounded. The realisation that they were in fact, losing. He took another breath, “Cassian and Rhys were on the front lines - where I should have been too. Feyre, Mor, Amren…they were all out there, fighting. Barely surviving.” The memories of that bloody, brutal battle were engulfing him, his shadows circling his body in reassuring sweeps. “Elain had been taken by the King of Hybern before and I was desperate. She’s selfless and kind, but …naive too.” He couldn’t believe how much he was telling her, “Truth Teller was the only thing that would give her any sort of edge if anything were to happen. I hoped she wouldn’t have to use it but…” he caught himself. He’d already exposed too much, even with the amount he’d laid bare to her.

He heard a rustle of movement to find her sitting at the edge of her mat, much closer to him now, only a hand's breadth away. He could see the individual freckles dotted along her slender face, her dark lashes framing those bright eyes.

She tucked her hair behind her arched ears. “You did the right thing, you helped arm a female when it mattered most. They are both alive because you did so.” He felt, rather than heard her compassion, her gratitude. She continued to hold his gaze as his shadows whispered in reassurance too.

She blinked and looked down at her hands, defeated. “I can’t pick up a weapon.”

All thoughts of his own pain and maddening memories halted. Azriel stilled and for a long minute, he was unable to tear his focus from the weariness that seemed to emanate from her form. Even his shadows were growing restless at the whispered admission. He made a decision in that moment - and hoped it wouldn’t scare her away. “Would you like to train with me?”

Her head snapped up, confusion lined her features. “Remember when we did a bit of dagger training a few months ago?” She’d come up to him at training a few weeks before their impromptu meet on Solstice night, demanding that he help her find her edge in fighting. Emerie had already shown her preference for shield work and Nesta could handle a sword excellently. Gwyn, unlike the other acolytes, was a deft hand at whatever she turned her attention to. But, it turned out that she had a certain affinity for dagger handling. They’d spent two sessions going over the basics, but that had all fallen apart when the Rite happened.

“Consider it an extension of those sessions.” He explained, watching her face carefully, taking in the flicker of recognition. “It doesn’t seem like you sleep all that much either.” She ducked her head nervously, her hair unhooking itself from behind her ear. 

It looked like she was about to agree, then she bit her bottom lip, the action jarring him. He had to force himself to look away from her mouth and back to her eyes. “I don’t want to hold you back…” 

Azriel stilled, it was now or never. “I’ve been where you are right now, Priestess. I know that darkness, am intimate with it - was born to it. I would simply like to help you to navigate it.” 

The world around him paused, as though Fate itself was waiting on her response. Her eyes were wide as he spoke but crystal clear, like the waters of the Sidra.

“Can we do mindstilling too?” She asked quietly, hopefully.

He blinked, surprised despite himself. Sheathing Truth Teller he said, “Yes, Priestess, if it pleases you, we can add mindstilling to our training.” He smiled softly at her in encouragement, looking down to see her fingers shaking ever so slightly.

Chapter Text

“The River House,” Nesta’s voice cut through the silence of the Library.

Gwyn was reading a particularly dusty tome on the ancient cavalries of each Court, a task Merrill had set her. She looked up at her friend, whose face was flushed.

“What about The River House?” Gwyn asked, closing the book and scribbling a few notes before she forgot.

“We’re having our mating ceremony at The River House. Rhysand is having a small temple built on the grounds especially for it.” She plonked herself next to Gwyn, grabbing the pot of tea sitting on the table and helping herself to a cup. “Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised, he does love to make a fuss and in this, I’m happy to oblige him.” She popped a soft biscuit from the tea tray in front of them into her mouth.

Gwyn raised her brow, “How does Cassian feel about it?”

Nesta waved her hand dismissively. “I haven’t even told him yet. I came straight here after my lunch with Feyre and Rhys to find you. I need your help, yours and Emerie’s.” Her striking eyes went wide. “I don’t know the first thing about all the Fae or Illyrian mating customs and traditions!” Gwyn had never seen Nesta talk so quickly or look quite so frantic. “Will you stay at The House tonight? We’ll have a girls night in The Library and you can teach me everything you know?” She’d grabbed Gwyn’s hand hastily in her appeal.

Gwyn laughed, “The Lady of Death, afraid of a little ceremony? Who would have thought?”

Nesta scowled back. “I’m not afraid. I just,” she bit her lip, looking around the area to make sure no one was listening. “I just don’t want to mess it up. For Cassian’s sake, of course. This is… it’s important to him. I just want to do this one thing right.”

Gwyn squeezed her friend's hand. “It’s not a weakness to love someone and want to make them happy, Nesta. And it’s not your fault you don’t know the customs, it wouldn’t embarrass Cassian. In fact, I’m sure he probably doesn’t even know them himself, most males don't.” Gwyn scoffed.

Nesta looked unconvinced. “Ok, but you’ll come tonight? To help?”

‘Oh, I can’t!’ Gwyn stuttered. Nesta’s frown deepened. “It’s just that…”

It's just that she had training with Azriel, every night at eleven, in the Training Ring. They’d agreed to it last night after their talk. Her mind worked to find a suitable response.

“I’ve got to help Diedre. We’re learning a new song for evening service. I told her I’d teach it to her tonight.” Gwyn wasn't lying exactly, she did plan to help Deidre later on this evening too. She just couldn’t stay over at the House and leave at the dead of night for an hour without raising suspicion.

Nesta leaned back in her chair and assessed her, Gwyn kept her face open but neutral. She’d seen Azriel school his features in this way a million times, hopefully Nesta would believe her, just this once.

“Ok.” Nesta eventually said, taking another sip of her tea. “Tomorrow night then?”

Gwyn nodded, relief soaring through her. “Sure, tomorrow night it is.” Great, now she’d have to explain herself to The Shadowsinger. “Tell me more about your lunch with The High Lord and Lady, what else did you agree on?”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t call them that around me, they are just Rhysand and Feyre. Besides, I spent more time talking to Elain than them, really. She has all sorts of elaborate plans for the flowers and decor. Honestly I couldn’t care less about it all, but it’s good to be on speaking terms with her again.”

Gwyn let Nesta talk about the plans, content to carry on working whilst her friend kept her company. But her mind wandered, thinking about what she would do in training this evening with The Shadowsinger. She’d been completely overwhelmed by his offer and taken aback by the way he’d shown her a sliver of his own vulnerability in doing so. How he’d been able to understand, with just one conversation… she couldn’t fathom it. Perhaps it was part of his powers as a Shadowsinger? Either way, she was grateful, both because it would help get her confidence back up without the whole group as witness, but also because it meant she could learn more about him. She couldn’t deny it to herself, everything about him intrigued her - his training style, his clever mind, his shadows…

“So, will you?” Nesta’s question brought her back to the present.

“Will I, what?” Gwyn asked, feeling sheepish for losing track of the conversation. She turned a page hastily,  pretending she’d been lost in her reading.

“Will you come to our mating Ceremony? At the River House?” Nesta’s eyes were sparkling with hope, with excitement.

The thought of being at a party, surrounded by countless strangers, without an escape or reason to duck away filled Gwyn with roiling horror. Suddenly she felt trapped all over again, like those hands were going to grab her in the dead of night.

Her hands started to shake but then she looked into her friend’s sharp eyes. So much brighter than they had been months ago, when they’d first met. Gwyn had watched as Nesta fought, tooth and nail to climb out of her own despair. To allow herself joy and love. Surely she could do this one small thing, to honour her friend and celebrate how far she’d come?

“I’ll try,” she said softly, tucking her hair behind her ears and trying for a warm smile. “I promise, I’ll try.”

Nesta simply beamed at her.

Chapter Text

Azriel enjoyed target practice, especially at night.

He’d set up a little station of throwing knives opposite a large wooden spinning wheel. It was slightly off balance on its mechanism, which meant it spun off kilter from time to time. Either due to the force at which knives hit it, or due to the wind. Both made for infinitely better practice.

He held six knives, three in each hand balancing precariously between his fingertips. When in a fight, one never had the time or safety of being able to get a good grip on your weapon, so he liked to practise like this for that exact reason.

He sent one of his shadows towards the wheel, commanding it to spin the target a bit more. It was only ten metres away, he’d already warmed up with five, he could do double easily. He closed his eyes and counted his breath - three in, three out, then he began.

He became a shadow of the night. A deft and deadly demon of speed and steel. Using his unique skills to sense the direction of the wind, he used his wings to counterbalance his movement then his considerable strength to throw the knives, one by one, at a different moving target on the wheel. Six loud thunks sounded milliseconds later.

“Please, please, please show me how you did that!” A light, breathless voice sounded behind him.

He whirled to see Gwyn, in her training leathers, gaping at the knives perfectly lodged in each target on the wheel. He inclined his head in greeting, his shadows already reaching for her.

“So Cassian does a thousand push-ups and countless laps around the ring and you throw daggers at a spinning wooden board?” She perched on the side of the table with the knives, looking at the damaged wheel for effect. “Why in the Cauldron have we been training with him for so long? This looks way more interesting!”

He chuckled this time, unable to stop himself. “Cassian’s ways are tried and tested in battle. No one that can beat him in single combat, all-out-warfare or even a simple fist-fight.” 

Azriel had always marvelled at his brother's knowledge, unique understanding and endless passion for it all. For all the teasing remarks people made about Cassian being a brute only good for killing, Azriel knew of the infinite intelligence it took to know when to kill, and when not to.

He shook his head, walking towards the wheel to retrieve his knives. “The training I do suits my skillset more, my… courtly responsibilities.” It would be all he offered. She wouldn’t understand the true depth of the dark things he had to train for. He hoped she never would.

She considered him, as though she already knew he was keeping it from her. Pushing off the table, she glided towards the wheel to examine the targets.

“Well, I want to know all of it. Warfare, fistfights, spymaster sneakery… or whatever it is you claim to do, all of it.”

He choked, “Spymaster sneakery?” His shadows were rippling with amusement. She simply cocked her head to the side, her playfulness surprising him. “Well, by all means Priestess, do feel free to get involved.” He offered her the knife in his hand, hilt first.

She walked back towards him, keeping her eyes fixed on his before stopping less than a metre from him, looking down at the extended knife.

He could see she wanted to take it. Could see the internal battle she was going through - whether to squash her fear and take the blade, or to keep punishing herself for whatever she was holding on to. She said nothing and despite it not being within his particular skill set, he decided, talking may be a better way to begin their time training together.

“I hated training when I was first taken to Windhaven,” he started, taking a step back to the table and realigning his knives. “I got there a few years later than others my age, so I was weaker and smaller than the average Illyrian.” He twirled one then two of the knives in his hands, getting the feel for their weight, their balance. “At first, I tried not to let it show that I was utterly out of my depth. I’d train just as hard as everyone else in the day - get beaten to a pulp most of the time…” He shook his head at the memories, his own shadows stilling as he talked. “Then in the evenings, when everyone went to bed, I’d go back outside in the freezing cold and train again.”

He hated reliving this, but it was important.

“When I wasn’t sick from pushing my body to its limits, I was sick from the anxiety of anyone finding out.” He took a steadying breath then threw both knives together, hitting the same target moments later. He cautiously looked over his shoulder to see Gwyn staring at him, an eerie stillness around her, like even the wind was listening. He took another breath and continued darkly, “I didn’t want them to find out that I was a fraud. I was pathetic and terrified - an utterly useless Illyrian.” He took three new knives, starting the ritual again.

“Weren't you just a young boy? You couldn’t have been older than eleven?” She whispered, her melodic voice tinged with sadness.

He shook his head. “That didn’t matter, not to the Illyrians. One night, Cassian followed me and found out what I was doing. The next night, Rhys was there too.…” Gratitude filled his heart. “They helped me, as much as they could at least. They still bested me when required in front of the commanders, but they were never malicious in it.” He stopped, allowing himself a moment to recalibrate, to figure out his own thoughts. “I never realised how much I needed that support, until they practically beat it out of me.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile.

She’d stepped closer, her scent wrapping around him. Somehow, it gave him the strength to continue baring his soul in a way he hadn’t dared to do in centuries.

“We became brothers in our own way. They helped train me off the field as well as on, learning to work with my weaknesses… my anger, my darkness.” He gestured lightly towards the shadows perched stoically on his shoulders.

He was grateful for the silence she afforded him then, a moment to recalibrate. Azriel kept his eyes on the wheel, aimed once again and his knives struck true. Grabbing one last dagger, he balanced it in his grip before forcing himself to find the courage to continue.

“Only when I’d accepted it and worked with it, worked with my brothers, did I truly start to improve. I grew stronger and more confident at using my powers, my shadows…” He swallowed, “…my wings.”

He could feel her piercing gaze on his shoulders, contemplating his shadows, then moving towards his wings and back to his face. 

He took another breath, tension coursing through him at his own admission. Staring into her vibrant eyes, he offered her the hilt of the dagger again. She didn’t say anything, but she moved even closer, looking down at the extended dagger.

She didn’t take it. Instead, she held his gaze for longer than she ever had before. He felt a brush of movement as she delicately touched his fingertips - the sensation like liquid light on his skin.

He felt utterly naked in that moment, like she could see into his very soul. He hadn’t been this open with someone in so long and he had no idea how to act. She continued to hold her featherlight touch on his scarred fingers then quietly, almost reverently said, “Who would’ve known you’d be such a chatterbox, Shadowsinger?”

A laugh, soft and freely given escaped him. His shadows swirled around them and she smiled in return. The tension dissipated, he was left feeling lighter, even his shadows sat more comfortably on his shoulders.

He held her gaze, then lifted his other hand so that it came to rest on top of hers, which felt so slight under his own. He kept his touch light, to ensure she knew she could pull away at any moment, before he said, “Shall we commence the mindstilling part of our practice then, Priestess?” His voice felt thick with emotion.

She cocked her head. “You know how to do mindstilling?” The lightness in her own voice had returned.

Because she had caught him off guard, because she had brought a lightness to a particularly heavy set of memories and given him a reason to smile despite them, he decided to open up, just a bit more. He threw her a crooked grin and said smoothly, “I know how to do a great many things, Priestess.”

The effect was instant. Her entire face flushed with colour and her mouth popped open. He withdrew his hand gently to avoid her feeling trapped and started making his way to the training mats. The feel of her fingertips on his own lingered.

He made himself comfortable, folding his wings carefully as he sat on the mats. She was staring absently at the training wheel, her untied hair floating in the breeze, then she turned on her heel and stalked to the mats to join him.

“Very well, Shadowsinger. Are you leading, or shall I?”

Gone was the quiet reverence he heard earlier, replaced by a boldness he hadn’t expected. He simply gestured for her to begin as she took her seat.

Three rounds of mindstilling and a comfortable farewell later, Azriel was traversing the halls of the House of Wind, heading to his bedroom when Cassian stuck his head out the room he now shared with Nesta.

“It’s midnight Az, where have you been?” Cassian whisper-shouted. No doubt he thought he was being quiet but ultimately Azriel knew Nesta probably lay awake, knowing her mate was being a nosy bastard. 

“Training,” Azriel shrugged.

Cassian scoffed. “Yeah right, you’ve barely worked up a sweat.” The bastard sniffed for good measure, Azriel had every mind to start his training right then and there - on Cassian’s smug face.

“Poor female, left wanting, ey? If you need any tips brother, you need only ask.” He winked at Azriel then ducked his head back into the room a split second before Azriel’s dagger found its mark in the door.

Smug bastard, indeed.

Chapter Text

“I can’t come to our training tonight, Shadowsinger.” Gwyn kept her voice low as she approached Azriel where he was stacking the shields the other acolytes used for their training.

They’d just finished morning practice, the other trainees had left the ring already and Emerie was finishing a conversation with Cassian and Nesta before Azriel would take her back to Windhaven. Gwyn took the opportunity to tell him about her change in plans, hoping Emerie was distracted enough for the quick conversation.

He raised his brow at her, sheathing his longsword down his back in the process. “Sick of me already, Priestess?” He rumbled.

Gwyn, despite her best efforts not to blushed. He’d shocked her last night in more ways than one. Firstly by being open, honest and vulnerable about his own history, providing her with a rare insight into his past that left her feeling uncharacteristically solemn.

Then by that sensuous insinuation of his moments later. Her skin prickled at the memory - her core had lit up and her toes curled at his words, at his gorgeous…well, everything. Months ago, she wouldn’t have felt comfortable admitting that to herself. But thanks to the novels Nesta and Emerie had her hooked on, she was beginning to gain a bit more confidence in being honest with herself about it all. She shook her head, forcing herself back to the present moment.

“No no, it’s not that. I just… I’ve been asked to stay the night at The House of Wind, to help Nesta with something.” She shifted on her feet anxiously.

“You’re welcome to tell them about our training, we have nothing to hide.” His voice wrapped around her like ribbons of silk.

“It’s just that, if it’s ok with you, I’d like to keep it between us, just for a little while.” She toyed with her bracelet. “I’m not ready for them to truly know how useless I’m being with weapons, I’d like to figure it out myself first.”

He cocked his head, his gaze assessing. “You’re not useless.” He looked up towards their friends for a moment before locking his eyes on hers again. “But luckily for you, I’m the best secret keeper in all of Prythian.” He smirked and she couldn’t help but blush again.

“Thank you,” she whispered back, gently touching his forearm as she looked up at him earnestly. “Remember what I said, Nesta’s a real gossip…” She warned before turning on her heel and heading back to the group.

She pondered her casual touch of his arm, something she thought she’d never have the courage to do, yet for some reason, it had felt natural, a way to show her gratitude in the moment. Just as it had felt last night, when he’d opened up about his history, she could see the trauma lodged so deeply in him and she’d wanted to - no, needed to - try bring comfort and lightness in that moment.

As she neared the group again, she found Emerie and Nesta, both with their arms crossed and smirks plastered on their faces. “What was that all about, Gwyneth?” Emerie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Nesta and Cassian leaned forward, ready to pounce.

Gwyn kept her face impassive. “Azriel had asked Clotho about a book in the library, I was simply passing on a message.” She kept her tone neutral. “I have to get back, I’ll see you both tonight.”

Before they could start asking more questions, she walked back to the House, conscious to keep her gait leisurely. Once inside, she let out a long breath then made her way back to the library proper, hoping Merrill wouldn’t be in one of her moods.

Chapter Text

Azriel was flying towards the River House after dropping Emerie off when Cassian nearly barreled into him mid-flight. It was a gorgeous cloudless day and he’d enjoyed the sunshine beating down on his wings during the flight.

“Since when did you get Clotho to do your research for you?” Cassian asked as they descended onto the lawns in front of the house.

Azriel stiffened, did Cassian know about the necklace? No. He hadn’t seen Gwyn wear it once, likely hadn’t worn it yet. His brother had to be barking up another tree…Azriel knew exactly how to get him to show his hand without exposing himself. He remained silent.

Cassian, true to form, continued talking. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always done your research yourself… you spend days locked in those library rooms pouring over old dusty tomes.” Cassian was right, Azriel was very particular when it came to how he went about researching the web of secrets and sources that allowed him to do his job well.

Still, he said nothing, hoping it would be clear in a moment when Cassian revealed all. He simply continued walking slowly to the front door of the house, hoping beyond hope that Elain would be out.

“But to get Clotho to do the research and Gwyn to carry the message, that’s just pure laziness.”

The Priestess didn’t want their attention on your conversation earlier…

Yes, that was it - Gwyn would have covered for herself when they’d seen her and Azriel talking. He wished she would have used a slightly different lie as this one would likely lead to…

“Rhys is going to be pissed when he finds out you’re using the Priestesses as your personal lackeys.” Cassian grumbled.

There it was, the lie unravelling. Azriel made a mental note to train Gwyn in the art of deflection.

He opened the front door and turned to his brother. “I do not consider them my lackeys. It was a matter that required a sensitive and subtle hand - one which Gwyn handled expertly. Can we leave it at that?” Azriel deflected, hoping Cassian would drop it.

Before Cassian could respond, a voice sounded above them. “Who has Gwyn handled expertly?” Feyre stood on the staircase above them, holding Nyx in her arms.

Cassian snorted in amusement and Azriel’s shadows swirled at the insinuation, but he answered his High Lady. “It’s nothing, just Cassian being his usual busybody self.” He cast a dark look at his brother, who just winked at him.

“What can I say, it gets interesting when the pretty priestess is caught having private conversations with my brooding brother.” Cassian jabbed Azriel in the ribs for good measure, Azriel scowled back.

“Oh? Az, something to tell us?” Feyre chimed, floating down the stairs, her usually braided hair looking disheveled. As she got closer, he could see the exhaustion weighing on her, the source of which was no doubt cradled in her arms.

Azriel was about to ask if she was ok, when Cassian beat him to it. “You know, Feyre - if you and Rhysie need a break for a night, we’re happy to look after Nyx for you.”  Azriel stiffened, he wasn't sure whether Cassian meant with Azriel or with Nesta.

“Are you saying my mate looks worse for wear, brother?” Rhys appeared from the lounge doors, leaning against them in his casually elegant manner.

“Yes. You both do.” Cassian never bothered skirting around the subject. “You can lean on us for support, you know.” He looked at Azriel then, “All of us.’

Azriel felt uncomfortable. On the one hand, he loved his nephew more than anything and would do unspeakable things to ensure his safety and happiness. On the other, he was only just getting used to being around something so precious, so…new.

His face must’ve said it all because Rhys clapped his hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Az, it’ll be a little while before I feel comfortable enough to leave my mate and my son for more than a few hours.” Rhys admitted. He cast a nervous look at Feyre before adding, “Sorry, love.”

She rolled her eyes. “Illyrian baby…” She huffed, walking towards the parlor leading to the gardens.

Cassian looked to his brother sympathetically. “I don’t think they understand how difficult it is to fight our instincts with these things,” he muttered, earning a soft chuckle in response from Rhys. Azriel walked behind them towards the gardens, feeling so close yet still so far, in every sense.

As they neared the garden pavilion, the table was laid out with lunch. Azriel noticed Elain and Lucien sitting stiffly at either side of it, not speaking.

The Fox and The Seer are uncomfortable, as usual…

Elain looked towards him as they neared, a faint blush spreading on her cheeks. Azriel hoped his neutral expression would keep the peace. He took the seat at the head of the table again, the furthest from Elain.

Feyre passed Nyx over to her when she  reached for her nephew. Lucien watched the interaction keenly and Azriel fought the bile that rose in his throat. He could practically feel their mating bond teetering on the edge. He took a long drink of his cold water, hoping to quail his frustrations.

“Lucien, a surprise to see you again - how are the Band of Exiles holding up?” Cassian mocked. Rhys threw him a warning look.

Lucien elegantly sipped his drink and nodded at Cassian. “It’s good to see you too, Cassian.” Azriel had to hand it to the youngest Vanserra - his calm and measured attitude would surely be an asset.

Rhys cleared his throat. “I asked Lucien to join us in order to determine exactly what Beron could be plotting.” His gaze settled on Azriel, confirming this was in relation to his work in the Autumn Court.

Elain stood from her seat. “I’ll take my leave.”

Lucien stood when she did, staring at his mate with confusion. Elain hated court politics and scheming, Azriel knew this. Knew she didn’t want to be involved as she didn’t want to know the dangers her friends and family were involved in day to day. Lucien, it seemed - was still trying to figure her out.

“There’s no need Elain,” Feyre spoke calmly. “We’re all involved in this. Please stay, your insight might prove helpful.” Always the peacekeeper, Feyre the High Lady and sister.

Elain sat slowly, her gaze fixed on Nyx, who was playing with the ends of her hair. Lucien gave his mate a quizzical look, then cleared his throat.

“I spoke to Eris after Kloschei and Briallyn's attempt and he told me everything he knew.” Cassian snorted in disbelief but Lucien continued undeterred. “I’ll be honest, my father would have left multiple plausible options, each one as bad as the rest.” He looked solemnly at the group. “From an attempted assassination on Eris, to a coup to take the Spring Court lands via the mortal realm, or even kidnapping the Night Court’s heir. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

The ground beneath them shook savagely at the same moment the skies above them rumbled ominously. It felt as if the world halted on its axis as Rhys’s anger rolled through them all. Feyre looked to her mate with understanding before reaching for Nyx again and passing him to his father. There was silence for a beat as Rhys cradled his son. Azriel’s shadows were tense with anticipation, but Rhys simply motioned to Lucien. “Continue, please.”

Lucien looked seriously at Rhys, then at Azriel. “We need more information…more eyes on all the borders…we need to expand our options.” Azriel refrained from speaking - he wouldn’t be ordered around by an emissary, especially when he had in fact, shared this exact suggested strategy with Rhys just yesterday.

Rhys looked at Lucien for a long time. So long in fact that it looked as though he’d entered his mind for a private conversation. 

The High Lord is scheming…

Azriel almost snorted, scheming was Rhys’s middle name. He had no doubt Rhys had a bigger plan at play.

“Perhaps it’s time we all became courtiers, once again.” Rhys said and Azriel noted Feyre’s nervousness at his tone.

“We need to spread out. Visit our allies as well as make friendlier relations with those not already our allies. Listen with our own ears and see with our own eyes what is happening within other courts.” He looked pointedly at Lucien, then his gaze lingered on Elain. “Elain, I’d like you to help us with this, if you’re willing?”

Azriel stiffened. He hated it whenever the Inner Court decided Elain had to get involved. The moment she had pressed Truth Teller back into his hands after killing The King of Hybern, disgust etched on her pristine features, he promised himself he would never willingly let her face danger again. But he wasn’t her mate. He wasn’t even her friend at this rate, so he had no say in the matter.

Elain angled her head, her mass of locks tumbling elegantly across her pale shoulder. “What would you have me do?” Her voice was soft as a stream.

“I would like you both to visit Thesan at the Dawn Court to solidify relations.” Rhys offered her and Lucien with a sensuous lift of his brow. “You have not yet had the opportunity to visit the court and we could sell it under the pretence of Lucien trying to woo his mate.”

Azriel’s insides constricted painfully but he kept his posture cool, his face impassive. Both Lucien and Elain however, looked wholly uncomfortable at the notion. Elain had folded her hands delicately in her lap but Azriel sensed her nervous fidgeting under the table, Lucien in turn gazed at her with contemplation, his metal eye whirring.

He wonders whether this will make or break the bond, Singer

Azriel’s mood darkened. He needed to get into the training ring, needed to pummel something, hard.

Or maybe Rhys was right, maybe he just needed a fuck - it had been several months since he found release outside of his own hand. Perhaps that would help distract him from this infuriating situation.

Rhys didn’t wait for their response, simply turned his attention to their brother. “Cassian, I’d like you and Nesta to help too, after your mating ceremony of course.” Cassian sat bolt upright at the request. “With Mor in Vallahan, it’s time the rest of our court starts making friendly relations with Kallias and Viviane in Winter. We could sell it as an extended visit after your mating trip.” Rhys explained elegantly, Feyre had a far-off look on her face, like she was trying to figure out how much to protect her sisters, to keep them out of these plans…

In turn, Rhys, who was still holding Nyx carefully in his arms, draped his arm casually over the back of Feyre’s seat, she instinctively leaned into him, “Let me guess,” she said huskily. “We’ll be visiting Helion at Day?” There was a wicked glint in her eye, some sort of personal joke taking place in their minds.

Rhys smirked at her. “No, I have other plans for Day. I believe you and I should grace the court of Summer, my love.” Feyre sat up at that, surprise clear in her face. “We cannot rely on Amren and Varian’s budding romance to solidify our bond with Summer. I think it’s time we returned those blood rubies to our friend Tarquin, personally.”

Feyre nodded absentmindedly, trying to map out Rhys’s bigger plan, no doubt.

The Ancient One will not part willingly with her ruby…

Indeed not.

Azriel’s waited, surely Rhys would single him out next. He wasn’t sure if a new mission was what he wanted so soon after returning from his last, but he would do anything for his court and his family. To provide support, be useful, to do anything worthwhile with his life.

Rhys didn’t look directly at Azriel though, he studied them all and nodded. “If you’re all willing, we’ll commence with this straight after Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony in a few weeks.”

He looked to Feyre, who nodded softly in agreement. Lucien nodded firmly and Elain barely acknowledged the question.

“Brilliant, you had to send us away to winter in the middle of our warmest season, didn’t you?” Cassian grumbled, Rhys smirked back then picked up his fork and gestured for everyone to start eating.

Azriel stared intently at Rhys. Was he going to sideline him again?

Why would his brother and High Lord not have a mission for him? Why would he not send him on an important diplomatic task? Did he not trust Azriel to build important relations - or did he believe that Azriel was only good for torture and death?

Or was it because he didn’t have a mate, a partner with which to share the load? Azriel buried himself in dark thoughts as conversation flowed around him.

It wasn’t until everyone was done and leaving the sunny gardens, Azriel’s mood still stormy, that Rhys requested to enter his mind, those black talons grating on his outer shields.

‘You’ve been quiet. You don’t agree with my plan? ’ Rhys purred into his mind.

‘I have no opinion on it either way.’ Azriel replied coldly. 

‘I trust you Azriel. You know that you’re invaluable in more ways than what you do beneath the Court of Nightmares…’ Rhys’s voice was tinged with emotion. Azriel said nothing, continuing to stare at the canopy of flowers around them.

‘I have a different mission for you, Az. One which no one else can know about. Come to my study, we’ll talk there.’

Rhys and Feyre were a few paces ahead, he gave Nyx a peck on the head before winnowing. Azriel followed.

Entering Rhys’s study, he gazed up at the multi-world system that stood to the side, the shape and complexity of the device providing a distraction from the conversation Azriel wasn’t too keen on having.

“I won’t do anything, you know,” Azriel grumbled as he touched the metalwork of the device. “You didn’t have to send her away with him to make a point, I have abided by your rules.”

Rhys brought a tumbler of amber liquid to Azriel. “Believe it or not, it wasn’t about you. I need Lucien to work his cleverness into Dawn, and Feyre wants Elain to see the world outside of this garden.” Rhys motioned to the window, to the sprawling lawns beyond.

Azriel kept quiet, sipping his drink. Rhys shook his head. “No brother, the reason I asked you here, is to talk about Gwyneth Berdara.”

Azriel’s wings flared, his shadows automatically swirling in defence.

Rhys ignored the spectacle. “I found her to be engaging, clever and incredibly brave when she was here the other night.”

Azriel remained quiet, it was his default in moments when he didn’t trust himself or the outcome of a conversation.

Rhys’s eyes lingered on the world-system before them. “Amren too thought she was far more clever than most she’s spoken to over the last few centuries.” Rhys stated, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment to Gwyneth or an insult to the rest of us, but there it is.” Rhys knocked back his drink and went to sit at his desk.

Azriel watched his brother carefully, waiting for the point. Rhys sighed, running his hands through his midnight locks. “I’d like Gwyneth to work for us…”

“Gwyn has been through a lot, Rhys.” Azriel warned, his shadows coiling around his wings, his words.

Rhys’s eyes darkened. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you to help. Cassian mentioned that she seems comfortable around you?”

Azriel frowned. Did she? He thought Gwyn was confident and calm with most she met - well, she had been until a few weeks ago at least.

“The point is, I have a topic I’d like to look into and it would help me if someone I trusted more than anyone, would help someone equally clever and capable, in researching it.”

There’s a compliment in there somewhere…

“A topic?” Azriel tried, ignoring his shadows.

“Well, a rather large and mysterious subject area, if you will. I can brief you both another time, but will you help?” Rhys rested his chin on his fist as he watched Azriel.

Azriel’s mind worked. “I’m not sure what you want me to do? Spy on her?”

Rhys snorted. “Of course not. I want you to help her. She may need someone with your… authority and reputation to get what she needs from the Libraries anyway.”

Azriel scoffed, his shadows relaxing visibly as he took the seat opposite Rhys. “You evidently don’t know Gwyn very well if you think she needs me for authority. She’s more than challenging all by herself.”

Rhys smirked, his eyes sparkling. “Either way, I want someone on this with her and with your knowledge of the rest of the goings on with Autumn, Kloschei, the mortal realms, the Dead Trove…you are the ideal candidate.”

Azriel pondered it. “So, continue my normal court work, research this secret project with Gwyneth and…?” Azriel knew there was always something else up Rhys’s sleeve.

“Protect Velaris.” Rhys instructed, his gaze serious. “After the mating ceremony, we’ll be on our missions and it’ll be up to you and Amren to keep the city safe whilst we’re on our various trips.”

Azriel puffed out his chest, suddenly feeling overwhelming pride. He put his fist on his chest and bowed his head respectfully.

“With my life, High Lord.”

Chapter Text

“And that’s it,” Gwyn finished, stuffing another piece of chocolate in her mouth.

They were sat in The House of Wind’s library again, the tall windows ever so slightly open, allowing the salty breeze from the Sidra below to linger in the air around them.

“That’s it?” Nesta looked incredulous. “That’s a lot!” Gwyn giggled at how un-Nesta-like it looked.

They were discussing the customs associated with a successful mating bond and ceremony. Nesta had been an eager participant in listening to the bits about consummating the relationship (Emerie mumbling something about having had enough practice for a lifetime…) but she’d been less enthused by the other traditions.

“I won’t ever remember all of that! Especially not when you add in the Illyrian traditions too!” Nesta grabbed a pillow and pressed it to her face, falling dramatically onto her couch. The House, assuming she wanted more pillows, rained a handful onto her in response.

Emerie laughed. “No one expects you to, Nesta. Especially not Cassian! Let’s just go over the actual ceremony details as that’s the only thing that others are present for.”

Nesta peeked from under her mountain of pillows. “Ok, one more time then I have to insist we talk about something else.”

Gwyn reopened the book she had brought about mating ceremonies and started again.

An hour later, she found herself walking up to the training ring, having made an excuse about needing air. She didn’t think they’d miss her, Emerie was peppering Nesta with questions regarding certain positions in the bedroom with the use of wings. Nesta seemed interested in hearing more from the point of view of someone with wings…

Gwyn was comfortable enough talking about sex and smut now that they had introduced her to it, but she wasn’t ready to share in their exchange of the finer details. Not yet, at least. First she needed to feel slightly more comfortable when touching herself…

She stepped into the cool night air, walking towards the edge of the Ring and looking out at Velaris. The House’s many balconies provided the most stunning views of the sparkling city beyond. She started counting her breaths, enjoying the feel of the wind on her face and letting the sounds of the night calm her.

She’d only been alone for a few minutes when she heard a great pair of wings beating above. She turned to see Azriel landing, his clothes casual once again, like he’d been out.

The thought clanged through her. 

Out, probably in Velaris.

Probably with friends…with other fae or with females.

Enjoying life and experiencing all the city had to offer.

Gwyn felt a pang of jealousy wash over her. Shame quickly followed - for even wanting that in the first place, when she had everything she could hope for with The Priestesses and her Valkyries.

Anger came thereafter - anger at herself for forcing a life of cooped-up studying to be her only option…

“Is everything ok?” His deep voice reached her. She’d been so lost in her own rumination, she hadn’t noticed his slow approach.

He gave her a searching look, his hair falling slightly on his forehead as he did so. She itched to touch it, to feel its softness.

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts away and forcing herself to look calm. “I was just getting some air.” His shadows swirled closely to her. 

“You seem,” his eyes searched her again and she felt her whole body heat under that gaze. Over five centuries worth of subtle assessment, honed in on her, like he could see right into her soul. “Agitated?”

She sighed, waving her hand idly, desperately trying to dispel her tension by returning to her vigil at the edge of the ring, looking out over Velaris. “I’ve just spent the last three hours explaining the intricacies of the mating bond and its ceremony to the world's most stubborn High Fae. How would you feel after that?” She snorted. His shadows swirled in front of her breath, dancing with it again.

His responding breath of amusement warmed her. “Nesta is taking this much more seriously than we thought she would, I’ll give her that.”

He came to rest his arms on the railing, his huge wings casting a shadow over both their backs. He hadn’t been this close to her since their flight together. They stood in companionable silence as she allowed herself to breathe in his night-chilled mist and cedar scent again, feeling comforted by his closeness. Not nervous - as she would have felt with males in the past.

“I should go back, they’ll wonder if I fell down the privy or something…”

She turned to face him only to find his rich eyes… eyes she usually found so at odds with a cold and ruthless expression he wore, somehow quiet and contemplative as they fixed on hers tonight. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

“You don’t believe in the mating bond?” His eyes may have been alight but his voice remained flat, guarded even.

She considered him, watching the way his shadows sat cautiously on his shoulders, as though readying to protect and reassure.

She weighed her words carefully. “I do actually. How can you not when you see Cassian and Nesta, The High Lord and High Lady?” Azriel’s eyes flickered and she caught the emotion a split second later. She decided that raw honesty may work better in the moment, adding, “I just believe there’s more to it than fate and destiny.”

He frowned at her, the lines of his face pulling in a way she’d never witnessed before. Uncertainty - perhaps that’s what she read there.

“The histories and stories talk of mating bonds as though it's all pre-determined - some woven tapestry of past, present and future that we play no part in weaving ourselves.” She sighed, looking away from his sizzling eyes and back at Velaris. “As a student of history and lore, the idea is romantic - of course. Another soul, chosen for you by higher powers - to be your equal in all things...” She let one of his stray shadows wrap around her fingers, “But as a pragmatist, I’d like to think it’s more about individual choice.”

She chanced a glance back at him, his face was back to that unreadable mask of his, but now that she’d started - she found she didn't really want to stop. “The mating bond only works when both souls choose it, and for both to choose it requires a great deal of …well everything.” She started counting the words with her fingers, the shadows skipping between them as she did so. “Patience, understanding, compromise, dedication, tolerance - not to mention love.  All those things are hard-earned and…” She caught herself, allowing the feeling of his shadows intertwining with her fingertips to soothe her senses as she searched for the words.

“And…?” He’d stepped closer, his scent wrapping around her, urging her on.

She took a deep breath. “It requires consistently choosing that other soul. Over and over again - to work through the darkest, dreariest parts to find the light in oneself and one another. True love and respect and equality - the foundations the bond is formed of - I believe comes from making that decision, to always choose one another. Again and again.” Her heart was beating fast, her head spinning. Yet she felt uncharacteristically light - infinite somehow. As though speaking this truth out loud was important not just to her, but to the moment, the future. She frowned, perhaps she’d just had too much chocolate and nervous energy was throwing her senses out of sorts.

A long minute passed but he said nothing, only stared at Velaris. She took a brave step forward to ask, “Do you not believe in the mating bond?”

His eyes flickered, his shadows moving restlessly as he shrugged. “I don’t think of it either way.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, considering. His words said one thing, but his demeanour another. “Liar,” she breathed. Even as she sensed pushing him on it would gain nothing.

His eyes found hers again - they lit at the challenge of her tone, but that cold, ruthless veil fell over his gorgeous features again. She wouldn’t allow herself to baulk at it, so she straightened her robes and waved at the little stray shadow in front of her before turning to leave.

“Either way, I hope they all know how fortunate they are to have found someone they have chosen to be with - for all times.”

She left him to his thoughts, not before throwing over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger.”

Chapter Text

“Come now, brother. I know you can do better than that!”

Azriel and Cassian were sparring in the training ring and evidently, Azriel had lost some strength in the weeks he’d been away. His breath was ragged as he went hell for leather again. Trying to find Cassian’s opening but only meeting unrelenting focus, precision and rock-solid defence. Not to mention Cassian’s shit-eating smirk was riling him more than usual.

“Careful now, Cassian - we wouldn’t want Azriel to lose his temper, he’s been in such a good mood all morning.” Rhys mocked from the sidelines. Azriel had already bested him in one-to-one combat, but it didn’t look like he’d beat his other brother in today’s set.

“Yes, he has been in a slightly less miserable mood today than usual. What was it Az?” Cassian blocked another strike and continued teasing.“Your little solo trip to Velaris last night?” Azriel nearly forgot his footing, the minuscule movement was enough for Cassian to launch into the counterattack, coming in tight to Azriel’s space, forcing him backwards. “Or was it your little midnight meeting with Gwynnie?” Azriel blinked.

Cassian grinned wickedly then punched him squarely in the chest.

Azriel stepped back, rubbing his chest in soothing circles as he looked darkly at his brother. He took up his sparring position again.

He had gone into Velaris yesterday evening. After the uncomfortable lunch meeting at The River House, Azriel couldn’t stop thinking about Elain and Lucien’s upcoming trip to the Dawn Court.

He couldn’t be with Elain, that much he knew. But he still wanted her, and damn Rhys for knowing exactly what could come in the way of that….

Knowing Gwyn would be busy with Emerie and Nesta, he had gone into Velaris instead, hoping Rita’s would provide a welcome distraction from his raging desires. He’d attracted enough female attention within the hour to know he could take his fill right then and there, forget Elain and bury his cock deep in the countless willing females who had approached him.

But he hadn’t. Because when it came down to it, he didn’t want to. He knew it wouldn’t come close to scratching the eternal itch raging in his very soul, so he left.

He’d left wondering whether a couple of rounds of hitting the tree stump in the training ring would help lift his mood. He’d been surprised to see Gwyn there instead.

Their conversation about mating bonds had lingered in his mind for hours. He kept seeing the light in her eyes as she talked about the bond as though it wasn’t some ominous, otherworldly gift for only the purest of souls. But a choice - a decision one could make themselves - and forge with another willing soul. His shadows had quivered throughout their exchange, as though encouraging her words.

The way she looked at him with those teal eyes, so thoroughly and without judgement. Even the way she directly addressed his shadows whenever she was around him…there were very few who ever did so. He didn’t even think Mor had ever done that.

He’d woken this morning lighter than he’d felt in months. As though a patch of fog in the fortress of his mind had lifted. Morning training with the females had gone well, though Gwyn still hadn’t picked up a weapon. But he could see she was regaining her strength at least. Clocking a smile here and there at her fellow acolytes.

Rhys had arrived at the end of training to take Emerie back, requesting that the three of them do some training when he returned. Cassian had spent the few minutes preparing the ring for the damage that three fully trained Illyrians could wreck on an area. Azriel had asked Nesta about her evening, earning a shy smile and a happy wink from her before she followed the others back inside.

“That’s twice in two days I’ve seen you chatting to Gwyn outside of normal training times…” Cassian was like a dog with a bone. How he’d seen him with Gwyn without his shadows informing him was a concern. Though they tended to lose focus on their surroundings when she was around…

He saw The Priestess leave the balcony then you leave a couple of moments later, he is simply guessing, Singer

“I thought you said you weren’t made for spy work. Yet here you are, spying on those living in your home.” Azriel growled, switching his stance to involve his legs more, aiming for Cassian’s torso.

Cassian dodged it easily, “I didn’t mean to! I only came out to prep something for morning training when I saw you return from the city.” He believed Cassian, knew his brother just liked to tease. But right now, he wasn’t in the mood anymore.

“It’s not a crime to seek pleasures in our city, is it?” Azriel decided he was more willing to talk about his sex hunt in Velaris than give Cassian any room for guesswork as far as Gwyn was concerned.

“Oh pleasures, ey? Why didn’t you say? Good hunting brother?’ Cassian’s jabs were getting lighter as he was getting distracted and because Azriel was sick of this conversation, sick of feeling like Cassian was goading him simply for his own amusement, he lashed out.

“Well we can’t all have mates ready to fuck us every second of the godsdamn day.”

Azriel’s hot words rang out at exactly the moment he managed to find an opening, landing a jab directly on Cassian’s jaw.

“Enough, Azriel.” Rhys’s command rang through the ring, the unrelenting authority forcing Azriel’s arms down.

He regretted it as soon as he said it. Regretted that he’d made contact in the moment too.

But his temper had now taken hold, his very veins went ice cold as the anger swept through his body. Rhys’s order meant he couldn’t do anything else, so he turned on his heel and leapt into the sky, forcing himself away from the toxic situation he’d just created.

Azriel flew for hours, letting the sun beat on his wings as he made his way through the mountains, his head roaring with self-loathing.

Not once had he let his brothers' good fortune with their mates get the better of him, despite his secret longing. Perhaps it was better that it was out in the open now, that Cassian and Rhys knew how he truly felt. But no, that wasn’t right either - he didn’t want them to act differently around him, to pity him. He didn’t need a mate to survive, he simply wanted one to feel… 

To feel, what exactly?

He’d been an outcast, singled out by his unique power, cast aside by his father, abused by his half brothers, used by his commanders and Rhys’s father and now what? Pitied by his true brothers, his friends? No, that wasn’t what he wanted either. He simply wanted what they had, but that didn’t mean he deserved it. Didn’t mean he needed it to survive…

No, he had his shadows, his strength and his spy network. He’d throw himself into work and keep himself busy, it was the only way he knew how to live with his burning rage and infinite loneliness.

And continue to help The Priestess?

Yes, also to help Gwyn and the other Priestesses. Not to achieve greatness -  they had accomplished so much of that themselves already. But to help them gain more confidence. To help Gwyn regain that light, that will of hers - to help her on her mission to build and defend herself and others.

The thought clanged through him.

He considered his own defensiveness, the need to defend, to protect, to stand in the way so that others wouldn’t be harmed, so that no one else had to suffer the pain he had…

Just as he was arriving at the mountain cabin, the sun casting the area in multicoloured light, an idea took root.

Chapter Text

Gwyn was shelving a number of old books when she felt it. That otherworldly power that rumbled through the mountain the moment the High Lord entered the vicinity.

She’d barely stacked the last one, straightening her robes to make herself more presentable when he glided around the corner in all his finely tailored elegance, no wings in sight today. She bobbed her head respectfully, “High Lord.”

He threw her a casual yet gorgeous grin. Gwyn wasn’t sure how his mate handled it day in and day out, his magnetic beauty. She caught the sparkle in his eyes that said he knew exactly what she was thinking. She caught herself a moment later, remembering his Daemati powers. 

“Apologies!” She stammered, looking down to hide her blush.

Rhysand laughed, waving his hand elegantly as he motioned for her to sit at one of the benches close to the shelves. “Perhaps we could look to add shielding for the mind to your training schedule?” He suggested, his voice deep and calming.

At the promise of more knowledge, all embarrassment was lost as Gwyn nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like that very much! I’ve taught most of the group how to mindstill but anything else we can do to provide an edge, I’ll gladly learn it.”

Rhysand's eyes sparkled with delight. “Very well, I’ll speak to Amren.”

Gwyn swallowed. Amren - The High Lord’s terrifying second-in-command.

Rhysand noticed the shift. “There is no one better in teaching the intricacies of magic, of this world and others, than Amren. I know she’d gladly come to training to ensure more females are equipped with this sort of knowledge.” His whole demeanour exuded calm confidence.

Gwyn folded her hands neatly in her lap. “You mistake me High Lord, I would gladly sit and learn for hours, days even, with Amren. However there are others in our ranks that may not be as comfortable with her. But, I will offer it to a select few of the other Priestesses and once they’ve gained confidence, I’m sure the rest will follow.” He blinked before bowing his head in understanding, so Gwyn decided to add, “It’s a slower process than I care to admit, I’m afraid…”

Rhysand frowned. “What is?”

“Our healing. Our confidence. Our ability to keep pushing to try new things and put ourselves back in the world.”

Rhysand looked at Gwyn for a very long time, as though he was trying to discern if there was something else. As though he could see what she really meant was that she was disappointed it was taking her so long to heal. That she wanted to be back in the world more than anything, but was still afraid.

He cleared his throat. “I truly understand.’ His voice held a tragic edge to it and she heard the pain in the shared understanding. “Well, even if just you are willing, we will help.”

She nodded in thanks, watching him recline on the padded bench carved into the red-brick walls of the surrounding Library corridors, wondering why he’d come all the way here. “Is there something I can help you with, High Lord? I can fetch Clotho if you require her assistance?” She made to get up, but he stopped her.

“No need. I came to see you, Gwyneth, and please - call me Rhys or Rhysand.” She blinked again but he smiled encouragingly. “I have a proposition for you…”

Gwyn’s heart raced, she sensed the shift in the air as a shield went up around them. Rhysand must have put a soundproof barrier. She waited in silence, hoping he knew it was out of curiosity, not fear.

“Amren and I were very intrigued by your knowledge of the overlapping worlds. Of the various systems that could be around us at this very moment. Of the theories and histories of the different Court’s and ages…”

Gwyn recalled the conversation during dinner at The River House. She’d felt utterly paralysed by nerves the moment The High Lord and his second had sat on either side of her, but one calming grin and a wayward comment about always having a nose in a book - they’d fallen into easy conversation about the topics that piqued their interest. After a while, she even forgot she was talking to the most powerful beings in all of Prythian, she simply felt she was conversing with fellow bookworms.

“Oh, if you’re interested - I can ask Merrill to tell you more! Her research task before the Valkyrie one has afforded her quite a knowledge of this topic.” Gwyn offered.

Rhysand gestured towards her. “It seems Merrill isn’t the only one who has picked up the knowledge.”

Gwyn blushed. It was true - whatever Merril knew, Gwyn knew too. That was the role of the assistant; find the materials and ensure the scholar has it available at any given moment to ponder and decipher its importance.

“In fact,” Rhysand drawled, examining his nailbed. “I’d wager you may even know more than her, given you have to provide her with all the correct information - having eliminated a number of options in the process...” He leaned his chin casually on his fingers as he spoke, his eyes sparkling.

“I don’t know, she is knowledgeable on a great many subjects.” Gwyn tried, but Rhysand leaned forward, his face earnest.

“You mistake me Gwyneth. It is not Merrill’s knowledge I seek, it is yours.” Gwyn’s face must have shown her disbelief, because he laughed softly, the sound like shooting stars. “I had heard you were capable and eager in your role, but it wasn’t until we spoke recently I realised you know a great deal about the very subject I’m infinitely intrigued by. One which I hope you will help me to explore a bit more.”

Gwyn started, “You want to know more? There’s very little written text about any of it, it’s mostly theories, guesswork…”

“I’m aware. It’s also a subject many are deeply uncomfortable with and one which our enemies shouldn’t know that we have an interest in.” The stars in his eyes seemed to pulse, his face remained calm but there was a new air of authority to his voice, to his presence. Gwyn shivered with its power.

“I would like to propose that you help the Night Court by researching it. This would be a secret task, one which would require the utmost caution and diligence.”

The very air around them was pressing in on her at the power that radiated around him. How did he trust her with such a crucial task? Why was it even so crucial?

“I have come here today to ask you for your help with this and to ask you one more thing…” Gwyn willed breath into her chest, willed herself to remain as calm as he was, to act professional even if she felt like an anxious mess.

“With your permission, I’d ask my Spymaster to assist you.” Gwyn’s breath caught, it had to be serious if he was getting Azriel involved.

“There is no one in all of Prythian as knowledgeable about this Court and all the other Court’s political manoeuvring. He will make a valuable asset in your research.” The energy around him pulsed again, “However, there will be some elements he may not be able to share with you.” He paused and she felt herself go even more still at his assessing gaze.

“There is no one I trust more than Azriel with this…and with you.” He said the last part gently, reminding her that he was still conscious of her nervousness around males. What he perhaps did not know, was that she too trusted Azriel more than any other male, and it shocked her that she could admit that to herself so easily.

He made to get up, Gwyn rushed to stand at the same time, refocusing her attention on him.

“You may take your time to think about it. Once you’ve made your decision, simply give a note to Clotho to see me and we’ll arrange it.” He adjusted his immaculate jacket, his posture casual yet power continued to ripple from him.  

Gwyn was weighing it all up in her mind. She was about to nod her understanding then rush out to her room to start deliberating, but knowing no one else could hear her with the High Lord’s sound shield still around them. She asked instead, “No one is to know?”

Rhysand held his forefinger to his lips in contemplation. “I will alert Clotho that you’re assisting a research project for me, one that requires Inner Court support from Azriel, and that you have permission to focus on this rather than your duties to Merrill. However, outside of that, it will only be myself, The High Lady, Azriel and yourself who can know.” He warned her, yet his tone was still calm and forthcoming.

She felt slightly more at ease knowing Clotho would not be completely blindsided.

“Nesta and Emerie?” Gwyn tried, knowing she’d struggle to keep it a secret from her new sisters.

Rhysand frowned slightly at that. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Berdara.” She didn’t think they were negotiating but she appreciated that he understood her dilemma. “Very well, you may tell them you’re helping Azriel on a mission of his…but other than that, I would request you keep it confidential, even from them.”

Gwyn looked at the books surrounding them, at the vast library beyond. She certainly did enjoy learning, discovering unknown history, exploring theories and figuring out secrets…

She could still train with the other Priestesses, could learn even more thanks to The High Lord’s offer to have Amren support with magic training. Then there was the training Azriel was helping her with too. It truly felt like they were all extending their hand, giving her a chance to take it… to take the step into the light, into new beginnings.

She decided right then and there, staring at the infinite knowledge around her, whatever she could do to add value to this court, to her own existence outside of her nightmares and trauma - she’d do it.

She looked at The High Lord directly, lifted her chin and said, “‘When do we begin?”

Chapter Text

Azriel spent the whole day at the cabin, choosing to do his paperwork in the peaceful surroundings where he and his brothers had made countless happy memories.

He’d deliberated the various titbits of information his sources had sent, pondered the strategies the Night Court could adopt to find out more information and planned for exit strategies for each one. He’d only left moments ago, when he knew Gwyn would be waiting for their training session. He’d mapped out his strategy for that too… 

She was already by the training mats, her unbound hair blowing in the breeze as she stretched again, watching the stars above her. From his position by the archway to the main house, he couldn't see her face, but it was as though he could feel her thoughts and emotions, even from afar. Normally he would have attributed it to his shadows, but they hadn’t whispered a word. Indeed, what he felt was lodged right in his chest. He rubbed at it, perhaps he was just bruised from Cassian’s earlier hit.

He cleared his throat as he uncloaked himself from the shadows. She whirled round at the sound, her teal eyes wide.

“You’re not the only one who can sneak up on people, remember.” Azriel said by way of greeting. She blushed, clearing her own throat as she hooked her loose hair behind her ear.

He made his way over to the mats, grabbing a number of them in both hands. She stood slowly, crossing her arms.

“Ok, Shadowsinger, so you’ve proven you’re in fact, good at the sneakery part of your job… what else?” She challenged, crossing her arms, her face playful.

His shadows swirled, The Priestess is in a good mood tonight

Good, he needed her to be for what he was about to suggest. He turned to her, rolling up his sleeves. “Would you be comfortable trying a bit of defensive work tonight?”

She kept her arms crossed, raising her brow. “Defensive work? We did that right at the beginning of basic training?”

“Yes, far too long ago.” He muttered, earning an eye roll from her. “I’d like to go over those basics. Then, if you’re willing, incorporate some other techniques and learnings that I believe you may find helpful.”

He watched her body carefully for any signs of discomfort, tension.

She cocked her head, “What do you mean helpful?”

He dared a step closer, to ascertain whether her scent would change. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, her face puzzled but her eyes cautious.

Tread carefully with your words, Singer…

“You were taken…” The memory of that day was etched into his wretched heart. “You were taken against your will at Windhaven and forced into the Rite. It wasn’t fair or just, but what you achieved to get out of it was nothing short of legendary.”

He took another careful step towards her, palms up, showing his intention not to hurt. “I’d like to help teach you more about how to defend yourself.” He took a deep breath, because he was sure she wasn’t breathing. “I’d like to teach you some of the other ways you can defend yourself and others, as well as get out of …difficult situations.”

A deep frown formed on her face, her freckles bunching at the movement. She repositioned her arms until they hugged her body, protecting herself, he realised - from his words - from the horrible truth

He had noticed it in training this morning. Gwyn had an incredibly strong form when attacking. She could push back an opponent with ease - even when they were slightly bigger or more muscular than her.

But her defence was still shaky and perhaps it was part of what made her more anxious, even if she didn’t know it yet.

They stood in silence, the breeze blowing towards him so he could scent her - he was waiting for the change that would confirm whether she was ready or not.

She continued to hold his gaze for a moment then looked up towards the stars, blowing out a breath.

“I’m ashamed,” she said hotly. He waited, knowing she needed to take this step herself. “I’m ashamed that, although I’ve been training for months now - am supposedly a Carynthian because of it…” Her words dripped with a disdain he knew all too well. “I’m still terrified. Every single day, I am terrified.” Her eyes were the size of the moon, her face even paler than usual. His shadows were practically begging him to comfort her.

“I understand.” He tried to school his face into a picture of calm, not its usual cold mask. “We can work on that if you’re willing?” He extended his hand towards her again.

She watched carefully, as she had done every time he offered it to her.

His hatred for his hands aside, he willed her to take it, to take this next step. Before he could say any more words of encouragement, his shadows tumbled off his shoulders, snaking down his arms to glide over his wrist. Before he knew what they were doing, they’d detached from him almost completely, entering the space between their bodies as they waited too.

She watched as they danced in front of her. Raising her hand tentatively, she touched their darkness and he shivered, as though she’d run a hand over his own skin. He’d never experienced the sensation before, had never had someone so comfortable with his shadows to do so. As though sensing it, she looked back towards him, her teal gaze piercing through the swirling darkness to find his.

It could have been an hour, a day or simply a second later - but she pushed her hand through his shadows. They swirled hopefully, until her soft fingertips brushed his own and she laid her palm flat against his.

In acceptance.
In trust.

His shadows wrapped themselves around their joined palms and he watched her face as she took it all in, wonder lighting her features.

He nodded, “Good, let’s begin.”

Chapter Text

Gwyn tied her hair into a braid, taking deep calming breaths as Azriel waited for her to prepare. Her head spinning from his offer, from how clearly he’d seen her, how easily he’d identified her weaknesses and turned them into an opportunity.

She held it like a glowing ribbon, close to her heart. The chance to change her trauma, to learn and grow from it.

She turned towards him, slipping into her state of focus and purpose with her stance. She stopped abruptly upon seeing him standing tall - not in his fighting position.

“Before we begin, I need your permission,” he explained. She could still feel the phantom touch of his shadows as they’d snaked around her, could still make out the imprint of his words on her soul.

“We’re now officially training partners, so I’ll need to help you. Adjust your position, modify your movement, show you ways to improve…” 

“You’ll have to touch me.” She finished for him, grim determination setting in. “It’s ok, Shadowsinger. I understand. I accept and agree.” She took up her sparring position, readying herself.

He watched her for a moment longer, no doubt listening to his shadows for any sign that she wasn’t, then gave a stiff nod and began.

By the time Gwyn’s head hit her pillow two hours later, she was completely exhausted.

They’d spent the first hour going over the basics. Azriel showed her the moves in principle, giving examples before moving through them with her again physically.

At their first direct impact, she’d felt that magnetic pull towards him. His scent had made her dizzy, wrapping around her in an intoxicating way. But his own calm, almost aloof manner of training meant she soon focused her attention on his instruction, his teaching - not his closeness.

In the next hour, he’d let her try a couple of the disarming techniques in closer quarters, including a few involving powerful jabs to the midsection. Though his torso was a rock solid foundation, there was no point trying to permeate it, though she’d given it her all. As well as more sneaky moves that were by no means clean fighting but would get her out of a tough situation. Some of these involved using nails and even teeth.

“Cassian would kill me if he knew I was teaching you this.” Azriel had warned, rubbing the back of his neck as they did their cool-down stretching at the end of the session. She’d sat up at that, her forearms burning from the grips they’d practised in one of the disarming moves.

“So this qualifies as training for Spymaster Sneakery then?” She’d teased, knowing full well that Azriel’s job - being cloaked in shadows and infiltrating enemy courts - would mean he’d have to have a slightly more cruel set of skills to call upon. It didn’t bother her. If anything - it made her more curious.

He huffed a laugh. “You could say that…”

She nodded. “Well, I’m grateful you’re teaching me this. I want to, no…” She looked at him earnestly, “I need to know these things. Thank you.”

He watched her carefully as she finished her stretch before nodding in acknowledgement.

It didn't seem like he would supply anything further, so she rolled back onto her feet, “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger,”  before heading back towards the House proper.

Not one nightmare found her that night. She slept and slept until the bells rung for morning service.

Chapter Text

Azriel walked the dim corridors of the Library underneath the House of Wind with Rhys by his side. Even with Rhys keeping a hold on his rumbling power, the mountain seemed to pulse in his presence.

Some of the Priestesses gaped at them as they passed before swiftly bowing to their High Lord. Rhys would simply throw them that disarming smile of his in return.

Others, the ones that Azriel trained, would greet him warmly, extend their welcome to Rhys then bob their heads in farewell and be on their way. Azriel had not expected the friendly response - he was well aware that the Library was the Priestesses’ domain, their safe haven. His presence in it was allowed only because they agreed to it beforehand through Clotho. But knowing a few of them now felt more comfortable with him, comfortable enough even to stop and greet him - it warmed some part of his cold heart.

“Your work with Cassian in the training ring is working, Brother.” Rhys said smoothly as they left another group. “You must be proud of the progress?”

Azriel kept his face neutral, saying nothing, but his shadows swirled happily around the tips of his wings.

They continued down a few more levels, heading to one of the private rooms they regularly used for working on Inner Court research. Azriel pushed open the great door and stopped abruptly, surprised to find Gwyn at the far end of the table. Piles upon piles of old Tomes surrounded her. She stood swiftly, straightening her robes, her teal eyes alive with a small smirk on her face.

Rhys entered behind him. “Ah, Gwyneth - ever prepared, I see.” He smiled warmly at her and Azriel frowned at his scheming brother. He’d evidently already had a conversation with Gwyn about this and hadn’t informed him of it.

He had to check she was ok with this agreement first, but The Priestess is excited, Singer

He admonished himself silently for not realising it. Azriel looked back at Gwyn, who was bowing her head, a faint blush staining her freckled cheeks. Some small part of him resented that Rhys had that effect on her too.

“High Lord. Shadowsinger.” She greeted them both happily.

He had rarely seen her in the Library, had forgotten how at home she looked in the vicinity.

Rhys motioned for them to sit and Azriel took the seat closest to the door. Rhys wandered to the books Gwyn had collected and started flicking through them absently as he spoke.

“Earlier this year, just after Starfall - a red star raced across our skies.” Azriel recalled how it had troubled everyone - ill omen, many had said - of danger and death. He’d worked overtime, trying to keep all eyes and ears in his network on high alert. It was how he’d eventually uncovered Eris’s kidnapping…

“What I haven’t told anyone, bar my mate, is that I saw a golden-haired female fae fall through the sky within it.”

Gwyn gasped from her chair at the end of the table. Azriel’s shadows went on high alert. Why had Rhys not told him about this sooner?

Rhys took his seat then, gripping his hands in front of him as he shook his head. “She looked in distress… I could hear her shouting at me, asking for help.  Somehow, I knew she needed to get back. Back to where, I don’t know? I helped slow her fall, terrified that I was aiding something sinister… but the next second, she was gone. Darkness surrounded the area where she had been, just moments before.”

Azriel’s mouth was dry. Gwyn's face was slack with shock. “I knew it wasn’t winnowing. I had never seen or felt that type of magic before. It was the first time I truly knew that we are not alone. That there are other worlds, other Fae and perhaps other magical beings, out there.”

There was silence for a moment, then Rhys’s piercing gaze snapped up, locking with Azriel’s. “We need to know what could be out there so we may prepare ourselves if we ever find those worlds knocking on our door again.”

Azriel’s shadows darkened around him, his own mind going at hyper speed to calculate their defences.

“Or, to know when to ask them for help.” Gwyn’s light voice echoed around the room.

Rhys considered her and she held his eye contact boldly, Azriel’s own blood thrummed at her resolve in doing so.

Then Rhys bowed his head elegantly, “Indeed.”

There was a silence for a beat, then Gwyn asked, “The Harp, it is said that it can open doors - sometimes to different worlds. Was it used before the red star appeared?”

The stars in Rhys’s eyes flashed, his surprise at her knowing about the Dread Trove clear, but he simply gave a grim nod of his head. “Yes, but many months before. I admit, I do not know how it all works within our timeline, but I’d like your help in finding out what you can about this. About all of this…” He ran his hand through his hair, sitting back in his chair in frustration.

Gwyn however, sat taller in response. “Then we’ll figure it out, High Lord.”

Azriel’s shadows shivered at Gwyn’s words, as though throwing their support behind her too. Azriel remained quiet, contemplating the new information. Rhys watched her keenly, the boldness of her words, her striking features glowing with purpose. He nodded once at her, then looked to Azriel, raising a brow in question.

There are many untold truths in this world, Singer - perhaps with the Priestess’s help, we can uncover them.

He regarded his friend; his High Lord and brother. Seeing the desperation, the worry etched into his features - understanding that this was about more than just one red star - this was about a future that was still unclear, the many players of the past and present colliding. Azriel had to admit, the parameters for danger, for things to go desperately wrong, had just expanded infinitely. It was his job to find out how to best strengthen the Night Court's knowledge and defences as a result.

With The Priestess …

He nodded once and watched Rhys’s eyes sparkle.

Azriel carefully closed the door behind Rhys as he left not long after. His mind still reeling with the implications of this knowledge. His own work into the secrets of other courts hadn’t ventured into the territories of other worlds or travelling through them - though there was no doubt it interested him. In so much as he could use it to defend and protect his home, his family.

He turned to see Gwyn already shifting through the pages of a thick tome at a rapid pace.

She looked up at him, the energy in the room crackling, as though his magic and hers was threatening to spill out of the enclosed space. He tapped his siphoned hands, perhaps it was just his own nervous energy - he’d have to expel some power later to make up for being cooped up inside this afternoon.

He walked over to her pile of books, picking up the first one to read the title, ‘Lores of the Worlds, the Histories of Fae Origins.’ He rolled his eyes, casting it aside before reaching for a second, his scarred skin matching the worn leather cover.

Gwyn watched him shrewdly as he flicked through its pages hastily, ‘The Magics of Time’, before also casting it aside. He reached for the third book, his patience for the dusty tomes already starting to wear thin.

“What are you doing?” She asked, eyes narrowed.

“What made you choose these books for the preliminary readings?” He wondered at the extent of her knowledge on the topic.

“I’ve done similar research for my mentor, Merrill on a previous assignment and knew these books had various details that could help form a bigger picture.” She replied tersely.

“I see, and how far do you think we’ll get in defending ourselves against other worlds with these old theories and far fetched stories?” He asked darkly, casting the third book aside too.

She frowned, picking up the same book, ‘Journeys of The Great Storytellers’ and placing it neatly back on her pile. She rolled up her sleeves then tucked her hair behind her arched ears.

“It’s like I told the High Lord - there’s nothing indicating we need to defend ourselves from anything. Not yet. We need to build our knowledge on it before we can decide whether we are in danger.” She said firmly, holding his gaze.

He crossed his powerful arms across his torso. “I still think we should prioritise our defences. These old books won’t help us.”

Gwyn put both hands squarely on the table as she stood slowly. “Now listen, Shadowsinger,”

He felt his shadows peek from behind his wings at her tone.

“Up there, in the training ring, on missions and in the field, you may be in charge…” Her eyes, blazing with purpose, narrowed even further. “But don’t come down here and scoff at the work I do, day in and day out, pretending that you know best. We’re on my turf now, which means we don’t disregard others' thoughts, opinions or research methods.” There was a sudden heat in the room, he watched her skin practically glow, her posture formidable, “Are we clear?”

Azriel watched her keenly, his blood singing at the challenge, even his Siphons glowed brighter at the energy surrounding her. Feeling excited and abashed in equal measure, he cleared his throat, “Crystal clear, Priestess.”

Good luck to you, Singer

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s mind was frazzled. She felt as though she hadn’t blinked all day. Which was potentially true considering she’d spent no less than eight hours poring over the books she’d found for the High Lord’s task.

Azriel had to leave after just two. They’d been working in silence, Gwyn waiting for him to question her chosen readings again, when Clotho entered.

She’d given Azriel a bob of her hooded head and extended her gnarled hand towards him, holding a note. He’d explained to Gwyn there had been an Illyrian scrimmage in one of the war camps and he was needed by Cassian.

“I’ll return here as soon as I’m done,” he’d  said flatly, his towering presence filling the room.

For some reason, she could sense a roiling anger starting to take root in him. She replied swiftly, “No need, I’ll have these done soon then I’ll leave for evening service. We can start fresh again tomorrow. I’ll see you later?”

She wasn’t sure how open she could be with Clotho in the room. Although she trusted the female, this new task - even the new evening training sessions with Azriel - it was personal. Something she wanted to keep her own a little longer.

He’d continued to watch her carefully, his shadows having returned, swirling around his wings as they held each other’s gaze. Eventually, he nodded and left, Clotho following him in silence. The room had felt echoey and empty the moment he left, so she’d made some tea to warm her aching body before continuing her reading. 

It was 10pm by the time she finished the last book in her pile, which meant she’d missed evening service and dinner. She shelved the books they used, tucking away her notes, then changed into her leathers for evening practice.

Now standing in the ring, she faced the wooden wheel Azriel used for target practice. Assessing it.

She could picture it. Every dagger hitting it’s mark - the steel shining in the moonlight as it flew across the open air to find its target. As though sensing the imagined danger, the wheel wobbled slightly, teetering in the wind. 

She blinked.

Suddenly it was an Illyrian standing there, a vile sneer on his face, his hands fisted at his sides as he snarled at her.

Gwyn’s heart stumbled, her breath catching in her throat. She reached to her side for a sword, a dagger - anything that would protect her. But there was nothing to grab, nothing to help. She was alone, alone again.

“Priestess?” She spun swiftly, her eyes wild as she beheld another figure, this time standing at the archway to the ring. Her breathing was shallow as she turned back to the wheel - to check if the sneering Illyrian was still there, but there was no one. Just the wheel, still teetering in the wind.

“Are you ok?” That was Azriel’s voice, but… was he really there? Was he even real? She kept her eyes locked on the wheel, waiting for the Illyrian to reappear. She sensed movement behind her. A hand touched her shoulder.

Her reflexes kicked in. She grabbed the hand in a vice-like grip, twisting it so severely the attacker was forced to kneel from the manoeuvre - or suffer a dislocated shoulder. She swung round and pushed down hard, waiting for the counter attack, her senses in overdrive.

“Gwyneth!” the voice shouted.

Gwyn blinked and looked at her hand -  holding a much larger one in a painful position. Her nostrils flared, cedar… night chilled mist… a scarred hand, a hand that she recognised.

“I won’t hurt you, Gwyn.” His voice rumbled through her. She blinked again and Azriel’s form came into focus, kneeling at her feet - at the mercy of her defensive lock.

Her eyes roved from his scarred hand, still gripped in hers, up his powerful arms to his shoulders, where his shadows were poised like asps, readying to strike. Blending with the tattoos marking his bronzed skin. Then his mouth, the fullness of it as she saw a breath leave his lips clouding in front of him. Her gaze continued to travel up the beautiful planes of his face until finally, she beheld his eyes. The multi-faceted richness of them, searching her own frantically.

“I won't hurt you,” he repeated and it was like being pushed into the Sidra. She sucked in a breath and let go of him, stumbling backwards as she realised what she’d done.

She gripped her head, closing her eyes and sank to the floor. Trying to get her breathing under control.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” His voice cut through her rattling breaths. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Please accept my apologies, Priestess.” She’d never heard him stumble for words. Gwyn looked up at him, fear still roiling in her.

“No it wasn’t you, I just thought I saw…” Her voice was hoarse as she looked back towards the wheel, suddenly unsure.

Azriel crouched down next to her. “What did you see?” He was so close now, she could have sworn she heard his shadows whispering all around them.

“I…” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath before saying more clearly, “I thought I saw an Illyrian male, from the Rite, standing where the wheel is standing.” There, she’d said it - let him think her mad for it.

His eyes bored into hers, then he stood swiftly, taking long strides over to the wheel to start a thorough inspection of the area. Gwyn remained where she was, counting her breaths and watched.

As he walked back, his head was tilted to the side, as though listening to the shadows wreathed around his neck. He kneeled next to her again.

“There’s no one there. No scent or trace of anyone having been there but us.” His voice gave away nothing, no hint of emotion or judgement. Just cold hard facts.

Gwyn watched his face for a moment longer then nodded. “I’m sorry - for what I did to you.” She motioned to his hand.

He snorted, sitting back on his haunches. His wings cast a beautiful shadowed glow as the fae lights illuminating the training ring hit them. “Sorry? You just perfectly executed the defensive moves we went through just last night. If you’d have gone on the attack, you would have had me.”

“Really?” She couldn’t have nearly floored a warrior with five centuries worth of training, could she?

“You may be the quickest study I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with, Berdara.” He rumbled, his deep voice soothing over her nerves. She huffed a laugh, already feeling better.

Before she could reply, a criminally loud growl sounded. Gwyn turned beet red as they both looked down at the source of it - her stomach. He raised a dark brow at her, his shadows twirling in, what she could only imagine, was amusement.

“I may have missed dinner,” she said sheepishly, gripping her stomach. It simply replied with another loud gurgle. “And lunch.”

Azriel’s face turned, a frown etched deep into his perfect features. “Do you mean to tell me, you’ve not eaten since breakfast, before morning training?” His voice sent shivers across her body. She swallowed, then shrugged - trying for casual irreverence.

“That is unacceptable.” He replied flatly, standing to his full height. “You are a warrior, you need to eat. Let’s go.”

She stood, feeling dizzy from exhaustion and emotion. “What do you mean let’s go? Go where?” He dutifully ignored her.

Chapter Text

Azriel watched as Gwyn glowered at him. She had a steaming bowl of broth on one side and a bowl full of pasta on the other, her arms crossed and her nose scrunched in irritation.

Sitting together at the dining table in the House of Wind, Azriel had heard her stomach grumble at least twice since they’d left the ring. Yet still - she hadn’t touched the food in front of her.

“I don’t need you to feed me, Shadowsinge.” She said hotly.

“I’m not feeding you, the House is. Aren’t you and it friends?” He pointed out, secretly enjoying this little show of defiance. Anything was better than the wild, pained look she’d had mere moments ago in the ring.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, but this is just taking advantage of the House’s good nature.” He gave her a deadpan look, she knew that argument wouldn’t hold.

She narrowed her eyes at him again, that delicious challenge back. “Besides, this isn’t our House. We can’t just waltz in here and eat its food at… nearly midnig-“.

She stopped abruptly. Her eyes went wide as she beheld his shadows, slowly pushing both bowls closer to her. One even went as far as picking up a spoon and drifting it towards her.

“Stop it! Do not think I’ll give in just because you’re using your shadows!”

Azriel shook his head. “It's not me,” he admitted.

He watched in amusement as she stared at them, as though challenging them too. “Eat,” he urged again, quietly shocked at his own shadows behaviour.

A moment passed before she let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine! But only because you said I’m a warrior.” He smirked in triumph, sending a silent appeal to the House for two glasses of wine, which appeared seconds later. 

She continued to scowl at him for the entire time it took her to finish the broth. He sat quietly, enjoying his wine and weathering her temper.

He watched as she visibly perked up by the time she reached for the pasta, no doubt the gnawing hunger having caused not only her bad mood but also her earlier episode in the ring.

He knew what it was immediately. Trauma. Gwyn evidently didn’t sleep a lot and she probably pushed herself all day to feel the weight of exhaustion yes, but also to keep the dark memories and thoughts at bay. He knew the tactic first-hand. What had caused her to have a flashback to the Rite however, was something to ask about another night.

“How did it go at the Illyrian scrimmage today?” Her voice broke his reverie and his shadows swirled darkly as his thoughts turned to the senseless aggression and dysfunctional politics the Illyrians insisted on day in and day out.

He’d gone to the war camp to provide Cassian with some backup as Rhys wasn’t available - but he’d said and done very little. Just watched as Cassian handed out their punishments. Everyone knew that whatever Cassian doled out, Azriel’s punishments would be far worse - likely leading to the most violent death or dismemberment. Azriel had, after all, perfected his cold and cruel demeanour over centuries for just that reason.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He replied smoothly, sipping from his wine. 

She frowned, but went back to her pasta, a faint glow returning to her features as she ate. He watched her a moment longer then added, “But there’s something else from today that we can discuss.”

Earning a contemplative look from her. He shifted slightly in his seat. Finishing her pasta, she neatly placed her napkin on her plate, sniffing delicately at the wine before trying a small sip before staring at him.

Speak, Singer

“I was…” He searched for the right words, “Perhaps a little brash in my assessment of the books you chose for our task.” She continued to say nothing but swilled the wine in her glass elegantly, raising her brow at him.

Why did he feel like he was on trial here? The words tumbled out before he could even consider them. “You’re right, it is your library, your rules and I will adhere to them and take your lead.”

That is a sensible decision, Singer

He kept his face neutral as she watched him carefully for another beat. Eventually, she tucked her hair behind an ear, looking at him coyly. “I didn’t say I’m in charge. Just that I don’t tolerate negativity and unhelpful criticism.” She replied frankly.

“Rightly so,” he sketched his head in a bow.

She looked like she was about to get up when a huge slice of cake suddenly appeared in front of her. Her teal eyes went wide with delight and he had to suppress the chuckle that bubbled up in him.

She wasted no time, taking a huge bite and letting out a soft groan as she did so. The sound skittered down the length of his body, heat running in its wake. He choked on his wine, embarrassed by his own body’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t scent him.

She looked up, colour tinting her freckled cheeks as she shrugged sheepishly. “Pistachio,” she said by way of explanation.” My favourite.” Before going back to devouring the slice, seemingly none the wiser about his sudden change.

What was wrong with him? He hadn’t had an urge like that, so sudden and overwhelming, in centuries. She was a Priestess - one with a traumatic past. He shifted in his seat then took a long sip of his wine, letting its richness wash through him, hoping it would push the need, now making his skin taut - deep down.

She finished her cake, licking her lips happily and damn him, he had to look away, desperately reaching for a topic of conversation to start, anything that would distract him from her mouth.

“What’s yours?” Her voice was practically melodic with happiness. He frowned at her question. “Your favourite cake?” 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind and calm his erratic heartbeat. “Illyrians don’t eat cake.”

She waved her fork irreverently. “Try telling Emerie that!” He smiled, despite himself. “So? What’s your favourite?”

Persistent little Priestess…

He stared her down, but she held her ground, narrowing her eyes at him again. “Carrot cake.” He mumbled eventually, shrugging in defeat.

She huffed a laugh. “With walnuts and frosting?” That sparkle had returned to her eyes.

He smiled wryly. “Yes, Priestess - with walnuts and frosting.”

She smiled happily and he felt his heart stumble at the openness of her expression, warmth and trust emanating from her. He needed to remember to thank the House for sending the cake

She blinked, looking down at her empty plates before taking one final sip of wine and slowly standing.

“Ok Shadowsinger, I accept your apology and appreciate the food. Now, shall we begin our training session?”

Well, at least that provided him with a lifeline. “Absolutely not.” He drained the rest of his wine and stood too. “You’re evidently….” He stopped short as she yawned, right on cue. “Exhausted,” he looked pointedly at her, amusement trickling in where desire had been mere moments ago.

She shook her head. “No, no, you haven’t trained either. I’ll be ok, it was just … a lot of food...”

He refrained from crossing his arms as she struggled to string the sentence together through her yawns. He gave her a disapproving shake of his head.

“I think not, Priestess. Go to bed, we’ll be back in the Ring in a few hours for morning training.” She stared at him in defiance for a few more beats, his shadows swirled around his shoulders in excitement.

Eventually she relented, nodding as another yawn escaped her. “Ok, goodnight Shadowsinger. See you tomorrow.” She bobbed her head sweetly, heading for the stairwell to the library.

He could swear he heard that faint music again as she left.

Chapter Text

Gwyn was humming as she entered the training ring the next morning. She’d slept well enough, despite her terrifying vision. Waking up ready to start strong at training.

Spotting the High Lord and Emerie descending from the skies, she quickened her pace to meet them.

The High Lord smiled elegantly. “Good morning Miss Berdara, are you well?”

She smiled warmly. “Quite well thank you. I read the most fascinating book yesterday and it has opened my eyes to many other interesting books I have left to discover in the library below.” She said coyly. Emerie raised her brow at Gwyn. 

His answering laughter sounded like starlight. He clapped his hands together conspiratorially. “That’s good to hear. I hope to hear all about them sometime soon.” He even winked for good measure.

She grabbed Emerie’s hand, understanding the cue, “Of course, thank you High Lord.” She bowed her head, turning to go.

“Rhysand, Gwyneth - you may call me Rhys or Rhysand, remember?” He called after them. She turned to smile, bowing her head shyly before heading to the training mats with a very confused Emerie in tow.

“What in the Cauldron was that all about?”

Gwyn waved her hand. “At dinner the other night, the High Lord suggested some reading I may enjoy on a topic we were discussing - I was simply confirming that I enjoyed his recommendations.” She replied smoothly, hoping the half-truth would suffice.

“Oh I see, starting a little book club with our High Lord now, are we?” Emerie teased, earning a light chuckle from Gwyn. “Do tell me when you’ve introduced him to some of your favourite Sellyn Drake novels. I’m sure he’d love to know more about the quiet but alluring winged warrior you have such a book crush on…”

Colour bloomed on Gwyn’s cheeks as she shushed her friend playfully.

“What’s this about an alluring winged warrior?” A deep, booming voice echoed across the ring as Cassian and Nesta entered for morning training. Emerie laughed loudly when Gwyn buried her head in her hands with embarrassment.

Nesta winked, joining them on the mats. “Winged and Unhinged - isn’t that your current favourite in our smut-series, Gwyn?”

Gwyn scrunched her nose in irritation at both of them. She looked pointedly at Cassian, whose smug face she felt like wiping clean off. “You should hear about the dirty things Nesta likes to read about the mermen in her current novel doing - especially with their fins…”

Nesta gasped in shock - clearly mortified her friend would hang her out to dry like that. Emerie was heaving with fits of laughter and Cassian looked like he’d just swallowed a fish whole.

“Mermen?” he said, incredulous. “What’s a merman got that your mate doesn’t?” Nesta punched Gwyn in the arm and collapsed in giggles. 

Morning training had been a spirited affair after that. Cassian spent most of the time trying to pepper Nesta with questions about Mermen. Nesta spent most of the time glowering at Gwyn. Emerie spent her time stirring the pot in both directions - teasing Gwyn about hers and winding Cassian up even further by answering the questions that Nesta was refusing to.

Fortunately for all of them, Cassian’s attention had been limited as he also had to train the other Priestesses because Azriel was away. Gwyn had been secretly disappointed when Cassian informed them. She’d been hoping to say thank you to him for his calmness and care last night.

“If you’re going to pretend not to have a crush on the real-life quiet and alluring winged warrior, you better start learning to keep every emotion off those big beautiful features of yours.” Emerie muttered under her breath as they took up their positions for hand-to-hand combat practice.

Gwyn scowled at her, “I don't know what you’re talking about.’ Emerie snorted and signalled to begin their set.

Chapter Text

Azriel was known for being a bad-tempered, cold bastard - but that was only a mild description for his current mood.

He’d spent nearly a whole night and day in the wet and windy Autumn Court forests, waiting for one of his sources to appear.

His shadows had informed him there was something wrong on the borders of Autumn just after Gwyn had left the night before. He’d immediately gone to the nearest outpost before flying closer to the borders. Careful to remain unseen and unheard, he’d sent a signal to his spy contact that he needed an update - anything to show proof of life.

His contact had not appeared. Azriel spent all night flying across the Court, hunting the forests, scaling the mountains - still nothing. He’d been about to give up, heading to the closest rendezvous point he had to the Autumn Court’s Forest House, a place where his sources only went if it was a matter of life and death - only to find his spy, bloody and beaten waiting for him there.

He’d been strung up by the elite force of The Autumn Court's soldiers for being found in their barracks - nowhere near to where he was allowed. He’d been punished accordingly for his actions and had run away from the stronghold the moment he escaped.

“They didn't know! They didn't know what I am, I swear it!” He kept repeating as Azriel patched him up, hours later, safely back in the palace above The Court of Nightmares.

Azriel said nothing, but he knew that the source was finished. He wouldn’t be able to spy for Azriel any more. “What did you find out, being in the barracks?” Azriel asked coldly, infinite death dripping in every word, despite their allyship.

The contact had looked nervous. “Movement. They are getting ready to move, as a unit. A large one. I don't know when or where, but they’re preparing to go.”

It was like being doused in a bucket of freezing water. Azriel knew immediately he had to get to Rhys and Feyre with an update.

He’d established his contact back in a safe area of the Night Court before heading to inform his High Lord and Lady, both of whom started calculating the options. Cassian had arrived soon after, adding to their strategy session.

“I need to find a new contact to put back in,” Azriel said as they strategised. “We need more information.” He’d left soon after, heading back to the Court he hated above all others.

He’d only realised the time because his own head had spun from hunger. Walking down the steps towards the Library beneath the House of Wind, he now regretted his decision to fly back from Autumn through the Winter Court mountain passes. He’d wanted the chill bite of the terrain to snap away at his raging temper, but now he just felt cold, hungry and miserable.

It was nearly seven in the evening, he’d barely helped Gwyn in their research task yesterday. He’d be damned if he didn’t do a bit of work today to make up for it. She’d be at dinner with the other Priestesses by now, but he could catch up with her about whatever she learned during their evening training later.

He pushed open the door to the room they were using, delicious warmth greeting him.

Delicious warmth, a crackling energy and that scent - her scent.

“Oh, you’re back!” Her light voice filled the room, his shadows immediately billowing at his shoulders in greeting. He tried not to look as shocked as he felt for not knowing she was already there. He really needed to figure out why his shadows never warned him of her presence.

Because it is a good presence, Singer

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner?” He asked, closing the door and tucking his wings in tight.

She frowned. “Are you ok, Shadowsinger? You look like death.” She walked towards him tentatively.

He snorted. “It’s nice to see you too,” he deflected. Truthfully, he felt like death.

She fixed that assessing gaze of hers on him but said nothing, so he added with a shrug, “I’m sorry, for not being here earlier.”

She waved his apology away, turning towards the tower of books at the other end of the table. “It doesn’t matter. I understand, you are important. Come on, I want to show you what I found…”

His heart stumbled a beat, his shadows stilled. “What did you say?”

She looked over her shoulder, confused. “I want to show you what I found.”

He couldn’t move. He just stared at her, willing himself to unhear it. But then she turned to face him properly and stared right back at him. With a boldness he could only marvel at, she repeated the words he’d longed to hear for centuries but had never dreamed could be true.

“You are important.”

He shivered at her words, like a golden light was washing over him, dowsing him in warmth. He held her piercing teal gaze, the clarity of her eyes pulling him in. He could barely breathe, she looked so - sincere - like she truly meant it. But that couldn’t be right, he was nothing. He was death and darkness. His actions and choices had just meant another male had been hurt, attacked because of him.

He couldn’t find his words, didn’t know how to start explaining how wrong she was. He took a step forward at exactly the same moment she did. He faltered and the air around them continued to warm as she took another step, then another. He watched tensely as she moved smoothly towards him, stopping only to take his large hand in both of hers.

“You’re freezing.” She hissed, brushing her thumb across his taut, scarred skin.

He couldn’t find words, didn’t know what to do but stare at those eyes. She took his other hand, pulling him towards a chair, and helping him sit as she perched on the side of the table in front of him. Encasing both of his hands in hers, she started a series of reassuring sweeps with her thumbs.

He needed to say something, anything. But she was looking at him with so much kindness, so much care - he couldn’t fathom it. “Wait here,” her voice was soft and melodic, a song he wanted to hear forever.

He felt a cold jolt as she left the room. He closed his eyes, recalling how her warmth had flowed through him. Subconsciously, he sent one of his shadows with her. Why had she left? Then again, why wouldn’t she leave? He frowned, his darkness coming back as he sat alone in the suddenly much colder room. He was death, he was darkness - cold, cruel, mutilated. Of course she’d leave, he wanted her to leave - that way, she wouldn’t stay to see how broken he truly was, how much pain he’d inflicted on others … and on himself.

“Here you go.” Her voice travelled from behind him. He cracked open his eyes to find her carrying a tray with a small towel covering a steaming pot of tea, two cups and a plate of biscuits lined up on it. She lifted the lid on the tea, sniffing it delicately and sighed, his shadows leaping out to dance with her breath.

She grabbed the towel and looked back at him. “May I?” She was staring gently at his hands. He didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway, he would do whatever she asked at this point.

Perching on the table in front of him again, she reached for him. Taking the warm towel, she gently wrapped it around both their hands, creating a warm cocoon.

“When my sister and I were little, we loved going swimming in the lakes by the temple.” She started rubbing soothing circles along his fingers this time, warmth spreading where their skin touched. “We’re part river nymph, you see, so it’s an element we always had an affinity for. We’d swim in the lakes come rain or shine.... we didn’t care, we just loved the water. But what we always forgot - especially in the winter months - was just how quickly the cold would seep in the moment you weren’t kicking and splashing in the water.”

She was focused on their hands where she worked warmth and comfort into them underneath the towel. His eyes were glued to her face, watching each emotion as it passed over her freckled features. Even his shadows were laser-focused on her every word.

“My mother however had a little trick - a kernel of fire magic that she inherited.” Gwyn’s eyes twinkled as she looked at him. “So my sister and I would run in after playing in the lakes, freezing cold and terribly naughty…” She smiled softly at the memories. “Then she’d sit us in front of the temple hearth, wrap us in towels and one hand at a time, she’d hold them tight and breathe warmth - magical warmth, back into our bodies.”

Azriel’s heart stumbled as her eyes found his, as though she could read every thought, every emotion, every raging fear. She continued to hold his hands, trailing soft, gentle sweeps across his skin as she said reassuringly; “Warmth to comfort, warmth to reassure, not to harm.” Did she know? About his traumas, his insecurities? 

Gently, she unwrapped the towel and laid her hands softly on top of his as she said, “I inherited a bit of that magic too...enough that I can use it to warm my surroundings, myself and, if they are ok with it, others.” He felt that energy and warmth rush through him.

He looked down at their joined hands, at her moon-white skin glowing against his. His whole life, he’d shied away from fire - from fire magic in particular, the horrific events of his past and his hatred for the rulers of the Autumn Court instilling his severe mistrust. Yet, here he was; calm, warm and being nurtured by that very magic and by someone who he believed would never use it to harm or hurt.

He opened his mouth, trying for words that could be said after feeling so intimate, yet so exposed. “You don’t have to help me. I’m fine...” He managed, trying to move when his voice inevitably came out cold and stark.

She held her position and scowled at him. “What was it you said? My library, my rules?” His shadows swirled at her haughty tone, enjoying it - he was sure. “Now, would you like a cup of tea or not?” She raised her brow at him, challenge sizzling in her features again and damn him, it made the blood rush through his body, singing with delight.

He nodded once, accepting defeat. “Good,” she stood, taking the pot and pouring two cups of steaming tea. She offered one to him, her teal eyes sparkling.

He asked croakily, “Show me?” When she cocked her head to the side, he clarified, clearing his throat. “Show me what you found today, in the books.”

He nodded towards them, earning a smile from her as she walked over to pick up her notes.

He took a tentative sip of the tea- lemon and ginger, his favourite.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed and Gwyn felt stronger everyday.

Morning training with the other Priestesses and her Valkyrie sisters progressed well, with their units growing more confident.

They’d restarted training on the courses again, simulating not only the Rite but different ways of getting out of tricky situations and scenarios within it. Each lap, each obstacle, even each bone-crushing blow felt like a victory - because they were here, learning and growing - fighting back.

After training, she’d spend most of her day inhaling knowledge in the library. Dissecting book after book from every level, in her hunt for information for the High Lord’s task. She was gaining a good understanding of the magics that made the different courts, as well as the magics that used to exist but had somehow disappeared through the ages. Not to mention, the great many magical objects that once existed and didn’t anymore… as far as records indicated, at least.

Her research hadn’t resulted in anything solid yet, so she continued on her hunt, spending endless hours with her nose lodged in various books.

Evening training with Azriel would usually involve them sparring, going through more defensive manoeuvres or doing both whilst discussing what they’d learned in their research. Azriel could only drop in and out of their morning and afternoon sessions, but somehow he managed to never miss an evening session - until last night.

His spy work and court hunting meant he was often called away urgently, leaving Gwyn with an apology and a promise to help when he returned. He’d done that exact thing just yesterday morning after training, offering to take Emerie back to Windhaven first before his assignment. 

She never minded. Even having his ear for their evening training sessions, his clever mind working as they discussed the possible outcomes, theories - even, to his chagrin, the far-fetched stories. It was the first time since she started working in the library, deep in the heart of the mountain, that she felt she had a partner in her work. Not blindly following Merrills orders, not having to run around like a wayward errand girl, being admonished for every small inconsistency.

Instead, she was in charge of their work and he weighed in with observations, suggestions - even histories. His own knowledge of the world absolutely thrilled her. When he wasn’t with her himself, he left one of his shadows, a constant source of reassurance throughout her day.

She still hadn’t picked up a weapon. She was unsure when she’d be able to again. Somehow, Cassian had got the gist. Perhaps Nesta and Emerie had figured it out. Perhaps Azriel had told them all and that’s why they’d stopped pushing for weapon training?

No, Gwyn didn’t believe Azriel would do that, he would never betray her confidence like that. Not that she didn’t want to tell her sisters, they had a right to know too. But they had their own traumas and fears to work through. Although they’d promised to be there for each other, they also had an unspoken agreement - they would only talk about it when they were ready to. 

Gwyn was not ready, not yet.

But she had gained other training in the few weeks they’d been back, including new mind training with Amren.

Together with Nesta and Emerie, they’d sit in the sun on one of the House of Wind’s many balconies, learning about the walls you could build in your mind and how Damaeti could destroy them. They’d had two sessions already with the High Lord and Lady’s formidable Second snapping at them when their shields were ‘paper thin and pathetic’ and praising them in her own curt way when they were ‘adequately acceptable’.

Amren had explained that imagining your walls with great detail helped fortify them - so Gwyn ensured her own walls were made of temple stone, covered in trailing ivy and reinforced with shards of glass, steel and ice.

Gwyn enjoyed the mind training. She felt like a new level of knowledge had been unlocked for her to explore. She even enjoyed Amren's unique tutoring style - though that was probably because she could talk to her in the old language - choosing to practice the tongue with the all-knowing female.

That wasn’t the only thing Gwyn had learned recently.

Just earlier, Cassian had asked Gwyn to look after the priestesses that Azriel usually trained. Many wanted to go over hand-to-hand combat and as the strongest in the group with the discipline, she was the easy choice to support, he had said. Pride swept through her.

She wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to advance their skills considering Azriel was such a patient and diligent tutor himself, but Nesta had given her an encouraging shove and Emerie a reassuring squeeze of her hand before they went to their side of the ring with Cassian and the more advanced group. Gwyn had taken a few mindstilling breaths, then squared her shoulders and marched over, keen to get started.

She was excited to tell Azriel about how the training with his group had gone. Many of them had waxed lyrical about the Shadowsinger’s tutorage, but still enjoyed Gwyn’s session all the same.

They’d smiled at her warmly when she’d seen them for evening service just a short while ago, chatty and excitable, peppering her with questions about her time in the Rite.

This time talking to her fellow Priestesses, one’s who had also seen darkness and true fear - she felt more open about talking through her experiences in the Rite. Knowing that her vulnerability and honesty may help shape their own bravery, she was glad to share it with them. Even if it did make her feel sick at the memories.

But there was light too. In just two days it would be Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony.

Gwyn and Emerie had helped Nesta go through the finer details during their last girls night, where they’d laughed themselves silly at all the ludicrously extravagant details Rhysand had arranged.

Nesta was sure he did it partly because of his own gratefulness for Nesta’ deed but also in part to annoy his own brother too, knowing Cassian wasn’t one for frills and all. It was during that night that Nesta had asked Emerie and Gwyn whether they would help her by walking to the altar before her. To support her on her journey to being a wedded and mated female. It was a place of honour, usually only given to blood siblings, but Nesta had waved away Gwyn’s nervousness about that point, explaining that it had been Feyre in fact, who had suggested it.

Gwyn had agreed, only because it would make Nesta happy. Because for all the world, she wanted Nesta to experience happiness and peace in its truest sense. After everything she’d been through, she deserved that. Even if the thought of being in front of all those people - back in the real world made Gwyn want to jump off Ramiel. But she would do it, for her friend, her sister - she would do it.

Gwyn wanted to tell Azriel about it all.

The priestesses' training, Amren’s lessons, the plans for the mating ceremony and what she’d learned today during her research...everything.

She realised how excited she was and how much she hoped to see him there in the ring. Her companion during all this, her friend. She let herself smile at the thought, how he’d pretend to be all broody and displeased if she admitted it, but perhaps secretly happy, too.

But as she entered the training ring, a sense of dark foreboding stopped her at the archway.

There was a chill, like a winter storm was poised just over the ring, the air thin. And there was the Shadowsinger, at the other end of the ring. Bloody, bruised and ripping a set of training dummies to shreds. His shadows were a vortex swirling around him, his huge wings arched over his shirtless torso as he punched, stabbed and tore into each one. Rivulets of blood ran down his back, his muscles straining with every powerful hit. Gwyn watched, fear sluicing through her. His usually majestic wings were absolutely battered, even the scars on his hands were not visible thanks to the blood now coating every inch of them.

Gwyn stepped further into the ring, her heart beating frantically. She’d never seen him like this…so unhinged. She shivered at the iciness of the air as she walked cautiously towards his area of destruction. “Shadowsinger?”

He twisted, his wings flaring in alarm. She took him in, his wild eyes, sodden hair - tension rippling off every powerful line of his body. His eyes narrowed on her, ice cold and cruel - none of their normal hazel warmth lingered. “Leave Priestess, we’re not training tonight.” He turned back to his targets.

Gwyn frowned, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him here, bleeding and bruised, ripping himself apart. She walked to the front of the dummy to face him. “What happened?” She demanded.

He didn’t stop, just kept barreling away, sweat and blood flying as he switched from using his hands to his fighting knives. She’d seen him train before, but never like this. He was usually so light of foot, quick, clever and stealthy. This was pure rage, pure brutality. “Let me train with you, I can help…” she tried to move closer.

“No,” he snarled, stepping back. “Leave.  Now.”

She held her ground, putting her hands on her hips. “You can’t make me. I’m here to train, just like you.”

“No,” he growled again, flaring his wings, his face twisting harshly. She took a step back, blinking.

She thought they’d started to trust each other - respect each other’s vulnerabilities. Yet now he was pushing her away. She was about to push back again, to insist that whatever he needed to throw at her, she could handle it, when a pair of wings sounded above.

“Gwyn?!” She tore her eyes from Azriel to see Cassian land, walking swiftly towards them. He looked at his brother, who snarled at him too. “What are you doing here?” Cassian asked Gwyn, positioning himself as a solid wall between them.

She tried to glare at Azriel but Cassian’s battle honed body was blocking her, “I was training and wanted to…” She stopped herself, unsure how much she could or wanted to divulge to Cassian.

“Come Gwyn, tonight’s not a good night to train. Let’s leave Az to it,” he tried gently. Azriel's relentless pounding sounded from behind again.

Gwyn frowned. What did Cassian know? Her face softened as she looked at the shadows swirling towards her now, waving her away - she realised.

Cassian came up to her, closer than he normally would. “Gwyn, let’s go.” He urged again. She relented, turning slowly, worry lodged in her chest.

As they walked back towards the house, Azriel’s heavy breathing and the sickening thumps the only sounds, Nesta came running up the steps into the ring.

“What in the…” She looked at Gwyn and Cassian before her eyes shot towards the Shadowsinger's dark form behind them. Understanding dawned on her and she rushed forward. “Would you like some hot chocolate, Gwyn?”

Gwyn scowled at her, then at Cassian - what did they know that she didn’t? She took one last look back at him, the male that had been calm and caring with her the last few weeks, who had been supportive and challenging, interesting and patient... 

Now she just felt cold and angry.

Gwyn let the warmth of the drink soothe away her cold thoughts as they sat in the House of Wind’s Library ten minutes later. Cassian had left again, no doubt heading back out to see Azriel.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Nesta tried, no hint of pity or worry in her tone. Just openness, a safe space. 

Gwyn shook her head, but found herself talking anyway. “I just wanted to help him.”

Understanding shone on Nesta’s exquisite face. “What Azriel does, what he sees, day to day, it leaves a mark.” She explained, “Just like the rest of us, he just needs to release what it does.”

Gwyn ducked her head, she knew that. Facing the monsters that wreaked havoc on the mind could be just as dangerous as facing the monsters in the real world. Still, that didn’t mean he had to face them alone. She was suddenly angry at the fact that the others just let him deal with it all by himself.

“You’ve been training with him, haven’t you?” She wasn’t surprised Nesta had figured it out, her friend was more shrewd than others gave her credit for and it was her house, after all. She nodded and before she knew it, it all came out. 

Gwyn’s nerves and trauma after the Rite, her hesitance with weapons and how she was struggling to sleep. How Azriel, having seen and understood all that, had given her the support that had helped pull her through a bit, given her focus and purpose. Then she told Nesta about their work in the library. Not about the subject area or what they were trying to figure out, but that the Rhysand had asked them to help him in a court research matter that needed both of them.

“The training, the work in the library - it’s helping me realise that there’s still more for me to learn, more to experience, more to fight for. He’s been helping me…”

Her chest pulled tightly at the pain she felt recalling his raging face mere moments ago.

Nesta put her hand on Gwyn’s knee, the warmth seeping through her leathers. “He’ll continue to do so, just not tonight Gwyn. Tonight he has to let his own demons loose.”

Gwyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath, acceptance washing through her. Nesta gazed out at the view of Velaris from the window. “I have to admit though, something really rattled him - I’m sure Cassian’s trying to figure it out as we speak.”

There was silence for a while, Gwyn closed her eyes again, recounting the experience in her mind. “I just,” she opened her eyes to see Nesta looking at her keenly. “He was hurt. His wings…I’ve never seen them like that.” Her voice was thick with an emotion she didn’t even want to acknowledge.

Nesta nodded. “He’ll be ok, Gwyn. Trust me, I’ve seen Az, wings ripped to shreds after he rescued my sister and barely conscious from his wounds, stare down Rhysand and Cassian for the right to keep fighting.” She sat forward, gripping Gwyn’s hand, “He’ll be ok.”

Gwyn nodded, holding herself as she continued to gaze out the window into the darkness of the night.

Chapter Text

Azriel was ashamed of himself.

He’d let rage, frustration and hatred take over his entire being and had upset Gwyn in the process.

He’d been alerted by his shadows that something was amiss in Autumn yesterday morning. He winnowed there as soon as he dropped Emerie back to Windhaven, hoping his new informant would have an update on the soldiers' movements. Instead, he found the informant's body, beaten to death at the borders of the autumn and winter courts, with five autumn court soldiers waiting to catch the infamous Shadowsinger.

He’d fought his way out of the trap, only just escaping with his own life.

He’d spent the rest of his day and night scrutinising his flaws. How the operation had fallen apart, how he’d killed almost every Autumn Court soldier waiting for him, bar two. He’d sent a high-priority alert to his other informants, updated Rhys and Feyre then gone to The Court of Nightmares to deal with the two remaining soldiers.

They didn’t last long under his ministrations. Neither had given him specifics, but he gleaned enough. Enough to make the roaring in his head unbearable. He’d gone back to the House of Wind’s training ring to run himself ragged for his faults, the guilt of his informant's death weighing on him heavily.

Then she’d come.

He cursed himself, he should have gone somewhere else. Should have gone and ripped out the trees in the Illyrian forests, perhaps stayed to fight the beasts in the Court of Nightmares - or even gone to wrestle with Tamlin in the Spring Court. Yet he’d come to the training ring in the House of Wind and Gwyn had found him, had tried to help - and he’d been a beast in return, snarling at her, pushing her away.

“When were you going to tell us you were training her?” Cassian’s voice cut through his dark thoughts. After Nesta had taken Gwyn into the house, Cassian had come back out and the two brothers had gone head to head. Cassian took every blow, slice and strike Azriel threw at him, letting him work through his rage.

Azriel didn’t answer. Of course Cassian knew. It was his job as a General to know his soldiers inside out.

“She deflects like you do now, her movements are quick and sure… like yours. She’s just much more agile…” Cassian was saying as they both limped back into the House of Wind.

It was nearly two in the morning, his mind had quieted significantly, though his body was battered. He knew his shadows were pissed at him for his behaviour earlier.

There was still a light on in The Library of the House, so Cassian led them to it, Azriel following out of pure exhaustion. They entered to see Nesta curled in her favourite armchair, still reading a book. She shushed them as they walked in, pointing to the couch on the other side of the room where Gwyn was lying in the foetal position, hugging a Pegasus-shaped cushion.

His body gravitated towards her sleeping form. He watched her gentle breathing, her glimmering hair, her faint freckles. Everything about her was calm - none of her sizzling challenges or buoyant smiles right now, just peacefulness. He wondered whether the nightmares that he suspected she had every night would find her again tonight. He hoped his earlier rage and iciness didn’t add to them…

He was about to move towards her when Nesta stepped into his space, stopping him short. Pure, unyielding threat lay in her features, her stance unwavering - as though she was holding the Pass of Ennalius again.

It is a threat, Singer

Azriel didn’t need his shadows warning to understand. Nesta was fiercely protective and unquestionably loyal to her fellow Valkyries and if anyone ever came close to hurting them…

The Lady of Death takes no prisoners…

He held Nesta’s gaze for a long moment, then nodded sharply, agreeing to her silent terms. She begrudgingly stepped aside but her eyes remained fierce as they followed his every movement towards her friend.

Azriel bent down, picking Gwyn up easily, though his body barked in pain. Gwyn was tall and elegantly lithe, but he’d taken multiple beatings today. He held her for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t wake from the movement. He let her scent wash over him, ground him.

He nodded again at Nesta, inclined his head at Cassian in thanks then left, taking Gwyn to the spare room she had occupied after the Rite.

He lay her down in the four-poster bed, tucking the sheets around her. The House drew the curtains and dimmed the lights for him, a gentle warmth trickling in, as though it knew how to keep her comfortable. Watching her again for a moment, he leaned back down and pushed a stray piece of her coppery hair behind her delicately arched ear.

A good presence, Singer

Chapter Text

Gwyn woke in a comfortable, spacious bed in a light room. She was enjoying the warmth and lingering aromas of cedar when her memories came flooding in. She sat bolt upright - the Shadowsinger, bloody and raging, refusing help and care. Talking with Nesta until her throat ached and her eyes could no longer stay open.

She must have either walked herself to the spare room, or… she sniffed her surroundings. No, that scent was familiar - the Shadowsinger must have carried her here. She frowned, wondering how he’d managed with all the injuries she’d seen. Either way, he wasn’t her problem now - today and tomorrow, she had far more to think about than his unwillingness to be reasonable.

She left the plush spare room the House had somehow appointed her and walked back towards the library below. It was just before dawn, which meant she had time to bathe and dress before morning service. There would be no training today or tomorrow, because they were officially in the countdown to Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony.

Gwyn spent the day preparing herself mentally and emotionally. She sang clear and strong with her fellow priestesses in the service, willing the strength of the uplifting songs to guide her through the next two days. She took time to do her mindstilling between the various services and fae offerings that her and the other priestesses completed for the upcoming union. She even took time to read a little in her own room, giving her mind a space to recalibrate and her heart a moment to still.

By the time evening fell, she headed back up to the House again to spend the night with Nesta and Emerie. It was a tradition that Nesta insisted be kept from her human side - not seeing her mate the night before their mating ceremony.

As she walked the darkened halls, Gwyn realised she felt relatively calm. Excited, even. It was finally time for Nesta and Cassian’s union to be blessed by the Mother and Gwyn was truly happy that she would be part of it, standing by her new sister's side.

The House was bathed in romantic fae lights as she entered it, beautiful music sounding through the halls as she neared the Library. She pushed open the door to find Nesta and Emerie dancing together to the Symphonia. Nesta guiding Emerie to the beat, Emerie looking dazed, if not alarmed by the sequence.

“You’ve felled Illyrian warriors and faced down mythical beasts - a bit of dancing is nothing in comparison!” Nesta laughed, trying to spin Emerie, who’s wings caught instead. Emerie spotted Gwyn and sighed audibly.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here. Nesta wants me dancing tomorrow and when I admitted I couldn’t dance, guess who took it upon herself to become teacher?” Emerie stomped her foot in irritation but Gwyn just laughed.

“Good, I’ll help!” Gwyn winked, taking Emerie’s hands and twirling her around too. Nesta laughed loudly, a sound once more rare than even the pegasi. The Valkyries danced and ate and gossiped and read until late - the House taking part in the celebrations in its own way.

The next morning was a flurry of excitement and activity.

Feyre and Mor had arrived at the crack of dawn with Cerridwen and Nuala. Amren stayed with Elain to oversee the last preparations at The River House, insisting that ‘A gaggle of giggling females was her idea of hell.’ Gwyn was pleased to see and spend time with the wraith twins again and even happier when she noticed Mor’s face lighting up when she saw Emerie.

They spent the morning drinking sparkling wine - “I stole these delicious vintages from Rhys’ personal stores,” Mor had winked as she poured them each a glass - whilst being thoroughly pampered by a legion of fae beauticians, who had come specially to primp, prime, paint and gloss them all into perfection. Rhysand had arranged it as part of his promise to over-indulge each of Nesta’s wants and desires for her big day. 

The House had apparently kicked Azriel and Cassian out last night, forcing them to stay away whilst the females enjoyed their night together. They’d tried to go to the River House but Feyre had kicked them out too, sending Rhysand with them.

“They probably went to the cabin for a lot of liquor and the brother-bonding time they so desperately needed.” Mor explained whilst she brushed Emerie’s long onyx hair. That piqued Gwyn’s interest, she wondered what happened that would affect the relationship.

The House had set up a room for the females to get ready together. Nesta had gifted Emerie and Gwyn with gowns specially for the big day and Mor had insisted on doing their hair and make-up. Nuala was busy with Feyre’s and Cerridwen with Nesta’s. 

“I adore these ceremonies,” Mor sighed wistfully. “The music, the dancing, the dresses, the food…”

“Not to mention the free flowing wine and gorgeous guests?” Feyre winked at her, Mor nodded excitedly, a faint blush stained her cheeks as she smiled down at Emerie.

Gwyn was half listening to them, half in a world of her own. Fiddling with the necklace she’d been gifted at Solstice, she watched the way the light from the high windows reflected all the beautiful colours within it.

Before long, it was time for all the females to dress, the twins helping each of them into their gowns before leaving to attend to Nesta separately.

“Gods Gwyn, has anyone ever told you how radiant you are?” Emerie muttered as she came up beside her friend. Gwyn smiled shyly, staring at her reflection in the ornate full-length mirror.

The dress Nesta had specially made for her was a soft teal colour that matched Gwyn’s eyes and her charm bracelet perfectly. The skirt was long and voluminous, made of a billowy silk and chiffon material that swished as she walked. The material then changed to a clingy silk, hugging her waistline to reveal her lithe torso before draping softly in a halterneck style across her chest. Her breasts were covered but it still showed off her silhouette. Her favourite part though, was the back; the silken straps at the top crossing over behind her neck in a knot before the material hung loose, cascading down her back - which was left exposed to her waistline, showing off her toned shoulders, arms and upper back.

Gwyn had spent many months training with the Valkyries and many months reading the romance novels that her, Emerie and Nesta liked so much. Today, in this dress - she felt both strong and empowered yet also soft and feminine, like one of the protagonists of their stories. The perfect blend of warrior and lady. She giggled, feeling dizzy with relief.  

“Oh Emerie!” She gasped, grabbing her friend’s hands and making her spin as she marvelled at her. Emerie’s gown was a replica of Gwyn's but in a royal purple that complimented her colouring and matched her own bracelet. Emerie’s back, which was also left open, showed off her wings beautifully and it was as though she was standing taller today because of it, holding them slightly higher in pride. “You are…’ Gwyn started.

“Divine…” Mor’s voice sounded behind them. They turned to see her standing with Feyre, her eyes sparkling as she gazed at Emerie. Mor was in her usual style, a body hugging silk crimson dress with cut out sides and deep slits to show off her shapely legs. As she came closer, Gwyn realised her entire dress was sparkling, small crystals hugged every inch of it. She’d bedecked herself in heavy gold jewellery, her dark eyes lined with chocolate kohl and her lips painted in a red that matched her dress precisely. She looked sumptuous and sensuous, oozing confidence and glamour. Emerie’s jaw was practically on the floor as she stared at her, unable to formulate a coherent word.

Feyre laughed, the sound like liquid light, “Oh Emerie, bonus points to you. That is exactly the reaction our dear Mor was looking for.” 

The High Lady herself was in a dark navy gown that shimmered with light as she walked towards them. Gwyn realised with a start that the shimmer came from thousands of real diamonds that lined every inch of the dress. From its sweeping skirt, also complete with sensational slits, to its bandeau style top with sheer sleeves, ending in two huge diamond cuffs at her wrists - the entire dress sparkled like the female wearing it.

“Well, I’d say we all got the memo on the dress code.” Feyre looked fondly at them both, leaning in to peck them on the cheeks, “You both look spellbinding!”

Gwyn’s cheeks heated, she immediately made to tuck her hair behind her ear in nervousness but found it was already tucked away. They had styled it in a glamorous updo, with small tendrils of curls hanging loosely here and there. Gwyn wasn’t sure what magic was used to curl her usually pin straight hair but she was pleased with how it all came together.

“We’re so honoured to be here.” Gwyn replied demurely. Mor simply smiled, looking at Gwyn’s necklace with interest.

“That’s a beautiful piece, Gwyn.” She raised her brow and Gwyn smiled proudly but said nothing, fiddling softly with the rose charm.

“It’s from a mystery gift giver. Gwyn received it at Solstice and still has no idea who got it for her.” Emerie chimed. Mor raised her brows and continued to stare at it inquisitively. Before Gwyn could explain any further, a soft cough came from the door. They turned as one to watch Nesta walk in.

Nesta was nothing short of exquisite, in every way, shape and form.

In a molten silver gown that gave her eyes an almost luminous quality, she stepped into the room further, showing off the many dimensions of her dazzling gown.

It clung to every curve of her body perfectly. The skirt was full and billowy like Gwyn and Emerie’s but made entirely of silk. The bodice was tight to her form, showing off her cinched waistline and ample bust in a tasteful manner with the square neckline suiting her shape in the most sensational way. Her arms were covered by sheer sleeves similar to Feyre’s, also sparkling with diamond crystals but with two delicate diamond bands on each wrist instead of the large cuffs her sister preferred. In her hair, which was styled in her favoured coronet, there were sparkling diamonds and rubies woven into a small diadem atop her head.

Regal, resplendent and ruthlessly beautiful.

Emerie let out a low whistle, “Cassian is going to drop dead the moment he lays eyes on you!”

Nesta’s face lit up like the solstice night sky. They all swooped in to hug her, Feyre wiping the tears from her eyes delicately as she beheld her sister. Nesta looked at her family as though she wanted to say something, but she simply nodded once and straightened her spine in that unwavering way only Nesta Archeron could and moved towards the door.

Gwyn fought to keep down the tears of joy she could feel line her eyes and nodded at Feyre, Emerie and Mor in turn.

She was ready to take this next step - together with her fellow Valkyries and sisters.

Chapter Text

“This is Hel…” Cassian growled as he pulled at the white collar of the shirt he was wearing. “I’d rather go see Bryaxis again than wear this!” He strained against the tailored jacket, flaring his wings out impatiently.

“I wouldn’t say that too loudly around our females, they may hold you to it!” Rhys chuckled, helping his brother fix the lapel of his jacket. Cassian sighed, running his hand through his clean hair. He’d even brushed it for the occasion.

Azriel watched quietly, he hadn’t seen Cassian this nervous in centuries. Then again - standing in a sacred Temple, being watched by a sea of people, waiting for your mate to arrive before your mating ceremony - that would probably make any male with common sense sweat with discomfort. 

Azriel looked at the people seated in front of them. The three brothers stood together at the altar, waiting for the females. There were fae from every court here for the event.

Now that Rhys and Feyre had announced Velaris to the world, they had no choice but to make a formal show of important changes in their court. He understood it on a diplomatic level. He hated it on a personal one. He knew that as a unit, the Inner Court would have far preferred a more intimate gathering for Nesta and Cassian.

Either way, he had no choice and had spent all of yesterday with Rhys and Amren, ensuring Velaris’ wards were strong and secure. Sweeping through the city to look for hidden dangers and threats. Even checking and then double-checking every element at the Temple and the River House to make absolutely sure. Now, standing in front of them all, he listened keenly to his shadows as they informed him of each guest’s different scent, the minute changes in their mood, movement and everything in between. Somehow, his mind still drifted as they waited…

He tried multiple times to find Gwyn yesterday. To apologise for his behaviour the night before in the ring. He even went as far as to leave a note for her in the spare room at the House of Wind, hoping she’d see that he was looking for her. When he tried to go up to the Library yesterday evening, knowing Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn were in there - the House had barred him, slamming the large doors in his face.

His mood had been growing darker by the second when Cassian found him and asked if he wanted to grab a drink with him and Rhys.

So they spent the evening at the cabin in the mountains, recounting memories of their shared centuries - which included teasing Cassian about some of the more disastrous courting attempts he’d had with females over the centuries. They stayed away from the topic of Mor. Though, for the first time, Azriel didn’t feel tense at the prospect of discussing her or his feelings towards her. He loved her. More and more with each passing year…but if he had to be honest with himself, he just wasn’t in love with her anymore. Mating bond or not, he was sure there was someone out there destined for her but for the first time in his life - he realised it would never be him.

The brothers had enjoyed their evening together, bantering and bonding. Putting aside the stresses and pressures of the Court and of Prythian to enjoy each other's company.

‘It’s time…’

Rhys’s voice filled Azriel’s mind, pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked on as Rhys gripped Cassian by the shoulder, pride shining in his star-flecked violet eyes. Cassian stood taller in response, letting Rhys straighten his jacket again affectionately. Cassian’s gaze found Azriel’s too, he gave his brother a wry grin and a nod in acknowledgement and promise. His shadows swirled at the raw emotion lining his brother's handsome face.

Azriel tapped his siphoned hands, feeling the reassuring hum of energy as soft music played around them. He’d kept his siphoned fingerless gloves beneath his tailored black suit. If he needed to, he could easily tap them to replace the formal attire with his battle suit in a matter of minutes.

The music grew louder and Azriel looked to see Feyre standing at the entrance to the Temple, sparkling with light as she held a small bouquet of delicate white flowers. He could feel Rhys’s ripple of love, desire and everything in between as Feyre walked slowly towards them, smiling serenely at the guests as she passed.

The High Lady is happy

Good, that meant everything had gone to plan and everyone with her was ok, right?

Everyone is fine, Singer - there are currently no threats. You may enjoy this moment

He frowned at his shadows. He refused to let his guard down, to forget about the dangers and problems they faced.

But he did forget.

He forgot quite suddenly in fact, as Mor and Elain entered the Temple together.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight of them - one in crimson, the other in lilac, both holding similar white bouquets. Two of the most beautiful females in all of Prythian - stunning everyone as they walked to the altar. He had to remind himself to remain stoic. To keep his face cool and passive, despite the turmoil his mind was in as he watched the two females he’d most lusted after, together, side by side.

He noticed Lucien shift in his seat as he watched Elain carefully. Seeing him stare longingly at his mate sobered Azriel somewhat, giving him a moment to recalibrate and focus on the task at hand - making sure the ceremony was safe and…

Just wait for it, Singer…

Not understanding his shadows, he tapped his siphons again. Instead of feeling their usual energy rush, he felt that thrum of heat and light again - similar to what he felt in the hallway at The River House all those weeks ago. He frowned, about to ask his shadows to double-check their surroundings but as he looked up, Gwyn walked through the temple doors and every reasonable thought left his mind.

The Priestess was gliding towards the altar, Emerie by her side, holding her head high and smiling at anyone that caught her eye.

She looked as though she’d done this a hundred times before and his chest felt ready to burst with pride at the thought - how this kind, selfless and determined female, conquering her fears in such a big, important way.

He let himself take her in fully. This wasn’t the Gwyn that he found at Sangravah all those years ago. This wasn’t the Gwyn who wouldn’t return his smile at the first training session. This wasn’t even the Gwyn that he’d seen shaken and unsure after the Rite. This was the same Gwyn he witnessed at training every day - strong, confident and at ease, having gained back some weight and muscle in the last few weeks.

But there was something altogether different about her too. A low humming energy surrounding her that he wanted to immerse himself in. Her coppery hair was up and away from her features, showing off her elegant silhouette. His gaze travelled, taking in the soft material of her dress, which hugged her lithe body to perfection.

She looked up and her eyes locked with his. The energy that he felt in the air earlier rushed through his body, the blood in his very veins heating with it.

It was the single most overwhelming and exhilarating thing he’d ever felt… as though she was imprinting on his very soul.

‘Azriel, your shadows, what’s happening?’

He jolted in surprise at Rhys’s voice in his head. Tearing his eyes from Gwyn’s, he realised his shadows had expanded across his entire form, pulsing across his chest - reaching out to the females walking towards them. By the time he’d forced them back under control, writhed around his wings and neck, Gwyn and Emerie had made it to the front of the altar and were standing next to Feyre, Elain and Mor.

Their eyes were all fixed on the double door entrance to the temple, where Nesta now stood, bathed in light and glowing like molten silver.

Straight-backed and eternally regal, Nesta looked at no one but her mate as she walked gracefully yet swiftly towards them. Azriel could feel each of their heightened emotions as Cassian and Nesta watched one another, their mating bond practically glowing for all to see.

Eventually she reached the group as a whole, giving Feyre her bouquet of white flowers that matched the others. Her eyes sparkled as she took Cassian's hands and gave him a small, shaky smile. In turn, he kissed each one of her hands reverently and smiled at her - broadly and without restraint.

Paraclete, The High Priestess chosen for the event, came forward and the whole party took it as their cue to take their seats. The ceremony itself was simple and touching, with Nesta and Cassian both saying their immortal vows clearly and affectionately. Tears lined their eyes as the black ribbon was tied around their joined hands.

“Before we say the final words, the Priestesses of the Night Court have prepared something for the mated couple.” Paraclete announced, gazing pointedly at Rhysand and Feyre who were seated next to him in the front row. Rhys nodded conspiratorially and waved his hand towards the back of the altar, where two doors opened.

Azriel watched in wonder as a dozen hooded priestesses walked forward, led by none other than Gwyn. She had put her robes on over her dress, but kept her hood down. She smiled shyly at the congregation and winked at Nesta before they all took their places. Azriel noticed Annake, Deirdre, Roslin and Clotho among them, knowing their individual scents well enough, despite their hoods.

Gwyn nodded at Rhys once and he waved his hand again to magically reveal a small orchestra behind the Priestesses. Gwyn smiled then and it damn near lit the entire temple.

A soft melody started playing and Azriel shivered as the first notes heightened his own senses, his keen ear for sounds and songs already picking up the individual notes. One by one, each of the Priestesses joined the melody, harmonising to the music softly, until finally, a stronger, more powerful voice joined the harmony and brought it to its peak. Not just any voice, Azriel realised with a start, but Gwyn’s voice.

A lilting mezzo-soprano that lifted the rest of their voices perfectly.

Azriel’s heart was beating out his chest as he watched and listened, marvelling at how her voice soared as she led the priestesses, weaving the beautiful words together - an ancient vow - turned into a song. One portraying endless love, a fated couple and a powerful union. Azriel’s fingers shook as he listened to the prophetic words flow around them. The music filled his ears, his heart, his very soul and throughout it, Gwyn shone.

Literally. 

She was a beacon of light; her hair, her skin - everything was radiating light and energy. The energy he’d only caught glimpses of before when she challenged him or when she was happy. He wondered whether everyone else could see it too? Or whether only he could because they’d spent so much time together recently, growing closer than he dared admit.

Either way, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. As though hearing his thoughts, their gazes locked instantly. She threw him a wicked grin as if to say - Surprise - before she looked down at Nesta and Cassian in front of her.

The other priestesses had joined in the immortal words, weaving their voices with Gwyn’s sparkling pitch. Listening to her voice, which even dropped into a husky note periodically to keep her audience wholly transfixed, was like lounging on a balcony overlooking a peaceful glade, whilst drinking the finest wine money could buy. Utter indulgence blended with supreme serenity - the effect was enrapturing.

‘Az, your shadows!’

Azriel shook his head from the music-induced stupor to see his shadows had left his shoulders and now swam at Gwyn’s feet - sidling up her sweeping gown. He looked at Rhys, equally wide-eyed as he took in the scene. The shadows dutifully ignored him when he tried to force them back, choosing to stay with the singing Priestess. Though he was shocked and mortified at their lack of response, he didn’t blame them - he wished he could worship her in the same way.

Before long, the Priestesses' wish for the mated couple - passion, happiness and most of all - respect, led the song to a close. Gwyn ended the song on a high note that made his eyes practically roll back in ecstasy.

He’d never heard a voice so perfect in his entire life. A voice he could listen to forever. A voice he wished would sing the song of life with him for years to come…

Thunderous applause erupted as the Priestesses finished their song. Azriel blinked repeatedly, shaking his head to regain some semblance of control. Nesta was openly crying, rushing forward to hug Gwyn, who smiled shyly and bobbed her head in thanks to the congregation.

Azriel stood with the rest of the group, clapping as the brave Priestesses glided back to the doors behind the temple. The coppery haired songstress who had stolen their hearts, leaving with them.

Chapter Text

“I think chocolate may be my true mate.” Gwyn groaned, dipping another piece of fruit into the free-flowing chocolate fountain, sighing with pleasure at the richness.

Emerie sniggered. “Now that’s a cauldron-blessed match!”

After Gwyn’s surprise performance, the Priestesses had gone back to the library as the rest of the ceremony came to an end. Gwyn had chosen to stay, sneaking back into the temple as the final vows were made and the ribbon tied.

Cassian and Nesta disappeared after - as was custom to consummate the union before rejoining their guests to celebrate properly.

Gwyn and Emerie were ushered by Mor into a gorgeous fae-lit glass marquee that was set up in The River House’s gardens. The entire pavilion was decorated by swathes of silver fabric similar to Nesta’s dress, with white flowers hanging from the roof and lining all the surfaces around them. The effect was romantic, ethereal and decadent. Gwyn knew Nesta had given Elain and the High Lord permission to decorate as they saw fit and she had to admit, it was perfect for the newly mated couple.

When the rest of the guests arrived in full force, Gwyn was glad that Mor had brought them in earlier, placing them near to the mated couple’s table. There was far less walkthrough here, and she didn’t have to meet or mingle with too many of the countless High Fae from the Court in attendance. As the sister to the High Lady and the General to the Night Court, Gwyn had known Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony would be a diplomatically important occasion - yet in the effort to be wholly present for Nesta’s big day and to surprise her and Cassian with something special - she had almost forgotten about the sheer amount of near-royalty they'd be surrounded by.

“No pistachio cake today?” A voice rumbled behind her. Emerie and Gwyn turned to find The Shadowsinger leaning against one of the glass doors, amusement lining his handsome face.

Gwyn swallowed, dabbing her mouth delicately as she tried to think of something to say. She hadn’t seen him since the ceremony earlier. He’d been absent whilst the main celebration in the gardens took place, no doubt mingling with the rest of the guests or dealing with another Courtly matter. If they were at training, she’d make him spar with her, so they could let out the pent up energy. If they were in the library, she’d make him verbally spar with her, each one challenging the other with another point of view. But now, in all his tailored finery, his dark eyes and dark shadows pulsing with an inviting energy, she didn’t know how to even begin speaking to him again. Especially after their last disastrous meet, when he’d been bloodied and bruised, raging and hateful.

“This sounds like a wonderful personal joke, so I’m going to let you enjoy it and I’ll be back later.” Emerie smacked her lips, winked at Gwyn then picked up her drink and walked confidently to Mor, who was laughing with the High Lord of the Winter Court and his mate.

Azriel watched her go before moving towards the fountain and sniffing the melted chocolate. He picked up a strawberry, dipping it carefully in the fountain before bringing it to his mouth. She watched keenly as he slowly bit into it, Gwyn’s toes curling with anticipation. He quirked his brow, still waiting for her to respond.

And maybe she was still angry at the way he’d shut her out the other night. Or maybe it was just to distract herself from this strange pull she felt towards him, she replied bluntly. “No growling or ripping apart training dummies tonight?”

She saw the blow land, his eyes flashing with something like regret before he schooled his features again. His shadows however still moved with caution.

He dabbed his mouth, then picked up two glasses of wine as a waiter walked by, offering her one. She accepted only because she wanted something to do with her hands.

Staring at the dance floor now, where the same incredible orchestra from earlier played as couples danced smoothly, she pretended not to notice as he took a long sip of his wine, tucking his wings in tight to his body - a visible sign of his discomfort. They stood in silence, Gwyn tapping her foot to the beat of the music, Azriel drinking his wine.

“You got the other Priestesses out of the library…” he said quietly after a while. She simply hummed in response, continuing to watch the dancing, where Nesta and Cassian had now joined.

Azriel let out a breath, “…and you sing.”

She considered it, then turned to face him fully. “We owe Nesta a lot for extending her hand and helping to show us the light outside of the Library.” She looked back at her friend being twirled by her mate. “Nesta loves music and we love making it,” Gwyn sighed. “It was the least we could do.” She placed her untouched wine glass on the table and wrapped her arms around herself.

He stepped closer and she may have shivered ever so slightly at his sudden proximity. “It was the most captivating thing I’ve heard in my entire life…” His voice was so low and intense, it rushed through her, warming her very blood. She dared to look up at him and those hazel eyes captivated her immediately. Despite it, she willed her heart to calm and the sudden blush to disappear from her cheeks. Then she remembered she was still angry at him and looked away again.

She heard him rustle his wings impatiently but held her ground. A moment passed before he stepped in her line of sight, blocking her view of the dancing. “Are you going to make me say it?”

She feigned ignorance, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He simply rolled his eyes in response, crossing his own arms over his broad chest and mirroring the stance she’d subconsciously taken.

“What is it you want from me, Priestess?” She narrowed her eyes at him trying to figure out how she could win this, when she saw - or rather felt - another emotion from him. Regret yes, but also… fear.

Was that it? Was he worried about how she’d act? That she’d walk away now that she’d witnessed a glimpse of the dark place he descended to? That place his friends and family allowed him to descend into - alone?

She softened her gaze, flicking her eyes briefly to the swirling shadows on his neck and shoulders, before looking back up at his face. A face carved by the Gods - and generous ones at that. Stepping closer and trying to appear as calm and confident as possible, exactly as she’d read the protagonists in her novels do, she placed her fingers delicately on one of his forearms and looked at him from under her lowered lashes. “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance?”

She felt his surprise, his shadows even swayed with the force of it. “You want to dance?”

She kept her eyes firmly fixed on his then said as huskily as she could muster, “There’s a great many things I want to do, Shadowsinger…”

The effect was instant, she watched his pupils dilate, giving his eyes an almost glassy quality. She offered a close-lipped, shy smile in return. His eyes flicked over her mouth before he cleared his throat and nodded.

Chapter Text

Azriel was in deep shit.

Deep, unending shit covered in heaps of trouble and delivered with a boat load of problems.

Walking towards the dance floor, Gwyn’s hand firmly on his forearm, he was keenly aware of the many heads that turned as they passed.

Not only did he believe himself the worst kind of male, capable of unspeakable monstrosities on a daily basis. But to make matters worse - he was now leading one of the purest, most beautiful females he’d ever met to the dance floor, tainting her reputation with his own. Despite this, and despite knowing he had no right to, here he was casting dark and dangerous looks at all the other males now watching them. No doubt they were thinking the same thing he was when he first laid eyes on her today... and now… now he’d be the one to hold her, touch her delicate skin, her pale freckled back. The one to lead her in a dance that she had requested. And damn him to eternity, it gave him a purely male sense of satisfaction to know it was him she’d asked. The same satisfaction he felt when he saw she was wearing the necklace he’d left for her at Solstice too. A necklace meant for someone else, someone who looked miserable on the other side of the marquee, sitting in stony silence as she watched the guests.

Yes, he was going to eternal Hel. He just hoped Gwyn wouldn’t realise it anytime soon.

Cassian flashed him a sickeningly sweet smile as they neared, winking at Gwyn. Nesta simply threw Azriel another withering warning look. Gwyn stopped at the edge of the dance floor and looked up at him expectedly. He took his cue, bowing his head. “May I have this dance, Priestess?”

Her smile was dazzling. “You may, Shadowsinger.”

He took her hand in his and looked to her for permission, which she gave with a swift nod - something they’d become used to doing in training. She would initiate contact if she felt comfortable enough for him to correct her stance or to commence with hand-to-hand combat. He would give her one last searching look or simply ask her outright before she nodded in consent each time. They’d built a certain level of trust over the weeks as a result. He just hoped his outburst in the ring a few nights ago hadn’t ruined that.

That was then, this is now. Enjoy the now, Singer

For once, he heeded his shadows’ advice, pushing the dark thoughts from his mind and focusing on Gwyn as she stepped into his space. She settled her hand on his shoulder and he was about to lay his hand on her back, as was custom for dancing - when he faltered.

There had always been material in the way when they trained or flew, little to no skin-to-skin contact. Yet now, his mottled hand would be touching the soft and delicate - even intimate part of her back, further adding to his anxiety of tainting her. His hesitation must have been clear, because after a moment, she simply took his hand and gently lifted it, allowing it to settle on her waist. As it did, a sea of sensation hit him.

Her scent; overwhelming and yet somehow so calming…

The feel of her soft skin under his scarred hands… 

The tautness of her strong body as he held her lithe torso…

The intensity of her gaze…

She was all but shouting with her eyes, ‘Dance now, before I lose my nerve!’

Azriel forced his feet to move, pulling her with him as they started dancing to the music. He wasn’t surprised at how well she moved on the dance floor - having experienced her fluid movement in the training ring for months. And if the musical prowess he’d experienced earlier was any indication, she’d been singing and dancing her whole life. Her body reacted beautifully to his guidance, following even the lightest step change as they moved effortlessly.

He wanted to grin at the euphoria he felt pulsing through her. He knew this dance, knew the song and was prepared for the next step. Swinging her out elegantly in a twirl, her silken skirts billowing around her, before bringing her back and regaining his hold on her waist. She laughed and the exquisiteness of the sound drowned out every negative thought he’d ever had as he took her in.

“Who would have thought, the broody Shadowsinger - a secret delight on the dance floor!” She was glowing again.

He managed to throw her a wry grin, “Glad to keep you on your toes, Priestess.”

They flowed easily from one song into another, hardly stopping as the orchestra kept going as though playing only for them. Gone was the worry of his dark past, gone was Autumn Court death, gone was the stress of finding the other worlds or the fear of the Dead Trove, gone was the nightmare of the Rite and the rebelling Illyrians.

All Azriel focused on was the female in his arms, waltzing to perfection, lighting the entire room with her infectious smile. He’d never experienced this side of her - so full of life and laughter - and he never wanted it to change.

The third or perhaps the fourth song came to an end. He was so enraptured he hadn’t realised how long they had been dancing for. Gwyn’s eyes bored into his, challenging him to another dance, but a cough sounded behind them.

He looked to find Nesta with a shit-eating grin rivalling Cassian’s on her face. “Hello you two,” she smirked. “I think it’s time I get to dance with Gwyneth a bit, don’t you Az?”

Azriel’s grip may have tightened on Gwyn’s waist ever so slightly in response but she smiled up at him coyly. “Thank you, Shadowsinger.”

He blinked, not understanding his own hesitation, but forced himself to let her go either way. Giving Nesta a low bow of deference, he walked towards the bar, where Rhys and Cassian were watching.

“Well, well, well…” Cassian announced as Azriel ordered a drink, trying not to look either of them in the eye. “Look who finally decided to let go of the pretty Priestess.”

Azriel frowned into his drink. “Congratulations on your lavish mating ceremony brother. All this decadence, all this fuss. You must be thrilled…” He quipped in response, earning an eye roll from Cassian.

“Change the subject all you like, but you know I won’t drop this one.” Cassian drawled.

Rhys chuckled, throwing him a lifeline. “I for one, am glad that Gwyn has built enough confidence and trust to be here and enjoy herself. You should both be proud.” He smacked Azriel on the back and winked at him.

Azriel said nothing but looked over to where Gwyn and Nesta, now joined by Emerie, were dancing excitedly to the next song. Smiles plastered on all their faces as their dresses flowed around them and their matching bracelets glowed.

Rhys was right, he was proud.

“I believe congratulations and good luck are in order, General.” Helion’s sparkling voice interrupted Azriel’s thoughts. He turned to find the ridiculously beautiful male poised elegantly next to the bar, swirling a glass of golden bubbly in a delicate glass as he watched the three females on the dance floor. “You are incredibly lucky and incredibly brave to take Nesta Archeron as your mate.”

Cassian clinked his glass with Helion’s. “I don’t disagree.” His satisfied smirk said it all.

“Who pray tell, is the delicious female you were dancing with, Spymaster?” Helion drawled, raising his brow.

Azriel snarled softly, his shadows darkening. Fortunately Rhys intervened before his temper could get the better of him. “A close friend to us all, and a rather spectacular singer too...”

Helion hummed his agreement, still watching Gwyn, Emerie and Nesta with those keen eyes. Azriel had wanted to rip the remarkably good-natured High Lord’s throat out after he slept with Mor a few years ago, but right now he wanted to rip his entire being to shreds for looking at the Valkyries like that.

Rhys ripped through his mental shield.

I can’t believe I’m having to warn you, of all males, to stop showing your hand like this…

Azriel blinked. Of course, Rhys was right. What was wrong with him? He usually had a much better handle on himself. He took a long dreg of his drink to recalibrate himself as Helion asked, “Does she have any ancestry in Day?”

Azriel frowned, Cassian watched Helion carefully, his own protectiveness peeking through. “Why do you say that?” Rhys responded casually, sipping his drinks - evidently working the calm arrogance persona much better than Azriel tonight.

“Surely you noticed that glow, Rhysand?” Helion’s voice was dripping with that superior knowledge he was famed for.

Rhys chuckled, waving his hand irreverently, “Oh a little party trick Gwyneth and Feyre worked on to help really sell the show, that’s all.”

Azriel’s shadows grew restless, sliding around his wings at the words.

Rhys clapped Helion on his shoulder jovially. “Now, come. My High Lady will have my head if you and I stand here talking all night when she specifically asked you for a dance earlier…”

Azriel was grateful for his brother's smooth words, hopefully Helion would buy them.

“Yes Rhysand, you really must watch this time. I need no wings to properly sweep a lady off her feet…” Helion’s glittering arrogance would have set Azriel on edge if it was his mate he spoke about, but Rhys had a way of managing his instincts far more than the average male. He simply laughed and led the High Lord of Day away.

“It wasn’t a party trick, was it?” Cassian muttered as they left. Azriel’s shadows loomed over them as he shook his head.

No, that was the Priestess’s own power

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s feet were burning, her hair sticking to her sweaty neck and her legs aching - all thanks to the sheer amount of euphoric dancing she’d just put her body through.

She hadn’t danced like that in years. The memories of celebrations at Sangravah usually weighed her down but tonight, she relived them with an unexpected effervescent fondness as she waltzed, twirled and swayed to the music around her.

She’d been so overcome by the joy of being present and being so involved in the night of celebrations, that she’d hardly stopped.

Rubbing her feet, she let the sweet scent of the roses ground her. She was back in the quiet fae-lit pavilion at The River House, having snuck away after her sixth, maybe seventh dance. Most of the guests had gone, with only a few left to enjoy the more close knit evening affair. Mor and Emerie had been having a wine-induced dance off, Cassian roaring with laughter as he watched. Nesta was sitting with Elain and an auburn haired male with a golden metal eye, who had stared at Gwyn a little longer than she was comfortable with. Azriel had been dancing with Feyre as Rhysand watched, sipping his wine while making light conversation with Amren and a striking summer court male. With everyone occupied, Gwyn saw it as the perfect moment to disappear, to catch her breath and enjoy the fresh air.

She took deep, mindstilling breaths - enjoying the warm breeze from the summer's night and the rose infused aromas around her. She fiddled absentmindedly with the charm on her necklace - also a rose. She had no real affinity for roses, so she didn’t quite understand why her mystery gift giver would choose it for her. Perhaps it was because it was positively iridescent when the light caught it. She enjoyed that bit about it most, the secret quality of its true beauty…

“That is a beautiful necklace,” a soft voice sounded. Gwyn looked to see Elain climb the steps onto the pavilion dias. She motioned to the seat next to Gwyn’s, waiting for permission. Gwyn nodded but watched the middle Archeron sister carefully.

“Where did you get it from?” Elain asked, gazing pointedly at the necklace.

Gwyn cleared her throat, “It was a gift.”

Elain's eyes were still fixed on the delicate charm, as though puzzled by it. “Really?” Her brows lifted. “Quite the generous gift…”

Gwyn hummed her agreement then stopped fiddling with it, hoping it would stop drawing attention. It was the second time today another female had been so intrigued by it.

They sat in silence for a beat, so Gwyn offered, “The ceremony's decor and the bouquets were so beautiful today, you made Nesta very happy with your choices.”

Elain gave a curt smile.“It was not my contribution she was the most pleased with. Your singing was the real showstopper today…”

Gwyn’s heart raced. “Oh no, Nesta has heard me sing a hundred times.” She waved her hand dismissively. “That wasn’t anything as…” but Elain cut her off.

“Your singing and your dancing, in fact. Both were quite entrancing.” Gwyn didn’t miss the sharp edge to the compliment. “May I ask, was there a reason why you would only dance with Azriel tonight?” Elain asked quietly, still her eyes never left Gwyn’s necklace.

On the one hand, Gwyn was grateful Nesta and the others hadn’t shared her story without her knowledge or consent. But on the other, she wasn’t about to explain why she would only let one male that close to her. Why she wanted him and only him to help her break down those fears.

“He’s my training partner, I’m used to him,” she shrugged. “Besides, I danced more with Nesta and Emerie… though I can’t say my feet will thank me for it tomorrow.” She joked.

Elain said nothing and Gwyn decided she’d had enough of her glassy eyes and double edged words. She stood but Elain grabbed her hand forcefully. Gwyn’s breath caught, Elains eyes were translucent, her mouth moving rapidly as she threw her head back and intoned…

A sirens call returns to shore

A shadow hurts from the light a’burnt

A saviour no longer lost

But the gold it reeps at a cost

Elain sucked in an enormous rattling breath then let go of Gwyn’s hand. Gwyn quickly put distance between them. Elain’s eyes returned to normal but she had a frantic look about her.

“You…?!” She  breathed, her eyes darting between Gwyn’s face and the necklace. Gwyn gaped. She knew Elain was a seer, but to experience it in such a visceral way…

“Are you ok?” Gwyn tried frantically. “What can I do to help?”

Elain shook her head. “You need to go!” Gwyn frowned, not knowing how to react. “Go,” Elain urged again, this time more firmly. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want them to worry…” she muttered coldly, turning to face the opposite way.

Gwyn certainly understood why Elain would want to keep this to herself and not invoke fear in her family. But she still wasn't sure whether to stay and lend an ear or let the female be alone to unpack it herself. In the end, she knew which she would want for herself.

“Ok, but please let me know if you need anything, Elain. Anything at all…” She urged before exiting the pavilion and leaving the sullen seer to her own thoughts.

Gwyn walked the garden steps back to the marquee, hoping Emerie would be ready to go back to the House of Wind. They would both be staying there tonight as Cassian and Nesta would leave tonight for a few weeks, give or take - depending on how long the frenzy took them.

Gwyn was about to enter the glass marquee when the auburn-haired fae male with a gold metal eye from earlier stepped in her line of sight, forcing her to take a step back.

“Hello, I’ve been meaning to introduce myself,” he said politely, if not a bit eagerly. She took another healthy step back and tried to calm her racing heart. “I’m Lucien Vanserra. You must be Gwyneth?” He extended his hand towards her but Gwyn didn’t take it. Now that she knew he was a Vanserra, she wanted to remain guarded.

She decided to bow her head in greeting instead. He watched her carefully, dropping his hand to his side. “I’m sorry to be forward, I just - I heard about your time in The Rite and wanted to congratulate you on becoming a Carynthian.”

She frowned, shifting on her heels. How did he know so much about her, when she knew so little of him.

“Rhysand and Feyre have spoken highly of the females training in this court, I’m glad Nesta was successful in helping others do so.” He spoke gently, watching her with his golden eye as though he could see her every thought. She checked her mental shields in case.

“I also know that you perhaps originally hail from Autumn,” his eyes flicked up to her hair. “I wanted to extend my hand in friendship - in case it’s worth anything.” He shrugged, almost looking sad at that notion, like perhaps he didn’t have many friends and wanted to change that.

Gwyn tilted her head trying to figure out what to say when she felt energy warm her bones and watched as Lucien frowned at something behind her.

“Lucien,” Azriel’s voice rumbled. She turned to find him very close to her, his face devoid of emotion as he looked at Lucien. Gwyn felt Azriel’s wing close in behind her, as though he was using it to protect.

“Azriel,” Lucien threw the Shadowsinger a cautious glance then looked back at Gwyn. His eyes widened ever so slightly as he took them both in, his metal eye whirring frantically. “You are… do you…?” Lucien stammered, shaking his head.

Gwyn frowned and she wondered whether Azriel’s shadows could make sense of the sudden change in Lucien’s demeanour. He took a step back, regaining his composure before nodding his head at them. “I’ll take my leave. Nice to meet you Gwyneth.”

He turned and walked back to the main party, where only a few remaining fae drank and danced, Mor and Emerie among them. Gwyn looked up at Azriel, his face betraying nothing as he watched Lucien’s retreating form.

“Well, we’re a pair aren’t we?” She sighed dramatically, crossing her arms in annoyance.

He frowned as his shadows reached for her, as though asking her what was wrong. She threw her hands up, rolling her eyes at him.

“I’m barely able to say two words to him thanks to my own …whatever…” She cut him off before he could dissect that. “And your behaviour towards him was rather less than friendly!”

Azriel’s brows shot up. “You wanted to speak to him?” He was clearly perplexed by the notion.

Gwyn’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t know? I barely know anyone here outside of their reputation. Maybe I… maybe I just need to try once in a while to speak to others too?”

She looked at the group still on the dance floor, wondering when she’d have the courage to talk to all of these strangers.

Azriel’s wing came into her peripheral again. “You are here, Priestess. You sang in front of all those people today. You walked and talked and danced in and amongst them. That’s more than you did yesterday or the day before. Give yourself a bit more credit, and patience.” His eyes held a warmth she wasn’t expecting.

After a moment, she let out a long breath, rubbing her bare arms as she replied stubbornly, “Perhaps, but I know I can do more.”

“No doubt.” His wing stretched a bit more as he stepped a little closer, blocking the wind for her. “You’ll likely move mountains to prove it to yourself too.” His smirk made her heart flutter. “But perhaps for tonight, just enjoy this win?” She watched the group in front of them, then looked back at him and nodded.

“If you like, I’m happy to take you back to the House Of Wind, if you’re ready?” He offered, looking at her closely.

She didn’t want to interrupt Emerie and Mor and guessed that Cassian and Nesta had either left already or had escaped to the gardens too. “It has been quite a day,” she agreed.

Chapter Text

Azriel held his hand out to Gwyn as they stood on the lawns to depart for the House of Wind.

As soon as she was in his arms again, he couldn’t help but marvel at how incredible she had been today. 

He remembered what it was like for him the first few times he was subjected to large groups after his imprisoned infancy and the extreme circumstances of his adolescent solitude. The way everything hurt when he was forced to confront others - how only the shadows had been able to help calm him, to help guide him.  

Their experiences weren’t the same. But Azriel understood what it was to fear every person in a room. To not know what to expect at any given opportunity. And the Mother only knew - Gwyn had handled facing the world far better than he ever had. 

Of course, he couldn’t say any of that to her. Could hardly admit it to himself. Instead he simply asked, ‘‘Did you enjoy yourself today?” He pushed off the ground and started their ascent.

“More than I thought I would.” Her gaze snagged on his, her eyes suddenly weary. “It almost makes me regret all the time I spent cloistered away, missing it all.”

From darkness comes light 

He shook his head. ““That time was for healing, Priestess.” He held her closely, “Today was for growth.”

She looked pensive, shifting her gaze to the glittering expanse of Velaris below them. He let her, needing to make sense of his own inner conflict. He needed to make her understand that his rage and darkness from yesterday, from everyday in fact - wasn’t aimed at her and that he didn’t want to push her away.

“Gwyn, I wanted to say…”

“I want to go...” she cut him off, snapping her eyes back to his.

There it was, she’d finally realised he was not worthy of her kindness, her attention, her care. He kept his silence. He knew it would come to this.

But her eyes simply travelled back to their surroundings. “I think I want to go into Velaris!” She finally said, her eyes sparkling as brightly as the city below them. “Please, can you take me?”

Of all the things he thought she meant, that wasn’t it. He slowed the beat of his wings, pretending the relief coursing through him wasn’t enough to ground him, but she shifted in his arms as she cried, “No…not now!” She squeezed her eyes shut, her body going tense in his arms. He allowed her a moment to recalibrate before she breathed deeply, “I just mean soon, maybe?”

He nodded, regaining their speed. “Whenever you are ready, I will gladly take you.”

She shivered, so he mustered up the strength to throw her a lazy smile to put her at ease. She gave him a shaky smile back and his shadows chanted:

Brave Priestess, clever Priestess, beautiful Priestess…

Chapter Text

Gwyn played with the ends of Emerie’s hair as she slept.

It was early morning in the House of Wind. Gwyn had woken moments ago to find her friend face first on the pillow next to her - still in her dress from last night. Smiling to herself as she fiddled with the silken strands, Gwyn recalled yesterday’s beautiful moments.

Seeing Nesta glowing with happiness, Cassian roaring with laughter. Feyre and Rhysand surrounded by well-wishers as they cooed over Nyx. Mor and Emerie getting closer and closer as the night went on, looking to all the world like two females who were gossiping about those around them - but Gwyn knew it was more than that. She could see the sparkle in Mor’s eyes, the intense look on Emerie’s face…

Then of course, what Gwyn herself had experienced yesterday. Stepping out into the world properly again, going to a celebration outside of her safety net in The Library and even more so - enjoying it. Feeling powerful when she sang, feeling free when she danced, feeling excitement when she flew with the Shadowsinger.

Her quiet smile turned into a full-blown grin as she remembered his usual mask slipping throughout the course of the evening. He’d enjoyed himself too and it thrilled her to know she had a small part to play in that.

“What in the Cauldron are you grinning like an idiot for?” Emerie croaked next to her.

She looked to see Emerie’s bleary eyes peering up at her. “Good morning sunshine, how are you feeling?”

Emerie groaned and it told Gwyn everything she needed to know. She laughed, shuffling down to lie next to her friend. “Someone enjoyed the, what was it? Free flowing wine and gorgeous guests…” Gwyn mocked. Emerie just huffed a laugh in response. Gwyn sent a silent appeal to the house for two steaming cups of herbal tea, which appeared on the bedside. She passed one over to Emerie, trying to keep her giggle in when she saw how much her friend struggled with the movement.

“Mor warned me never to play drinking games with Cassian and Azriel, but she never warned me not to play drinking games with her!” Emerie grumbled, rubbing her temples after taking a sip of the sweet tea.

Gwyn laughed. “Even if she had, you still would have done it.” She winked at her friend, earning a slight blush in return.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Emerie asked, “You disappeared early, was everything ok?”

Gwyn let the aromas from the tea wash over her. “Azriel offered to bring me back when he saw I had danced my feet ragged.”

“Oh yes, Azriel - your favoured dance partner...” Emerie teased and Gwyn felt her cheeks redden. “I think it’s great Gwyn,” Emerie gripped her hand and squeezed. “You’re taking control and that’s important.”

Gwyn felt the need to change the subject. She wiggled her eyebrows instead, “So what’s your bet? One week or two?”

Emerie caught the gist. “No way, three minimum. You think the ‘Lord of Bloodshed’ has that much self-control?”

Gwyn laughed. “I think it’s the ‘Lady of Death’s’ self-control we need to be worried about!”

They enjoyed a leisurely morning together, choosing to eat breakfast in bed before Emerie went back to Windhaven. Training was only starting again tomorrow, so Gwyn decided to use the time to catch up with the other Priestesses and tell them how enamoured everyone had been with their performance.

She was still smiling at herself, recalling their quiet joy and pride, as she traversed the steps to the training ring that evening. It was nearly 11 pm, she hadn't seen Azriel today and wasn’t even sure he’d be there.

They had not made plans to train tonight, but she could do with the fresh air and the movement, so she went anyway.

She walked through the archway to the ring and felt a dangerously sharp whistle of wind rush close to her ear. She whirled to find a dagger lodged into the wooden beam just behind her.

Gaping, she turned to find Azriel with three more daggers in his hands, aimed right at her.

“What in the cauldr-”  Her shout was cut short as she ducked another flying dagger.

Fury rose in her. What was he playing at? “Shadowsinger! Stop, immediately!” She shouted, dodging another dagger as it embedded itself directly behind her head.

He simply twirled the final dagger in his hand, his dark leathers drinking in the moonlight, his hair blowing in the breeze. Deadly and precise power rippled from him as his shadows clung to his wings. “Make me, Priestess.”

Gwyn was rooted to the spot, she felt heat rise in her chest. He was goading her, trying to get her to react. She had two choices, either get her own weapon and take him on, blow for blow - the smarter option. Or she could use her considerable speed and agility to entice him into throwing the dagger, then he’d be weaponless too, she could even the playing field. Her breath hitched as she thought about touching a weapon, grabbing one from the rack was easy enough - it was less than two paces from her.

But evening the playing fields with hand-to-hand combat, especially knowing Azriel preferred swordplay - that seemed far more enticing.

“Ok Shadowsinger, have it your way…” She snarled, before lurching forward, sprinting full pelt towards him. She watched his face, still deathly calm as he took her in. As she predicted, he waited until she was just close enough then launched the blade. She let her mindstilling practice ground her, using her breath she counted the distance it had to fly then dropped, throwing her head back and sliding on her knees, sweeping underneath the blade as she watched it fly. Having gained the distance required, she used her momentum to push herself forward and swing her leg out, wiping Azriel clean off his feet.

It was as though the world slowed, watching his balance give out as his legs and wings splayed. But if she was quick, he was even quicker - he landed on his back and rolled, using his wings to propel him as he landed in a crouch.  They sized each other up.

“Welcome to training, Priestess,” his voice rippled around her, shivers following in its wake. She growled a response and launched herself at him.

Chapter Text

Azriel expected her to choose hand-to-hand combat. He expected she’d try to use her speed and agility to try throw him off balance. He even expected the growl that rippled out of her - having seen her ferocity in the ring on more than one occasion, knowing she wouldn’t have survived the Blood Rite without it.

What he wasn't expecting was how much he was enjoying every damn minute of it.

He needed to expel some energy tonight. Having spent the day at the River House helping clear away after the mating ceremony, he’d unwittingly spent far too much time in Lucien and Elain’s company. Feyre had been fretting about their upcoming trip to Dawn. Lucien had been quiet and calm, answering all of her and Rhys’s questions perfectly. Elain had been withdrawn and sour - and there wasn’t a thing Azriel could do about it. Once dinner was over, Azriel excused himself and headed straight to the ring, ready to beat something senseless.

But as he flew, gazing at the vibrant city beneath him, he thought back to his conversation with Gwyn. About wanting to keep healing.

He never truly healed from the horrors of his past. His father still haunted his sleepless nights. His brothers’ cruel laughs still echoed in his mind every time he descended into his own darkness. His mothers whimpers’ echoed in his soul as he watched her beaten by his father.

It was only when Rhys and Cassian had challenged him all those years ago, that he started to heal. Perhaps Gwyn was right, the time for quiet healing was nearly over. She had her Valkyries and her Priestesses, but he could keep challenging her too. Could keep pushing her to open up and let the darkness out to face it head-on.

They met blow for blow, Gwyn’s strength was back and she wasn’t relenting. He tried to use his wing to knock her off course, but she gracefully ducked beneath it, contorting herself to avoid the impact. The only problem was, she wasn’t on the defensive, she was in her comfort zone - in attack. They’d been training together for weeks now and he needed to see that improvement, so he switched his stance and pushed her…hard.

She stumbled slightly, but regained her footing milliseconds later. A feral grin plastered on her face and her teal eyes burned with energy as she grasped what he was doing. He grinned right back and launched himself at her, trying to use his height to disorient her. But she wasn’t a novice anymore - Azriel realised with a sickening wave - she knew exactly how to use an Illyrian's height and build against him. She'd no doubt had to do this countless times during the Rite.

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours but Azriel’s focus remained on the warrior in front of him. He was pushing her to try the new defensive manoeuvres. He pushed her back, he pushed her down, anything to keep her moving and challenged. Before long though, he noticed she was growing tired, dropping that damn elbow of hers again.

He took one last look at her, to make sure she could handle it and threw his might into a parry that had her skidding backwards with the impact. She’d shielded her chest just in time but he knew exactly how to hit to keep her down. She stumbled trying to correct her form but it was too late and she went down at a dangerous angle. Azriel lurched forward, using his shadows to soften the blow that her head would have felt if it had been a true fight. They fell to the ground, his arms remained in a powerful grip on her forearms, his thighs around her own legs -  he pinned her.

They were both panting, his breath clouded in front of him as he took her in.

Her face, previously locked in that icy rage only sparring gave her, changed subtly. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, pure shock pulsing through her. He felt his shadows reach down, almost as if to caress but her eyes suddenly went vacant, her skin grew pale and he scented fear - true undulated fear, course through her. He realised a moment too late that the position he’d pinned her in had probably reignited memories of her rape, the savage attack that had traumatised her all those years ago.

He beat his wings once, lifting himself off and away from her. What had he done?

She was lying on the ground, pushing her fists into her eyes. “Priestess? I’m sorry, that was…” He was breathless with worry. “I didn’t mean to…”

What if in trying to help her push forward, instead had set her hundreds of steps back? He paced, his breathing short and sharp, spiraling in his own mind. He wanted to go to her, check on her but he was terrified of his presence making it worse.

He could hear her ragged breathing, then she dropped her fists next to her body stiffly. “Come here, Shadowsinger.”Her voice was hoarse.

He tentatively walked towards her, appealing to his shadows to help figure her out. They provided nothing, as though even they were at a loss.

He stopped a foot away from her, “I’m so sorry…” he faltered, looking down in shame.

“No, Shadowsinger. I don’t want your apology,” she growled. Her jaw was clenched, her fists locked at her sides as she continued to lie there. “I need you to come back.”

He froze. “Back?”

She nodded, her eyes still closed. “Back into that position…” She spoke through gritted teeth, “Shadowsinger, now! Before I lose my nerve!”

He moved, carefully folding himself so that he was above her again, her eyes still closed and her body stiff as a board. The fear still coursed through her, but there was that crackling energy of hers too, he could almost taste it.

The Priestess is fighting, Singer

He understood then. She wanted to get out of this. To deal with it, head on. So he took a breath and said calmly but firmly, "Priestess, open your eyes.”

They flew open and she held his gaze boldly, the energy between them so electrifying, he felt his siphons charge with it. “Tell me what you need,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Gwyn lay there, Azriel pinning her down.

Azriel.

Not the Hybern soldiers and not the awful Illyrians she had to fight in the Rite. This was Azriel, he was her teacher, her training partner, her friend. She could feel his scarred hands as they held hers. Could see his hazel eyes and swirling shadows. Could smell his night-chilled mist and cedar scent. He was here with her, Azriel.

She breathed deeply, “I need you to teach me how to get out of this hold.” She was still speaking through gritted teeth, forcing herself to push past the fear - to learn, to grow.

He nodded. “Ok, first tell me which parts of me exactly are inhibiting your movement?” Be asked calmly, not coldly.

She kept breathing deeply. “Your legs - they’ve constricted the movement in mine.” She allowed herself a moment of pause to try to think only clinically about their position. She forced herself to keep speaking “Your arms are holding mine down, your wings are…” She looked up, with the glow of the moon behind them, usually she’d be staring at them in wonder and awe - right now though, she just felt trapped. “I’m completely stuck.” She felt her voice break and the panic rise like a wave, sealing her eyes shut.

“No, no you’re not - listen to me. Listen and open your eyes, Gwyn. I’m here, it’s me and I’m going to help you.” His voice was calm and smooth. She clung to the sound of it, anything to keep away the roaring in her head.

“Remember what I said a few weeks ago. Fighting isn’t always neat lines and smooth choices. When your life's on the line, you use everything in your arsenal.” She remembered how he’d encouraged her to become utterly savage in her defences.

So he guided her through it. Showing her how even the smallest movement or space could be utilised to distract or disarm. Gwyn kept breathing deeply throughout, letting his scent keep her grounded to the moment, reminding her she was working through this - she was the rock against the ocean, nothing could break her.

But eventually, Gwyn was sick again.

Only after training though. Once she’d worked through the movements with Azriel twice over - to fully understand and apply how she could get out of the hold. They had completed a round of mindstilling afterwards too, then she’d rushed to her room beneath the library and been violently ill. The trauma flushed through her entirely, rolling in waves as she tried to get her anxiety under control.

She couldn’t stand the look on Azriel’s face when he realised what he’d unwittingly done. She despised that look - pity and something else, something far more hurtful - fear.

Fear for her. Fear for her unravelling. Fear for her future. Fear to touch her again…

She forced him to return and teach her how to undo it. Not just for her sake, but for his too. He needed to understand that he wasn’t the problem. She wasn’t the problem. The problem was the past - and working together was helping her through that.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t affected her. She would no doubt need a sleeping tonic tonight, but still, she was proud of herself.  Proud of what she’d achieved today.

She’d not only learnt a whole new set of defensive manoeuvres, but she’d also allowed a male to be on top of her. She’d dealt with that anxiety head-on, and now she knew she could handle… more.

Gwyn rinsed her mouth and peeled off her leathers. Grabbing her towel and robe, she headed down to the bathing chambers, hoping a warm bath would help wash away the remnants of her tension and anxiety. She was surprised to see Clotho also in the chambers, soaking in the steaming bathing pods made from the same red marble as the rest of the mountain.

Gwyn nodded respectfully then sunk into the warm water and breathed in the calming aromas of ginger lily and lotus flower, her preferred bathing oils. When she opened her eyes, one of Clotho's notes floated in the air in front of her.

You are in pain, young one?

Gwyn blinked. She knew Clotho’s powers transcended the ones of a normal high fae, but her all-seeing nature still took Gwyn off guard from time to time. She breathed deeply, deciding it was time to let someone else in.

“I have been training with the Shadowsinger in the evenings. Learning more defensive techniques and working through my lingering fears from the Rite.” She spoke softly, running her fingers through the tendrils of steam in front of her. They reminded her of his shadows. “The sessions sometimes take their toll and tonight was  particularly…visceral.”

Clotho's pen scribbled on the note in front of her; He is the best suited to helping you with this.

Not a question. Gwyn frowned, unsure how to respond. Clotho’s pen replied.

His story is a dark and sad one. Not for me to share, but it gives him a deeper understanding and respect for our fears and traumas…

Gwyn had guessed as much but still, Clotho’s words piqued her interest. “I trust him. It’s just…sometimes half the battle is encouraging him to trust me.”

Clotho’s pen didn't reply, so Gwyn continued. “He sometimes handles me like I may break at any moment. I am getting stronger everyday… I know I am,” she swallowed. “There are just some… areas that are a bit more difficult to overcome.”

Clotho’s silence never usually bothered her, but after that confession, she wasn’t sure what she needed to hear. She took a breath and dipped her head underneath the warm water. When she emerged, Clotho had left, but her note hung in the air in front of Gwyn.

Then let him help with those too .

Chapter Text

Gwyn allowed the mid morning sun to soak into her pale skin. Enjoying the warmth as she inhaled the scents of the Sidra from the city below and the sea breeze from afar. She was doing her warm up stretches in the ring before training, waiting for the other Priestesses to join. The sleeping tonic she’d taken had worked wonders. Though she’d still woken with that lingering anxiety from last night's events, at least she felt rested.

She heard the beat of wings and looked up to see Emerie being carried by Azriel as they flew past the wards. Gwyn started when she noticed for the first time how differently Azriel carried her friend. Not cradled against him, with his hands beneath her legs and torso… Instead, she was upright, side on to him, her wings pointing out to the world. It must be a position reserved for carrying Illyrian females, with their sensitive wings. Either way, Gwyn felt a strange satisfaction in knowing it was not as intimate a position as when he carried her.

She was about to walk towards them when she saw Emerie look at the entrance of the ring, her eyes lighting up.

“Good, you’re here early! Help me set up, would you?” Gwyn turned to see Mor enter the ring.

Her jaw dropped. In her usual ensemble of shimmering gowns and glittering jewels, Mor was by far one of the most gorgeous beings to exist in Prythian. Today, in what had to be a custom-made set of crimson leathers, golden thread running across the skin-tight fit, a pair of black thigh-high boots hugging her strong legs and a wicked set of daggers strapped to each thigh - she also looked like one of the fiercest.

“Gwyn?” Mor cocked her head as she came closer.

Gwyn blew out a breath. “You look amazing! Are those custom leathers?” Gwyn reached to touch the individual scales of the material.

Mor puffed her chest and winked. “They are indeed. One of a kind, designed and sourced by the one and only…” She looked pointedly at Emerie, who had just joined the conversation, Azriel in tow.

Emerie’s cheeks turned a not-so-subtle shade of pink at Mor’s compliment. Gwyn whirled on her friend. “I didn’t know you could make custom sets! This is fantastic!” She already had an idea taking root.

Emerie shrugged. “They look even better than I pictured to be honest, I’m glad they fit,” she replied modestly.

A cough sounded and the females turned to find Azriel carrying a dozen mats. “If you’re all quite done talking fashion, we have work to do.” He said flatly.

Mor waved his tone away, “Oh lighten up Az, we have so much fun ahead of us these next few weeks…” Mor patted Azriel on the chest, his eyes followed her every move keenly. It made Gwyn hyper-aware of their actions.

“You’re training with us?” Gwyn had heard and read about Mor’s incredible skill in battle. Having a female of such repute to train with would be exciting to say the least - and a great thing for the other Priestesses to see.

Mor nodded, bumping her hip against Azriel’s playfully. “I’ll be teaching actually. With Cassian otherwise occupied, we thought it would be fun. It was Az’s idea!” She flicked her blonde ponytail this way and that as Azriel rolled his eyes at her, crossing his arms.

“I said, it would be beneficial and insightful for the trainees to learn from a female who is battle-honed,” he replied flatly, his shadows thinning as the sun beat down on them.

Gwyn sniggered. “Yes, heaven forbid we actually have any fun!” She teased, earning a deadpan look from Azriel and a delighted one from Mor.

“Oh, I like you Gwyn - let’s go play.” Mor linked her arm with Gwyn’s and pulled her in the direction of the other Priestesses, who were now filing in. Leaving Emerie chuckling and Azriel no doubt irritable already.

Half an hour later, Gwyn was awed. Awed and infuriated, as she watched Mor and Azriel go head to head.

They started training by showing the group as a whole a series of strikes, blocks and parries using different weapons. It wasn’t Illyrian training anymore - rather a blend of some Valkyrie techniques they both remembered, mixed with some of the training Mor had received from various courts and groups. 

Azriel was right. Mor was the perfect example of how a female could gain strength and power in any given fight. Gwyn watched with nervous energy as they circled each other at the start, waiting for someone to make the first move. Having sparred with Azriel just last night, Gwyn knew he was a male that wouldn’t hold back for the sake of the opposite sex.

Yet as she watched them begin their fight - with weapons no less, she realised Azriel had been holding back when they trained. Because what Mor was doing didn’t just constitute fighting. No, Mor was toying with him. Using her lack of wings, her light footing, her elegant strength - all to devastating effect. She was making him move so much that Gwyn could physically see him tiring out, watching keenly as Mor’s tactics played out.

Yet still, Azriel pushed, slashed, leapt, struck and ultimately - fell. Multiple times, in fact.

It was starting to look like she’d get the upper hand on him when his face went blank and Gwyn knew - for some reason, she just knew - he was about to launch his full scale counter-attack. He swung his sword in a sweeping arc, casting a rippling light show as it reflected the morning sun, momentarily blinding Mor and giving him the control. He pushed her back, relentlessly as he struck at her defences again and again. Mor was strong, she was clever - but his competitive streak verged on cruel and it was clear he knew exactly how to play it against her. Eventually, she buckled under his considerable attack as he disarmed her efficiently, pointing both swords at her heart. She stumbled back, watching the blades carefully. The sun in the ring was nearly at its midday point, the sweat on their brows glistened as they both breathed heavily. Gwyn’s eyes greedily took them in as they circled one another.

His menacing winged form, so large and excellently built, all hard angles and savage beauty. Mor’s smaller yet still athletic and somehow voluptuous body, honed by centuries of training - with her disarming beauty cleverly disguising the immense talent for bloodshed. 

For a moment, it looked like Mor was going to give up - perhaps that's what she wanted him - what she wanted all of them to think. But then she cracked a saccharine grin up at him and surged forward, sweeping her legs underneath him.

His balance gave out and as he fell, she leapt up, kicking the swords out of his hands, punching him squarely in his perfect face and pinning his wings under her knees as she sat on his chest. In the flurry of movement, she revealed a tiny blade and hooked it just beneath his chin. His face looked like cold death was imminent, but his eyes were warm  - impressed even. Gwyn could have sworn the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. Mor gave him another dazzling smile then moved off him, reaching down to offer him her hand in truce. 

Gwyn couldn’t believe it. It had looked like Mor was done - like Azriel had her. Yet somehow she’d still managed to gain the upper hand - pinning him just like he’d pinned Gwyn last night. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took it all in.

“Now, who wants to try?” Mor called, gliding back to the group of eager female warriors.

Chapter Text

Crown. Harp. Mask.

Influence anyone. Open any door. Raise the dead.

Crown. Harp. Mask.

Influence anyone. Open any door. Raise the dead.

Gwyn repeated the Dread Trove objects and their uses over and over to herself as she went through the same collection of books in the library room beneath the mountain later that day. Despite the warm day outside, the library was cool. Yet, it still felt a bit suffocating, her mind was not working as efficiently as usual.

She could only blame herself. She was distracted by the thoughts of both training sessions. The one with Azriel last night, where she felt she had made such progress… yet watching his interactions and sparring with Mor today made her realise how safe she was still playing.

She was mulling over how to get him to trust that she could handle it when the door opened and he stepped in, bending ever so slightly to avoid his wings getting stuck. He looked at her with a slight glint in his eyes.

“What is it?” She sat taller, curiosity piqued at his unlikely demeanour.

“I have a surprise for you…” he rumbled and she could swear his shadows were rippling with excitement. “Follow me?”

They walked the long halls together, following the stairs two floors down to level five of the main library. Azriel gestured to a trolley with books on it. She went over and saw at least 12 books she’d never seen before. “Where did you find these?” She breathed, handling the dusty old times carefully.

“Level seven,” he replied with a casual shrug. As though heading into the darkest and most terrifying heart of the mountain, which had, until recently been residence to a death god, was no big deal.

Her jaw dropped and she knew he’d done it wholly for her reaction. “But, isn’t there something down there?” She said earnestly, gripping the book to her chest.

“I told you, I was born in the darkness, it doesn’t hold power over me.” He muttered, stepping closer to examine a book from the pile.

She studied him carefully. Clotho had said Azriel’s past was dark and sad. If his hands didn’t allude to a violent upbringing then his reserved and sometimes cold nature certainly did. But he was opening up, he’d shared something with her twice now and she wanted to explore it - to explore him - a bit more.

“Well, did you see anything? Sense anything?” She whispered, trying to decipher his perfect yet unreadable face.

He shrugged. “There’s certainly a presence. It felt the same as the one in Ramiel.” She frowned, she’d been at the top but as she had been unconscious, she couldn’t recall the presence of the mountain. He put the book back and looked down at her - his eyes still glinting in the semi-darkness, “Perhaps it was just asleep…”

Was he... teasing her? She rolled her eyes and wacked his arm with her book, tutting at him. “Jest all you like, but something definitely chased Nesta and I the last time we ventured too low!” That glint in his eyes had gone, replaced by a slight crease in his brow.

She put the book on the trolley, taking the handles to start pushing it back up the levels as she threw over her shoulder, “Next time you feel like playing in the dark under the mountain Shadowsinger, at least take me with you.”

She could have sworn she felt his reaction - a mixture of surprise, curiosity and excitement, follow her back up the levels.

Chapter Text

One o’clock to the left, a few centimetres beneath the fourth Marker. The priestess will duck right.

Azriel tutted at his busybody shadows. He knew exactly which way she’d duck, he’d seen her move a million times. He prepared himself nonetheless. She was due out of the House any second now and he was ready with his throwing knives.

She’d surprised him time and time again these last few days. Her glowing strength and talent at the mating ceremony. Rising up to the occasion of sparring with him last night. Facing her trauma and putting herself in an uncomfortable position by asking him to teach her how to get out of that hold. Watching Mor carefully to learn from her centuries of experience. Asking insightful questions when the other Priestesses were too shy to speak up.

Rhys was right, she was clever…and incredibly brave too. Not to mention playful - remembering her earlier comment in the library had his cock throbbing. If only she knew exactly what things he could do in the dark underneath the mountain…

But he had to push that thought deep, deep down. Right now, he needed to keep testing her willingness to learn with another impromptu lesson. Minutes ticked by and she still hadn’t arrived. He uncloaked himself from the shadows, fully planning on heading into the House to go check if she was ok, when he felt the air shift. Instinct forced him to duck milliseconds before a dagger came flying out the dark.

Shocked, he looked up to see the Priestess roll elegantly into the ring, having jumped from an adjacent window in the House. As she stood, he noticed the twin shining daggers in each of her hands. 

“Welcome to training, Shadowsinger,” she quipped, before launching another dagger at him. 

He could have sworn his shadows cheered at her even as he felt the blade barely skim past his shoulder.

An hour later, they were both lying on the mats, utterly spent after multiple rounds of sparring. They had taken turns to collect the daggers throughout their fight, using the weapons against each other until they were once again disarmed. He felt the energy pulse around her now as she lay a mere foot from him, breathing heavily but still gripping her dagger.

He sat up, looking down at her carefully. The moonlight was casting a luminous glow on her pale skin, her freckles mapped on her features like a constellation. He blinked and her eyes were on his, watching him closely, a slight upturn of her lips forced him to blink again. Her eyes travelled from his down to his mouth, then to his shoulders, before settling on his wings. He had to reign in the desire to spread them widely, to give her a proper show.

She moved, rolling onto her side so she was still lying down, but casually so, as though lounging to better watch his shadows writhe around his wings. Her gaze travelled to his hands, where he was palming Truth Teller. He extended his prized possession to her, “You did it.”

She hesitated slightly, but at his nod, she took Truth Teller gently, handling it with grace and care.

“What changed your mind?” He asked, watching her teal eyes take in his dark blade.

“Spite,” she mumbled, her eyes flicking to his with amusement. “I wanted to catch you off guard for once.”

He openly chuckled, “I’ll give you that.” Her eyes lit up and he could have sworn his shadows were melting into the space between them again. She looked at Truth Teller more closely, reading the ancient markings on the blade.

After a minute or so, she responded quietly, “Truthfully? It’s what you said earlier. About being born in the darkness.”

He held his breath as she opened up, “I think that I couldn’t stomach the idea of touching a weapon after the Rite because it reminded me of the dark place I had to go to during that time.” His temper flared, recalling what the Illyrians had put the Valkyries through. A thousand centuries of torture wouldn’t be a severe enough punishment for what they had done to these incredible, brave females.

“But Nesta…and Cassian, Mor, the High Lady, the High Lord and of course, you…” She took a deep breath and looked up, her freckles shining like the stars as she said, “You’ve all seen that darkness within yourselves and the world around you - yet you’re all still good. You fight to protect, to preserve and to love. The darkness doesn’t destroy you, it makes you.” She looked back at him, extending Truth Teller. “…and you make it.” Her words were like a prayer, his shadows pulsing with its testimony. “I think I’m starting to learn how to accept it - the darkness that is helping to hone me, and I’m choosing not to let it have power over me.”

He watched her attentively before taking his blade, his finger brushing against hers. A spark of her crackling energy rippled through him as he replied with pride, “You are the rock against which the surf crashes.”

She smiled as she whispered back, “Nothing can break me.”

Chapter Text

Gwyn was in her bed and for once, she wasn’t exhausted or being sick.

It was just before dawn, but she’d woken feeling refreshed, having slept soundly after training last night.

She’d done it. She’d wielded a weapon. Three, in fact - over and over again. Her heart swelled with pride and she couldn’t believe it, but it was pride for herself.

She wasn’t perfect, she wasn’t pure. She’d never wear the invoking stone on her brow again, she’d never be a true Carynthian - at least she didn’t think so. But Mor was right - she could choose her own fate and only she could choose how to serve herself. Seeing the ferocity with which Mor fought against Azriel, her elegance, her strength, her cleverness - Gwyn knew she could do it too. Knew she just needed to take the leap of faith in herself and give it a go.

She let the butterflies in her stomach soar and grinned, feeling true happiness. Grabbing the book on her bedside, she snuggled into the bed.

It was an hour or so before morning service, she could enjoy a few chapters and quiet time before the day began. Her ‘Winged and Unhinged’ copy of Selwyn Drake’s novel was starting to get a bit tattered from the amount of times she’d read it. But as she settled, her mind and her hand travelled and it wasn’t the novel that had her reaching for her own pleasure.

Instead, she pictured it; those unique hands exploring her body. Those warm eyes as they took in everything she offered him. Those huge wings that would spread in ecstasy as she raked her finger down the membranous skin. Those steadfast shadows that would sway with his roar of pleasure, and lastly - those adorable dimples, that would come out only when he allowed himself true happiness…

Gwyn whimpered at the ecstasy she extracted from her imagination, the tension from the last few weeks leaving her body as she allowed herself pleasure for the first time in months.

Chapter Text

Azriel raised his brow as Gwyn rushed into their private study room within the Library. She looked windswept and flushed, leaning against the door as she tried to catch her breath.

“Let me guess,” he kept his voice flat. “The monster in the mountain was chasing you, again?”

She threw him a withering look that only made him want to tease her again. “You could say that - it was Merrill. She cornered me after breakfast and demanded I return to her service. I refused, obviously,” She huffed and pulled some paperwork hidden in the sleeves of her robes.

Azriel considered her. He’d heard Merrill was a demanding Scholar, but Gwyn was rarely ruffled by authority.

“Was this before or after she demanded to know what you were doing in her study?” He asked dryly. 

Her eyes widened only slightly at his deduction, before narrowing accusingly at the shadows perched on his shoulders. “Knowledge should be freely given, not hoarded by the terrifying few,” she replied tartly.

Such a fierce female…

He wanted to grin at his shadows devotion.  More so at her delectable temper, but he kept a lid on his expression and simply opened his hand, requesting access to the papers she clutched. She sighed dramatically but handed them over. 

“Runes?” he questioned, flicking through the old pages. She’d grabbed a stack of papers detailing hundreds of different ancient markings that he recognised from various studies he’d also completed over the years. “Why did you steal Merrill’s studies into Runes?”

She pulled a thick tome towards her as she sat. Opening its pages carefully as she considered him. “Do you know what the markings on Truth Teller’s blade mean?” 

Surprise rushed through him, very few had ever asked him the question. “Why?”

“You don't see markings like that anymore.” She squinted at the pages of the old book. “Our magic has evolved. We used to have to draw markings or runes like that to invoke ancient protection or lock and unlock spells - it’s the elemental version of what we do now.”

He knew she was right, Amren had explained it to them centuries ago.

“In the ancient times, the first fae would use these markings on objects,” Gwyn continued. “Sometimes on natural things like rocks or on the ground. Sometimes on special objects like swords or maybe jewellery. Sometimes they even made them on tombs, on gateways, on skin…” Her eyes travelled across the pages of the book.

Azriel’s heartbeat kicked up a notch at the memory of finding Truth Teller - the ancient tomb the blade had rested within. The markings all over the walls, in the stone itself. The moment his skin touched the rock, his shadows told him what symbol to draw with his own blood to release the blade and claim it as his own… 

Gwyn stood and came to his side. She took the papers from his hands and laid them on the table in front of them. There were hundreds of different markings on them, with notes annotated amongst them. She rushed over to the old tome, one he recognised from the cart he’d given her yesterday, and laid it next to the paper. Her eyes moved rapidly as she took it all in.

He tore his own eyes from her face and looked at the scrawled writing too, trying to decipher the mixture of languages and symbols. He recognised a few but most of it was alien to him. When he looked back at her - her brow was furrowed and she bit her lip in thought.

As though feeling his gaze, she turned to him, “Please may I see Truth Teller again?”

He stood, taking the blade carefully from its sheath on his thigh. She handled it as though it was an ancient artefact - he guessed in a way, it was.

“It recites the prophecy - when knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be.” Amren had been the one to tell him that, when he’d first allowed her to see the blade, centuries ago.  

She nodded, “What about these ones?”

She pointed to smaller, more complicated markings at the hilt. He looked again, puzzled. He assumed they simply explained the rest of the words. She laid Truth Teller down and started searching the Runes on the pages to try match them up.

“I bet the harp, the mask and the crown all have these markings on them too,” she breathed.

He had never examined the objects in great detail so he said nothing, but his mind was working hard to keep up with her as she theorised.

“We should ask Rhys. Perhaps he has looked at them closely and can corroborate,” he offered, standing closer to look over at the page she was studying.

She looked over her shoulder at him, gazing through her lashes. This close, he could even see tiny flecks of gold hidden within the teal depths of her eyes. He felt the room warm as her eyes glazed over slightly, flicking to his mouth, then back. He couldn’t help it as he mirrored the action. As though guided by a power stronger than even his own considerable willpower.

He swallowed, wanting nothing more than to lean in and capture that soft, full mouth of hers with his own. Before he could even tempt himself though, she cleared her throat.

“Yes, let’s ask the High Lord…” she stepped away carefully. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she rushed over to the other side of the room, which had come back down to normal temperature.

He also cleared his throat and started collecting the papers on the desk - sending one of his shadows ahead to see if Rhys was still at the River House.

Chapter Text

Gwyn was trying to distract herself.

Flying in Azriel’s arms, she was desperately trying to think of anything other than how close they were. How intoxicating his scent was. How firm his grip was. How it all reminded her of what she’d done in the safety of her bed just that morning…

She could feel a blush starting to creep onto her usually pale cheeks and couldn’t stomach the idea of her scent shifting, so she blurted out, “The sword mentioned on your dagger refers to Gwydion, doesn’t it?”

Azriel paused for a moment before giving a slight nod of his head, hopefully none the wiser to her inner battle. “Yes, though it hasn’t been seen or heard of in centuries.”

She nodded too, knowing the histories herself. Mulling it over in her head, she watched the world beneath them. She hadn’t flown with him in the daytime before and seeing the city so alive, full of people made her feel both nauseous yet, full of wonder. What would it be like to be one of them, ambling around the streets of Velaris on a gorgeous sunny day like today?

“There’s also Narben to consider,” Azriel’s voice cut through her daydreaming. “My dagger's twin is Gwydion, but there was supposedly a more recent history of Narben- the god-killer.”

Gwyn loved it when Azriel talked of histories and legends like this. He had experienced much in his life so far and watching his clever mind turn over all the facts and eventualities was like watching a master strategist at work. It made her toes curl with anticipation as she marvelled at the beauty of his mind combined with the beauty of his physicality.

“Have you had a lot of dealings with ancient and legendary magical objects?” She teased, though curiosity still bled into her words.

“More than most. Serving High Lords and spying on the most powerful among them provides certain in-roads for that.” He said it in a matter-of-fact manner, but she sensed the slight tension beneath his cool exterior. She wanted to ask more but they started their descent towards the house.

The High Lord and Lady were surprised to see them but delighted.

“We’re making our final arrangements before we leave tomorrow for our assignment,” Feyre explained after she’d hugged Gwyn in welcome and given Azriel a peck on his cheek. Gwyn wondered what the assignment was but held back her questions. She may be on a secret mission for them, but that didn’t mean she had the right to know about all the Inner Court’s plans and schemes.

Azriel nodded curtly. “We’ll be quick. Gwyn has a theory and we’d like to ask you some questions.” He looked intently at Rhys.

“Very well, to my study then. Nyx is down for now but who knows when he’ll erupt again…” The High Lord, usually immaculate and resplendent, looked a bit haggard toda. Yet the wink to his mate still showed he was in good spirits. Gwyn followed them to his enormous and decadent study. Immediately she was enthralled, not just by the sheer amount of books and stunning artwork, but at the multi-world wrought-iron model he had on display next to his desk.

She swept towards it, marvelling at the detail.

“Oh, High Lord - you’ve been holding out on us! You have far more knowledge on this topic than you ever let on.” Gwyn whirled to see Azriel look accusingly at his brother, Feyre only rolled her eyes.

Rhysand replied cleverly, “Pray tell Gwyneth, tell me what you think I already know?”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch. He was playing her, again. She knew he was clever but this was downright sneaky - making her tell him information he may, or may not claim to already know. She smirked back at him - two could play at that game. “How many Wyrdmarks have you come across in your lifetime?”

His twilight eyes flashed for less than a second before that smugness was back. It was enough for her to know the answer before she pushed, “And when you discovered them, could you decipher them? Could Amren?” 

Feyre and Azriel watched their mental game closely. She could feel Azriel’s hazel eyes pin her as he tried to read her next mental move. Rhysand still hadn’t answered so she asked one last question, “More importantly, have you ever used them for yourself or on yourself?”

He regarded her calmly before she felt a presence in her mind. She looked within herself to feel sharp black claws against the inner shield of her mind, scraping along the stone walls, disturbing the ivy and ice. She allowed a small entryway for him and heard his silken voice within her mind.

My Spymaster likes your mind, Gwyneth. As the world's greatest secret keeper, being the last one to know what’s going on certainly isn’t something he enjoys though. I dare say, you’ve just upped the ante with this display…he’ll be like a hawk on you from here on out.

She couldn’t tell if it was a threat or a promise. She replied confidently…

Oh trust me, he figured it out centuries ago. The moment he found his legendary dagger, in fact. He may just not have connected the dots.

Rhysand chucked out loud then clapped his hands in delight. “You are truly singular, Gwyneth Berdara.”

She blinked and closed her mind again, looking to Azriel’s cool face to see his reaction. She was surprised to find a slight smirk on his gorgeous features instead.

Feyre huffed then glared at her mate impatiently. He simply kissed her cheek and came over to the multi-world display, where Gwyn was still standing.

“Yes,” Rhysand said simply, looking at all three of them as he explained. “Wyrdmarks are prevalent throughout our land and I’ve seen them multiple times. Mostly on the ancient objects and beings amongst us. In fact, the Prison is littered with them...” Gwyn started at the knowledge he was sharing with her, but kept her cool so he would continue.

He spun one of the iron planets casually, then glided to his desk and took out four glass flutes. “I have not seen these on the Trove objects, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out?” He poured sparkling golden liquid into the tall flutes.

Azriel answered before Gwyn could, “Does anyone else know of these Wyrdmarks outside of our circle?”

Gwyn could only marvel at his immediate jump to defensive stratagem, despite how she’d tried to caution an open mind weeks ago when they first started the work together.

“Helion’s extensive knowledge is perhaps the closest to ours in this field. I haven’t asked him but considering his help in shielding the objects, it’s fair to assume he also considered the theory,” Rhys explained. Azriel frowned but nodded, as though he’d guessed at The Spell Cleaver’s abilities too.

“What does this mean though?” Feyre asked, evidently still a little frustrated by Rhysand hiding knowledge.

Gwyn took a deep breath, it was time for her to show her hand, just a little. “I think the Wyrdmarks could be part of what opens the doors to other worlds.” Azriel only nodded in encouragement, he evidently knew she’d figured out this much and wanted to give her the stage. “It won’t just be something you can draw on any door and magically transport yourself to another realm though!” She’d seen the flash of concern on Feyre's face. “Ancient, powerful magic is needed for these markings to work. A lot of raw power too. There are few that wield enough power to make that happen.” She wanted to whisper it, she knew at least three people who did have this amount of power, and two of them were in the same room as her. “That counts for individuals and…for objects.”

Rhysand’s brow creased as considered her, opening his palms in steady supplication. “You understand now why I wanted this to remain between us?”

She nodded, understanding the gravity of their discovery. “Nesta mentioned thinking there was a fourth object. Has that ever been discussed?”

This time she felt Azriel’s surprise, Rhysand too seemed a bit disturbed by the notion. “No. Do you have a guess as to what it could be?”

Gwyn shook her head. She had no idea how to even start figuring it out without asking Nesta for her insight. Rhysand nodded quietly and they fell into a weighty silence, each one lost in their own thoughts.

But Rhysand broke the spell soon after, his face split into a wide smile. “Well, I dare say this has been a successful morning!” He picked up the glasses and brought them over to Gwyn and Feyre, before handing another to Azriel and one for himself.

Gwyn was confused, why were they celebrating?

“This is a huge subject and one steeped in secrecy and misinformation. You’ve just drawn the clearest path I’ve seen in centuries and I think you’re on to something. I’d like you to continue working on it, both of you.” Rhysand gave them both encouraging nods.

Azriel interjected, “It was just Gwyn.” His confidence in her warmed her but she couldn’t claim all the glory.

“Actually, it was because you let me see Truth Teller up close. And because you got those books from level seven. Together, they gave us our first clue.”

She didn’t want to tell him she may also have figured out how he had gained the dagger in the first place, or where.

Rhys’s spellbinding smile lit the room as he raised his glass. “To the first piece of the puzzle!”

They clinked their glasses and drank. Gwyn enjoyed the drink, which she’d had a taste of at Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony. She looked up to see Azriel’s gaze go vacant, as well as the High Lord’s. Evidently, they were discussing something privately in their minds. Gwyn looked at Feyre instead, who was watching her keenly.

“Well well Gwyn, I have met very few people who have impressed my mate as you have today.” She smiled secretly as she sipped her drink delicately. “Are you enjoying this assignment?”

Gwyn looked up at Azriel, who was still in the middle of his mind-conversation before she blushed slightly. “You could say that,” she conceded to her High Lady, who gave her an all-knowing grin in return.

She felt a scrape of beast claws in her mind, this time it was the High Lady’s damaeti gifts at play.

Your secret is safe with me

Chapter Text

Azriel blinked as Rhys left his mind, milliseconds before a wailing sound echoed around the house. Feyre and Rhys both closed their eyes before looking at each other, incredulous.

“He can’t have been down for more than 10 minutes?” Feyre exclaimed. Rhys smiled apologetically at her before winnowing away.

Feyre turned to them, her eyes frantic as she explained. “He literally won’t sleep! It’s like he knows we’re about to leave home for the first time since his birth and he refuses to close his eyes for any longer than necessary.” She ran her hands through her hair. “This will not be a fun trip…”

Rhys walked back into the study holding a crying Nyx. Feyre rushed to the door to help but Rhys simply walked past her and offered his son to Azriel. Rhys’s usually sparkling eyes looked weary. “Feyre mentioned you had some success after dinner the other night?’

Carefully, Azriel took Nyx from his brother, rocking him from side to side as gently as he could. He continued to cry despite the calming movement but soon Gwyn glided over, touching Azriel’s forearm where Nyx's head was cradled. She peered down at him and Nyx caught the movement, suddenly stopping his vocal onslaught. Azriel looked to see her making faces at the babe, pulling expressions to keep him distracted. It was working, Nyx babbled with happy baby noises within seconds.

“That’s certainly a start!” Feyre let out a relieved laugh. Azriel bounced Nyx and watched in wry amusement as Gwyn made faces and copied Nyx’s babbling in her own melodic voice to keep him occupied. “How would you two feel about taking him for the afternoon?” Feyre asked suddenly and Azriel’s shadows swirled manically in response.

“Feyre…” Rhys’s voice held an edge Azriel hadn’t heard in a while. Azriel shook his head in response, knowing the level of territorial power Rhys was about to display if he agreed.

“No Rhys, you need to get used to this just as much as Nyx does. When we’re away, we will both need to get used to being without him at some point. This is necessary!” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“We’d be happy to help!” Gwyn chimed cheerfully as Nyx grabbed her pinky finger. Azriel grimaced, evidently she’d never had to fight off a territorial mate and father…

Rhys growled again before Feyre seemed to play her winning hand. “Rhys, weren't you saying just this morning, about that thing you’d like to do if we were to have just a moment of time… alone?” Rhys’s eyes darkened with lust, his arousal evident from the scent in the room.

Azriel felt Gwyn go still at the insinuation, his own senses on high alert at his High Lord and Lady’s sudden and open shift. He immediately checked with his shadows if Gwyn was ok.

She seems…intrigued, Singer.

Azriel remained alert, despite how that information played on his own imagination. Rhys was breathing heavily, clearly losing the battle between his wants and needs.

Nyx gave a loud squeal in delight as he discovered Gwyn’s charm bracelet. She cooed at him in response and Azriel felt his entire being relax at the display. He looked back at his brother, hoping he understood.

Rhys gave him one look and Azriel knew exactly what it meant. He infused as much of his own power into his will and words as he bowed his head and promised, “With my life, High Lord.”

Chapter Text

Gwyn couldn’t believe it, she was in Velaris.

She greedily soaked up the sights, sounds and smells of the vibrant surroundings. As though in a daze, she watched Azriel carry Nyx around the streets of the colourful city.

They'd received a full, anxiety-inducing briefing from Feyre, despite the fact it had been her idea for them to take him in the first place. Gwyn understood, she’d helped plenty of mothers with their younglings at Sangravah. There was nothing more terrifying than the notion of someone else being responsible for your child, or so they had said.

By the time Feyre and Rhys let Azriel and Gwyn go, the heir to the Night Court was clutching the strands of Gwyn’s hair and gurgling happily, having decided he wanted to keep swapping between who was carrying him. No wonder the High Lord and Lady were exhausted.

Gwyn was so enamoured with the baby that she’d barely registered leaving the sanctity of the River House. Until Azriel brushed his hand across her own and asked her if she was ok.

She was in the middle of a bridge overlooking the most stunning city she’d ever seen. Velaris had sparkled from above but being within it gave her the full-effect of its lively character and charm.

The colourful shops and restaurants…the incredible architecture and designs of the bridges and buildings…the happy and friendly nature of the beings enjoying the city’s sights and sounds. Not just fae either - there were magical beings here from every race. She’d never seen so many living happily together in one place.

She’d done it; she was immersed in the world again. As though aware that her attention had strayed, Nyx chose that moment to start crying. Demanding his uncle's silent but sturdy presence. Azriel leaned down to take him from her, but one of his shadows softly touched her cheek - as though trying to show its master's solidarity with her in the moment.

Rooted to the spot, she watched Azriel bob Nyx here and there, saying soft words to him as they meandered along the bridge. She could still see his eyes scanning the world around them cautiously, but he almost looked…happy?

She considered it then - he was always the one to throw himself into danger to protect his family and the Night Court. Gwyn had experienced it first hand the day he came to her aid amidst the slaughter at Sangravah. But did anyone ever ask the Shadowsinger what he did for his own happiness? His own peace? Did he ever find any?

She was still mulling it over when he turned, searching for her amongst the crowds on the bridge. Their gazes locked. The world stopped as they stared at one another.

Her breath caught at his beauty; standing there in his dark Illyrian leathers - the Shadow of Death - holding the most precious bundle of life and love, surrounded by the colour and vivacity of the city. If she had Feyre’s talents, she would paint this inexplicably beautiful moment. Instead, she just inhaled. Letting the scent of the Sidra inhibit her senses before she smiled broadly and walked towards him with a confidence she hadn’t felt in years.

He gave her a shy smile, one she hadn’t seen on his face before. “Are you hungry?”

Gwyn stroked Nyx’s soft midnight black hair and admitted, “I think we both might be.”

Azriel nodded. “I know a place.”

He shifted, tucking Nyx into the crook of one arm as he offered his other elbow to her. She took it with a small smile and as they walked through the streets, she marvelled at the freedom, security and happiness she felt in the moment.

Chapter Text

Azriel’s jaw hurt, and for once - it wasn’t because he’d been in a fight.

No, it was as a result of how much he had been smiling - and talking. More than he had in years, if not decades.

He watched as Gwyn bobbed Nyx on her lap, feeding him with a special bottle Feyre had given them whilst she nibbled at the food on her plate. Recounting a story about the younglings she’d helped look after at Sangravah.

She told it with such light humour and open energy, it was difficult not to laugh at her adventures, to ask questions about her past. In fact, he was trying not to think about the other things she had to endure to protect those very same younglings.

Today wasn’t the time to think on those things; not when she was glowing as she sat under the canopy of vines and flowers outside the cafe on the banks of the Sidra, eating the array of exotic foods he had ordered for them and paying his nephew such unconditional affection and care.

A good presence, Singer…

Nyx gave a great yawn and Azriel made a decision. “Here, let me…” he gestured and Gwyn passed Nyx to him.

Don’t make a scene - he warned his shadows before starting to hum quietly. The effect was immediate, his shadows swarmed to create a cocoon of darkness and silence around the babe’s sleeping form. He kept his voice low, knowing that if he intoned any words or raised his pitch even a little, his shadows would react and the whole cafe would bolt in fear. He kept his eyes on Nyx, sensing his heartbeat slow as he fell into a peaceful slumber.

He hummed for a few more beats before he fell silent again, satisfied that Nyx was truly asleep. 

“What does it take?” Gwyn’s light voice cut through his concentration.

He frowned, wondering which thread she was pulling on. She took a dainty sip of the sparkling wine he’d ordered and considered him with those large eyes again. “For you to let down those walls and sing properly? What does it take?”

He understood quite clearly the undercurrent of her question.

“Nothing,” he stared at Nyx before he looked back at Gwyn’s sparkling eyes. The faint glow around her stunning silhouette, considered her caring and clever nature before admitting, “and everything.”

There was that crackle of heat and energy again, as though he could feel it in his chest. A blush stained her cheekbones and she tucked a wayward strand of silky hair behind her arched ear.

Shortly after, the waitress delivered Azriel a note, explaining that the High Lord sent his regards and had paid the tab. But not before she’d complimented Azriel’s way with Nyx and whispered that her contact details were on the note too. Azriel shadows swirled defensively as he tried to brush it off but Gwyn had already noticed and had been quiet and contemplative since.

They left the cafe and walked along the riverbank quietly, Nyx still sleeping soundly in the crook of his arm. Gwyn was quiet as she ambled alongside him.

Pretending to take in the sights…

Azriel turned over his shadows’ information in his head. She'd shared a part of herself earlier, the least he could do was return the favour.

“Over a decade…” he said quietly, gathering his own strength. “It took me just over a decade, after my childhood, after my training in the Illyrian war camps…to acclimatise.”

He tried to find the words, he had never truly told anyone about how difficult it had been to come back to the world after the darkness and brutality he experienced in his first few decades. He felt Gwyn’s full attention on him as she neared, and it gave him the reason to continue.

“Rhys was the heir to the Night Court, people fell at his feet, no matter where he went or what he did. Cassian…” Azriel allowed himself a small smile, “Well, Cassian is as easy to love as he is to punch, to be honest.” Azriel heard Gwyn’s flutter of amusement. “But people usually took to him too, whether for his looks, his humour or his power, he always wins hearts.”

“I had a…different upbringing,” Azriel allowed, his tension no doubt evident from the swirling mist his shadows created around them. Gwyn’s eyes were solemn as she listened but he pushed through. “At first I only agreed to go out into the world with Rhys and Cassian if I could be cloaked in my shadows. For a while, that’s all I did. Then Lorin, Rhysand’s sister, started coming with us…” Azriel rarely talked about her - no one did. Her story was too tragic to dredge up. He blew out a breath at the memories. “She seemed to understand me. She was quieter than Rhys, but calm and kind and could sense things, hear the shadows - like me. She helped me feel a bit more…normal.”

Azriel’s shadows continued to flit between his wings and his ears, encouraging his story, lending their support. “I didn’t grow up with…”

He caught himself, he wasn’t ready to share it all. He cleared his throat, “The point is, I didn’t want her only role models to be Rhys and Cassian.” This time Gwyn openly giggled and it gave him pause as he enjoyed the sound. “So I joined them in the world, exploring new cities and cultures. It was…a lot to deal with,” he admitted. He could see the memories in his mind's eye. “Every time I was in new situations, it was different and difficult. I didn’t know how to handle people or situations that weren’t threats, so it took a lot for me…”

His voice trailed off. He stared at Nyx’s midnight hair, at the little wings that were growing so beautifully. Wondered how anyone could feel hatred towards a baby like this, the way his father, his stepmother - even his brothers - had felt towards him.

“What helped?” Gwyn’s voice was gentle, soothing, bringing him back to the present moment. He looked at the glistening waters of the Sidra, the multi-coloured buildings surrounding them, the calm and happy people of Velaris as he considered it.

“Practice.” 

They continued walking along quietly. Nyx slept soundly and Gwyn seemed comfortable in silence, for which he was grateful.

The Seer is here…

Azriel forced his attention to hone in as Elain stopped dead in her tracks ahead of them, wearing her light green gardening dress and holding a basket of plants. He noticed the bundles of anemone flowers mixed with tufts of Scabius, amid a sea of purple carnations within her basket. It was an odd mix, one he hadn’t seen her handle before.

Surprised by a sudden shift next to him, he felt rather than saw Gwyn’s sudden reluctance and looked down to see a small frown on her moon-white skin. Yet she continued to walk casually alongside him as they neared Elain.

“Hello Elain, how are you?” Gwyn broke the silence, her voice higher than usual, but her tone was friendly enough.

Elain didn’t look at Gwyn, rather she stared at Azriel then at Nyx in his arms. “Why is Nyx with you?”

“We had the afternoon free and Rhys and Feyre wanted time alone,” Azriel allowed.  Elain said nothing but continued to hold his gaze. 

“Are you feeling any better? After the other night?” Gwyn asked her, surprising him. Elain’s eyes flashed for a moment before she schooled her features.

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” She continued, "I was helping a few older fae in town with some herbal remedies but I’m on my way back to the River House now. I can take Nyx with me, to save you both a trip?” His grip tightened on his nephew ever so slightly but he needn’t bother with the display as Gwyn answered. 

“No, that’s ok. We have a bit more time, we will bring him later.” She said it softly, kindly even, but Azriel heard the protectiveness lacing her words.

Elain looked at Gwyn for the first time then and Azriel could have sworn he saw a flash of anger and distrust in her dark eyes. But he blinked and she was smiling that warm, kind smile of hers again. “Well, please - don’t let me interrupt. Enjoy your afternoon.”

She looked up at Azriel through her lashes and he could read everything she plainly wished to say.

Traitor. Coward. Liar. Fool

Chapter Text

Azriel sipped on his wine and let his shadows relax as he tried to focus on the here and now, for once.

He was sitting side by side with Gwyn at the dinner table, Nyx nestled between them in Gwyn’s arms as they enjoyed a casual dinner with Rhys and Feyre. They’d returned to the River House an hour ago, his High Lord and Lady already looked better for the few hours together in peace. Nyx had acknowledged his parents only for a moment before continuing to grip Gwyn’s fingers in one hand and pull at the strands of her coppery hair with the other. Feyre’s laugh had been one of true joy. “Well, it seems you better stay for dinner - or risk losing that gorgeous head of hair!”

Gwyn was happily recounting her first experience of Velaris to them as they ate. Azriel had shown Gwyn the quieter places in Velaris for her first time, choosing to wander around the quaint neighbourhoods and calming cafes. He had even allowed himself to enjoy a piece of cake, upon Gwyn’s insistence.

He pondered it -  he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease not only in someone else’s conversation, but also with the occasion. Like they were just two people, enjoying a day together, without the pressures and demands of the Court and wider world weighing on them.

He listened as Rhys and Feyre told Gwyn about other areas that they could explore in the future, and places they could all go together one day too. The realisation hit him painfully in the chest. He would like that - to be with his family and the Valkyries…watching as Gwyn’s face would light up every time she found a new delight, or how her nose would scrunch at something she was trying to make sense of.

“I’ll even name an entire district after you, if you’ll tell us what magic you used to make my brother so relaxed today?” Rhys teased, jerking Azriel out of his dizzying thoughts.

He frowned at Rhys’s remark, clearing his throat to order his shadows back to attention.

Gwyn looked at him for a long moment. “Azriel is much loved by the people of Velaris. They couldn’t stop quickly enough to offer kind words to him - especially with Nyx in his arms. It was an honour to experience your city by his side today.”

There it was again, that painful tug in his chest. Her words were delivered with such sincerity, his name alongside words freely given with such honest and raw compassion - it wasn’t something he was used to. He looked at her features carefully, to read signs of a lie or falsehood - but he found none. She genuinely meant it and he had no idea how, not after everything he’d done in his long life.

You’re staring, Singer

He blinked. “Are you ready for your trip?” he asked instead, looking back at Rhys. He instructed his shadows to hide the heat he could feel starting to spread on his cheeks, leaning over to brush Nyx’s soft hair as the baby gave a big yawn.

Rhys swirled his wine, that sparkle in his eyes had returned and Azriel dreaded to know what was happening in that busy mind. “We are, yes. We’ll see Lucien and Elain off safely first then meet Tarquin at one of his coastal palaces.”

Gwyn started, “Lucien… Vanserra?” 

Feyre nodded. “Our emissary and my sister's mate.”

Gwyn’s surprise was clear. She looked from Feyre to Azriel and back again. Feyre only shrugged, “It’s… complicated.” 

Gwyn reached for her wine and took a small sip. Azriel’s reflex was to ask his shadows to decipher her mood.

Just ask her yourself, Singer 

Chapter Text

Gwyn giggled out loud as they walked on the lawns of the River House. Azriel only raised his brow.

“Today was… amazing!” Butterflies erupted in her stomach with giddy joy. 

“I stood up to Merrill - which I’ve never done before! I got to learn about Wyrdmarks  - which I never truly understood, until today. I went into Velaris for the first time ever and I managed to enjoy spending time with a youngling again…” Something she didn’t realise she desperately needed to do, until he was in her arms. “I can’t quite believe it all…” She was breathless with excitement.

“Don’t forget, you made a crucial discovery about our different worlds and impressed one of the greatest minds in all of Prythian.” His voice caressed her senses.

Gwyn couldn’t help her nervous laugh, “Do you really think the High Lord was impressed?”

She felt a brush of air as Azriel stopped her in her tracks, looking down at her intently. He brushed one of the loose strands of her hair behind an arched ear - her heart soaring at the gesture. “Obviously, I was referring to myself, Gwyneth.”

She rolled her eyes and thumped him lightly on the arm. So, he had a sense of humour after all? She smiled, despite herself and looked past his warm eyes and swirling shadows to marvel at the stars.

Stepping closer, she touched his forearm gently. “There’s one more thing I’d like to add to today's list of accomplishments then...” He cocked his head and his shadows tumbled off his shoulders, one even went as far as to brush her fingertips. “I’d like to fly closer to the stars.” She knew she sounded crazy.

His eyes lit up and she couldn’t tell if in amusement or understanding but he nodded and took her hand in his. “If you’ll allow, I have an idea?”

She considered him then nodded, deciding she only had a few more hours of reckless bravery left in her, she may as well bank on it now.

He lifted her hand and twirled her, like he had when they danced, her robes swaying in the night before he pulled her back into him closely, intimately. She felt dizzy with euphoria - the day’s events, his touch, his scent, the faint smile on his gorgeous face… she drank it up like the fine wine they’d enjoyed at dinner.

“I’ll fly with you standing so you’ll face forward, like me. I can hold you around the waist so you’ll be safe, but you’ll see the world as I see it, when I fly with my wings.”

Her breath hitched. “Will I still be able to see your hands?”

His entire demeanour changed. Tension rippled through him as he replied coolly, “Why?”

Gwyn suddenly felt nervous, rushing to get the words out. “I need to know it’s you. I need to be able to see them, feel them - to know it’s really you.”

His shadows continued to move ominously but his face softened ever so slightly. She explained quickly, “It’s something I’m working through. Having a male close to or touching me without having a… negative reaction.” She looked down at her feet in shame before remembering that she was Gwyneth Berdara, she had walked through hell to be here, to accomplish what she had today - she would end this night on a high.

She looked back at him defiantly. “When we’re training, I know it’s you. Not only because of how you move and your shadows, but because of your hands...” She plucked up the courage to touch him then, to take one of his broad hands in her own and marvel at it. “Hands that helped me then, hands that are helping me now. Your hands, Azriel.” She felt him shiver.

He tried to push her away. “These are hands that have captured, killed, tortured and maimed.”

She held firm, allowing a kernel of her magic to spread through her as her temper flared. “If not for those things, I would not be here.”

His shadows darkened, “I am not your saviour, Gwyn.”

She pushed more power into her will, narrowing her eyes. “You are my friend . You saved me once, and you’re helping me now. Is that so difficult for you to admit?”

His face looked cold but she could see his shadows coil and uncoil, evidently battling with his inner demons too. Eventually, he let out a long breath. “Valkyries,” he shook his head. “You’re a pushy bunch, aren’t you?”

She smirked and offered her hand again. He hesitated for a moment but when he took it, she could have sworn she felt his shadows sway in victory.

“Ok,” his voice had not completely lost that icy edge, though she could tell he was working hard to dispel it. “Here’s how we’re going to do it. I’m going to hold you here and here,” he pointed to her waist and her shoulder, showing her how his arm would hold her tight across the chest to secure her to him. “Any moment you start to feel uncomfortable,” he ground the word out. “Simply tap my forearm and I’ll pick you up as normal and we’ll go straight home.”

The word clanged through her. “Do you have one?” She was curious, “a home? Outside of the House of Wind, I mean?”

He considered her for a moment before giving a shallow nod. “I have two. But being close to the Court is important, so I stay at the House of Wind most of the time.”

She could see he’d offer no more, but she was satisfied with the momentary distraction and titbit of information. She took a deep breath, “Ok, I’m ready.” He took her hand again and she kept her breathing level as he turned her and stepped close. She marvelled at how powerful he felt behind her as he got into the position he had described. A solid, sturdy force of muscle, shadow and mystery. She shuddered.

“Are you ok?” His voice was deep and held a musical quality she knew he worked hard to hide. Holding onto his arm tightly, she nodded.

“I need to hear you say it, Priestess.” Her toes curled, why did she love it so much when he insisted like that?

“I’m ok, I’m ready.”

“Then, let’s go see your stars,” he whispered the words into the hollow of her ear, goosebumps erupted across her skin as he launched them into the sky.

He was right, this was wholly different to how they’d flown before. This way she felt more in control, like there was no barrier between her and the sky, the stars, the infinite air around them. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool air, listening to the sounds of the world around her as they climbed higher and higher.

His grip tightened and she opened her eyes just before he swooped left, causing her heart to soar. She let out a laugh as he swooped again. They flew for longer than they’d ever flown together before, gaining significant elevation as he held onto her.

Taking in the key constellations of the stairs around them, she relaxed into his grip as they slowed down slightly. His hand on her waist moved towards her navel as he held her even closer. “Why the stars, Priestess?” His voice was husky and inviting.

She allowed the memories to play in her mind's eye. “My mother, my sister and I used to pray to the stars. Not in the same way we pray as Priestesses, but something more like a wish, a dream. We would whisper our most secret hopes and desires to the constellations in the night and honour ourselves in this way. It wasn’t the same as praying to The Mother, but it felt more personal. More real.”

She allowed another deep, steadying breath, the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “When my mother died, my sister and I continued to honour her with this tradition. The stars were now her home, so we whispered our hopes and dreams to her instead.” He slowed their flight to a steady beat, the tears escaped from her eyes but the wind carried them into the night.

Bile rose in her throat. “Then my sister was taken from me.” Gwyn felt the stab of pain in her heart, her stomach nearly heaving again at the memory. Azriel’s body tensed behind her but she forced another steadying breath, gazing boldly at the city she’d braved today, at the palace she had made her home. “I have only prayed to the stars once since then. The first night I was in the Rite, in fact.” She gripped his arm, “There in the Illyrian forests, with Ramiel looming - the stars seemed to taunt me. So I decided to face them.”

 Azriel moved his hand on her shoulder, his thumb caressing it in smoothing sweeps. “I whispered my shame, my fears, my hopes - I told it all to the stars that were home to my mother, and my sister too.” He was keeping their flight gentle on purpose, she could tell. They’d gained so much height, she almost felt dizzy but she forced herself to finish her story. “Then I prayed that no one else I loved would join them soon and I prayed that I wouldn’t join them either, not yet. Because I wanted to live… I wanted to live and breathe and beat those damn Illyrians.”

The breath of air behind her ear was the only sign of his understanding, his solidarity. Tapping his arm twice, she moved her hand on top of his resting on her navel, trying to turn to see his face. He understood - one second she was facing forward, the next he’d unhooked himself and picked her up fully in his arms, without so much as a breath of hesitation. Her stomach flipped at the grace with which he moved.

Hooking her arm around his neck, she allowed herself to drink in the depth of his eyes, the way she could see them more clearly in the starlight. “Today, I felt truly alive again,” she whispered. “So tonight, I’ll pray to the stars. I’ll whisper to them about my hopes and dreams - like I did before. But I’ll also give them my thanks…”

Allowing a small smile, she settled her head onto his shoulder and breathed in his scent again. “My thanks to my mother, to my sister and to all the stars that are guiding me, every single day.”

Chapter Text

He tried to make the landing as smooth and soft as possible, as to not disturb Gwyn as she was curled into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. He could feel her fingertips brushing the tips of his hair.

“I wish I had wings,” her voice was light again, it had lost the sadness from moments ago. Azriel begrudgingly set her on her own two feet when she lifted her head. “Maybe I will one day?” He couldn’t help but stare at the steely determination in those teal eyes of hers.

He only realised what he was doing when she smiled softly at him, then at his shadows before looking down pointedly at where he was holding her hand. He shook his head sharply and let go.

“Sorry...”

But Azriel wasn’t sorry. He wanted to hold her hand, to hear her stories and clever theories, to tell her that he understood the shame, the hurt, the anger, the need for more .

Instead, he settled with a much safer route, “Thank you.”

She raised her brow. He allowed himself to look up then, to take in the glittering blanket above and around them. “Those stars were my only light once too,” he admitted. “Tonight, you reminded me of why that was.”

He blinked as she brushed her fingertips against his. “See you tomorrow, Shadowsinger.”

His heart hammered in his chest as she walked away gracefully. What was happening to him?

You already know, Singer

He tutted at his shadows but allowed the memory of her small smile, her sizzling challenge, her whispered words to sink into his very soul.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had passed since the mating ceremony and Azriel was on constant high alert as he worked overtime to manage surveillance on the whole of the Night Court, with special attention on Velaris.  

Mor winnowed back every morning for the Priestess training sessions, but then would leave soon after to go back to her courtier duties in Vallahan. Her ferocity during some sessions made him think the Vallahan royals were more stubborn and arrogant than even her considerable charisma and power could persuade. But he stayed out of it. He knew she could handle her assignments without his interference. Besides, he had enough on his plate. 

Beron was still up to something and Azriel was no closer to having a clear answer as to what that was. There was no clear strategy or obvious reason for his multiple units mobilising across his court and the borders of others. They didn’t seem to be doing anything either - other than training. Though Azriel was tying himself in knots trying to work out what their real goals were. 

When he wasn’t training the Priestesses, flying and shadow walking across the country keeping up with his spies or suspects, he was studying. He wasn’t always able to see Gwyn in their private study within the library under the Mountain, thanks to the demands on his time. But when he could, he’d bring her books from some of his other trips and spend as much time as possible learning all she’d discovered to try add as many helpful insights as possible. 

Whatever he did though, he never missed evening training with her. Despite it being at nearly midnight each night, it was the only light at the end of his days. The reprieve and release he needed. They’d built enough of a rapport and trust now that Gwyn seemed to sense when he needed to be by himself in the corner of the ring, beating the shit out of a training dummy. Or when he could handle more patient tutoring time with her, guiding her through new holds on the weapons they were using, more advanced sword sequences and even some more gritty hand to hand combat techniques. In truth, whether his mood was raging or sombre, her presence always seemed to soothe him. 

He was mulling over what they’d go through tonight as he stood at the edge of the balcony at the House of Wind after morning training. His shadows were giving him a report as he allowed the late summer sun to gently beat on his wings. Based on the news, it seemed a quieter day - and he was grateful for it. He could do with a reprieve for a few hours. Perhaps Gwyn was back from morning service and would be ready to start working on their assignment early?

“Oh good, you’re still here.” As though his musings on her presence summoned her, he turned to find Gwyn walking from the House, carrying two books. 

“You mentioned you borrowed these from somewhere. I wasn’t sure when you needed them back, but they were brilliant so I finished them very quickly.” So he extended them towards him. 

He took the two books, both stories about the fae legends but told from the perspective of other mythical creatures. He wasn’t sure whether they were biographies or fiction, but he had known she’d appreciate the classics retold from another worldview. He bowed his head and drank in her smile before she turned to leave. 

“I wondered,” he spoke softly yet she still turned back towards him expectantly. “If perhaps you’d be willing to work together today?” 

Her brows knitted together. “Don’t we work together everyday?” 

He rubbed his neck. “I mean outside of the library?” 

She cocked her head, her hair - which was unbound and freshly scented after her morning bath, glistened in the morning sun. “You don’t need to go somewhere else today?” He never told her where his courtly duties took him, she seemed to understand why. 

He nodded, “I do actually, but I thought - if you’re willing, you could accompany me?” 

She regarded him for a beat then gave a shy smile. “Where?” 

“It’s a surprise.” He passed her the books again. “We can do some work there too, so if you want to bring any of the books you wanted to go through today, we can take them with us.” 

Her eyes lit up, as though she hesitated because she’d been worrying about leaving her work. He could only marvel at her fastidiousness when it came to her studies - she could give him a run for his money for obsession to a cause. “What else will I need?” She asked, looking down at her Priestess robes. 

“Just yourself and the books,” he replied calmly. “I’ll bring the rest. Meet back here in 10 minutes.” He knew she hadn’t been back to the city since their day trip with Nyx and he was eager to see those ethereal features of hers light up when she saw more of the world. She smiled broadly then rushed back into the House. 

When she returned, holding no less than five thick tomes in her arms, he’d grabbed a basket the House had prepared and she gave him a curious look. “How will you fly with all of this?” 

He replied flatly, “We’re not flying today, Priestess.” 

“Winnowing?” Her eyes went wide but he shook his head. 

“Yes and no. I don’t winnow. I shadow-walk.” Her eyes flicked to the dispersed shadows on his shoulders. “It is similar to winnowing, though I’ve been told the sensation is a little jarring physically.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Interesting. I imagine it doesn’t trigger alarm bells for protective wards as much either - as not many people know about it?” 

He started, her powers of deduction were practically heaven-sent. He allowed her a small smirk in confirmation and extended his hand towards her. She gave him a triumphant smile before saying quietly, “I’m a little nervous.” 

Pulling her closer, letting her scent wash over him, he raised his brow at her. “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to go.”

He’d been serious, but she lit at the challenge anyway and replied defiantly, “Does it look like I’m not ready?” 

He couldn’t get enough of that delicious temper of hers. It ignited every inch of him so he leaned down and whispered right in the hollow of her delicately arched ear, “It doesn’t matter what I think, Priestess.” When he pulled back, her pupils were dilated and her heart racing - he gave her a satisfied grin. 

She realised his game of distraction quickly enough and rolled her eyes. “Just, do your little Spymaster Sneakery Shadowalk thing already.” 

He let himself smile fully this time and wrapped his arm around her waist as they flew above the wards of the House before disappearing into his shadow world. 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like winnowing. Not at all.

Gwyn was grateful she wasn’t scared of the dark or particularly claustrophobic, because shadow-walking was sickeningly disorienting. The wind that ripped around them couldn’t have been there for more than a split second, though Gwyn felt as though she’d just fallen through a blistering pit with no beginning or end. She clung to Azriel, breathing his scent for the milliseconds they were in his shadow world. 

She felt a jolt and suddenly her feet touched earth again. When she opened her eyes, they were in something like a glade, surrounded by vast snow-capped mountains overlooking the most beautiful azure lake she’d ever seen. 

She let go of Azriel, looking at the serene nature around them. “Where are we?” 

“Still in the Night Court,” he closed his eyes and spread his wings casually, enjoying the sunshine. “We’re still in Velaris actually, just a little above it. On the other side of the mountains that shield the city.” 

She wandered forward a bit, marvelling at it. She hadn’t seen a lake since her time at Sangravah. The thought swept through her and she turned to him. “The lake…?” 

He rubbed at his neck, his shadows thin in the midday sun. He looked so much younger because of it. “You said your happiest memories were by the lakes at the Temple,” he shrugged and her heart wanted to explode. She rushed back to him, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. 

“It’s perfect,” she mumbled into his neck. After a moment, she felt his warm breath send shivers down her spine as he leaned down and hugged her tightly back. 

A couple of hours later, Gwyn was humming to herself as she sat on a small rock at the edge of the lake. Her feet were dipped in the cool waters whilst she read book. 

Azriel was similarly relaxed as he lay on his back amongst the picnic supplies he’d carried in the basket from the House. 

He’d set up the little area for them when they arrived, surprising her with food and wine and even a couple more books. One of which she was currently reading. A mystery novel - one he said was from his personal library. She’d eaten all of three bites before grabbing it from him and sinking into the contents. Ready to be enthralled by something new, yes, but mostly by something personal that he’d willingly shared with her. 

He’d smirked at her enthusiasm and continued enjoying the food. When she’d finished the first few chapters, she looked up to find him removing his leathers and boots, revealing cool linen trousers and a thin black vest that showed off his godly physique and expansive tattoos. When he caught her staring, he gave her a sly grin then strode into the glistening waters. 

Gwyn wasn’t even embarrassed being caught watching him. Surrounded by nature's own works of art, Azriel’s beauty, intelligence and quiet care seemed to pulse with life and energy, filling the valley around them. She wanted nothing more than to run to him, to hold him again. But the thought scared her, because this time, she’d want to keep exploring. Would want to start by taking off that vest, perhaps then starting to remove items of her own clothing too… 

“Priestess?” his voice jolted her back to reality. He’d returned from the lake and offered her a skin of water. “This is the most delicious fresh water you’ll ever drink.”

She gulped it down fast, hoping the coldness would quell her racing heart and wanton desires. She’d taken her own shoes off after that, grabbing the novel and finding herself a quiet rock to cool her thoughts. 

She looked back at him now, at the few shadows still lingering about his wings as he read some papers he’d brought with, tapping his siphons absentmindedly to a silent beat. She had noticed how thinly he’d spread himself these past few weeks. She could tell he didn’t want to let her down, but he’d been distracted during their studies and on more than one occasion, she’d been concerned about the rage he had to work off in the evening training sessions. She didn’t push him, like she did that first time she’d found him, but she knew something - or perhaps many things - were weighing on him. With the High Lord and Lady away, Mor in Vallahan and Cassian and Nesta in the frenzy, she assumed Azriel had put the Night Court's safety solely on his own shadowed shoulders. She also knew there was no point in asking him outright whether she could do anything or whether he wanted to share his thoughts or burdens with her - he was the most closed book she’d ever had the pleasure of studying. 

But then again, he had done something kind for her today - bringing her to the lake. Not to mention he looked relatively at peace right now; the sun beating on his golden-brown skin, his shadows swirling lazily about his form. He’d even had a glass of wine with her at lunch, a sparkling and fruity pink variation, so unlike the darker, muskier ones he usually favoured whenever he had wine with dinner. Perhaps now was as good a time as any to offer her ear, and she knew just how to trick him into doing so.

Chapter Text

There was a whoosh of air then Azriel saw a mighty splash of water as Gwyn jumped into the lake. He shot to his feet, rushing to the shore as she came up for air, blowing out hard at the iciness of the water. 

He wanted to laugh out loud as he watched her bob up and down, treading water. “That water is directly from the snowy mountains above us, Priestess. It’s too cold to swim in!” He shouted instead. 

She shook her head, her bright hair plastered to her pale cheeks. He could practically hear her teeth chattering as she shouted back, “Illyrian baby!” 

This time, he did allow himself to laugh, “You think I can’t handle the cold?” 

“I…know…you can’t!” She shouted back between gulps of icy cold water. Walking towards the rocks where she’d been reading, he started to take off his trousers and vest, smiling to himself. He gave her one smug grin, tucked his wings in tight and dove into the water. 

He came up for air directly in front of her, blowing out hard at the chill. Her face was aglow. Her wet hair now slicked back to reveal those huge eyes - almost exactly the same shade as the water, alight with energy. She gave him a wicked grin then took a deep breath and went underwater, kicking away from him quickly. Realising her game, he grinned and filled his lungs to follow. 

She’d massively undersold her abilities in her stories. She was in fact, an excellent swimmer. He had to come up for air twice in the time she stayed under the water and when he blinked the droplets away, he noticed she was much further than he’d realised. He knew his wings weren’t exactly made for water sports, but he’d learned to be a competent swimmer despite the disadvantage. He couldn’t let her get the upper hand in their little game, couldn’t let her see she was besting him, so he took another breath and gave chase. Whether because she was tiring or the water was too cold, she eventually slowed and he managed to catch her, grabbing onto her delicate feet, he surged towards her. 

He pulled her towards him and wrapped his arm around her waist as they came up for air, her melodic laugh filling the air as they wrestled in the water. She splashed him repeatedly and he couldn’t help but laugh back at her halfhearted attempts to disarm him. 

But then she stopped, choosing instead to wrap her arm around his neck as he held her closely, treading water in sync. He was dazed by the light he could see in her eyes. She lifted her free hand to his face, delicately brushing his smiling cheeks. 

“There they are,” she whispered, blinking slowly but smiling broadly. “I wondered what it would take to see these dimples again.” 

His breath caught at the tenderness which shone on her face. “You did all of that, just for some dimples?” He pushed a stray strand of wet hair behind her ear, stroking the end of the delicate arch softly, marvelling at the goosebumps that followed the wake of his touch. 

She gave him a more sincere look. “It seemed like you had a lot on your mind, I thought perhaps an icy swim and a bit of light competition would be the balm required.” She moved her finger from his cheek to his jaw, the touch featherlight as she held his gaze. 

He froze. 

His heart constricted as he realised what was happening. She could see him… his workings and stresses, his worries and perhaps even his secrets. And, she was trying to help. He was holding a beautiful female, a smart, brave and clever female who had made an effort to make him smile, to bring him joy - and for the first time in centuries - he wanted to let someone in. To tell her exactly what plagued his mind - day in and day out. 

But he didn’t have the first clue how to do that. How to let down his guard and reveal even a minuscule crack in the steely fortress that he’d built around his mind, heart and soul. 

He felt gentle pressure on his jaw and Gwyn turned his face lightly towards hers again. “Hey, you don’t have to say anything,” she whispered, as though she could hear every terrified thought racing through his mind. “I just want you to know, I’m here if you ever need someone to listen.” She cupped his face and leaned forward, leaving a warm kiss on his cheek, right where his dimple was. 

Untangling herself, she pulled away from him as his mind, filled with the sound of his wildly beating heart, tried to make sense of it all. 

“Come on, I have a thrilling mystery novel to finish. Last one to shore has to make dinner!” He blinked at her challenge as she winked at him then dove back under the water, as though she hadn’t just turned his world upside down. 

Chapter Text

The wave of bravery Gwyn felt when she jumped into the lake had disappeared. Now, she lingered at the edge of the water, trying to figure out how exactly she was going to get out of the lake without exposing herself in her soaking wet underwear to The Shadowsinger. Her clothes were at the rock where they’d jumped in, at least ten metres away. 

Though she need not have worried for too long.

When Azriel finally caught up, he simply swam past her, elegantly exiting the water in nothing but his black undershorts and went to their picnic basket, pulling out two towels. He wrapped one around his perfectly chiselled torso and turned back to the lake.

“Unless you’re going to use all your magical reserves to warm the whole lake, you may want to get out soon, Priestess.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, his muscles rippling with the action.

She’d spent months reading about sexy heroines in her romance novels, wishing she had their courage, their confidence. She’d been training twice a day for weeks. She was strong, athletic and powerful -  she had nothing to hide. Besides, hadn't Clotho encouraged her to let Azriel be the one to help her work through these fears too? Closing her eyes and willing her heart to calm, she took a deep breath and started walking towards him as he held out a towel for her. 

She thought he may turn away or avert his gaze as she exited the water - but he did no such thing. Her heart was practically leaping out of her chest as she realised he was watching every movement of hers with a hunger she’d never seen before. She kept her shoulders back and her posture strong as the water glided off her pale skin. Holding his gaze, she felt heat light in her core as she, with equal hunger, took him in.

Her mouth went dry as she did so - even Sellyn Drake couldn’t write a male as beautiful as Azriel; the perfect lines of his face, the golden tan of his skin, his magnificent stature and build, the flawless tattoos mapped across his expansive chest, the impressive wingspan that took up so much room whenever he was around…

And Gwyn had the honour of being alone with him, right now in this perfect mountain oasis. She finally reached him and he wrapped the towel around her protectively, never breaking her eye contact. 

She felt giddy with anticipation, her heightened emotions rushing through her. She’d done it, she’d almost completely exposed herself in front of a male, in front of Azriel - of all males - and she felt good, strong and sure. He continued to hold her tightly as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, the same way she had done for him moments ago, as though knowing every ounce of fortitude it took for her to do so. “Brave, beautiful Priestess,” his deep voice rumbled and her entire being went weak at his words. 

She wanted to reach up and bring his mouth to hers, but perhaps one brave step was enough for today. Instead, she leaned forward to rest her head on his chest, her breathing shallow. In turn, he rested his chin on her head and they leaned into each other for warmth, for comfort. 

They could have stayed like that for hours, days, forever perhaps - but much to her dismay, Gwyn’s stomach chose to interrupt the divine moment. He chucked into her hair. “I believe you said the last one out had to make dinner?” 

She raised her brow as she gave him a stern look. “I actually said the last one to shore… which was technically you .” 

He rolled his eyes, humming in defeat so Gwyn offered, “But you had the foresight to bring towels and good novels, so I’ll take one for the team this time.”

He offered her a tight smile, his shadows returning. “Very well, there’s something I need to do first. I’ll be back in a few minutes, then we’ll go.” He let go of her, running a hand through his still wet hair. She blinked at the loss of heat but nodded as he walked towards the rock to retrieve their clothes. 

By the time she was dressed and packed, waiting at the water's edge, still enjoying the mystery novel - it had been nearly twenty minutes. A stone crunched behind her and she turned to see him return. 

“Ready?” 

“What did you need to do?” She tried, hoping their earlier intimacy would have encouraged him to share a bit more.

He rubbed his neck as he considered her. “Checked the wards around Velaris. They are multilayered and vast - since the attack a few years ago, I come out here once a week to make sure they are fortified,” he finally admitted, reaching out his hand for her. 

She gave a small smile, mentally cheering at this new-found trust. “Well, anytime you need an accomplice, Shadowsinger, just let me know.” 

“In this, I don’t mind you being with me. But any of my other tasks - I’d never expose you to.” His reply was flat and detached, contradicting the warmth of his body as he circled his arm around her waist, pulling her in. 

She narrowed her eyes up at him. “I’m not to be coddled, Shadowsinger. I’ve seen the monsters in this world, I can handle it.” 

Danger flashed behind his eyes. “It’s not those monsters I fear you seeing Priestess, it’s the monster inside me I’d rather you didn’t.” 

She sucked in a breath and his shadows swirled, taking them away from their lakeside retreat and back into his shadow world. 

Chapter Text

Azriel’s shadows were as distracted as he was.  

The Priestess is thrilled by the mystery novel, Singer. Her clever mind has nearly figured out the plot twist… 

Azriel tried to admonish his shadows as they lounged around Gwyn’s reading form. They dutifully ignored him.

Ask her what she thinks, it will be a worthy answer - we’re sure of it 

Although Rhys and Cassian had spent centuries trying to break into Azriel’s inner musings, his shadows were the only true companions he had in this manner. Despite their appeals, he shook his head but continued to secretly take her in at his leisure. 

They’d had a spirited dinner, Gwyn made a simple but delicious fish dish with a hearty, well-seasoned sauce and plenty of bread to mop it up. When he’d asked her about the choice, she’d guiltily admitted that the House had encouraged her to do something it knew Azriel enjoyed. 

“I believe that’s what they call cheating,” he’d mocked. She simply stuck out her tongue and poured him a glass of cold white wine to enjoy it with. 

They’d come to the House of Wind’s Library shortly after, where Gwyn had saucily handed him the five thick tomes she’d carried to the lake and back and instructed him to start studying as she reclined into a stack of cushions by the open window, reading the novel he’d lent her. 

He’d hardly read three pages of the thick books though, choosing instead to listen to his shadows' mediations whilst he watched her. Trying - and failing - not to think of the strong, lithe and elegant body beneath those Priestess robes. He was grappling with it - the realisation that, despite his past mistakes with females, despite her past traumas with males - he wanted her. Her clever mind, her willingness to learn, her sizzling challenge and bravery, her big smile and even bigger heart. He was fighting the need to get on his knees, lay her down fully in those thick cushions, peel the clothes off her perfectly sculpted body and open her legs to kiss her reverently, tasting every delicious drop of her heaven-sent… 

Illyrians! Illyrians in Velaris! 

His shadows’ sudden warning doused him in reality as he recalibrated to his surroundings. He stood abruptly, tapping his siphoned hands as his battle suit magically appeared over his casual clothing.

“What is it?” Gwyn stood from her pillowed palace, her face alarmed.

“I need to go into Velaris.” He replied darkly. He had no idea what the Illyrians would be doing in Velaris - they never ventured to the city. - they hated all it stood for. If they were here to cause trouble, he’d enjoy paying them back with quiet, cruel retribution for all their past misgivings… 

“What’s wrong? Can I help?” Gwyn asked as he stalked to the Library window, readying to fly directly out. 

“No, just stay…”

Wait Singer, Lady Truth! Lady Truth is coming to the House…  

Mor? What was she doing back in the city? He growled, turning on his heel to head back to the door to get to the balcony when Mor burst through the library doors, holding a fitful and raging Emerie. 

Gwyn flew to her friend's side, “What happened?” Azriel could scent their blood but Mor didn't answer, simply held onto Emerie.

“Mor, there’s approximately two seconds remaining before I start ripping trespassing Illyrians to pieces...” Azriel had descended into his dark place, his voice deathly quiet. 

“The cuts and blood are from our fall. I had to winnow us out and we fell the last few feet past the wards - relax Az!” Mor explained hotly. 

Azriel did not relax. She hadn’t given him a reason not to fly off immediately to see to the Illyrians. He let out a quiet snarl to remind her of that fact. 

“It was a unit commander and his cronies from Windhaven,” she explained quickly. “There’s been a ruling, apparently they want all warriors from the Rite this year at camp tomorrow to report to Devlon.” Mor was watching Gwyn as she held Emerie’s arm, using her invoking stone to heal her. 

“They have no right,” Azriel growled back. “Cassian makes those decisions.” 

Mor shook her head. “You know as well as I do, if they refuse - the Illyrians will never respect them. Cassian may be able to overrule the order, but it would be damaging to do so.” She bent down and started healing her own cuts along her legs. 

“They still don't believe we actually did it.” Emerie spat venomously, her eyes like hardened flint. “They don't believe we completed it. The names they called us…” She shook her head in disbelief. 

Azriel’s vision went white with rage, his shadows darkening as he tapped his Siphons. He left the room without so much as a glance back at them. 

“Azriel, wait!” Gwyn was shouting. “Where are you…?” He didn't hear the rest, he’d already cloaked himself in shadows as he took the stairs two at a time and launched himself out the first available window. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn had spent all of ten minutes helping to heal Emerie and Mor’s cuts when Azriel returned, throwing an Illyrian male roughly into the room.

Mor was up and out of her chair swiftly, grabbing Azriel’s arm before he could inflict more damage on the Illyrian. 

“Balthazar!” Emerie breathed, recognising him. Gwyn remembered hearing about the male who had helped Nesta and Emerie during the Rite. She went to help him up but he pushed her aside roughly. The action caused another terrifying snarl to ripple out of Azriel’s mouth. 

“Wait, Shadowsinger… I told you, I’m trying to help!” He was saying urgently, showing his palms placatingly. 

Mor held on to Azriel as he looked to Emerie, “I found him at your shop,” his voice was menacing and cold, Gwyn had never heard it quite like this before. 

“To warn her! How was I to know she’d be out? I didn't vandalise it, I swear!” Balthazar edged further from the Shadowsinger’s wrath as his shadows rippled like asps on his shoulders, his wings. 

“Vandalise? What are you talking about?” Emerie cried. Gwyn reached for her friend's hand - not again, not to Emerie. She didn't deserve this.  

“They are trying to get under your skin, all of you,” he replied hotly, giving the Shadowsinger a look that Gwyn cringed at - didn't he have any sense of self-preservation? “I helped them during the Rite, why would I go out of my way to harm them now?” 

Mor put both her hands on Azriel’s chest, “He’s telling the Truth, Az.” 

Gwyn looked from Azriel to Balthazar, somehow she could tell they were minutes away from the Shadowsinger’s patience running out completely. “Balthazar, I’m Gwyn. I am also a Carynthian. Please tell us what this is about, quickly.” 

He took her in cautiously, “You're the one that killed the others, with the beasts. You lured them?”

“I suggest you ask less questions and give more answers, right now” she replied darkly. She could only keep a lid on her own temper for so long, after all. 

He raised his hands, but explained, “There’s been an order to test those that completed the Rite tomorrow. Devlon is rounding everyone up. The official goal is to test the newest recruits in the legions against the more seasoned, battle-honed warriors. The unofficial goal - they’ll use it as an excuse to injure or kill the three females in the ranks.” 

There was a wave of darkness then searing blue light as Azriel’s power exploded and Balthazar was blown off his feet, ricocheting into the wall, debris falling all around him. 

Gwyn rushed to Azriel, holding one arm as Mor clutched the other, “They won't succeed, Shadowsinger. We won't let them!” she cried, trying to get his attention to shift away from Balthazar and back to her. 

Emerie helped Balthazar up, he was clutching his throat, his face pale. Azriel went to move forward, but Mor stepped in his way. “Azriel, we’re done. He told us the Truth, he’s helping.” 

Please, let go of this rage. Come back to me - Gwyn thought to herself, hoping that whatever understanding they’d gained over the last few months could be heard by his shadows. 

He gave Balthazar one more death glare then took a deep breath, his shadows receding as he did so. He rubbed at his chest and Mor took it as a sign of his compliance and let go of him, moving to Emerie as they both helped Balthazar up. “We need to get word to Cassian and Nesta, they need to come back - tonight.” 

Chapter Text

Azriel had disposed of Balthazar in Windhaven swiftly before spending the night scouring every inch of Velaris, Windhaven, the Illyrian forests and Emerie’s home for further threats. Not before he’d scrubbed the vile and graphic language off her quaint house after the Illyrians had defaced it. It had taken every ounce of his self control not to let loose every morsel of his power and level the entire camp. He had to remind himself that he had no right to that kill - that it belonged solely to the females that had been wronged by them. 

The Illyrians’ scheme stank of a more sinister sabotage and he would not rest until he’d uncovered their cruel plans in their totality. 

Azriel was high on centuries worth of hatred as he perched on one of the House of Wind’s balconies, thinking about how hard Gwyn had worked to come to terms with her time in the Rite. He despised them even more - if that was even possible - for forcing her, Nesta and Emerie to go through it again. 

He felt a shift in the air before Rhys and Feyre appeared, flying effortlessly into the ring from where they’d winnowed in. Azriel jumped off the ledge and flew to them. 

“Why did you come?” he said coldly. He could have handled this without them. 

Rhys put up his hands, but it was Feyre who answered, “I’m here for the Valkyries, to show solidarity,” he couldn’t fault her on the optics of it. Then she pointed at Rhysand, “He’s here to help you with Cassian.”

Of course, Cassian would be returning from his mating frenzy early. Azriel shivered as he suddenly realised that his duty today would be to help keep Cassian from tearing every male apart, including himself and Rhys. 

“Are they ready?” Rhys’s usually silken voice was strained. 

“It won’t be easy. But at least this time they are prepared for it.” He hoped the work he’d done with Gwyn in the evenings would provide her with a bit of an edge. 

Rhys gave them severe looks, “Clear the area, immediately.” He took off to winnow Nesta and Cassian back. 

He’d been gone for less than a minute before he reappeared, held by the scruff of his neck by Cassian, who cradled Nesta protectively. 

Rhys wasn’t even fighting it as Cassian hurled him towards the ground. Azriel tapped his siphons and drew his long sword from his back, leaving it at the edge of the ring as he cracked his neck, readying himself for his brother's territorial power surge

“Welcome home, Nesta” Azriel called flatly, wanting to expend some energy himself too. The growl that tore out of Cassian could make entire legions scatter. Azriel knew the Illyrians had considered that when they chose today to challenge the Valkyries, knew that it would cripple Cassian’s hard-earned reputation as well as Nesta’s, if he did. 

Nesta gave Cassian a shove and he let her go, begrudgingly. “These are your brothers, you big bat!” She accused, cursing him as she left his side. 

Azriel didn’t take his eyes off Cassian as they sized each other up, “They are inside,” he explained, removing the daggers from his suit. He wouldn’t use steel on Cassian, not today. Whether in greeting or in thanks, Nesta made the mistake of touching Azriel lightly on the shoulder as she walked past. 

Azriel braced himself as Cassian flew at him with all his power, another savage growl ripping through his throat. Rhys had been readying himself too and swooped in moments before Cassian made contact, but it hurt no less when all three brothers went down in a monstrous tumble of wings and talons, fists and teeth.  

He didn’t know how long they spent pummeling one another, but he could feel blood running steadily down his face when he scented it - that lotus flower, ginger lily and cracking fire that told him Gwyn had entered the vicinity. He looked up to see all five females enter the ring, garbed in fresh Illyrian leathers and looking utterly lethal. The distraction cost him. Cassian - seeing only bodies next to Nesta - let out a roar and flung both Rhys and Azriel off as he surged towards them. 

Fear sluiced through Azriel. His brother would never hurt the females, not when he was in his right mind. But his instincts were currently ruling his body and his body could pack an incredibly powerful punch. Azriel and Rhys each raced to catch him. 

Azriel realised with horror that Nesta was sandwiched between Mor and Gwyn. He had to pick one, he’d never get to both in time. Before he could make a decision though, Emerie stepped out in front of Mor, letting out her own vicious snarl as her wings flared and she punched Cassian straight in his perfect face. Cassian doubled over and Azriel used the time to swoop in and pick Gwyn and Mor up and out of harm's way. Rhys powered behind him and pulled both Feyre and Emerie too, leaving just Cassian, crouched over and bleeding in front of Nesta. 

“You. Are. Done.” She snarled, pointing that terrifying finger of hers in his face. He looked up, scented her then hung his head, his body heaving. Nesta tutted then knelt down in front of him, resting her forehead against his as she whispered to him more tenderly.

Azriel’s wings kept them at a safe distance above the scene as he held onto Mor and Gwyn. He watched as Cassian stood, lifting Nesta into his arms and carrying her back into the House. 

“Illyrians,” Mor huffed indignantly as she clung to him. Azriel could sense no further danger, so he settled both Mor and Gwyn down on their feet. Mor swept towards Emerie as Rhys set her down too, Feyre tending to his wounds. 

Gwyn was still gripping onto Azriel, he could hear her frantic heartbeat. “Are you ok?” he searched her face. 

Her teal eyes were wide as they took in his bloodied one in turn. “Am I ok? Are you ok? Look at your face!” She reached up and tentatively touched the gash where Cassian's new mating ring had torn at his skin. He almost wanted to laugh at the irony. 

He kept his arm wrapped around her waist, breathing in her scent as she took her invoking stone out of her pocket to heal him. “I’ve read about males in the frenzy, but seeing it in real life…nothing can prepare you for that.” She shook her head as she ran a practised hand down the side of his head, sealing the cut with her power, cast through her stone. 

He was watching her closely, trying to discern whether she was as nervous as he was about today. She turned his head gently, moving her finger to his split lip next. “I’m ashamed to admit, the thought of a male in frenzy like that …I don’t know if I’d ever be…” she didn’t finish her whispered admission, but Azriel knew what she was trying to say, the fear and trauma that underpinned it. He raised his other hand and closed it over her long fingers. 

“I have something for you,” he said quietly, taking in those luminous eyes. He let her go as he pulled out the white ribbon from a pocket in his battle suit.

“My ribbon!”  

“Your ribbon. Your victory. That is what today is,” he said quietly, turning her so he could tie the ribbon across her brow. He double-knitted it as she nodded, spinning to look at him again. Her eyes shot to his and he wanted to fall to his knees at the light that shone in them. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn landed hard on the rocky earth in Windhaven, her body thrumming with crackling energy and resolute determination.

To her right, Nesta stood tall, all powerful and forever imposing. 

To Nesta’s right, Emerie squared her shoulders, her wings held high, her chin even higher. 

Flanking them was Mor and The High Lady, the most powerful females in The Night Court, if not in all of Prythian. 

Guarding their backs, The High Lord, The Lord of Bloodshed and The Shadowsinger stood sentry, waiting for the Valkyries to take the lead. 

Nesta gave Gwyn and Emerie a measured look each, then walked confidently to the waiting Illyrians, leaving their formidable royal retinue at the outskirts, where they would lend quiet support.  

The Illyrians sneered at the Valkyries as they passed, some spitting vile names and curses - but Gwyn couldn’t hear any of it. She simply kept her eyes laser focused on Lord Devlon as she kept silently repeating her own mantra; nothing can break me.

“Witch,” Devlon spat, giving Nesta a filthy look. She smirked back. 

“I see your vocabulary hasn’t expanded, pity.” She replied flatly, inspecting her nailbed. 

He snarled and a cacophony of growls from the rest of the unit followed. It took every ounce of Gwyn’s control not to flinch, not to even blink as the Illyrians tried to show their might. 

“So, are we going to stand around swapping pleasantries all day? Or can we get on with it?” Nesta bit back, allowing a kernel of her death magic to shine in her eyes. Devlon flinched momentarily but recovered quick enough to snarl the rules at them. 

“It’s simple, Oristian's will start the course first. Carynthians will follow. Both will be challenged by seasoned warriors throughout. Weapons can be found, for those that are deserving.” He meant the fastest and most vicious and Gwyn was determined to be one of them. “Split up into your groups, now.”  

They moved, Gwyn grabbing Nesta’s hand briefly to confirm their earlier plan. They'd had a total of ten minutes to discuss their strategy when Cassian and Nesta had returned from another bout of, what Gwyn could only assume was an adrenaline-filled, frenzied consummation. 

Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian had all completed similar challenges in their initial years after their Blood Rite and explained what they expected Devlon to concoct. Ultimately, their advice was simple - stick together. 

The fact that Nesta had now been separated meant nothing. They knew what to do to find each other again. Gwyn touched the charm on her bracelet as she watched where Nesta stood a hundred paces in front of them, silently reciting a prayer. Then she touched the ribbon at her brow, reminding herself once again that she was a Valkyrie, she could do this. 

Chapter Text

When Tamlin had insulted Feyre repeatedly at the meeting in Dawn before the war with Hybern, Azriel had been livid. 

When Eris had insulted Mor at that same meeting, Azriel had been blind with centuries worth of bitter anger and resentment.

When Elain was taken hostage by the King of Hybern, Azriel had been frantic with fear and ferocity. 

But now…

Now Azriel was in his quiet place, his dark place. The place he descended to when he had to inflict the worst forms of torture. The cruel, vengeful and horrifically inhuman place inside him that he reserved for his most hated enemies. 

He was staring right at those enemies, watching the puny Windhaven Illyrians as they insulted and sneered at Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn. 

But he stood deathly still. Kept a lid on his cruel fury and the clawing need to rip the throats out of each and every one of them, because he had his orders. 

Not the measured and sincere order from Feyre. Nor the silent but powerful appeal from Rhys. No, it had been the calm and courageous order from Gwyn that had him currently ripping himself apart internally trying to keep. 

“No Spymaster sneakery. No shadow tricks. No raging and no rescuing,” she’d said forcefully before they left the House of Wind. The ribbon around her forehead a stark reminder of her own skill. She was right. He couldn’t get involved. Neither could Cassian, Rhys or Feyre - they were all powerless. But the Valkyries were not, Azriel kept reminding himself. 

He knew this course, had seen multiple Illyrians fall prey to its machinations over the centuries. But the Valkyries worked harder - and smarter too. They didn’t have wings, but they knew how to manoeuvre themselves expertly without them. 

He watched Devlon give the signal to begin, Nesta racing ahead of the Oristian's group as her nimble but powerful body took a practised leap onto the course, a group of burly Illyrians following.

He reminded himself of every practised lunge, every well-thought-out parry, every swift stab of a sword they had taught the female warriors again and again over the last few months. He blinked as the second signal went and Gwyn and Emerie took off at a breakneck speed with the small handful of other Carynthian warriors. 

Chapter Text

The course was savage. The Illyrians even more so. For every obstacle Gwyn and Emerie overcame, there was another, more gruelling one to conquer next. 

Gwyn had obtained a dagger early on, fighting one of the lagging Oristian’s for it. He’d given a good fight but Gwyn had been sparring with The Shadowsinger for months now, she knew how to disarm a far more capable male. The first set of seasoned Illyrian warriors were a slightly different story. They’d been barrelling through the course, Emerie tracking the challenges and changes of their terrain and keeping a lookout for the other Illyrians as Gwyn focused on the direction they needed to go to reach Nesta. Her bracelet had all but burned on her wrist when she realised what was happening. They came upon a clearing in the forest where Nesta was fighting for her life. 

It was three against one, the Illyrian warriors each had a weapon and Nesta only had a bow and arrow, which she must have obtained along the way. The cowards must have targeted her in a group, fearing her death magic. Not knowing of course, that her magic had never been the same since she’d saved Feyre and Nyx. 

Gwyn didn’t give herself time to consider, she simply slipped into that calm place in her mind and charged. The Valkyries had trained, thought and fought like a unit and Emerie mirrored Gwyn’s ferocity and together, all three of them met the battle-honed Illyrian's blow for blow. 

Gwyn used every move in the arsenal Azriel had been showing her to gain the upper hand on her opponent. She could scent the blood, knew they’d all taken significant hits and would probably gain more before the end of the course. The trick was to keep pushing through, not allowing the pain any consideration, otherwise death would be quick on its heels. 

It took longer than they wanted, but eventually Nesta disarmed her attacker, using one of the trees in the forest to pin him before she gave a powerful slice of her arm to the side of his head and he crumpled to the ground, passed out. Gwyn remembered the move, Azriel had shown her a similar variation. She followed suit, giving a forceful kick of her legs to his chest then leaping forward in a surprise attack, using both forearms to hack at his neck, sending him sprawling - absolutely immobile. 

“Nice,” Nesta gave her a smirk as she pulled a rope from the Illyrians belt and tied it to her own. They turned at the sound of steel whirring as Emerie disarmed her own Illyrian opponent. She slashed at the backs of his legs with his sword. He fell to his knees and roared with pain but Emerie was already walking towards her sisters, her new sword glinting in the sunlight. 

“That won’t keep them down for long, let’s go!” She tucked the sword into her own belt and they started running again.

They’d been forced apart no less than three times since. Each time, a couple of Illyrians would descend upon them and work in brutally efficient ways to drive them in different directions. Having realised the tactic, the Valkyries knew they only had to play along. Let the Illyrians think they were succeeding in pulling the female warriors away from each other, they were soul-sisters and had a divine sense of one another - they knew they’d  end up together again.

After the third time, Gwyn was sprinting away from her bleeding opponent, when she came upon a rocky ravine. She skidded to a stop just before the cliff dropped into a raging river below. 

She took in her surroundings and realised the leap to the other side would be easy for the Illyrians, who had wings. But for the three female warriors, it would be near impossible. 

She could see a crowd below taking in the dangerous task, amongst them were their royal cadre. Cassian was pacing restlessly and Gwyn could see Mor fidgeting as she murmured something to Feyre. But it was Azriel she wanted to see, his steadfast presence and clever determined face was what she needed for inspiration right now. She felt a brush of air and looked down at her hand to see a stray shadow snaking along her fingertips. 

She gave it an assessing stare, “You better report to him that not only are we going to win this, but that I’m enjoying every moment of it.” It quivered at her command but remained with her. “Then you can tell him to stop being such a mother hen.” 

She gave the little shadow a tight smile then turned, her sisters were getting close and she had an idea. 

Chapter Text

Azriel choked on his shadows report. Mother hen, indeed. 

“What is it?” Cassian all but lurched to Azriel’s side, his eyes wide, eager for news. 

Azriel shook his head and checked in with his shadows again. The whole group was watching him now as he spoke, “The Valkyries are enjoying this,” a dangerous grin formed on his face.  

Cassian's face mirrored his, “Fuck yes!” he hissed in pride, looking up to where Gwyn was standing at the top of the ravine. 

Azriel watched keenly as Nesta and Emerie finally joined Gwyn - both as bloodied as she was. They strategised for about 30 seconds before he saw Gwyn take a rope from Nesta and start tying it around her own middle. 

Frowning, Azriel considered her options. The simplest and safest route for those without wings was scaling down the ravine ledge, traversing the rocks that were sporadically placed within the violent waters and climbing back up the other side. She didn’t need rope for that, but perhaps she was considering her own safety and taking the precaution - just in case. 

Gwyn took two daggers out of her leathers and Azriel’s heart swelled at the realisation she would have won the steel viciously during the course. Emerie disappeared into the trees briefly then returned, signaling to Gwyn. Nesta gave Gwyn one last shake of her shoulders, but Gwyn shook her head. Something was wrong, evidently Nesta didn’t like this plan... 

He understood why less than ten seconds later. He heard Mor’s horrified gasp as Gwyn took a running leap from the ravine edge towards the other side of the rocky edge, the rope dangling about her waist. 

She was crazy. Utterly, incomparably crazy. His heart was in his throat as he watched her airborne, a graceful figure of lean limbs and flowing coppery hair, the ribbon across her forehead rippling in the wind. 

Time seemed to slow when he realised she wasn’t going to make it, she was going to be too short and either fall to her death in the monstrous river below or fly straight into the rock face and break every bone in her body. 

He was about to use his shadows and siphons to create a safety net below her, when he felt the slight change in the wind. Nesta threw power into the air beneath Gwyn, Emerie beating her wings towards her flying form in the same breath to create a force of magic and movement that propelled Gwyn forward. Gwyn’s mouth moved, as though she was whispering to the wind and a slight luminosity edged around her figure. To his utter astonishment, whatever the females had conjured worked and Gwyn’s hands moved ever so slightly to reveal the two daggers she gripped as she slammed into the rock face on the other side, finding purchase in the wall with her blades. 

The entire group whooshed out their breaths as Gwyn started scaling the remainder of the ledge, her movements stunted at what he knew would have been a painful collision. She used her daggers to excellent effect and clambered over the edge of the cliff, lying flat for a moment. No doubt to catch the breath that would have slammed out of her at the original impact, her ethereal glow receding. 

She got up shakily, running to a rock to tie the rope from her waist. She secured it in an intricate way and he wondered where she’d learnt that skill. Nesta and Emerie, who had tied the other end of the rope to the closest tree in the forest behind them, tested its hold and strength before clambering onto it to get across the ravine. Nesta used her bow to slide across and Emerie gripped it with her hands and legs to shimmy to the other side. 

“She gets points for speed and bravery, but a deduction for recklessness,” Cassian muttered angrily as he watched the females check Gwyn over before darting into the forest again. Azriel’s shadows skittered as he finally let out the breath he’d been holding. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie raced through the forest as fast as their injuries would allow but they could already hear a group of Illyrians close behind them - probably crossing the ravine too. They were near the end of the course now, with only a hundred or so paces left. 

But before she could even be tempted by the relief of it, a sickening roar erupted around them before a body was thrown into their path. Gwyn recognised Balthazar’s green siphon but his face and body were raw and bloody, his leg jutting out at a horrific angle. She was about to rush to him to help when the source of Balthazar’s injuries leapt out from the forest too. 

The great beast snarled at the females, baring it’s snapping teeth from its larger-than-average furry head whilst it’s powerful, scale-covered body rippled with fury. Emerie and Gwyn rushed forward to help Balthazar as Nesta drew the sword from Emerie’s belt, taking a defensive position in front of them. 

“Who let you out then?” Nesta snarled back, knowing full well what this beast was designed for. A last hope to injure, maim or kill the females that had thwarted all previous attempts.

Gwyn and Emerie propped Balthazar against a rock and took up their formation alongside Nesta. She let out a war cry Gwyn had never heard before and charged at the beast, full tilt. Gwyn arched to the left, Emerie to the right, using their training to draw the beast away. 

“They are using it to distract us!” Emerie shouted as the Valkyries took turns beating and confusing the beast. 

“We have to win this bloody thing!” Nesta growled back, her breath coming in hot and fast as she tired. 

“We can’t kill it!” Gwyn cried, realising what Nesta meant. Emerie’s face was exasperated, Nesta’s cold. 

“It would kill us , Gwyn!” Emerie shouted back but Gwyn shook her head. 

“I don’t care, that’s not what we are!” she hollered. “I have an idea, cover me!” She didn’t wait for their response, simply veered off into the trees and climbed, trying to find the prime position. 

She counted her breaths, using mindstilling to find her balance and the sounds of their battling to orient herself. Counting to ten, she heard another mighty roar and jumped from the tree she’d scaled, straight onto the beast's vast and furry neck. It reared furiously as it realised what was happening but she held firm with her thighs before flipping her daggers, holding the blades as she slammed both hilts into its temple. The action crippled it immediately. As it fell forward, she used the momentum to launch herself off and land gracefully on the rocks in front of her sisters, flicking her hair out of her face. 

“Show off,” Nesta muttered with a smirk. Emerie simply shook her head but the smile plastered on her face told Gwyn enough. A bloodied cough sounded behind them and they whirled to see Balthazar holding his face, where a deep gauge had nearly split it in two. 

Emerie and Gwyn rushed to him but he held up his hand. “No!” he croaked, coughing again. “Leave me and go!” His leathers were torn to shreds, his eyes alarmed.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re on death's door, let us help you!” Emerie pushed, her own face leaking blood everywhere as a hairline cut throbbed at her temple. 

“Won’t face the shame,” his voice was weak but they all understood. He’d rather be on the brink of death than be rescued by the females - the judgement from the other Illyrian warriors would cripple him.  Before any of them could get angry though, he pointed behind them. “You have to… Win. The others…” 

The females turned as one to look where he was pointing - towards a large group of Illyrians watching intensely the end of the course. Amongst them, were a group of female Illyrians. 

The shouts of the rest of the warriors reached them and Nesta drew up to her full height. “Don’t die!” she commanded him, giving her most lethal stare. 

Gwyn shivered, whether the death magic was at play or just Nesta’s terrifying battle persona, she suddenly feared for the battered male in front of them. 

Praying the beast would not wake before they’d sent a healer to Balthazar, Gwyn raced to catch up with Emerie and Nesta as they all but limped towards the end of the course, the distant shouts of raging Illyrians following them.

Chapter Text

It took every ounce of Azriel’s self-control not to go straight to Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn as they reached the end of the course and threw their weapons at Devlon’s feet. He kept a leash on his own relief, fear and rage as he watched Nesta face the Illyrian Commander with all the power and stature of a centuries-old warrior. 

“What’s next?” she snarled quietly, blood dripping from her neck where she’d taken a direct hit. 

Cassian was quivering with restraint beside him, fighting his instincts to let Nesta finish this, the moment far too significant for her mate to undermine her.

“You’re done. For now.” Devlon’s voice dripped with hostility as his eyes spotted the remaining Illyrians finish the course, evidently fuming at the results. “There will be other tests, ones that even battle-hardened males have faltered at.”

“We look forward to it,” she replied tartly and Azriel felt the hairs on his neck stand as she infused her words with a bit of that death magic again. She looked at Emerie and Gwyn in turn and all three of them turned. Not towards The High Lord and Lady and the rest of them, but rather to the crowd of waiting Illyrians. 

“For any females that want to train, know that there is a place for you with us, should you wish it.” Nesta called, her voice powerful, despite her exhaustion. Emerie and Gwyn followed her words with a signal of respect to the females in the crowd, touching two fingers to their brows, then to their hearts and bowing their heads. 

A tremor went through the camp and Azriel felt himself go wholly still as he watched the scene. Hoping this single moment would change the course of their history, would somehow grant the females the strength and courage to do what was their right to. He thought of the oppression and abuse his mother - and Cassian’s and Rhys’s faced. He thought of the pain and terror that had been forced upon Mor and Gwyn. He thought of the Archeron sisters, each with their own trauma amidst their trials and tribulations. 

Yet these females had chosen to turn their adversity into something far more resolute, to define their spirit by their own actions - not the weight of the world’s damaged expectations. Now they were reaching out their hands to others, to show them the way. 

Valkyries 

His shadows swayed with the force of the shared realisation. He looked to his left and saw Rhys’ eyes glaze over, as though he’d felt it too, then his High Lord stepped forward and Azriel braced himself. 

“Thank You, Lord Devlon,” Rhys started and every Illyrian stepped back cautiously, no doubt feeling the roiling power Rhys was holding within himself. “Thank you for the opportunity to showcase the strength and mettle of our units in such a brutally superfluous way.”  

Next to Azriel, Cassian let out a soft growl which charged both their siphons with its deadly promise. 

“What you’ve accomplished is great indeed,” Rhys clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling as he stood next to Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn. “Today, you gave us all the opportunity to witness first-hand the first official warriors in the Night Court’s revived Valkyrie unit.” A ripple of shock passed through the camp. 

Nesta eyes flashed at her brother-in-law, both surprise and elation clear - but she schooled her face in less than a second, continuing to give Devlon that notoriously cool look of hers. 

“In time, I hope the Illyrian and Valkyrie units will learn to work together to deadly effect,” Rhys said it with unnerving calmness and Azriel knew that each and every person in the vicinity felt the unspoken threat in those words. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn stared at her reflection intently, trying to come to terms with the last 48 hours of her life. 

Had it only been yesterday when she’d been swimming in the aquamarine lakes in the mountains with The Shadowsinger? Only yesterday when she held onto the hope that she was becoming braver, taking small steps towards potentially showing him how much she appreciated his companionship, his support and his trust these last few months?

It almost felt like a distant memory as her mind's eye replayed the events thereafter; the Illyrians’ threats, Nesta and Cassian’s return, the challenger course in Windhaven - its bloody, brutal and yet thrilling end. Her heart swelled; they were officially Valkyries . 

They’d returned to the River House shortly after, Rhysand winnowing them all together. Gwyn, Emerie and Nesta had collapsed in a heap of emotions as they landed - laughing and sobbing hysterically as the events caught up with them. 

Thankfully, with the combination of Madja’s care, a hot bath and a long sleep - Gwyn had woken with a renewed sense of self and purpose. 

Mor had all but skipped into her room as she woke a few hours later, informing her that they were going out to celebrate in Velaris and had brought her a sparkling cream dress to wear for the occasion. 

Nesta and Emerie arrived not long after, and they’d spent the early evening catching up, getting ready together and discussing all the ways in which The Valkyries would change the world. 

“So Emerie, when are you going to spill the beans on your trips into Velaris with Mor?” Gwyn finally teased, earning a shocked look from her in return. A serpentine grin spread across Nesta’s face at the news. 

“How did you figure it out?” Emerie replied, the blush on her cheeks telling the full story. 

“You were in Velaris together last night when the Illyrians interrupted. Night-dates come after day-dates,” Gwyn reasoned, as though one could simply explain romance with logic. “Besides, I didn't know exactly, but thanks for confirming it just now,” she laughed, playing with the cuff of the soft fabric of her dress. 

It was made of a fine gossamer material, shimmering in the light as she moved. The A-line skirt hung just past her knees, but it was the off-shoulder top that Gwyn liked most. Soft, feminine but a little bit sexy too, the sweetheart neckline showing off her strong silhouette. Nesta had styled her hair for her in a half-up, half-down way, a delicate braid holding the loose strands out of her face, held together by her Valkyrie ribbon as the rest of her coppery hair hung loosely down her back. 

“Well, it’s not like you’ve just been hiding in the library all this time. When is a date night going to follow your date day in Velaris with the Shadowsinger?” Emerie raised her brow as she stared at Gwyn from her place in front of the vanity, braiding her thick, long hair. Her own dress, a slinky satin midnight blue number with an open back, served as a gorgeous reminder of exactly who had caught the eye of the stunning Third of the Night Court.  

“That wasn’t a date day! We were looking after Nyx…” As soon as Gwyn said it, she felt almost sad. Perhaps she was being too cautious with Azriel. She knew she wanted to explore more of this new-found trust between them, knew that despite his cold-hard exterior, that perhaps there was something of a mutual interest there. So what was taking him so long to make a move? What was taking her so long? 

“Right, I’m not leaving again! I’m gone for two weeks and miss all the action,” Nesta winked at Gwyn, moving closer to finish styling her own hair in the mirror. Nesta’s exquisite eyes shone as the fitted sage green dress she wore complimented her colouring, her hair in its usual coronet to show off her long neck and generous breasts. 

By the time the females joined the others in the foyer of The River House, holding each other’s hands as they descended the grand staircase, Gwyn was on cloud nine. 

Below them, The High Lord, The High Lady, Amren, Mor, Cassian and Azriel stood. All dressed to the nines and holding delicate glasses of sparkling golden liquid, Feyre saluted them, “To the Valkyries,” she extended her glass in a toast. 

“The Valkyries,” the group responded in unison. Gwyn, Emerie and Nesta beamed at each other and their friends.

She caught Azriel’s eye, the first time she’d’ properly allowed herself to since they’d left for Windhaven that morning. Dressed in a smart dark shirt and trousers, his tattoos peeking out from the open collar again, he gave her a shy smile as he handed her a glass of the bubbly liquid. 

“Valkyrie,” he bowed his head, his voice soothing every jagged edge from the last 24 hours, goosebumps erupting over her skin. She gave a shy smile back and sipped her drink. 

Chapter Text

Azriel didn’t know if he’d ever get used to the ethereal dichotomy of Gwyneth Berdara. 

He’d seen her go from a studious Priestess, eternally enthralled by ancient histories and sweeping stories, to a playful female - comfortable to pull silly faces and amuse his nephew for hours on end, to a ruthless fighter and fierce warrior, willing to use every weapon in her arsenal to combat a foe. Even now, he couldn’t fathom the stamina and effervescence of the glowing female in front of him as she twirled around the dance floor with Mor, Emerie and Feyre, enjoying a glass of wine as she sang along to the words of the song being played by the small but lively band in the quaint restaurant the Inner Court had commandeered.

Gwyn twirled her skirts happily in step with the music, whispering something to Mor that had her tip her head back with laughter, holding Emerie’s hand as she did so. 

He couldn’t get used to that either. Mor, the female he had been in love with and lusted after for more than five centuries, courting another female . He should have read the signs, should have realised that Mor, with her honesty and kindness, would never purposefully lead him on for so long. 

She had sought him out earlier when they’d returned to The River House. The Valkyries had all been in Madja’s care - she had put them all into a state of deep healing sleep, Cassian had gone back to Windhaven to deal with Devlon and the remaining warriors from the course and Mor and Azriel had been asked to give Feyre, Amren and Rhys updates from the last few weeks. Just as they left the office where they’d discussed the implications of Vallahan’s neutrality, Azriel’s lack of news on Beron and Amren’s disquiet about Koschei and the human queens, Mor had touched his elbow gently, “Az, there’s something I need to tell you, something important.” 

Walking among the fountains and flowers of the sprawling River House gardens, she’d opened her heart and shared her secret with him - the vulnerability that had left her raw and alone for centuries. 

He’d held her in an embrace he hadn't realised quite how much he needed, infusing it with all the love and compassion his broken soul could offer. “Thank you for sharing this with me. But why tell me now?” He’d known it wasn’t because she wanted to vocalise her rejection of him, though if had to admit it, if she’d told him even six months ago, he knew he probably would have reacted badly to it. 

“Teaching the females at the House of Wind, spending time sharing my experiences and training with them...” She shook her head as she focused on a point in the horizon, “Telling them of all these things I’ve been through yet somehow realising - I’m still living a lie. I’m living in fear of myself, of my true self. How can I try to set an example to these females, who have been through so much and deserve to be loved and respected for who they are, if I’m not willing to do the same for myself?” His shadows had swayed at the power of her words. 

But he understood now why she needed to vocalise it. Seeing the way Emerie and Mor looked at each other… Come to think of it, he’d never seen Mor look so happy. So, real. She’d always been larger than life, a lofty ambition of his - to have the most beautiful and powerful female as his love, as his. But now that he knew her true wants and needs - he suddenly understood that she was so much more than that. He just hoped it wouldn’t take the Illyrian female staring at her in wonder as many years as it took him to say what was truly in her heart. 

“Isn’t it time for date number two, Az?” He blinked as Nesta’s voice cut across his musings. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Nesta yet, but refocused his gaze easily on Gwyn instead where she danced energetically and laughed with the others. Cassian joined them with his bullish movements, much to Amren’s chagrin - for he’d already spilled his drink all over her expensive shoes. Feyre and Rhys were sitting intimately at the other end of the table, laughing at the spectacle and no doubt enjoying the time alone as Nyx was with Nuala and Cerridwen. Azriel was both surprised and ashamed to admit he was pleased Elain had not returned yet from the Dawn Court with Lucien. 

He sipped his drink and raised his brow but Nesta simply rolled her eyes and sipped at the water in front of her. They sat in companionable silence for a while until her voice, laced with emotion, brought him back. “I also chose darkness and despair as my partner in this world. I truly believed that I deserved only that, thanks to the choices I made, the in-actions of my miserable life.” She let out a shuddering breath, “Until an insufferably loud, stubborn and endlessly annoying - yet inspiring, loyal, kind and worthy warrior refused to leave me be.” There was a knot in Azriel’s chest as he heard the words, saw the raw joy on his brother's face as he danced. “He chose me, with all my sharp edges and brutal words. He chose to help guide me to a better place - he helped show me the light. Because of him, because of all of you, I have another family here tonight. A new purpose.” 

Azriel had never heard Nesta speak so openly and honestly. Perhaps there was something in the water that had made the females around him want to deliver such verbose soliloquies tonight. 

She touched his shoulder briefly, “There is a guiding light out there for you too,” she whispered, then left the table to join the others on the dance floor. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn was stumbling back to their table when his hands caught her deftly, pulling her close. Her feet throbbed and her head was spinning. 

She smiled into The Shadowsinger’s chest as she held onto his waist, letting him gently sway her to the beat of the music. 

“Ah, my elusive dance partner,” she mumbled, breathing in his scent. She felt his chest move as he let out a soft chuckle. 

“The dance moves you were doing looked even more dangerous than some of the more questionable techniques I saw in the challenge today,” he replied flatly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the delicate skin of her back. 

So, he did have a problem with her. He’d been broody and quiet all night. Enjoying the occasion with his family and friends, no doubt - but he had been no more friendly to her than he was to anyone else and despite how much fun she was having, she’d wondered at it for most of the night. 

She looked up at him almost blearily, “Say what you think, Shadowsinger. We don’t all have shadowy friends to help guide our thoughts.” 

He raised his brows, “Shadowy friends?” 

“Well, they are - aren’t they?” she challenged, standing up straighter. He considered her for a beat then blinked as a smirk pulled at his sensuous mouth. 

“They like that term.” 

She huffed in victory and let her head rest on his chest again, “It was my leap of faith you didn’t like, wasn't it?” She held onto him as she said it. 

“Is that what you called it? I’d prefer it if you called it by what it really was - a dangerous and unnecessary risk on your own life to take a reckless shortcut.” His voice was neither cold nor angry but she felt her temper rise either way. 

“I did it, didn’t I? I managed to get to the other side? I calculated it with Emerie and Nesta!” She pushed away from him and his wings flared. 

“There were too many risks!” His shadows loomed over his shoulders. 

“You said fighting isn’t always straight lines and easy choices. I wanted us out of there as quickly as possible,” she replied hotly.

His eyes flashed, “You could have died!” 

“But I didn’t!” she growled back, the room around them heating, “I’m here and I’m a Valkyrie .”

The whole room had gone quiet at her words. Her eyes bored into his, daring him to keep up this charade. His wings stayed flared and she could see him breathing heavily through his nostrils. She could sense the internal battle he was having, understanding his need to shield, to protect. But she wanted him to trust her, and respect that she could handle the world around her. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed in this standoff, but eventually the music started up again in the background. She felt the caress of one of his shadows and it somehow had a magnetic power over her, forcing her to step back towards him. Before she realised what she was doing, she took his hand, loping her other arm around his neck as his arms instinctively circled her waist. “I’m here,” she whispered, staring at him intently.

His eyelids fluttered shut and she felt his chest rise and fall as he lowered his forehead to hers and whispered back, “Please, Priestess?” 

She didn’t know what the question was, but with him this close, her heart beating out of her own chest, she nodded and the room around them disappeared. 

Gwyn felt the shift as Azriel shadow-walked them above the House of Wind, sweeping her into his arms as he flew past the wards and onto one of the higher balconies in the palatial residence. He put her down gently but continued to hold her. She recalibrated by looking up at the stars around them, somehow feeling infinitely closer to them here. Turning back, she found him looking at her carefully, his shadows thin, as though he was trying to read her without their help this time. 

He gently tugged her closer and she let him, suddenly needing his solid presence and scent to wrap around her again. 

They held one another for a moment, then his head moved as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Priestess,” he whispered reverently. 

Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth moved to her cheek, pressing a soft kiss there, “Clever Priestess.” 

He moved to her other cheek, his arms holding her tightly as his lips brushed her skin, “Kind Priestess.” 

Her breath quickened as his mouth moved to her neck, the soft flesh just below her earlobe heating with his touch, “Ruthless warrior.” 

His hands continued to hold her protectively, his mouth finding the hollow of her neck, shivers erupting across her body as he rumbled, “Ferocious fighter.”

She didn’t know whether her heart could keep up, her core lighting as desire flooded her system when he moved his mouth to the other side of her neck, “Courageous Carynthian.” 

She scented it then, between her uneven breathing, the confirmation of his own desire, his need - for her. 

He cupped her face gently with his perfectly textured hands as he stared intently into her eyes before leaning down again to rest his forehead on hers, finally finishing the ritual, “Valkyrie.” 

It was enough. It was enough and yet it was so much more. She stood on her toes and captured his lips with her own. 

The world spun, as though they’d shadow walked again, but they remained rooted to their spot amongst the stars as Gwyn gently kissed him at first. Then, letting her senses guide her, she quickly gained her confidence and sunk into the sheer divinity of it, of him. Pushing forward, she deepened the kiss, placing her hand softly on his jaw and feeling the soft stubble there as he opened up for her. She felt the brush of his tongue as he gently nudged at her lip, his hand on her waist tightening as she granted it. A soft moan sounded at the back of her throat as they let themselves surrender to the moment, tasting one another for the first time. Gwyn’s chest ached at the perfection of him; his sure movements, the safety of feeling him against her, his gentle hands, now tousled in her hair, his thorough mouth, his want and need mirroring her own as they explored one another. 

Before she could fall deeper and allow herself a brave new step into this intimacy with him - he pulled back. Blinking down at her, a frown etched on his stunning features he simply muttered, “I’m sorry.” 

It felt like ice had been dumped over her head as she struggled for words. “Sorry for what?” He let her go and stepped back, his heat and scent dissipating immediately. 

He shook his head, “I shouldn’t have… can’t…” 

She blinked, trying to make sense of it. She replayed his actions up to this point back in her mind's eye - reliving the moments they’d shared together. Had she imagined it all…their closeness, their growing trust, their intimacy?

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice sounded thin, weak. Had she just let a male in, the only one she’d ever truly wanted, only for him to reject her? 

He shook his head again, his shadows swarming as he stepped back, “I’m sorry Priestess, it was wrong of me to -” 

She cut him off, anger suddenly replacing the gaping hole where her heart had been fit to burst mere seconds ago, “I kissed you, Shadowsinger. You didn't do anything wrong!” He didn't reply, simply hung his head. The silence was deafening. “I see,” she swallowed, her chest constricting painfully. “Well, I’ll say goodnight then.” 

Before he could reply, she walked swiftly towards the balcony doors, holding back the tears that threatened to undo her completely.

Chapter Text

Azriel took deep, guttural breaths, trying to steady himself against the balcony railings. 

What did you do, Singer? 

Exactly, his shadows were right. What was he doing? He should never have kissed her like that. Should never have even let himself taste her. Never let his stupid heart soar at the sublime feeling of her, as though he’d never need to taste or touch anything else ever again. 

He smacked his own cheek roughly, then the other. The sting of it felt good. 

She is beauty, she is fierceness, she is light, Singer

He knew all of that. It had been what lured him in. Now look at what he’d done - he’d let her take the step towards him; towards tainting herself with his damaged, broken presence. 

“She deserves more,” he simply said to his shadows, grabbing a fistful of his hair.  He sunk to the ground, trying to ignore the burning sensation in his chest.

Chapter Text

Gwyn hacked at the training dummy the same way she’d seen Azriel do a thousand times over. 

“You know it’s not going to fight back, right? You can go a bit easier on it…” She heard Emerie say behind her. 

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she turned and glared at her as they stood at the other end of the ring to the training Priestesses. Cassian and Azriel were both over there, guiding the group through a complicated series of sword techniques. Gwyn glowered at the Shadowsinger’s back. 

“Did he hurt you, or did you hurt him?” Nesta asked icily, noticing where Gwyn’s attention was. 

Gwyn blew out a breath, “Can I tell you another time? There’s too many eyes and ears here today and if I'm honest, I don't think I even know the answer.” 

Emerie snorted, “Now that’s a first!” 

Gwyn swung a sword from the rack and pointed it at Emerie, “Ok, smart ass. Let’s see if you can handle what that dummy couldn't.” She felt the fire in her bones, in her very soul and needed to let out this clawing feeling. 

She’d felt nothing but bliss in the moment their lips had touched last night - the aching need for him so strong. But there had also been a feeling of contentment like she’d never felt before, all gone in the blink of an eye. Azriel hadn’t looked at her once since training had started. She could tell he was keeping himself at a distance on purpose. 

“Well, now’s as good a time to tell you as any,” Nesta leaned against her own sword as she watched the two of them circle each other. “Rhysand and Feyre are sending Cassian and I to the Winter Court tomorrow. We’re to be courtiers, apparently.” Gwyn hadn’t taken her eyes off Emerie as she lunged first, but she could practically feel Nesta’s eye roll. 

“For how long?” Emerie asked as she blocked Gwyn’s blow easily and dodged another shoddy attempt in the process. 

“I’m not sure, a few weeks perhaps. Elain and Lucien have been gone for a while now and I think Feyre and Rhysand want to keep relations sweet among the other courts too.” Gwyn understood that at least. With her assignment searching for the other worlds and ways to travel to them and the constant rumblings of war, it made sense for the Night Court to keep its friends and enemies under constant surveillance. She wondered if Azriel was part of this deal too, or whether he’d be asked to go visit a court soon. Or perhaps he already did, in the moments when he wasn’t helping her. 

She felt a whisper of wind as Emerie’s sword cut dangerously close to her face. “Distraction will result in not-so pretty scars, Gwyneth,” she taunted. 

But some scars were pretty. She thought of the intricate ones covering Azriel’s hands - she didn't know the brutal reason behind them but she’d learned to love seeing those scars, loved the feel of them as he held her, touched her…

This time Emerie did hit her, a slight nick to her upper arm had Gwyn lurch back to reality. She growled, “I know, I know…” She dropped her sword, admitting defeat, “I deserved that.” 

Surprisingly, it was Nesta that came to her, holding her arm as she dabbed it with a towel and looked at Gwyn. “You’ll figure it out,” she said firmly, steel in her voice but kindness too. “He’ll figure it out too. He’s just…” 

Before she could finish her sentence, there was a shift and they looked up to see Rhysand winnow in above the wards, his wings unfurling as he flew the last few metres. Gwyn spotted Cassian and Azriel dismiss the Priestesses from training, watching them go and wondering whether she should follow them or stay with the other Valkyries and talk to the High Lord. She held the towel to her arm and stayed put, deciding she would only go over to the males if she was asked to. 

A noise above them pulled her out of her rumination and she gazed into the midmorning sun, seeing a black speck on the skyline. 

“What in the Cauldron?” Emerie breathed as Gwyn tried to make sense of what she was seeing. 

Chapter Text

Azriel tapped his siphons instinctively as he watched the High Lord of Day Court fly through the skies on his magnificent black Pegusus. 

Helion exuded confidence, glamour and power in every glance, movement and spoken word - something that he’d cultivated from centuries of practice, no doubt. But as he landed on the House of Wind’s balcony atop Meallan, even Azriel couldn't deny the naturally magnanimous pull of the gorgeous High Lord. 

Rhys evidently felt it too, “Feyre is going to be so disappointed she missed another show stopping entrance of yours,” he admitted. His wings had disappeared but his suit remained immaculate, despite the flight over. 

Helion, resplendent in his cream draped garb of the Day Court and thick golden jewellery, winked at him, “Thank you for inviting me to another beautiful Night Court palace Rhysand.” His gaze swept over the House of Wind.” Tell me, does this one come with those fierce warriors?” 

Azriel’s shadows darkened when he noticed Helion’s gaze snag on the Valkyries at the edge of the ring. Before Cassian’s mating instincts could roar to life, Rhys replied smoothly, “Only if you want to spend the rest of your days without balls.” 

Helion’s sparkling laugh filled the whole arena, “Well those, I cannot live without.” Rhys smiled tightly in response and Cassian’s siphons simmered down, Azriel’s own shadows pulled back ever so slightly. Helion pulled a large stack of books out of the bag strapped to Maellan’s rump, “May I ask who these are for?” 

Rhys’s eyes twinkled as Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie walked towards them. Azriel scented the blood trickling down Gwyn’s arm, forcing himself to breath as he suppressed the urge to go check on her. “Helion, I’d like to introduce you to The Night Court’s first new unit of Valkyries.”  

Nesta looked at Helion with her usual aloof and unimpressed expression and Emerie bowed her head low but kept her wings expanded to show her own strength. But it was Gwyn that caught the High Lord’s attention as she bounced from one foot to another, barely blinking as she stared at the illustrious creature of myth and legend before her. 

If Helion was surprised by the new and revived unit of infamous fighters, he didn't show it but he bowed his head in respect nonetheless.

He is impressed, Singer. He wants to start his own unit now too…

Brilliant, just what they needed. Azriel carefully watched Helion’s every move as he stepped forward, his sultry gaze shifting from Nesta, to Emerie and finally landing on Gwyn, lingering on her for longer than Azriel could stomach. 

“Your songstress?” Helion asked of Rhys, without taking his eyes off Gwyn. 

Gwyn’s eyes snapped to Helion’s for the first time since he’d arrived. “Apologies for my terrible manners, High Lord. I’m Gwyneth,” She did a little curtsy but then kept bouncing on her toes as she looked back towards Maellan, “It’s just… I’ve never seen a real Pegusus!” She all but melted as the beautiful beast’s attention turned to her. 

Helion smirked and raised his hand, the Pegusus moved gracefully, making its way towards Gwyn, who received a nod from Helion as she reached her hand and touched its muzzle. A perfectly pitched noise came out as excitement got the better of her. Azriel’s shadows swirled, trying to reach out to her as she practically purred at the sensation of stroking the animal. 

“He likes you,” The High Lord smiled back and every alarm bell went off in Azriel’s mind, white rage lighting where quiet concern had been moments ago. Unbidden, he let out a soft snarl as he glared at the High Lord. 

The group turned to him and he felt everything from Rhys’s anger to Cassian’s understanding, Helion’s amusement and Gwyn’s confusion. 

Helion simply waved his hand irreverently at Azriel’s display, “I forget,” he smiled at Rhys, “so territorial.” He probably meant it as an insult but the way he whispered the word felt like a sensual promise. 

Rhys’s eyes widened momentarily at Azriel in admonishment before he returned his gaze to Helion, “The books are for Gwyn,” he explained. Surprise lit Gwyn’s face. 

“Much like us, Gwyn is a lover of tall tales. I recalled seeing some delightful tomes in your library that I haven’t had the pleasure of obtaining in my long life,” Rhys reached out to touch Meallan gently too, the Pegasus simply gave him a bored blink back. “So the books are a special treat today, for Gwyn’s birthday.” 

Surprise rippled through the group and Azriel’s breath caught. How did he not know that? Gwyn’s cheeks flamed red, almost matching the fiery strands in her hair. 

“Well we should celebrate such an occasion,” Helion’s deep voice was smooth and dangerously alluring, “Would you like a ride?” 

Every muscle in Azriel’s body twitched as he fought his instincts, forcing himself to keep deathly still, deathly quiet - as to not outright challenge a High Lord for the blatant insinuation. But Gwyn simply turned that assessing stare of hers on the High Lord instead. Azriel’s cock throbbed at the challenge in it, her features lighting with her power. Nesta, Emerie and Cassian watched her keenly too, trying to work out what she would do.

But instead of refusing him, like he wished she would, she bowed her head graciously, a strand of her silky hair falling from her braid, “I’d be delighted,” she smiled back and Azriel barely recognised the sultry confidence with which she said it. Helion beamed as he held out his hand for her. Azriel noticed her split second hesitation before she seemed to breathe steel into her bones and take it. 

Azriel stepped closer at exactly the same moment Helion did. He knew Gwyn’s triggers, had worked through them with her so many times over the course of their training, and didn’t want her to go through that now, with another male…. 

But she held up her hand, “No Shadowsinger,” she put her hand delicately on his chest and pushed back. It felt like he was about to combust as she shook her head, her choice clear. 

This is not the time, Singer 

He could hardly hear his shadows over the roaring in his head. He watched Helion give him a confused look before putting his huge hands on Gwyn’s slender hips and lifting her effortlessly onto Meallan’s back, pulling himself up smoothly behind her.

His insides coiled uncomfortably. He knew Gwyn’s tells and could see she’d perhaps calculated that the High Lord would have to lift her, would need to sit behind her on the mythical creature… but seeing her visibly pale as Helion moved into position tore at every strand of Azriel’s soul. He wanted to rip Helion apart. The good natured and gracious High Lord had been polite and tactile but he didn’t know, didn’t understand what she’d been through. But Azriel knew of every soul-destroying memory that was probably running through her mind right now. 

He didn’t care that everyone was watching. Didn’t care that she’d stopped him before. Didn’t care that this probably told Helion far too much - Azriel stepped forward next to Meallan and took Gwyn’s hand in his own, waiting for the cloudiness in her eyes to dissipate as he gazed up into those depthless teal orbs. 

Breathe, Priestess. Breathe and be strong 

His silent words were echoed into the ether by his shadows and he willed a deep sense of calm in his chest as he projected them towards her. He took her fingers and gently guided them towards Meallan’s mane, intertwining them with the beast’s coarse hair. His eyes bored into hers in silent solidarity and he could swear he heard that soft singing again. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been like that, but Helion cleared his throat and Azriel blinked, slowly letting go of her hand. 

“Hold on, Valkyrie,” Helion intoned as he nudged the Pegasus’s flank and they galloped towards the edge of the ring, taking flight. Azriel watched them go - equal parts angry and frustrated as he was proud. He instructed one of his shadows to follow them nonetheless. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn stared distantly at the glittering expanse of Velaris dusting the foot of the mountains around them as moonlight bathed the city. 

She’d had the best day celebrating her birthday. Better than she’d had in years, yet she still felt the heavy sadness that came with the acknowledgment that her sister wasn’t there to enjoy it with her, to enjoy her own birthday too. 

Only this morning, Gwyn had felt like she was in a terrifying, breathless nirvana as she flew on the back of the most majestic midnight black Pegasus, with the High Lord of Day Court guiding them gracefully across the skies. 

She’d wanted to take that step herself, to come to terms with another male and make the choice to enjoy a once in a lifetime experience. And she had done it, though not without The Shadowsinger’s help. Despite their confusing relationship, he’d been a reassuring presence in a moment when she’d nearly lost herself completely, his touch as always - measured and calm. 

“Hello, birthday girl - did you hear me?” Gwyn blinked as Emerie threw a cushion at her from where she was sprawled on the couch. They were in the library at the House of Wind, enjoying girls night in honour of Gwyn’s birthday and Nesta’s last night in Velaris before she went on her assignment with Cassian. 

It had been a full day of sisterly bonding since the moment Helion gracefully landed his Pegasus, aptly named Meallan, back on the House of Wind’s training ring. 

Gwyn, all windswept and high on endorphins had been buzzing with energy as Helion helped her down and she ran to her sisters, eager to tell them every detail. Nesta had looked to Rhys then, imploring him to let them take the day to enjoy Velaris together and celebrate Gwyn. 

He’d given that dazzling smile of his and made arrangements for them. Gwyn had seen the Shadowsinger linger just long enough to see she had landed safely back in the ring before he stalked off into the House. It bothered her only for a few beats before Helion approached again, handing her the stack of books he’d brought from his infamous libraries. 

Giddy with gratitude and excitement, Gwyn dropped the books off in her spare room at the House of Wind before the Valkyries went into Velaris together, enjoying a day of meandering the city’s colourful streets. Nesta showed them all her favourite bookshops and they spent hours in each one, collecting a stack of books from every genre. 

Now that Gwyn had allowed herself to be immersed in Velaris’ enriching surroundings, she couldn't get enough. Especially when she discovered that The High Lord and Lady were not only employing her for her time as scholar and Valkyrie, but she had a salary too. Nesta and Emerie were insatiable as they dragged her from one boutique clothing shop to another, trying on every necessary and unnecessary ensemble of outfits. 

She was currently wearing one of said unnecessary outfits as she lounged in the House of Wind’s library with her sisters, enjoying a cosy and casual dinner. It was a dress made for fun -  short in length, beaded, sparkly and trimmed in feathers which allowed Gwyn to shimmy and shake as she danced to her heart’s content. And they had danced - all three Valkyries had bought new dresses to celebrate their new station within the Night Court, to honour themselves in their own personal journeys. Rushing back to the House of Wind, they poured their hearts, souls and bodies into dancing in their new and completely extravagant but totally worth it outfits, Nesta’s symphonium echoed its music infinitely.

“I said, is it finally time for us to talk about you and Mr Tall, Dark and Terrifyingly Mysterious?” Emerie teased, pulling Gwyn back to their earlier conversation.

Gwyn looked down at the board of cheeses, fruits and cold meats they’d been grazing from. Popping a grape in her mouth, she deflected, “He’s not that mysterious.” Emerie raised her brow. 

“I can barely get a read on him, even on his good days, but somehow you seem to spend hours and hours in his company.” Gwyn blushed despite herself. 

“I think I mostly just talk at him. Mostly about the things I read, he just listens,” she sighed, smoothing down the feathers on her dress as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

“So if he ‘just listens’ as you put it, what was last night's disagreement about?” Nesta asked from her reclined settee as she sipped a glass of sparkly fruit juice, missing nothing. 

Gwyn frowned, wondering whether she was ready to expose this small, insecure part of herself. She played with the feather for another moment, curling and uncurling her toes in their bejewelled sandals as she considered her options. “I kissed him,” she finally admitted, her ears going hot with embarrassment. 

Nesta’s eyes widened and Emerie let out a loud whoop of excitement before Gwyn hushed them quickly, “It’s not like that! Though, I don’t know - I thought it was?…Thought it was what we both wanted but…” she swallowed, feeling the tears in the corners of her eyes again. Nesta shuffled over from her side of the room, Emerie reaching towards her from the edge of her seat as they held Gwyn’s hands in comfort. 

“Was it good?” Emerie asked quietly, a confused look gracing her sharp features. 

Gwyn gave her an incredulous glare, “Of course!” Then, more quietly, she admitted,  “It was… everything.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked to her new sisters-in-arms.“He has been…everything. He helped me with my fear of touch, he helped me with my fear of weapons after the Rite - he even helped me cut that damnable ribbon last year!” 

Emerie said calmly, reassuringly, “Whenever he is with you, he seems calmer. His shadows even look less severe…” 

“Well whatever that is, it’s not in a romantic way, it seems. We kissed and though it felt like he was…” Gwyn paused, she really was awful at female talk like this, especially on a subject that she had much less experience with. 

“Like he wanted to do it too…” Nesta offered, nodding encouragingly at Gwyn, “Go on…” 

“Well yes, it felt like he did but then,” anger replaced the sadness. “It’s like he realised it was me. Realised and pulled away, said that he couldn’t.” Gwyn wanted to scream at herself for her stupidity. 

Nesta shook her head, “Az is complicated Gwyn. He’s spent centuries alone and…” she stopped suddenly, as though reconsidering her words. “It’s not because of you,” she said more firmly. “More likely it’s something about himself, about his own…history.” She said it quietly, as though even voicing it was a breach of trust. Gwyn had thought it was something like that but couldn’t help the clawing feeling that it was more too. 

“Is there another female?” she asked directly. Nesta’s face was unreadable but her eyes flashed for the briefest second and Gwyn knew the truth of it, “I see,” she clenched her fists, breathing deeply. 

Emerie rubbed soothing circles on Gwyn’s back, “But you’re a fighter Gwyn,” she spoke strongly, insistent in her encouragement. “A fierce, formidable, fucking gorgeous female with so much to live and experience. Hell, you even caught a High Lord's eye today!” They all laughed at that, Helion’s earlier attentions had been a welcome distraction from Azriel’s broody, overbearing attitude. 

Gwyn wiped the tear from her cheek and took a breath, “You’re right. I don’t have to have the bravest, most cunning, most gorgeous male to exist as my first love interest. I’m a protagonist with range - there will be others…” She moved her hands dramatically, puffing out her chest and giving them a slashing smile, acting her part well. They laughed again, hugging her as the House rained an assortment of flowers, chocolates and ribbons on them, wanting to play its part in any way it could. 

I hope - she thought to herself, as they moved on to another topic. 

Chapter Text

Azriel was angry, miserable, frustrated and confused as he gazed at the stars cloaking the midnight sky. 

He was back on the balcony where he and Gwyn had kissed just last night, yet it felt like aeons ago. Felt like he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for days, weeks, months. His skin felt too tight over his bones, his racing thoughts dizzying. 

Breathe, Singer, breath 

“I have a thing for theatrics, bookworms and redheads” - that had been what Helion had said as they sat having lunch at The River House just a few hours after his impromptu flight with Gwyn. 

As though guessing at his reaction, Rhys had the foresight to put a sound shield over Azriel milliseconds before a savage snarl rippled out of his throat. A snarl that would have told the High Lord far too much about Gwyn’s importance to the group, to him. 

‘You are my spymaster, Az - we cannot have others know of your true feelings - friends or not.’ Rhys had all but roared into his mind once he’d lifted the shield, the others seemingly none the wiser to the exchange. 

He knew it. Had known it from the moment Rhys’s father had made him the Spymaster to the Night Court. Had known it when he fell in love with Mor. Had always taken special care to hide traces of other lovers because of it. Had known it when he started fantasising about Elain... 

But there was something different about this pull towards Gwyn. Like he couldn’t control himself as he thought of her safety, her health, her happiness. Couldn’t get enough of her ridiculous squeal of delight when she managed to accomplish something new or how her eyes would go as wide as the moon when she read something she was interested in. Couldn’t help but feel amused as she’d scrunch her nose at something she didn’t understand or feel the ache deep in his chest as she faced a difficult decision head on. It had been all of these things that had pulled him in last night, had made him lose control and kiss her back, aching for more. 

And now that he’d pushed her away, as he should - to keep her safe, to keep her happy and free - he had the fucking High Lord of the Day Court to deal with.

He let out a deep, frustrated breath of air as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the set of double shadow daggers he’d had specially made for her. Sized smaller than normal, so they could fit neatly into the waistband of her leathers.  He imagined she’d be a deft hand at throwing them now, after they’d finished training in the discipline a week ago. He’d commissioned them shortly after the session, requesting the handle be covered in a special, durable white ribbon material with a small set of sapphires embedded within the metal holding it together. He was impressed with how they turned out; deadly, clever and gorgeous - just like the female they were intended for. 

Making a move to tuck the gift away, he felt the air shift and her scent reached him. Whirling, he saw her look of surprise as she stepped onto the balcony. “Oh sorry, I didn’t know you’d be up here.” 

He looked at her properly then. She was wearing a party dress, white and feathery with sparkling beads that shimmered under the starlight. The beaded straps accentuated her elegant frame, her toned arms dusted with freckles. He forced himself to look away from her, rubbing the back of his neck, “I can go, it’s late.” 

She didn’t move aside, simply cocked her head, “I thought you’d be training?” 

“I had an afternoon session with Cassian and Rhys.” It was partially true, his brothers had taken turns trying to beat the shit out of him when Helion had left and they could admonish him properly.  

Cautiously, she moved towards him. He hated that his actions last night had made her nervous around him again. “This felt like the highest point in the house,” she leaned her elbows against the stone edge of the balcony and his shadows reached for her elegant back, which was exposed in the strappy dress. He pulled them back as much as he could, hoping she couldn’t feel their cold, unwanted touch. “The place closest to the stars...”  

It had been why he chose to land them on this balcony in particular last night. It was his secret one, one which he hadn’t even told Nesta about, the staircase leading up to it was hidden behind a door that looked like a painting - adjacent to a secret door that led to his own room. He was glad it brought Gwyn joy to look upon the stars from here too. 

“Happy Birthday, Priestess,” he pulled his shadows back to give her the space she required to say her prayers to the ones she’d loved and lost. The ones she would be missing the most on this day. 

He turned to leave but heard her soft voice ask, “Someday, will you grant me a favour, Shadowsinger?” 

He couldn’t bear to look directly at her for fear of losing his willpower completely. He held the handle of the door to leave but nodded despite himself. 

 “Will you sing for me?” 

Of all the things, that had been the last thing he expected to hear. He turned slightly, letting the shadows tumble off his shoulders and around his form, “You don’t want to see the darkness that comes with that,” he admitted coldly, his voice flatter than he intended for it to be. 

He could feel the ripple of energy as she turned to him properly and replied, “Whatever your darkness, Shadowsinger - I can handle it.” 

He wouldn’t let himself turn back to her, wouldn’t let her see the effect her words had on him. He left her to her prayers, taking care to place her birthday gift on the bed of the plush cream and gold spare room she stayed in at the House of Wind, appealing to the House to make her calm and comfortable so she may sleep soundly tonight of all nights. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s chest was burning. She’d been running herself ragged completing lap after lap in the training ring as she practised leaping over obstacles, sliding under traps and throwing her new daggers at training dummies. Her breath came out in great big gulps as she finished the course for the third time, rubbing at her chest. It had been aching for a whole day and night now and nothing was soothing it. 

She’d hardly been sleeping these last few days, her recurring nightmares consistently creeping into her resting hours despite her hard-earned exhaustion. In the day, she spent every waking moment trying to work off her restless energy with any and all distractions. Pushing herself harder than ever at training, spending hours upon hours pouring over the books for her assignments, training more acolytes in the new set of choral arrangements, even visiting Emerie in Windhaven at Mor’s request. Though nothing seemed to help. 

Azriel had been away for more than three days now, his absence starting to worry her more with each passing hour. When she asked Mor about it, she simply shrugged and said Azriel had a habit of falling deep into an assignment, committing his entire being to finding a solution when he saw a problem. When Gwyn pushed her by trying to ascertain what the problem was, Mor simply told her not to worry. 

But she was worried. Something felt wrong and she didn’t know how to explain it. Not to mention she hadn’t had the opportunity to thank him for her daggers, marvelling at the wicked, gleaming perfection of them as she palmed them in her hands. He hadn’t left a note with them, but her ribbon - still dirty and bloodied from her time in the challenge, was tied elegantly around the neat box, immediately giving away who had bought it for her. 

She looked to the clock at the far end of the ring, noticing the hands at midnight. It was the fourth night that she’d come out to the ring at their normal training time, hoping he’d be here, waiting for her. She hoped that despite their kiss, despite the sadness, confusion and awkwardness she felt at his rejection thereafter, that they’d still be friends. Still train together, heal together. Realising that yet again, he wasn’t going to turn up, she reluctantly knew it was time for rest. She hadn’t finished all the books Helion had brought her yet and she’d earmarked a particularly intriguing one for tomorrow. Written by a river nymph, the story told the great legends of the waters surrounding their lands and she wanted her full attention on its contents. 

She was stacking away the heavy shield she’d been practising with when she heard the sound above her - wings flapping, then the unmistakable sound of a body falling. She whirled to see Azriel drop the last few metres past the wards and land with a sickening crunch.

“Shadowsinger!” she cried, running over to him as he crumbled to the floor. He was bloodied and bruised, his eye swollen, lip bleeding, wings ravaged - despite it, he tried to lift his head and look at her. 

“Don’t, Gwyn. I’m fine,” he croaked, trying to push himself off the ground. 

She bared her teeth, “No, you’re not! Come here,” she tried lifting his arm so she could help him up but he was a dead weight, shaking his head in refusal. 

“You big, stubborn bat!” she ground out, using her newfound and considerable strength to position herself beneath his arm and push forward, holding his chest. 

“I’ll heal,” he tried to argue just as a trickle of clotted blood dribbled out of his mouth. Fear coursed through her.

“Nope, not today. I’m helping you, whether you like it or not!” She breathed deeply as she dabbed the blood from his mouth with the sleeve of her leathers, then pushed to her feet with force, half lifting him, half dragging him into the House proper. 

“House, help! I need medical supplies and hot water, my invoking stone and towels - in the spare room please,” she called as she dragged his heavy, bleeding body down the dimly lit corridors.

They were both wheezing with effort as she dragged him into her room at the House of Wind, the soft creams of the interiors stark against the blood and gore coating him. She was relieved to see the house had not only put all the supplies she’d requested in the sparkling marble bathroom, but had run a bath too - she scented antibacterial tea-tree oil in it. She mentally thanked it as she tried to gently lower Azriel to the ground next to the huge tub. 

“You don’t have to…” he lifted his hand weakly to push her away as she started to undo his ripped leather jerkin. Why wasn’t he wearing his battle suit? Why would he leave himself exposed without it like this? 

She let out a soft snarl at him, “How many times do you come back from an assignment looking like this?” She was trying to unlace it as quickly but gently as possible, his breath ragged as he squeezed his eyes shut from pain. 

When he didn’t answer, she ground out her next question with quiet rage, “And how many times do you deal with it alone? No healer? No friends? No family?” 

Again, he didn’t answer her but his one good eye opened and blinked back wearily at her. The fury that took hold of her was so out of character, so unexpected and all consuming. She shook her head and pulled his weight toward her, leaning his head against her shoulders as she peeled the blood-coated leathers off his upper body, taking special care with his wings. His shadows swirled restlessly, as though they could feel every ounce of pain, sorrow, rage. 

“Never again, Shadowsinger. You’re not doing this alone ever again, I won't let you,” she whispered with deathly composure, infusing every promised word with her power, her will. She felt him shake beneath her fingers as she did so. 

As she got to his hands, to the strategically placed siphoned gloves, she touched them delicately and watched as they turned from a dull midnight to a bright azure, his breath quickening in response. She delicately took the gloves off, laying the siphons on the basin above them before returning to her task of taking off his leathers. Once his top was off, she ripped off the undershirt as gently as she could before leaning him back against the bath. She started working, using wet cloths from the basin to wipe the blood away, revealing the deep gashes where an array of weapons and magic had ruined his golden skin. She wanted to cry at the monstrosity of it, at how this beautiful, brave and brilliant male had been mutilated. His eyes were half-shut but she knew he was following her every move with what remained of his consciousness. When she dabbed healing tonics from the medical supplies on the deep gashes, he hissed in pain, his eye flashing open. 

She swallowed, holding his weary gaze. She could almost taste the fear, sadness and confusion rippling around them, and she couldn't tell if it was her emotions or his. So, she blinked away her tears of frustration and started to sing softly. Picking up her invoking stone, she whispered a prayer as she sang and started working at the cuts and bruises peppering his body. 

She honed in on her task, seamlessly flowing from one song to another, feeling his shadows thicken around them, as though lending their silent support. Azriel’s eyes shut again, his head leaning back against the lip of the bath as his breathing settled and she sensed the tension leaving his body. 

“Shadowsinger,” she said calmly after a while, touching his jaw gently as his eyes barely opened, trying to refocus on hers. “I need to see to your wings. Are you ok with that?” The Illyrians were proud and precious about their wings and she knew that touching them was an incredibly privileged, intimate thing. Blinking, he raised a weak hand up to her chin, gently holding it with his forefinger as his thumb traced her lower lip. Her breathing settled at the gesture, the tenderness of it. He nodded.

“I need to hear you say it, Shadowsinger,” she tried for a little smile, hoping it would bring him back to her. A breath left his full lips, a slight turn at one corner of his mouth was the best she could hope for. 

“Yes, Priestess,” he muttered weakly, his hand falling to the tips of her hair now. She nodded then stood, taking deep breaths to settle her nerves as she got fresh cloths and supplies and started singing again. 

She moved with calm, measured efficiency, trying not to touch the sensitive, membranous part of his wings too much - knowing that the rolling shivers she could feel in his body were as a result of the pressure she was putting on them. Tears were rolling down her face as she beheld the angry red cuts along his wings and had to force her magic to simmer down as she felt the heat in the room increase. Luckily, it seemed as though his chest and arms had taken the brunt of the damage but she wasn’t sure her invoking stone would even work on his wings. She wanted to call for Madja, to get a proper healer to look at the infinite complexity of them to ensure they were properly cared for. But she knew he’d deny her that request, knew this was a state he didn't let others see often and she’d already pushed him too far just by being here herself. She finished cleaning them, whispering a healing prayer instead. 

Wiping her brow, she allowed herself to take him in again, assessing for her next move. She looked down at his legs, still clad in his leathers. They seemed ok, bar one or two cuts along his muscular thighs. She sat in front of him and touched his battered face gently, his eyes opening again. “You have a choice,” she started, running reassuring sweeps across his jaw, his mouth, his forehead. “Bath or bed?” 

He blinked but exhaustion weighed so heavily on him that he didn’t utter a word. Determined to finish her task, she stood and started taking off her own leathers, stripping to her underclothes. Once done, she crouched at his feet, taking off his boots then the siphons on his knees, placing them delicately in line with the other five she’d already removed. Eventually, she positioned herself next to him, readying herself to start pulling down his leather trousers. 

“This wasn’t the way I originally pictured undressing you for the first time,” she grunted with exertion, her heart hammering in her chest at what she was doing. His eyes were still closed but he made a sound deep in his throat and she tried to keep herself calm as she helped strip him down to his undershorts. She could feel her breath quicken with nervousness as she beheld him, but she forced herself to focus - as a Priestess - as a Valkyrie. “Ok, we’re both going up and in on the count of three. One, two…” She pushed off the ground, lifting his deadweight as she awkwardly got them into the bathtub. The House had kept the water warm in the time she’d spent cleaning and healing him and she let the aromas of the oils wash over her as they lowered in together. Grateful for the sheer size of the bath, she leaned Azriel against the one side then turned to face him as she got a sponge and started the ritual of cleaning him again. When it looked like he was about to slip into unconsciousness, she cleared her throat and began her ritual of singing and cleaning, healing and focusing - feeling comforted by the gentle caress of his shadows as they swayed and swirled in the room around them, blending with the warm steam from the bath. 

Ten minutes later, she’d cleaned him thoroughly and even washed his dark hair, which had been raked with mud. Pulling herself out of the tub, she dashed into the room, hoping he wouldnt sink into the water and drown in the time she left. “House, I need clothes please. His clothes too.”

She looked over as two piles of clothes dropped onto the bed. Upon inspection, she realised she hadn’t been very clear - the house had given her two sets of Azriel’s clothes. She breathed in his scent as she picked up a light grey T-shirt, two slats cut out at the back for his wings. Shrugging, she decided it was better than the dirty leathers she had just taken off herself, so she pulled it over her head, the bottom of it dangling all the way to her mid thigh, before putting on a pair of his dark undershorts too. She picked up the other stack and saw it was almost exactly the same, but in black. 

Her breath caught as she went back into the bathroom and saw him fast asleep within the bubbles of the warm water. He looked almost serene - like it was a lazy day and he was simply having a nap in a bubble bath to relax. 

She tried to picture it, a future where he could be that calm, safe and at peace. Where he didn't have the weight and worries of the Night Court’s safety on his shoulders. Where he didn't have to put himself at risk every day to fight danger and evil with every fibre of his mind, body and soul. His shadows swirled protectively behind his head, waving her over and breaking her reverie. She swallowed as she hoped that one day, whether they were still friends or not, she could help him find that future. 

Gwyn lay next to Azriel in the four-poster bed of the spare room twenty minutes later, listening to his breathing as he slept, letting his scent ground her as her chest finally stopped aching. 

How she’d managed to get him out of the bath, into new shorts then into the bed without waking him was beyond her. She was aching with the exhaustion of it all. But lying next to him, she couldn't help but finally feel calm again, greedily taking in his features as he slept, trailing her finger across the elegant planes of his face, mouth and jaw and thanking The Mother for returning him to her.  

Chapter Text

Do not startle. Do not be afraid. Stay calm, Singer

Azriel stirred from a heavy, cloying slumber, trying to make sense of his shadows whisperings. His eyes felt heavy and he couldn’t stomach the idea of having to open them, but then he noticed a scent. Ginger lily, lotus flower… his eyes flew open in shock as he beheld Gwyn’s sleeping form just centimeters from his. Her hand was gripped in his, her freckled face relaxed and calm, she was so close he could feel every light and even breath leave her perfect mouth. 

Memories from last night rushed through him. He’d been spying on a group of highly trained Autumn Court soldiers that had infiltrated the Day Court and were camping on the west-coast of the court. Helion had informed Azriel, wondering whether the Shadowsinger’s own powers could figure out their motives before Helion sent his own army in to deal with them. Azriel had spent three days spying, gleaning nothing useful about their overall plan or goal before he’d decided to take a risky and ultimately stupid move to learn more, and had been discovered in the process. As though they’d been waiting for him, they’d trapped him and started their brutal attack within minutes of his appearance and he’d had to fight tooth and nail to get out of their reach. It was the second time in less than three months that he’d nearly been killed by Autumn’s soldiers and he couldn't tell if it was because of his own jeopardising actions or because they were targeting him. 

He’d used almost all his power and strength to return to the Night Court, to shadow walk back to the House of Wind when Gwyn found him. He traced the lines of her fingers gently as he recalled every one of her actions from last night. Her ferocious attention to detail, her quiet and practised care, her steely determination and compassion. He suddenly understood his shadows’ warnings - because he was utterly terrified. 

He’d never let a female see him like that. Had allowed very few to see him in his most vulnerable state. He’d stepped away from their kiss, forced himself away from Gwyn because he couldn’t allow himself to ruin her with every one of his dark thoughts, actions, and memories. Yet once again, she had chosen to stay, to help him during those darker moments, stripping him bare - physically and emotionally, to be there with him, helping him. His chest constricted and he wanted nothing more than to wake her and show her exactly what her kindness and care meant to him. To show her how he could devote himself to worshipping her, body and soul. But he wouldn’t do that, because he’d already hurt her once. And would likely hurt her again and again - because it’s what he did best; hurt people. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and started to pull his shadows around him, quieting his movements as he got up and out of bed. He allowed himself one last look back at her peaceful form, only to notice that she was sleeping in his clothes. A thrill rushed through him at the sight, his blood singing with it as his shadows echoed; 

Please, Singer. Please.

“She deserves more,” He shook his head and closed the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Distracted and disappointed, Gwyn reread another line of her book deep in the quiet of the Library beneath the mountain. 

She couldn’t believe Azriel had left before she’d woken. Couldn’t believe he wouldn't stay to talk to her about it all, to reassure her that he was ok. She woke with his scent wrapped around her but his side of the bed cold and empty. Angry and upset, she’d gone straight to morning service with the other Priestesses - and hadn’t bothered to go to training after that. She’d tucked herself away in one of the lower-level alcoves in the Library instead, struggling to make a dent in the piles of books around her. 

Emerie had been to see her already, pushing her for an answer as to why she hadn’t been at training. “I’m tired, I haven’t been sleeping well. I just needed a break.” Gwyn had lied, not wanting to explain to her friend how for the second time in a week, she’d been rejected by the Shadowsinger. 

She huffed angrily as the sentence in the book in front of her baffled her again. Slamming the book shut, she got up and angrily shoved it back in the bookshelf, pacing as she tried to calm her breathing. 

“Careful, loud noises may wake the monster under the mountain,” Azriel’s voice sounded behind her and Gwyn’s heart rate rocketed as she ached to turn, craving to see him whole and safe after last night. But she forced herself to stay rooted to the spot, pretending to read the spine of another book on the shelf, not saying a word in response. 

The already dim candles around them flickered as he moved closer, his shadows swallowing the light. She went still at his proximity, one of his scarred fingers touching a loose strand of hair that had escaped her high ponytail. She refused to turn, refused to give into his touch, despite craving it. Eventually, he seemed to understand and leaned against the bookshelf instead, his wings peaked in her peripheral vision and her eyes burned at how hard she was concentrating on the words scrawled on the cover of the book. 

“You’re not fooling anyone with your silence, Berdara.” 

What was he playing at? Teasing her? Goading her? Trying to get her temper to flare? What could she say to him anyway? Why did you leave me? Why do you push me away? Can’t you feel what I feel?  

She ground her teeth in the effort to stay silent despite it and turned, walking back to her table with notes and the books Helion had lent her. 

“You didn't come to training this morning?” She could have sworn she heard an ache in his voice, but she refused to acknowledge it because she had probably imagined it. She picked up her books and put them in a satchel she now carried with her, taking the candle as she walked away. 

Chapter Text

Moving through a series of complicated movements with his sword, Azriel tried to ease the tension in his aching body. 

Gwyn had done an incredible job of healing him last night, but the amount of damage he’d suffered before she’d helped him couldn't easily be reversed and he knew he really just need to rest but he was restless and worried that if he allowed himself to stay still even for a minute, he’d just drink himself into quiet oblivion instead. 

She had avoided him all day and really, could he blame her? He’d rejected her when they’d kissed, despite wanting nothing more than to continue endlessly and passionately. He’d left her room this morning without so much as a thank you or goodbye and then when he had finally plucked up the courage to go see her in her library, he couldn't find the right words to say either. 

Even Rhys hadn’t been able to ease his anxiety this morning when he’d been to the River House to report his findings from the disastrous assignment. 

‘We are always here for you, Brother,’ was what he offered eventually, knowing Azriel wouldn’t explain what or who had helped him recover after the attack. 

Now his siphons were dull with the lack of energy and power he had remaining but he continued to move, twisting this way and that to get the blood thrumming through his body again. As he turned, he saw Gwyn standing in the doorway to the ring, watching him. Her hair was unbound, her leathers untied at the collar, as though she’d put them on reluctantly. Her body looked stiff, her posture unforgiving as she regarded him coolly for what felt like an eternity before turning to leave. He panicked, shouting at her retreating form, “Priestess, wait!”

She stopped but didn't look at him, his long strides brought him closer, his shadows restless. “Please, you don't have to leave,” he offered quietly. She allowed a slight turn of her head and levelled that assessing stare of hers, one that usually thrilled him, but now made him nervous as all hell. What was he doing? Pushing her away then pulling her back, refusing her yet never letting her go…

As though realising the same thing, she raised her chin and strode past him, grabbing a training sword from the stack and pointing it directly at his chest. She hadn’t uttered a word, and didn't need to. He deserved this anger, this disappointment. 

He took a breath and released his shadows. He wanted to feel every one of her emotions and strikes, didn't want them to protect him from anything right now. He bowed his head and signalled for her to begin, fully expecting her strength and ferocity as she launched herself at him. 

He’d barely been conscious from the pain last night when she had taken care of him, but he would never forget every soft touch, every whispered prayer, the way her features had lit up as she sang to keep herself calm and ease his tension. He thought of all of this and more as he met her blow for blow, surprise lighting when she disarmed him within the first few minutes. They switched to hand-to-hand combat and he couldn’t stop himself as he took her in - the way her freckles bunched as her face was pulled in concentration. The way her hair rippled around her as she moved swiftly. The way her elbow would drop and her right foot would shuffle awkwardly when she was surprised by a move. The way the moonlight reflected the glimmer of light in her eyes when she saw an opening. He was so distracted by every one of these things that he didn’t realise how quickly she moved to position herself as he fell backwards and she leapt on top of him, pinning him down with her legs on either side of his hips, her hand shoving his arms above his head. She bared her teeth in quiet fury and pointed one the daggers he’d gifted her underneath his chin. 

Panting from the exertion, Azriel marvelled at how far she’d come, at how unexpected and downright brilliant she was. She held his gaze and he tried to see into her mind, to understand what was happening behind those enchanting eyes. There was a shift in the air and suddenly Azriel could scent it - their mingled arousal. Hers spicy and sizzling, his dark and stormy. Azriel saw her pupils dilate as she realised it too, no doubt feeling his rapidly growing erection beneath her. 

She was about to push herself off but he stopped her. “Dont!” he breathed, closing his eyes to recalibrate before holding her gaze again as gently as he could. He tried, with all his might and limited facial expressions, to show her that he wanted her to stay, for her to be in control in this moment. 

Her breathing was ragged, realisation striking her hard and true. His shadows returned and he watched as they sidled up to her, stoking her neck and face. Her eyes closed as she let them and his cock twitched at the exchange. She dropped her dagger and let go of his hands above his head so he could move them. He chose to slowly, cautiously place them on both of her thighs. Feeling the strong muscles quivering at his touch - at this new position they found themselves in. 

His mouth was dry as he marvelled at her, “The power you have…” he watched her eyes close as she lowered her face to his, running the tip of her nose along his jawline, her arousal squeezing the sanity out of him. His Siphons lit up with their shared energy. 

“Azriel,” his name was like a prayer on her lips and it nearly undid him completely. His grip on her thighs tightened and he could feel the warmth between her legs as she sat on his throbbing cock. He mentally cursed the leathers they wore for restricting everything. His eyes rolled in his head as she nipped at his earlobe. But then she whispered, “Aren’t you too old to be playing these games?” 

His mind went blank as she shoved herself away, grabbing her daggers and flicking her hair over her shoulder before stalking back to the House and disappearing into its darkened halls. 

You deserved that, Singer 

He didn’t know if she knew it, but she was completely and utterly fucking unravelling him. 

Chapter Text

Azriel forced himself to appear calm and composed, open and even friendly as he nodded at the Priestesses and acolytes in greeting on his way to his and Gwyn’s shared study within the Library. 

He’d barely slept thanks to their exchange last night. In the safety of his room, he’d fisted his cock and come three times over yet nothing had satiated his raging desire. He’d forced himself to regard her as nothing but a Valkyrie and trainee in this morning's practice but she’d disappeared before he could speak to her and he knew he had a tough conversation ahead of him now. 

Singer, you’re overthinking this…

He ignored his shadows, took a deep breath and entered their room, the crackling energy rushing to charge his siphons the moment he stepped in. She sat at the other end of the long table, her head peaking up behind massive stacks of thick books as she regarded him briefly then carried on scribbling something down. 

He cleared his throat, “Priestess, we need to talk.” 

She waved her hand erratically at him. “Not now, Shadowsinger. I think I’ve figured something out and your negative attitude isn’t allowed in my zone,” she motioned to her area of books. He felt his shadows recoil and recline in both shock and amusement as his brows shot up at her response. 

She’s not wrong…

“I just wanted to say…” he tried again but she simply cut him off with another wave of her hand. 

“Shadowsinger,” she stood then, bringing papers with her as she approached, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “ You need to make up your goddamn mind about a few things. It’s that simple,” she continued to regard him coolly with those depthless eyes, “but right now, you need to listen...” He tucked his wings in tight. “I think I’ve found one of the ancient swords. Please can we go see the High Lord, I need him to corroborate.” 

He started, “Which sword?” His shadows swirled. 

She gave him an exasperated look, “That’s the bit I’m trying to figure out!” 

He put his hands up placating, “Ok, ok. Dare I refuse, Valkyrie?” 

When they shadow-walked to The River House five minutes later, he was glad that he’d only had to spend a couple of minutes holding her in his arms. Any longer and her proximity, her scent, her sizzling challenge would have forced him into eternal submission. 

“How did you figure this out?” Rhys asked as he, Feyre, Nyx, Gwyn and Azriel stood in Rhys’s study, the late summer sun casting infinite light into the room. 

“The High Lord of Day Court’s books gave me the final piece of the puzzle, but I’ve read a few different things in different places that allude to it,” she explained, holding her pile of books protectively. 

Rhys regarded her cautiously, letting out a slow exhale as his own power rolled off his shoulders in waves. “The ocean is vast, Gwyneth. Are you sure?” She nodded fervently before he grimaced, “There is a more recent history of Narben, Amarantha was the last living being to have had it - or so they say.” Azriel and Feyre both visibly twitched in anger at her name uttered from Rhys’s lips. 

“The nymph book alludes to a small isle called Arrynth or thereabouts. It’s off the coast of the Night and Day courts, between here and Hybern,” she moved over to the map to show them and Rhys nodded, looking at Azriel in concern. 

“Your attack?” Rhys raised an elegant brow, the power he held such a controlled grip on was practically begging to be let loose.

Azriel’s shadows loomed dangerously in response, “I don’t believe in coincidences.” 

“Beron knows?” Feyre sounded frustrated and worried, her blue grey eyes flashing. 

“Give me a few hours to investigate and I’ll report back,” Azriel muttered as he tapped his siphons, his battle suit already morphing onto his body. 

“Hold on, you don’t know what you’re looking for!” Gwyn’s body thrummed as she stepped up to him, her features alight. 

Azriel crossed his arms, “I know what a sword looks like, Berdara.” 

Her eyes flashed, “But you don’t know where to look!”  

His shadows stilled, “You said the island?” Her answering blink made his stomach flip. 

“And you know where exactly within or around this isle, do you?” He stared at her, realising a moment too late that she knew exactly where it was and just hadn't told him the whole truth. 

“Tell me,” he threatened, his wings flaring. 

“I’m going with you,” she crossed her arms over her own chest, shifting on her feet to take up space. Azriel let out a soft snarl. 

“You have two seconds to try again.” 

She simply levelled up to him, all but standing on her tip toes as she snarled back, “I’m going with you.” 

His shadows pulsed ominously as his temper flared and he knew he needed to end this immediately, “I could make you tell me, I have centuries of practice making people reveal their deepest, darkest secrets...” 

Her bright eyes narrowed at his overt threat, flicking to his asp-like shadows before she stepped even closer to his face and whispered back with deathly calm, “I look forward to it.” 

He reeled back, of all the things he thought she’d respond with... He forced himself to shake away the erotic thoughts running through his mind, “There are too many dangers, too many unknowns.” 

“Exactly. I was the one who cleaned you up after your last trip, or don’t you remember?” She argued hotly and he could feel her crackling energy spike, her magic singing to his. 

Before he could reply, his shadows overwhelmed his senses - 

The Seer! The Seer is in peril…

Azriel’s jaw went slack as he looked up at Rhys and Feyre, who’d been watching their showdown keenly. “Elain,” he explained, “There's trouble in Dawn.” 

Feyre’s face pulled in horror and Rhys immediately went glassy eyed, using his deamati gifts to send a message to Thesan. Gwyn made her way to Feyre to calm her, “We can stay with Nyx, if you need to go.” 

“No, there’s something not right about all this,” Azriel was trying to map it all out. The Illyrians, the Day Court attack, the Dawn Court news, the potential for Narben to be discovered… 

“We’re leaving,” Rhys was fully back in the room. “Az, you and Gwyn need to go to locate this sword - if Beron does know about it, we’re all doomed. Feyre and I are going to Dawn now. Mor is on her way back to hold the fort here in Velaris with Amren. Nyx will stay with them.” Azriel’s heart hammered in his chest at the orders. 

‘No, Rhys! Gwyn’s not ready!…’ Azriel opened his mind fully, hoping his brother could hear his mental appeal. 

‘I’m going to say this once and once only, Az,’ It was his High Lady’s voice that echoed back in his mind. ‘ Do not decide for Gwyn what she can and can’t handle.’ Azriel cringed at the words left unspoken. 

He took a couple of deep breaths, his chest tightening at the implication. As though she sensed their mental battle, Gwyn walked back over to him, resolute. “Let’s go, Shadowsinger.” 

Chapter Text

Gwyn walked onto the House of Wind’s balcony, spying Azriel with his back to her, standing at the far end of the ring. His shadows were barely visible around his armoured shoulders and he must have taken a healing tonic for his wings, because they looked magnificent again as he cast them out wide, as though working through some stretches. 

“I’m ready,” Gwyn announced herself, though she had no doubt he already knew of her presence. He turned and gave her a full body sweep as he took in her clean leathers, complete with her new daggers that were strapped to her waistband, where she had also added a coil of rope to her hip. She sensed a strange tension in his body, the lines of his mouth severe as he regarded her with a commander's assessment. 

“Take these too,” He held a thigh holster complete with four wickedly sharp throwing knives. She reached for it greedily, marvelling at the craftsmanship. 

“Thank you,” she breathed, kneeling to secure it to her thigh, feeling his eyes watch her intently as she did so. As she stood again, feeling infinitely powerful with the arsenal of weaponry attached to her, he stepped forward. Her trusty ribbon was tied around her brow again and he noticed, reaching forward to brush it with his scarred thumb as his eyes softened. 

“I need you to hear me, just for one minute, Priestess.” Gwyn could feel the strain in his voice, could sense the internal battle. “You are a Valkyrie - strong, brave and talented. You’ve been trained and you’ve been tested,” She felt her chest expand with pride at his words, at the raw emotion she could see in his eyes, despite him trying to hide it. “But,” he continued with a dangerous edge, ‘When we’re out there, you need to follow my lead. If I ask you to stay still or hidden, you must stay still and hidden. If I ask you to pull back, you must pull back. If the tables turn and I ask you to leave me, you must leave me.” 

Her temper flared, “Never!” 

He moved then, pulling her closer by her waist, placing his broad hand behind her neck as he leaned his forehead against hers. “ Yes . You must,” he gritted the words out and she could hardly breathe from his intensity. “I can’t let anything happen to you. You’re my charge and in my care. You have to take my lead.” His eyes squeezed shut, as though he was trying to convince himself.  

Gently, she cupped his face with her own hands, “We are a team, Azriel. We do this together.” It was the only thing she would promise him. His eyes flashed, his shadows moving restlessly. She wondered what they whispered to him that had him bowing his head before removing her hands from his face and kissing her palms softly. 

The roaring of the waves crashing against the white cliff was the first thing she heard before Gwyn opened her eyes. Azriel had shadow-walked them into a cave off the coast of the isle. 

He watched her for another moment as she took in the surroundings, before gently lowering her and moving swiftly to the entrance of the cave. He pulled his shadows to his towering form, the movement fluid and elegant - a dance of darkness and danger. “Don’t you dare…” she started, knowing the signs.

“I don’t know this Arrynth well,” he explained. “I’m going to do a recce, wait for me,” he instructed flatly but she was already cutting him off. 

“We said we would do this together! That means you don’t leave me here when you could run into trouble!” 

He simply gave her a deathly glare, “I have experience in the field. You do not. Once I’ve scoped it out, I’ll come back for you. So, stay hidden and stay safe.” 

She was halfway through refusing his order when he disappeared before her eyes. She scoffed at the poor shadow that lingered where his body had been, “Yeah, right!” 

Breathing in the salty air, she completed a couple of mindstilling breaths, reminding herself of every passage she read that had led her to this point. Before she could second guess herself, she unravelled the rope from her waist, tied it to a rock and secured it to herself before starting her slow and arduous climb to the top of the cliff. 

Drenched in sweat, Gwyn pulled herself over the lip ten minutes later and tried to catch her breath. Refusing to acknowledge the sheer drop she’d just scaled, she cut the rope and took in her surroundings. 

It was a vast isle, complete with sweeping glens, interspersed with towering trees and peaceful looking lakes. She could make out a mountain range at the far end of the land but as far as she could see - nothing indicated that it was populated. She wiped her brow and made her way to the first cluster of trees, her goal clear. 

Exactly as she’d expected, she’d been jogging for about thirty minutes when she reached the small and roughly built stone structure in the middle of a forested patch of earth. She breathed through the claustrophobia as she ducked under the hastily constructed doorway and smelled the moss and moisture in the air. She counted her breaths as she went further into the small and derelict building and eventually had to crouch on all fours, crawling to find a stone pit in the centre of the space. 

It was dark and musky but she started touching the walls frantically, trying to find the opening that she wanted. Her book had been precise in this description and nothing else; 

An isle of day and night, 

Calls to it a singers light, 

The walls of doom shan’t hold it long, 

It yearns to share its death song. 

Deep within the forests and glades, 

It slumbers for an age, 

The stone walls ancient and dank, 

Beneath lies a power never sank. 

Gwyn started digging into the ground, this had to be the place. After a few minutes, her fingernails caked with mud, her arms covered in scratches from the rocks - she realised that there was nothing to show for it. She sat on her haunches, frustrated and confused and suddenly keenly aware that she’d been gone for a long while and The Shadowsinger would be fuming when he realised it. 

Perhaps it was time for her to come clean and explain to him everything she’d discovered and theorised. There was no room to turn amongst the constricted stone walls, so she crawled backwards instead, sensing a deep foreboding at being in this ancient and mysterious place for too long. 

Her breath caught as she saw shadows dance across her vision, spreading out across the dark walls before a powerful stab in her chest had her gripping the leather covering it. Squinting through the pain, she shook her head and continued to slowly make her way backwards through the stone passages. She felt the air clear ever so slightly when her foot touched grass behind her, but lurched forward when a set of hands grabbed her by her heels.

A blood-curdling scream left her lips as she was yanked from the ground, coming face to face with a snarling fae. He lifted a stone from the ruins and hit her across the head before her world turned black.

Chapter Text

Gwyn woke with a splitting headache and burning forearms. She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering what happened and cursing herself for her own recklessness. 

The vomit-inducing throb she felt in her temple when she turned her head ever so slightly was enough to release a low groan from the back of her throat. She was flush against a dank cave wall, her hands shackled in foul manacles in front of her that hurt the skin on her arms and wrists with their weight and vile magic. She sniffed audibly, amongst the scent of her own blood, she could also scent sandalwood, cinnamon and something akin to crackling embers - something about that felt familiar to her. 

“Don’t make too many loud noises, otherwise they’ll know you are awake and it will just bring them down here.” A broken voice whispered near her. 

Turning her head again, this time she found Lucien Vanserra roughly propped up against a rock formation near a small rock pool in the cave. His hands were tied with the same chains as hers, but his were behind his back. His lifeblood was leaking onto the cave floor, his clothing ripped and his luminous hair matted. Her eyes travelled back to the pool of water behind him, she could have sworn she heard a soft whispering coming from its dark depths. 

“What happened?” She eventually whispered back, trying to feel for whatever room she had in her manacles. 

“It seems my father,” he spat the word venomously, “thinks I know something about the death sword, Narben.” 

She started, “Do you?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be battered and bleeding to death right now,” he snapped, before shaking his head in dismay then composing himself. “I’m guessing you’re here because the Shadowsinger figured out the sword is on this isle?” 

Gwyn bristled, “Actually, I figured that out.” 

Lucien regarded her with that whirring metal eye of his. Eventually he grimaced, “In which case, I’ll be honest with you - we’re in a dire situation.” Gwyn’s breath hitched in pain, but she forced herself to sit up and pay attention, to head his words. “This is the Autumn Court’s elite unit, my father trained them himself - they’re cold, ruthless killers. Somehow they’ve discovered that the sword is on this isle and have set up traps across the land, knowing the Night Court's spymaster would attempt to infiltrate the area. I’m sure the primary goal is the sword but if I know my father and his fears, he’ll want The Shadowsinger too - dead or alive.” 

Unbidden, a snarl left Gwyn’s mouth as she felt her insides heat in primal fear and ferociousness. Lucien barely blinked at her response, “I’ve been told you’re part river nymph?” 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” She frowned

“Your scent, it’s …” She tensed as he sniffed the air, but a loud disturbance cut him off and soldiers entered the mouth of the cave. 

There were at least twenty of them and every single one looked utterly lethal. Weapons adorned every inch of their tall, broad and muscled bodies. With their various shades of copper and brown colouring, most of them had scars that spoke of the brutal profession they excelled in. 

“Well well, little Lucien,” the biggest, and cruelest looking of them sneered as he came closer. “How do you like our new plaything?” He crouched low in front of Gwyn and her senses went into overdrive as he reached for her hair, which was matted with the blood from her headblow. She recoiled, snarling but his lip simply curled in cruel amusement, “She seems spirited, I wonder how quickly she’ll break.” 

Despite all the training, despite every moment she’d worked herself into a stupor to undo the damage of her past, everything went blank as Gwyn’s entire body seized up at his words. The vicious and visceral memories of Sangravah flooding her system; being trapped, abused, defiled. She couldn’t get air into her lungs, couldn’t see clearly, could only fall into a dark abyss as her body betrayed her completely. 

Chapter Text

Azriel had never seen his shadows act like this before. As his power and strength diminished, they had thinned considerably - yet they still moved like a hive of activity, swirling in new and dangerous ways as they beckoned him forward. 

He cursed every part of his miserable life for the situation he found himself in. Gwyn was in mortal danger and all Azriel could do was limp along the coast of the course isle as he followed his shadows, ash arrow splinters lodged in his wings and leg. 

He’d have thought that judging by the amount of near death blows he’d suffered over the years, the amount of times he’d been pierced by the poisonous arrows in every part of his body, that he’d have some sort of immunity to it by now. But that certainly wasn’t the case as he dragged his bleeding body to its destination, trying to reserve as much of his power, despite feeling the cloying poison coursing through his blood and bones. 

It had all happened so quickly. One second he’d been traversing the forested area as he took in the isle’s layout and limitations. The next, two ash arrows had been fired into his wings, followed by a third arrow, straight into his ankle, splintering painfully as it hit bone and lodged itself into his flesh. Only his primal instincts had fueled him as the two autumn court soldiers attacked at the same time. They each had a severed head and ripped open chest cavity to show for their efforts. 

Furious and weak, he did what he could to pull out both arrows but knew the damage had been done. He was grounded and now needed to figure out how he was going to get back to Gwyn without his shadow walking or his wings. 

He’d been dragging his weight out of the forest when he felt a tidal wave of sickness wash over him seconds before a scream ripped through the air. His world stood still for a moment, then his chest caved in at the realisation - Gwyn was in danger.  

The shadows kept sentinel over him but continued to, as best they could without being discovered, seek Gwyn out as the Autumn Court units took her to their camp in the mountainous caves at the other end of the Isle. They’d moved with practised efficiency and Azriel had started the ritual of imagining how he would rip each and every one of them apart if Gwyn was harmed. It became a silent and deadly prayer he repeated with each horrifically painful step he took to their location. 

He just hoped he’d have the strength to carry out his threats when eventually he did find them. Because he would find them. He would drag his dying body through Hel itself and make another deal with the demons of the underworld to get back to Gwyn.  

Chapter Text

The sound of screaming woke Gwyn, her face bleeding from the impact of hitting the cold, stone floor. She kept her eyes squeezed shut as she recalibrated herself, quietly raging for losing her own internal battle and succumbing to the fear of her past. She willed her new and trained steeliness to take over her senses, but still flinched at the sound of a whip as it flew through the air, another roar of pain following in its wake. 

“Ah, she awakes,” Gwyn felt cruel hands grab her body roughly again, pulling her to her feet and shoving her against the cold cave wall. The fae that sneered in her face was different to the one from before, but no less terrifying. But this time she refused to show her fear, forcing herself to stay deathly quiet as she looked behind his head. Lucien’s body sagged in a puddle of his own blood as it dripped into the cave's whispering pool, the whip that had flayed his back still clutched in the commander's deadly hands. 

“Let’s see if this makes you remember anything, little Lucien,” The fae holding Gwyn flung her towards Lucien and she barrelled into his brutally damaged body. He barely made a sound at the impact, but Gwyn shoved onto her knees, ignoring the pain and reaching her manacled hands to his face. There was barely a glimmer of life behind that russet eye of his but she pressed her body against his as she whispered, “We’re going to get out of this.”

The leader of the unit cackled maniacally, “We wondered why your scents were similar…is this a secret lover perhaps? A side piece from your abomination of a mate?” Gwyn saw the ripple on the water of the pool as Lucien's fury shook the cave, despite his injuries and the magic suppressing manacles. Gwyn focused on holding him as still as possible for the little time she had. But inevitably, the leader returned, seizing her body before he started to rip at her leathers. 

It took every ounce of her control not to lash out, instead she forced her mind to detach from her body at the sensation, at how it reignited the traumatic memories again. She heard another roar and Lucien leapt from his pool of blood, knocking the soldier ripping at Gwyn aside. 

“No,” he snarled viciously. “Not her. Only me!” 

There was a chorus of sadistic laughter as the soldiers watched. Gwyn spotted one of them casually handling the daggers Azriel had gifted her, her thigh holster with the other ones hung causally on his belt.  She wanted to scream at the sight of his vile hands touching her hard-earned steel. The leader simply shook his head as he approached her again, tutting, “Oh Lucien, that’s not how this works. Why give up the opportunity to enjoy the screams of this fiery angel, just so you can play hero?” He yanked Gwyn up by her ponytail, the pain searing through her. Then she spotted it, the lone shadow shifting weakly against the dark walls of the cave. 

“Wait!” Gwyn screamed as he went to rip at her leather jerkin again, “Wait.” Her fingers felt slick as she gripped them together beneath the manacles, her whole body shaking with the effort of fighting against the fear. She looked at Lucien, heaving against the soldier and it dawned on her. Casting a cursory glance at the pool again, the idea took root. She allowed herself one last desperate look at the shadow, hoping it meant Azriel was ok - but realising with another wave of sickness that the shadow looked different somehow, and if he hadn’t come yet - the chances were that he wasn’t ok. Which meant she would need to get herself and Lucien out first before she could go find him. Because she would find him - she’d find him and tell him everything. 

She cast a nervous glance at the soldiers surrounding them, 20 against two - she didn’t even think Azriel and Cassian would like those odds. But if her body couldn’t get her out of this one, perhaps her brain could. She rolled her wrists, grateful none of her long fingers were broken. 

“You’ve been torturing him for hours and you’ve got nothing, correct?” She pushed herself away from the vile commander as she talked, hoping they were distracted. 

“We have no doubt Little Lucien can handle a few more, choice ministrations. Perhaps something a little darker, a little more lethal - as inspired by the sadistic Shadowsinger of the Night Court? My other unit has him now, perhaps we can try out some of his techniques on him when they arrive…” He pulled out a hooked scalpel from his belt and Gwyn nearly passed out at both the sickening weapon and the information.  

“He won’t tell you anything because he doesn’t know, you big idiot.” Gwyn spat, she was sick of these disgusting males. Before they could punish her for her sharp words, she lifted her chin, “But I do.” 

Chapter Text

Azriel could hardly breath through the pain. But he forced his bloodshot eyes to remain open as he lowered his wings into the ocean, hoping the sea water would help wash away the poison. It was moments like this when he missed his brothers. Cassian’s raw strength coupled with his ability to find a positive outlook in even the most dire situations and Rhys’s power that could always shift the tide - not to mention his cunning in knowing exactly when to unleash it. 

He felt a shift in the air and reached for the sword strapped to his spine as another Autumn Court fae appeared in front of him. Not just any Autumn Court fae, he realised with bittersweet relief - but Eris Vanserra stood before him, his battle leathers crisp and clean. 

“I hear my elusive baby brother is being tortured to death …yet here I find you bathing in the waters of the Arrynth Isles. Really, do they not teach you anything of urgency in the Illyrian War Camps?” He drawled, crossing his arms as he watched Azriel sheath his sword.

“How?” Azriel groaned, sinking ever so slightly back into the water. 

Eris stepped cautiously towards him, as though testing to see if Azriel would recoil. “I’ve been trying to figure out for weeks what my father is up to and only managed to piece some things together this week when I overheard one of the soldiers boasting of the elite unit being cloaked at these Isles.” He helped pull Azriel out of the lapping waters and crouched down to look at his leg where the arrow had pierced his armour. “Then earlier today, something felt off. The Forest House was deathly quiet, so I checked in with Rhysand through your spy contact and learned that Lucien had been taken from Dawn.” He touched Azriel’s leg and snarled at the vile smell of the arrow's magic. “I put two and two together to arrive here, your scent was easy enough to follow - you’ve left a trail of blood as far as the eye can see.”   

He stood before casting a look at Azriel’s wings, which hung limply behind him. “I can’t heal your injuries, but I can take you back?” Azriel shook his head violently, the motion dizzying. 

“Can’t,” he ground out. “I have a soldier in there.” 

Eris regarded him for a beat longer than he liked, taking in his pained expression, the rapidly thinning shadows as his power ebbed away, the grim determination pulling at his mouth, “I’m assuming you have a plan?” 

Chapter Text

‘I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me.’  

Gwyn repeated the mantra silently to herself as the repulsive soldiers watched her stand in Lucien’s blood by the silent pool. She had no idea whether this plan was going to work or not, but perhaps it would buy them time as she worked to unlock the manacles with a pin she’d pulled from Lucien’s jerkin earlier. Unsurprisingly, the unit commander had refused to unlock her chains, as she’d originally appealed. 

“I’ve heard stories about the females the Night Court has been training… I don’t know whether you’re one of them but you’ll stay shackled for the rest of your life, if I have it my way,” he’d sneered, pulling the manacles violently to move her. She’d felt a burst of pride at the fact that other Courts knew about the Valkyries. She knew then and there she would do whatever it took to get herself out of the chains, even if it meant breaking her own wrists to do so. Fortunately for her, the commander wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. He’d still shackled her hands in front of her, after all, not behind as he had with Lucien’s… 

She took great gulps of air, filling her lungs as she sensed the whispering in the pool again. She gave the lone shadow, which somehow looked slightly thicker now, one last shallow nod hoping it understood, then plunged into the pool. 

The moment she hit the cold waters, she knew her hunch had been right. The whispering she’d experienced around the pool was far more intense below the surface. Gwyn kicked clumsily as she tried to swim further away so the Autumn Court soldiers couldn’t see as she managed to unlock her manacles. She was glad for the trick Azriel had taught her during one of their defensive sessions. 

“You’ve shown me how to fight my way out of difficult situations when I’m fully armed or able - but what about if I’m not? What if I’m tied up? Shackled?” She’d asked cautiously. Though she had never been chained when Sangravah was sacked, she knew it was an occupational hazard for any soldier. 

He’d given her a curious look in return, “Manacles, chains, shackles …. Don’t ever let them deter you. Once you know how they work, they’ll never hold power over you again.” He’d shrugged. Her breath had hitched. 

“Show me?” She breathed, offering her wrists. His brow had curved sensuously, his eyes glazing over. 

“As you command, Priestess.” 

Gwyn almost smiled at the memory, remembering how he had been right. Just a simple flick of the wrists with a small tool of any sort - a pin, a dagger, even a thin branch - and a lock would spring open. She felt the satisfying click of the mechanism unlocking now and let the chains fall. She rubbed her wrists and felt her own power slowly bloom back into her blood. 

Once free, she closed her eyes and listened - hearing not only whispers in the waters, but something akin to a song. A lament of the wider ocean that drew her in. Its ethereal voice spoke in language she couldn’t understand, but could sense deep within her bones. 

The further she swam into the seemingly endless pool, the more convinced she was of the ancient magic that surrounded the place. An infinite amount of space and water surrounded her and she had to focus on keeping her heart rate steady, to not get overwhelmed with the vastness of it all. 

She’d been gifted with superior lungs and could hold her breath excellently underwater, much longer than was considered normal, but even her nymph ancestry was starting to ebb, her chest constricting. She knew she’d need to get up for air soon, or risk not making it in time. It was then that she saw it, a glimmer in the dark waters that had her turning slowly to inspect. 

A scream rippled out, bubbling out of her as a set of strong arms engulfed her, pulling her roughly against a powerful and scaled body. A melodic voice whispered into the ether, ‘Daughter of Fire and Water, what strange powers you have.’ 

Her eyes burned as she beheld a glittering and terrifying green siren with hair of onyx gliding in the shadowed waters, holding an immense long sword. ‘You’re looking for this?’ The voice echoed again, its pitch practically symphonic. Gwyn struggled against the solid body at her back, and could feel the power in the fin that kept it upright. She didn’t know how to speak, thought she may pass out from fear and lack of air. Concentrating on the siren in front of her, she tried to push her own voice out into the watery cavern, ‘I’m Gwyneth Berdara and I need your help.’ She would do anything to get away from these soldiers and to find Azriel, even if it meant allying with sirens. 

‘ You shall not have it,’ the siren sneered, the sound like a dropped key in a beautiful piano arrangement. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at the deadly creature before her. 

‘Then give me the sword so I may protect myself and save my friends,’ she felt a surge of her own powers as her temper flared, her will overpowering her fear. The siren looked shocked for a moment before gazing down at the sword in her hand. 

‘The ancestors spoke of a daughter of two worlds coming for it one day.’ Its voice almost sounded sad as the words were sung. ‘A daughter with fire and light, water and darkness, song and shadows. A warrior to walk across the worlds.’ The proclamations grew in tenor as the siren pushed the sword up, light from somewhere unknown casting a glow around the space they were in. Gwyn wanted to pass out from the ecstasy of hearing its ethereal song. 

Instead, she steeled herself. ‘I don’t claim to be that daughter, but I will do whatever is in my power to protect the sword, respect its power and fear its wrath.’ She held firm with what remained of her strength. The siren restraining her seemed satisfied that she’d no longer be a threat and let her go, swimming over to the one with the sword and standing sentinel. This one had scaled skin of a blueish grey and hair a flowing copper - like Gwyn’s. They continued to regard her carefully. 

‘This is death. This is destruction. It comes at a great price.’ 

Chapter Text

“Now!” Azriel gave the signal and Eris threw his power into creating a ball of flame that he launched into the cave, shouts of alarm following in its wake. 

Azriel’s shadows leapt into action, sweeping into the dark space to find the weakest targets for Azriel to overpower as Eris winnowed. 

He used what remained of his powers, his strength, his life’s purpose to become the Shadow of Death again. Cruel, ruthless and hungry for retribution. He launched himself into the cave, using every ounce of his skill to injure, maim or kill. Trusting, despite his better judgement, that Eris was winnowing in behind him, watching his back and taking care of any he didn’t see coming. His shadows had been instructed to cast a dark veil over Eris’ face. They had to be careful, the soldiers couldn’t know Eris was here to aid The Night Court. The allyship couldn’t get back to Beron. 

He saw Lucien facedown in his own blood, his back ravaged from the torturous whip. He could scent Gwyn too, but thanks to her awareness of his shadows, she’d been clever in signalling to him when was best to attack. 

Six soldiers lay dead around him when he felt the first direct hit, a slice to the back of his thigh. He snarled and lashed out, ripping the perpetrator’s throat out in response. There was a commotion and Azriel whirled to see a soldier lift Lucien’s limp body as he pushed one of Gwyn’s daggers against his throat. “Stop, or the Night Court loses its pathetic emissary.” 

Azriel was about to launch himself at the soldier, to cut off the hands that were tainting Gwyn’s daggers, when there was a thunderous crack and the cave floor rumbled. The soldiers formed a defensive semi-circle around their commander, forcing Azriel closer to the pool, his back to the water. There was a ripple behind him and he nearly collapsed when he realised what was happening. 

The tip of the sword emerged first, its razor sharp edge glimmering. Power thrummed through the cave as the rest of the mighty steel was revealed from the dark waters, held by a blood soaked hand. There was light radiating from the hilt, casting a rippling effect around the cave. The world tilted on its axis as he beheld Gwyn surfacing, her eyes shining with light and purpose as she gracefully appeared from the waters, a warrior goddess personified.  

Azriel wanted to hurl himself at her and get out of there immediately - soldiers and Lucien and death swords be damned. But he didn’t have the power required to do that and there wasn’t even time, because the moment the soldiers realised she held Narben, they sprang into action and all Azriel could do was be the shield to her sword.  

He flung his bloodied hand out to her and felt a rush of deadly power surge through him as she gripped it back. Instinct and adrenaline spurred them into action and they moved as one, going back to back to defend each other against the incoming assault. He felt Gwyn’s crackling energy as she lifted Narben and struck her first blow. The sword sung its death song and the attacking soldier disintegrated before their eyes. 

The remaining soldiers faltered at the show of power, and Azriel’s shadows used the distraction to surge towards the one gripping Lucien, blinding him momentarily before Eris winnowed behind his back, plunging his sword through the soldier’s neck and swiftly winnowing away before anyone could see. 

With normal weapons, Gwyn had been a fearless and ferocious fighter. With Narben, she was practically unstoppable. He felt her swing ruthlessly behind him, with two more attacking soldiers falling prey to her skill with the legendary blade. A third however, got too close and he felt her tire, the momentary distraction of looking at her as she pierced another soldier’s chest, cost him. A dagger sung through the air piercing Azriel’s arm. As he tried to dodge a second, it ricocheted off his armour and sliced the side of Gwyn’s neck. The sound of her gasp unhinged him. He flung Truth Teller furiously, hitting the soldier square in the face, blood splaying. Gwyn’s previously fluid movements weakened as a result and Azriel could feel the pool of blood beneath them grow as his own injuries continued to drain the life from him. 

He turned to help her, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge the next hit as a soldier barrelled into him and they wrestled to the floor, his wings splaying as the rocky ground cut at him. Another soldier joined the fray and Azriel fought savagely to find an opening but his injuries were too severe, his movements slow and clumsy. 

Eris timed his execution perfectly, winnowing from the roof of the cave onto the soldier’s back as he slit his throat from behind, the blood spraying over Azriel.  Eris disappeared again in the next blink. Azriel fought to see as the second soldier pinned him down, his huge body looming as he lifted his own knife with deadly promise. He didn’t even have time to see the last five centuries flash before his eyes because there was a scream and a burst of light as Narben sliced through the soldier’s chest, his body disintegrating into the air.

Gwyn fell to her knees at his side, “No!” She was frantic as she took in all the blood coating him, tears mingling with blood on her perfect face. Her movements were erratic as she reached towards his brow, sweeping her fingers over it, her eyes glued to his as she mouthed something. Perhaps the blood loss had finally caught up with him because he could hardly hear her and didn’t even have time to reach out and reassure her, to check her injuries, because a flash of movement drew his attention and another soldier raised his long sword directly above Gwyn’s head, readying for the death blow. 

Chapter Text

One second she was taking in Azriel’s bloodied body and face, still gripping onto Narben’s hilt as she reached to help him. The next, he’d pulled her down then twisted violently. Horrorstruck, she realised what he had done as she saw the tip of a sword pierce through his chest, dripping with his blood. His bright eyes looked down slowly, as though surprised to see it there.  

The world stopped - this one, the next, and every other one in existence and Gwyn’s soul felt like it had been ripped into shreds, her soul cleaving in two just as she let out an earth-shattering scream. Blinding light seared across the entire cave and she lurched forward, swiping furiously at the commander who still loomed over them.

He stepped away easily, letting go of the sword still lodged in Azriel’s back and chest. Whipping out two daggers, he pointed them at her with a sadistic tilt of his mouth. Gwyn detonated. She had fought for her life multiple times in the last few months but this felt different. This felt good, like she could kill this male over and over again and still want to keep going. She’d never felt this level of primal rage, pain and longing, sickness and fear. She needed to end him, immediately. Needed to get back to Azriel. 

“You’re dead,” she snarled, pointing Narben at him one last time as she threw herself forward, dropping to the ground and using the blood coating the floor to skid toward him, swiping at his midsection. She flung her head backwards, ducking as his daggers came flying towards her. One second she was millimeters from being hit, the next she was in darkness and heat and back at the edge of the cave as a male with shadows over his face gripped onto her. 

She saw the commander's body disappear where Narben had sliced clean through him, saw a dozen bodies litter the floor around him. She shoved the male that had winnowed her away and pointed Narben at him, readying to attack but the shadows cleared and revealed a sharp-looking, tall and lean Autumn Court male with bright amber eyes. He put his hands up, “I’m not your enemy!” 

She didn’t give it a second thought as the sound of Azriel’s body falling snapped her back to this harrowing reality. She flew to his side with his shadows, letting go of Narben as she scooped his immense weight to her, “No no, please no!” Gwyn frantically tried to find her invoking stone as she held onto him, pressing his solid body to her own. He was covered in blood and fatal wounds, the sword still embedded in him. 

“Gwyn,” he coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. He lifted his hand weekly to her hair then to her face, his eyes shuttering. “You need to go,” he coughed again and she felt every reverberation in her own body. “There will be more…” 

“I’m not leaving you, I’m not leaving you, NO!” She cried, holding him tighter.

“It's ok. This is what I was meant for,” his voice… his beautiful rich voice was so broken, so weak. 

“No!” She clung to him, her tears dripping onto his blood-soaked face, rivulets of her terror marking the beautiful lines of him. “No, you were meant for more! To live and laugh and love and sing ! You were supposed to sing for me, remember? She broke down completely, sobs racking through her aching, injured body. 

He reached for the ribbon at her brow, his touch featherlight. It was then that she heard it, a whisper in the wind, a song in her soul. 

Sing, Priestess. Sing… 

Startled, she looked at the pool. But no, this whispering felt different, was different. She looked around, no one was in the cave anymore, the other male was gone - he must have taken Lucien too. There was no siren at the pool either - nobody but the destroyed bodies all around them. 

You. Must. Sing. 

Then, she felt them. The shadows that usually wreathed Azriel’s form were sitting on her shoulders, weak and nearly completely transparent - yet somehow, she could hear them. 

She choked, looking down at Azriel’s closed eyes, hearing the rapid slowing of his heartbeat. She wanted to scream again, wanted to scream and cry and rage at the world for daring to take this extraordinary male from her. But instead, she headed their words, choosing a song of ancient power. One full of Magic, Destiny, Love. 

Her shaky voice weaved the words as best she could between the sobs, stroking Azriel’s dark hair. As she sang, she felt a wind around her, looking up in shock as a vortex of darkness encircled them. She reached for Narben, gripping its hilt as she realised what was happening. Willing more power into her voice, more range and depth and volume - she recited the most ancient words within the song and thought of Velaris. Thought of home.  

She found herself in a rush of wind, darkness, light and heat, then they were falling, dropping to the earth, the soft blades of grass cushioning their broken bodies. She looked up at the clear blue sky - then started to scream. 

It was a scream that could cleave the universe in two. She felt the rip in the very fibre of her soul as she looked down at Azriel’s unconscious form, his heartbeat…she couldn’t feel his heartbeat….

She barely heard the shouts. Barely registered the strong hands grasping her body. She could just about sense the movement as they tried to pull Azriel from her but throughout it, she screamed and screamed. 

A pair of grey-blue eyes looked into hers and darkness swallowed her whole. 

Chapter Text

Welcome, Singer

It took you long enough, Singer 

Don’t do that again, Singer  

Azriel squeezed his eyes tightly, grimacing at the lightning strike of pain shooting from his temples down his spine, through his legs and even down to his toes. 

Upon opening them, he was nearly blinded by the light in the room, his shadows moved quickly to cast soothing darkness around him again. 

He took a breath. Was he dead? Did death feel this painful even after you died? He tried to recall what would have killed him - and nearly lurched forward from the memories rushing through his mind's eye - Gwyn! 

No no, Singer - stay calm! 

The Priestess, she sleeps…  

His shadows motioned and his heart stuttered. Breathing in deeply, he let her scent wash over him as he took in Gwyn’s sleeping form. Her arm draped over his chest, her hair strewn over the pillow next to his and her face nuzzled into his upper arm. Now that he thought about it, he could even feel her toes under the duvet, pushed up against his calves. 

They had to be in the River House, had to have made it back safely somehow…perhaps Eris helped? Had Lucien been rescued? Would he recover? How many days had it been? Did they find and save Elain? Had Gwyn told them about Narben and the Autumn Court soldiers or… 

Breathe, Singer. Breathe…

The answers will be yours shortly, for now - enjoy the time to rest and recover. 

We certainly have 

The Priestess will help you

The realisation came crashing in on him - he didn’t care about Lucien or the Autumn Court soldiers, didn’t care about Elain or Narben or any of it… all he cared about was that Gwyn was safe. She was here, with him and they were alive. All he cared about was that he could feel every soft exhale from her perfect mouth, could feel the weight of her arm, holding him not painfully but protectively, could feel her presence more than just physically - but in his very soul. It sung to him, much like he did for his shadows and they did for him. 

Her eyes fluttered open as though she could hear everything rushing through his mind. She looked up and upon realising he was awake, her eyes went as wide as the moon. 

Before she could move or even utter a single word, he moved his arm and gripped her hand on his chest. “There’s something I need to tell you…” His voice sounded hoarse and he felt her go deathly still as she waited, her eyes shining with a trepidation he’d not seen before. “Your feet are criminally cold,” he whispered, raising his brow. 

The smile he was granted in return breathed life back into every part of his body and soul. She moved quickly, sitting up and engulfing him a crushing hug. He groaned at the pain and she pulled back, grimacing in apology before giving him a long, considered look. 

They both spoke at the same time; 

“I’m sorry,” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Gwyn let out a breath of amusement, “You don’t say those words often, do you Shadowsinger?” 

He offered her a smirk back. “Only in life and death situations,” he conceded. 

“We never should have left each other,” she lay her head on his shoulder and he surprised himself by instinctively kissing her on the head. Blinking at the memories, he breathed in her scent - ginger lily, lotus flower and crackling fire - the essence of Gwyneth Berdara. 

“I know,” he admitted. 

She let out a long breath as she trailed soft and reassuring strokes on his marred hands, all the way to his fingertips. He could watch her do that all day, and the thought disorientated him completely. 

“I’m sorry for going against your orders, and for not telling you everything I knew…” she whispered. 

“I imagine you know a lot more than you let on most of the time.” She merely blinked up at him. He took in her silence, reaching forward to cup her cheek, “Fortunately, I am a very patient male with a penchant for mysteries and riddles.” 

She smiled again and nuzzled into his neck. He manoeuvred himself to be able to hug her properly, to hold her even closer. 

“Out cold for nearly a week and the first thing you do is cuddle ?” Azriel looked up to see Cassian standing in the doorway. “Who even are you?” he jested, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling broadly. 

They managed to help him sit up properly in the bed, his shadows thinning once they’d established he was safe. Madja had revived him from the brink of death, he’d been told. For five days and five nights, they weren’t sure which way he was going to go. His wings still burned with the magic that was filtering through his system, rinsing out the poisons. 

They’d managed to rescue Elain too, but only in body. She’d been found unconscious in a cave off the coast of the Dawn Court - her and Lucien had both been kidnapped by Autumn Court soldiers before they left Elain and took Lucien to the Isle of Arrynth. They hadn’t been able to revive her yet, both Madja and Amren were flummoxed by the magic at play. Eris had winnowed Lucien back to The Court of Nightmares, where Rhys and Feyre were able to help get him back to The River House before his condition could get worse. Nesta and Cassian had returned from the Winter Court when Nesta’s bracelet alerted her that something was wrong - they’d arrived moments before Gwyn and Azriel had appeared, bloodied and dying. 

“Gwyn stayed by your side the whole time, helping Madja when she could with the wounds by singing to you. She literally sang all day, Madja encouraged her to. She said your shadows seemed to like it and that would give you strength?” Cassian probed as he, Rhys and Azriel sat together. Gwyn had gone to freshen up and have some lunch with the females and promised she’d be back once he’d caught up with his brothers. Azriel took another soothing gulp of the healing tea Gwyn had pushed into his hands as she left. 

“And now we have Narben?” Azriel asked in a flat tone. Rhys’s magic rumbled dangerously, the light in his eyes glinting with wrath.

“It was too great a cost…that sword wasn’t worth more than your life, Brother.” He shook his head angrily. 

Azriel chose not to reply.

Cassian stroked the beard on his chin, “Fate works in strange ways. The death sword choosing a sworn Priestess?” 

Azriel felt his chest light in pride, “No, it was the Priestess and Valkyrie that chose the sword.” 

Rhys’s power rumbled at his words, “But at what price?” He ran a hand through his jet black hair. Azriel had considered it too, the target Gwyn would now become because of it - his blood boiled at the thought. “My home has been a makeshift medical unit for the last week, trying to revive Elain, helping Lucien's considerable wounds heal, trying to bring you back to life…all for another stupid sword.” Rhys was losing his temper and Azriel understood why. The power seekers in this world would target the Night Court for all its newfound treasures. The trove, Nesta’s Made weapons, the ancient death sword, Azriel’s dagger…

Rhys clocked Azriel’s agitation, “Eris has Truth Teller.” Azriel bristled but Rhys continued smoothly, “He says he has some questions for you so will keep it until you’re ready to answer them.” 

Cassian’s wings flared slightly, “I’ve never seen you that close to the brink before. I knew it had to be bad for you to accept Eris’s help.” 

Azriel levelled him a flat stare, “Gwyn’s life was at risk, I would do it again if I needed to. If it meant saving her.” 

Cassian leaned forward earnestly, his deep hazel eyes shining as he put a strong hand on Azriel’s shoulder, “Then, I think it’s time you started spouting that poetry, Brother.” 

Chapter Text

Gwyn noticed the delicate smell of the Sidra first, then spotted the net curtains blowing gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors. Azriel wasn’t in bed - where she’d left him this morning but the room looked tidier, as though he’d managed to get out of bed and somehow clean up after all of them, straightening his things again - as impeccably fastidious as she expected him to be. 

Gwyn had learnt that all of the River House bedrooms had been decorated to suit each member of the Inner Court’s personal tastes. This one has been dedicated to Azriel and considering Gwyn had hardly left his side for the last few days, she now felt at home in its plush navy and dark wood setting. The bed was monstrously big, as they all were - given the Illyrians themselves were all built like small houses. Yet it wasn’t the bed that had enthralled Gwyn one evening as she sat with an unconscious Azriel, humming to him as his shadows swirled around them - but the large bookshelf littered with more spy novels. She’d already read two in the time that she’d waited for him to wake up, sometimes choosing to talk to him about what her theories were for the plot twists. She could have sworn his shadows’ movements gave away the ending to one - their approval clear. 

She hadn't heard their whispering in her head again since they’d arrived back, since his life and strength had returned. But whatever magic they possessed, whatever trust she’d earned through them - she was grateful for it. Grateful that they had brought them both back to safety and had lent their support throughout the exhausting healing process too. 

She noticed one of the stray shadows by the net curtains and walked slowly towards it, stepping out into the open air of the balcony. With the early twilight colours sparkling above them, she was greeted by the sight of his immense wingspan, taking up nearly the entire balcony space. 

“Oh!” she sighed willfully, aching to touch their membranous skin again. He looked over his shirtless torso at her, raising a brow at her response. She blushed furiously, he knew exactly what she was thinking - the pompous bat. He was showing off to her, like a damn peacock! She rolled her eyes, “I see someone is feeling better.” She hoped her voice didn't sound as flustered as she felt. 

He rewarded her with a gorgeous grin, reaching for her as he tucked his wings in and turned, giving her the full show of his perfectly sculpted torso. She had to force herself not to stare longingly at the chiselled muscles of his abdomen and that delicious V of his muscles, barely covered by his dark, relaxed sleeping shorts. She swallowed, her heart racing. His golden brown skin almost looked healthy again - the wounds nearly completely healed, except for the wicked inch-long exit wound from the sword that had been centimeters from piercing his heart and ending him completely. Her lust simmered down at seeing it, she hesitated only for a second, then reached her hand forward to touch it, looking at him for permission, which he gave with a shallow nod. 

She shucked in a breath as her fingertips met the marbled skin that would be the only reminder of his near-death decision that saved her life. Tears suddenly pricked behind her eyes as the vivid memories came crashing in. 

“No no,” he hushed, his shadows swirling at the musicality of it. He pulled her towards him, wrapping his arm around her as he used his forefinger to catch the tear.

“I…” She looked into his hazel eyes and didn't know where to begin. She wanted to tell him about the Sirens and the death sword, her theories and fears. She wanted to tell him he was an idiot for risking his life for her like that. She wanted to tell him that she’d lost the beautiful daggers he’d gifted her. She wanted to tell him that she was still scared and worried about what claiming Narben would mean for her… but mostly she wanted to tell him how she felt about him. She’d promised herself, when she was captured - that she would tell him everything. But he simply put his finger on her lips, running a scarred finger along the seam of her mouth in a sensual stroke. 

“Tonight,” he started, his eyes roving over her face as he took her in, “May I speak first?” She nodded, at least that gave her time to recalibrate as she let his scent ground her. 

He continued holding her tightly, but not restrictively - somehow still understanding her needs. He watched her carefully but said nothing - perhaps he had just as much to say as she did and also didn’t know where to begin? “Azriel?” she tried, cocking her head, a strand of hair unhooking from behind her ear. The movement seemed to pull him out of his reverie. 

“I have no idea what I'm doing, Priestess,” he mumbled, running the piece of hair between his fingers, her toes curling at the sensation. She looked from his bright eyes to his sensuous mouth and back again. “When I knew they’d taken you and I couldn't get to you…” His whole body held the tension of his voice, his shadows darkening as she spied the true terror behind them. “I have never felt that level of fear before…” he whispered, his eyes roving over her face. “When I knew of every terrible and vile thing that could be happening to you…” he clenched his jaw and she saw the muscle feather beneath the surface, his shadows looming ominously. Her heart stuttered at the memories, at how close she’d been to having that happen to her, yet again. She took a breath, closed her eyes, repeating her mantra to herself for a second then focusing on him again. His eyes were blazing as he whispered, “I made a mistake leaving you alone. I made a mistake not trusting your skill or your powers enough. I am sorry.” 

She reached her hand from his chest, where it had been resting over the wound above his heart and up to his jawline, cupping his face. “I understand why you did it. I understand you .” 

He closed his eyes, gripping her tighter. “I have no idea what I’m doing,” she could feel the insecurity behind the words. He opened his eyes to reveal the deep hazel colour shining brightly as he said the words she’d been longing to hear for weeks, months - maybe even years, “But I’d like to try. I’d like to try and learn - with you, Gwyneth Berdara.” 

Her heart soared at his words, at how he leaned down and kissed her. It was a kiss that Gwyn had dreamt of since the moment their lips had last touched. A kiss that sealed their fate - insistent, powerful, claiming. Gwyn let her lips say everything she felt in her heart, letting herself be swallowed whole by his intensity; his fear and desire, his protectiveness and patience, his depth and his darkness. 

He moved his hands from her waist and wrapped them around her back as she pushed herself closer to him, needing to feel more of him against her, to remind herself he was here, whole and safe. In return, she put her hand across the back of his neck, feeling a power in being able to guide him towards her as her other hand found its way into his dark, softer than expected hair. She felt the rumble deep in his throat and her core lit at what it meant. They broke apart for less than a second before their lips crashed together again, tongues tasting where lips couldn’t.  Gwyn felt her feet lift off the floor as he pulled her up, her thighs circling around his waist as she continued to kiss him with a passion she had never felt before, a passion she never knew she’d be capable of. He moved then, the net curtains catching in her hair, then in the talons of his wings as he tried to walk them back into the room. A laugh bubbled out of her as they begrudgingly broke apart. Reaching behind his head, she ripped the netting away from his wings, her breath catching in her throat when she looked back down into his warm eyes, taking in the quiet earnestness of his gaze. She felt her own emotions reflected back in that gaze; fear and vulnerability blending with quiet encouragement - maybe even excitement - the need to love and be loved in return. It overwhelmed her completely, so she crashed her mouth to his again, holding him firmly by his muscular shoulders as she allowed herself the sublime honour of exploring him fully. 

He lowered her gently, her back finding the bed’s mattress as they continued to kiss each other fervently. She hooked her leg behind his thighs, needing to pull him closer and he surged forward, his hands leaning on the bed, framing her face, never once breaking away from her mouth. It was only when he lowered himself a bit more and she felt his erection against the top of her leg that her mind went blank, her entire body seizing up. 

She stopped kissing him immediately, her breath catching as her hands pushed against his chest and her nails dug into his skin - violently. Realisation flooded in and he jumped backwards, leaving her panting on the bed, cold and shaken where she’d been hot and wanting only moments ago. She squeezed her eyes shut, it was like training all over again. But this time… this time it hurt more. Because this time, she wanted him on top of her. Wanted his huge cock between her legs, wanted his power pushed up against hers, to feel every part of his living, breathing body working with hers. 

“Gwyn, I’m….” he started again and she shook her head, gripping her own head. 

“No, no, don't you dare say you’re sorry!” She took a breath and forced her eyes open, leaning up against her elbows as she looked at him sternly where he stood at the balcony doors again, dread lined every perfect line of his face. “This is not your fault,” she swallowed, reaching out her hand,  “I need you, please?”

His breathing was shallow, his steps unsure - but slowly, he returned to her. Instead of putting himself back in the position he’d previously returned to when they trained - so she could get used to him being on top - he got to his knees and took her hand, kissing it delicately as he searched her face, before pulling her down from the bed and twisting so she was in his lap. The whole movement had been slow and considered, and had only worked because he’d let her decide whether it would or not. She found herself straddling his hips, his back and wings up against the bed as he watched her intently. 

“I want to try too, Azriel.” She whispered, unable to resist the urge to run her hands through his dark hair again, watching his eyes close briefly at the sensation. “But please…” she swallowed, “don't say sorry again… not for this.” She rested her forehead against his, her breathing still unsteady, despite the change of position. 

He nodded, angling his head to kiss her neck, “Tell me what you would like, Priestess,” he mumbled between hot, utterly consuming kisses. She dropped her head back, giving him more access as her insides coiled with desire again. 

She tried to think straight, tried to imagine all the ways she’d read about in her books. She was terrified of seizing up again, terrified of causing hurt - she knew her trauma would affect him too. No matter how much she wanted to not give power to the past, it had happened and she had to learn how to work with it - through it. But equally, she didn’t know how this worked; someone with centuries worth of practice and skill versus someone with what she considered negative value in practice and skill. She echoed him shakily, “I have no idea what I'm doing…” 

He sat back, his eyes painfully gentle and full of understanding. When he did speak, it was in a voice she’d never heard before. Rich and deep, sultry and quietly confident - a voice reserved for the bedroom, she realised. 

“We are immortal. Powerful, strong, clever...” He lifted her hair from her shoulders, running a scarred finger from her neck up to the tip of her delicately arched ear, shivers following in its wake. “But once in a while… we take a hit.” She blinked, trying to ascertain where he was going with this. “When we get hit, although we’re still powerful and strong…”

She cut him off, “Don't forget clever!” she chimed, earning an amused raise of his brows. 

He leant forward, taking her earlobe in his sensuous mouth and nibbling gently, the sensation had her squirming. “Yes, Priestess - and clever…” she smiled at the whooping sensation in her stomach. “We need to recognise the time it will take to work through those injuries and past experiences - the ones that may have left a lasting impact - on both of us.” 

She understood then what he was trying to say. Not only did she have her own deep-rooted fear and trauma to work through, but he’d also been a witness to it. Had been there when her life was turned inside out - and probably didn’t quite know how to deal with now feeling desire for the female he’d seen go through that. She took a deep steadying breath, trying to calm her erratic heart. 

He must have understood, because he started to trail a featherlight, cooling touch from the tip of her ear, down her neck, along her jawline before running that marbled finger over her lips. “And to work on those things, it takes small, patient steps before we can overcome them completely...” He pulled closer, positioning her face to capture her lips with his own, his kiss fierce yet lingering - languid in a way that only someone who knew exactly how to kiss could be. As though he had to do it slowly, to remind himself she was here, with him. Breathless as he pulled back, she was keenly aware of every inch of where his skin touched hers, continuing to run that delicate touch from her lips to her collarbone before making its way gently to her chest. He held her gaze, as though seeking permission as he ran two fingers gently over her breast, the bud tightening in anticipation. “Do you agree?” 

Through hooded eyes, she considered him. What was the question? Her mind reeled, he’d done this on purpose - to distract her. It had worked, almost. “Small steps, ok,” she breathed, closing her eyes fully this time at the sensation of his finger circling her nipple now. Even through the rough spun cotton of the top she was wearing, the feeling was utterly glorious. But it seemed he wasn’t done, because he leaned forward a bit, his voice rumbling as he continued running his fingers across the lines of her body in a sensuous way. 

“Because, Priestess…when we eventually do climb that mountain together, I want to be able to taste every drop of you. I want you quivering with pleasure, crying out for more as I show you all the ways that I will worship you, body and soul.” 

Her mouth went dry at his words and she thought she may pass out with need. Forcing herself to blink, to see through the haze he’d conjured, she leaned forward and captured his lips in a searing kiss as she corrected him, “All the ways we can worship each other. ”

Chapter Text

“I was wondering when you’d notice that,” Azriel stroked the new, thin scar on Gwyn’s palm, frowning at it. 

He’d woken before dawn, as he was used to doing before his injuries had forced him into an unconscious healing state. He assumed Gwyn had slept with him the entire time that he’d been under Madja’s care, judging by how comfortable she seemed lying next to him right now. Yet it was still something he was trying to come to terms with - even though he’d been the one to ask her to stay last night. 

They’d spent hours talking into the night, running gentle, exploratory touches along each other's hands, face, chest and arms - his shadows cast a soothing darkness around them, cocooning them in the moment. He’d never allowed a female to do so much before. He’d always been the one who would dictate what they could do to him, how close they could be. Yet he’d never once considered telling Gwyn to stay her hand, to pull back. He’d felt like a glorified cat, practically purring at her touch and wanting - no, needing - her to continue. To know she was still there, and still with him. 

He had found himself talking to her about things he rarely told anyone. Trivial things, yet she seemed to take pleasure hearing about them. The spy novels he enjoyed, the names he’d given his daggers - even his favoured trees to spy from when on assignment. Then he listened, enraptured as she told him about the priestess acolytes she’d taught new songs to, told him of her favourite things to bake, the different cataloguing systems she’d adopted for books she read for work, and books she read for pleasure. 

The calmness he felt in her presence was so intoxicating that for the first time in centuries, he found himself naturally drifting into a peaceful slumber. Only to wake seconds later, when she moved - to leave the bed and him for the night. She stroked his hair soothingly, kissing his cheek and whispering, “Goodnight, Shadowsinger.” But he’d shaken his head, heavy as it was against the down pillows. 

“Stay?” He’d never asked someone that before. Never imagined it would be for a reason that didn’t result in sex. But with Gwyn, he knew the moment he let himself truly kiss her - that it was about more than sex. It was about living, breathing, being. She’d got back in bed, squirming adorably when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close, breathing in her scent. 

But now… now was the moment he wasn’t prepared for - waking up and facing the world. He wasn’t sure what that even looked like for someone like him. He’d carved a perfectly terrifying image for himself - death, danger and darkness. Yet somehow this female of light, life and kindness had completely bowled him over and had him begging for more. And he was terrified of letting the cruel, unfair and dangerous world into their space - to this new and precious thing he found himself completely at the mercy of. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He asked her quietly, shifting to look down where she lay by his side. 

She looked at the scar darkly, “I’d like to tell you all together.” 

They walked out onto the pavilion in The River House gardens an hour later, Gwyn’s hand tucked safely into the crook of his arm as he escorted her to breakfast with the rest of the group, who were already seated outside, waiting for them.

Mor flew at him first, her golden hair billowing as she ran to embrace him. “Don’t scare us like that again,” she admonished him, playfully whacking his arm. “Who’s going to help me escort Cassian off the dancefloor if you’re not around?” She winked at him and his shadows swayed with amusement as Cassian let out a long-suffering sigh. Mor rolled her eyes and Azriel’s heart stuttered at their exchange - at the comfort of it, the centuries of friendship and trust. 

He kissed her hand chastely, “Then I’m glad I can still provide such vital support to you.” She gave him a red-lipped smirk in return. Emerie gave him a warrior's nod in acknowledgement as Mor joined her at the table. Amren was seated there too, inclining her head quietly. If there was anyone that understood what he did, why he did it and how he felt now, it was Amren. But it was Feyre that approached next, Nyx in her arms. 

“Your nephew needs his uncle Az, now and always. Don’t forget that.” She passed Nyx to him and kissed Azriel’s cheek before she went and sat back down next to Amren. Azriel stroked Nyx’s midnight hair and earned a happy gargled response from his little nephew, who gazed up at him with those sparkling eyes. 

He felt Nesta’s approach and looked into those sharp eyes. Her face held its usual air of no-nonsense, but behind it he saw the vulnerability, the emotion she was trying to express, “Thank you - for giving yourself to saving my friend and sister,” she said quietly, taking Gwyn’s hand and squeezing it. Azriel knew that he needed no words with Nesta, knew she could see everything he felt already, but he bowed his head and admitted, “She saved me first.” Which earned a smug smile from Gwyn and a proud one from Nesta. 

He moved to sit down at the table with Gwyn, pulling out the chair for her whilst he still held Nyx, she gave him a shy smile and tickled Nyx’s foot sweetly as he settled in next to her. They all felt the change in the air as Rhys approached across the garden, with Helion in tow. 

“Shadowsinger,” Helion put his hand over his chest, “it warms me to know we haven’t lost your immense talent and beauty.” He winked and Azriel gave him a flat stare back. 

He means well, Singer 

His shadows were right. Helion had helped them, and was probably here for good reason - he should at least pretend to act gracious. 

Rhys clapped Azriel’s shoulder in greeting as he took a seat next to him, stroking Nyx’s hair before he steepled his fingers in front of his chin and looked at Gwyn expectedly. She took a small sip of water, straightened the front of her sage green day dress and looked to the group at large. 

“The Night Court is now in possession of the Death Sword, Narben,” she announced and a shiver ran through the group as Helion, Emerie, Nesta and Mor all looked shocked. Amren merely frowned - as though she’d guessed at it and now understood what all the fuss was about. Gwyn looked down at her fingers where they rested on her lap, Azriel noticed her shaking leg and put one steadying hand on her knee, her eyes snapped to his and he nodded softly. 

She gave a grim nod back before looking to Rhys, who conjured the sword from the pocket of darkness where he seemed to store a whole host of magical objects. The melodic whispers filled his senses as it twirled in the air before them, the light reflecting off its polished edges. Azriel felt the entire group recoil. 

“What is that?” Feyre held her stomach and her nose, a grimace on her face. Mor equally looked like she was about to throw up. Emerie had shuffled back from it, her knuckles white as she gripped the table. Amren and Cassian both seemed to sniff pointedly at it, a deep frown etched on their faces, whereas Nesta looked almost hungrily at it and Rhys watched her more keenly than the rest. 

Helion was the first to speak, “A sword that shows death to each. You’ll be reacting to the sight, smell, feel of death it conjures.” His eyes were alive, as though he wanted nothing more than to reach out and examine it, but his fingers held firm to the arms of the chair he sat in. Gwyn cast them all nervous looks, biting her bottom lip as she stood, walking slowly towards the weapon. Azriel kept a protective grip on Nyx, his shadows swirling to cast the babe in a protective darkness as he watched Gwyn stand next to the floating blade. 

“The stories say that Amarantha tried to claim the sword - and when it didn’t answer to her, she threw it in the ocean. Whether that bit is true or not is still unknown. But what is now known, is that it has since been held under custody by the sirens of the seas.” 

Helion let out a soft whistle but Gwyn’s voice continued to carry over the group, her gaze fixed on the glittering steel in front of her. “I heard them,” she moved closer and the whole group was on the edge of their seats as they watched her, transfixed. “The voices on the Isle…it’s as though they called to me. The sword it…” her voice was a whisper in the wind. “I had to agree…to save them. I just wanted to save them,” she mumbled the words to herself then grabbed the hilt of the sword and blinding light erupted all around them. Warmth spread over Azriel’s entire body, he held Nyx closely as he tried to see through the brightness, which retracted as quickly as it started, a soothing blanket of starry darkness taking over. 

When Rhys’s powers ebbed away and daylight streamed back in, they saw Gwyn standing at the head of the table, holding the glowing sword, her whole body illuminated. Azriel shifted, passing Nyx over to Feyre who took him gratefully, murmuring soft words as he restlessly struggled. Gwyn held Azriel’s gaze, watching him approach with trepidation in her eyes. He stopped less than a hand's breadth from her, feeling the power radiating off her - heat and light, energy and strength. His shadows were reaching towards her too, billowing in waves around his wings.

“Your powers,” Helion started, watching in awe, “You have siren blood?”  

She tore her gaze from Azriel’s and considered the High Lord, “I don’t know, but I had to… I had to make a vow.” She opened the palm that gripped the hilt of the sword, showing the group the hairline scar Azriel had examined just that morning. 

“What do you hear, Spymaster?” Amren’s clipped voice asked, her eyes devoid of emotion, hungry for information. 

Light, life, music and magic…

Azriel didn’t take his eyes off Gwyn, stepping closer, he took the fingers of her other hand, “Singing… I hear singing.” 

There was a beat of silence then Helion spoke again, “It seems as though the sword is bonded with you now, Gwyneth. You have made a vow to it, and it to you. Did the sirens give any warnings?” 

Gwyn looked back at the group, tears lining her eyes as she said in a terrified whisper, “They warned of eternal death and destruction, the end of our world should the sword be wielded by an unworthy soul. They warned of its power being forged by the gods and for the gods.” 

Silence cloaked the group like a second skin, no one moved or even breathed as they all turned the information and the warning over in their minds. Cassian was the first to let out a long breath. 

“Cauldron damn me, but they sound like a bunch of drama queens…” 

Mor punched Cassian in the arm and Amren scowled at him but despite it, everyone let out a collective breath, the tension dissipating somewhat. Azriel held on to Gwyn’s hand and she looked up at him with those crystal clear teal eyes, still shining with worry. 

“We’ll figure it out, Gwyn,” Rhys started, walking towards them as he observed the sword. “Whether you choose to wield it or whether you want it hidden away forever, everyone at this table is here to support you.”  

Azriel’s heart soared for his brother, for all of them as they rallied. He squeezed Gwyn’s hand, hoping she understood he meant it too. She gave Rhys a shallow nod then let go of the steel, it floated back into the air and Rhys’s magic swallowed it a second later. 

There was another weighted silence as the group considered the new information. It was Feyre that broke the silence this time, her voice sharp but not unkind, “What do you feel, Gwyn? When you handle the sword?” 

Gwyn’s glow had simmered down, she looked down at her feet, her whole body radiating all the wrong energy, “Light, heat, power and…” she hesitated, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before looking at the group again sadly, “…and fear.” Azriel wanted to sweep her into his arms and fly away with her. To take her to the mountains and lakes and let her enjoy peace and happiness, not to deal with death swords and the gods. 

“Then it has chosen wisely,” Helion’s deep voice cut through his thoughts. The group regarded him as he explained, “A weapon like that is neither inherently good nor bad. It is made and honed into what the user wills it to be,” Azriel had listened to Helion’s remarkable mind work for centuries, but he could sense something awed in the High Lord's voice as he spoke. 

Rhys watched Gwyn closely, no doubt sensing the nervousness just as Azriel had. “This is all a lot to consider on an empty stomach, let's eat now and plot the future of mythical weapons another time,” he offered kindly, waving his hand as food appeared on the table in front of them all. 

“Thank the Cauldron for that,” Cassian reached forward and piled an entire bowl of eggs onto his plate. 

Emerie considered them as Gwyn and Azriel rejoined the table, narrowing her eyes slightly before casting a glance at Nesta too. “So you both have powerful weapons at your disposal…I wonder which Gods I pissed off?” She popped a strawberry in her mouth with an air of nonchalance, but Azriel felt Gwyn stiffen next to him. 

“I felt the same way about these two,” Cassian motioned to Rhys and Azriel from where he sat. “Then I remembered that the gods crowned me with the best looks,” he wiggled his brows and stretched his wings out wide behind him. The group laughed but it was Mor that patted Cassian jovially. 

“If that’s what you believe, then that’s all that counts.” He pretended to look hurt but Azriel knew his brother - was grateful for the diffusion that cut the tension in the air as they started to eat. 

Breakfast had been quieter than normal, Azriel’s mind was still working in overdrive trying to consider what Narben would mean for The Night Court’s defences, but more so considering what it would mean for Gwyn. As they walked back to the House after breakfast, the others slightly ahead of them, Azriel stopped Gwyn just short of going back inside. 

“Priestess,” He lifted her chin with two fingers, taking in the fear still lining her exquisite eyes. She frowned and the freckles on her forehead bunched at the movement, he smoothed that crease with his other hand, pulling her in closer. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she mumbled eventually, casting a nervous glance at the others' backs. 

“Do you regret taking the blade?” he asked instead. Her eyes went wide, looking from his face to his shadows then back again. 

“No, never!” She gripped his forearms as he held her face gently, “I knew you were hurt, I knew Lucien was dying, I knew we wouldn’t get out of there without something that could balance the odds…” He could see her mind turning over the events again, could see her trying to figure out if there had been another way. 

“Then you made a warrior's choice, and you were rewarded with a warrior's weapon.” He let his siphons glow with his words, charging up his power to match hers. She rested her head on his chest, circling her arm around his waist as her breathing settled. 

“Valkyrie?” Helion’s voice interrupted them and Gwyn stepped away from him as Rhys and Helion waited at the doors to the house. “The sirens of the seas are fierce, territorial and merciless creatures. I’ve never known anyone to survive them.” Azriel crossed his arms and frowned at the High Lord, Rhys stood very still, his hands in his pockets as he watched Helion wearily.

“You have a power that needs to be trained, and a weapon that will bolster it. I’d be happy to offer my services to help you hone these… unique abilities.” Azriel understood that as one of the most powerful and certainly most intelligent High Lord’s in the world, this was a coveted and rare offer and opportunity. Yet somehow, the fact Helion had offered still grated on him and he felt his insides go red hot at the potential insinuation beneath them. He hadn’t snarled, hadn’t even moved a muscle but despite it - Gwyn seemed to notice. She touched Azriel’s arm, looking up at him through her lashes, a slight tilt forming on that delectable mouth of hers. 

“Your graciousness is unparalleled, High Lord. I’ve always dreamt of visiting your libraries and learning more about the world from your scholars,” her voice was light and melodic again as she looked kindly at Helion. Azriel’s heart raced as he waited on her every word, wondering what she’d do next. “And one day, I’ll be honoured to visit your Court and learn with you. But right now, I need to figure this out with my friends…with my family and learn to accept it myself first.” She bobbed her head gracefully and Azriel relaxed his stance enough for her to take his hand, cupping it in both of hers in a sure movement. 

He looked down to their joined hands and felt completely stripped bare. His dark, scarred, monstrous hands were ensconced in her long, pale and delicate grip. He could feel the slight ridges of her new scar as it rubbed along his lifelong ones, could see the glint of her bracelet’s charm as she held her firm grip, her thumb rubbing soothing lines on his. 

It was an intimacy he’d craved his whole life. Had practically begged for with Mor, had almost deliriously demanded with Elain. Yet here it was, unsuspecting and completely overwhelming in the form of Gwyneth Berdara. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn had always been a quick learner. She made it her priority as a young acolyte at Sangravah, because she always wanted to be the first to complete a task, to earn her marks, to prove she could. But also because she never wanted a good story spoiled - had always read the next book before the others, just so she could experience it at its fullest. 

But where she was in her life right now… she realised with bitter amusement…she couldn’t read about how to navigate that in a book. Couldn’t understand the intricacies and complexities from reading it first, couldn’t experience it fully from theory alone.

For had anyone truly been in a similar position as her, after all? Had anyone else found themselves torn between so many idiosyncratic contrasts? Between being a priestess; blessed and pure - and a warrior; brave and ruthless. Between wanting a life of scholarly discovery; her nose buried in ancient and diverse histories and stories - and yet to also covet a life of mystery and adventure; to want to go and discover the far reaching ends of the worlds and how they could interact with one another. Between how her life had been ravaged by a sexual act so diabolical and aggressive - yet still yearning to be touched, explored - to want to experience true pleasure - most especially with the one who had massacred her oppressors. To want to feel powerful, strong and infinitely capable, yet to fear the very object that would allow her to be all those things?

No, Gwyneth Berdara had no idea how to navigate this unique set of circumstances she found herself in. 

Yet, as she knocked on Clotho’s door the day after their breakfast at The River House, she knew she needed to at least try and talk about it all. 

Your energy and scent, it has changed young one…

Clotho’s pen had scribbled at the speed of light as Gwyn bowed her head respectfully before taking a seat opposite her. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sorry I’ve been away these last few days, I’m sorry to ask for this…but,” Gwyn was rambling and she knew it, but where did she really begin? What could she really say? 

Azriel had to have a full medical examination with Madja yesterday after the breakfast, so Gwyn had been given permission by Rhysand to immerse herself in his study, where she pilfered through his collection of unique histories and ancient stories to learn more of Narben. They’d all enjoyed one last dinner together last night before Nesta and Cassian were forced to return to the Winter Court for their assignment and Emerie went back to Windhaven, as Mor was back to splitting her time between Velaris and Vallahan. 

Lucien was still being taken care of by Madja, but he spent every waking moment with Elain, holding her hand, tending her plants, reading out loud to her as she lay in a comatose state. When Amren wasn’t reading the histories of Narben with Gwyn, ‘trying to revive my own garbled memory on the ancient blade’ - she’d said by way of an explanation the first time she’d joined Gwyn - she was reading about magic that could undo Elain’s spell. Feyre too was beside herself worrying about her sister's state, trying to use her own healing magic in different ways, day in and day out. 

Lucien had come to find Gwyn just last night. Gwyn had been getting ready when she heard a soft knock on the door and assumed it was Azriel, coming to escort her to dinner. When she opened the door and found Lucien, her stomach dropped.

Part of her wanted to reach out and hug the male. For helping her, standing up to the soldiers and defending her despite being on death's door himself. But part of her was still nervous - he was a Vanserra after all, could she ever truly trust him? Uncharacteristically she stayed quiet, waiting patiently for him to speak first. 

“I won’t be joining dinner,” he started, fidgeting with his own, long fingers. “I like to take dinner in Elain’s room, to speak to her as Nuala and Cerridwen tend to her so she doesn’t waste away.” Had he come to the room she’d been dedicated at the River House, the room she’d barely used because she’d been with Azriel most of the time he spent healing, just to tell her he wasn’t coming to dinner? 

Breathing deeply, his eyes closed before opening again quickly, his metal eye whirring frantically as he regarded her, “Train, Gwyneth. Train with that sword and make sure… please make sure no one else wields it. I heard them, same as you. The voices. I know why you did it and I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you… but please don’t let that weapon get into the wrong hands,” his voice was deep and soothing but held a terrified edge. The scars over his eye, the ones marking his handsome face, were taut as his severe expression pulled with worry, his red hair gleaming in contrast to his slightly darker than normal autumn skin. 

“You heard them too?” She asked, leaning forward, twisting the bracelet on her wrist. 

He nodded, “Only after you dove in, that’s when I understood why you’d done it.” 

“But you were the one who gave me the idea to go into the water - your question about my ancestry, my nymph side - isn’t that why you asked?” She needed to know what else he knew, whether he sensed the sword itself but before he could answer, Azriel turned the corner. His entire countenance changed when he saw Lucien standing at her door - where he’d looked calm before, something more lethal - rigid and unyielding - took its place. His shadows gathered ominously around him as he drew closer. 

“Shadowsinger,” Lucien's nod was tense, Azriel’s eyes were like like flint. “I was thanking Gwyn, for helping me in the caves on Arrynth.” He turned fully then and extended his hand out to Azriel, “and I thank you too, for your hand in helping rescue us. For taking a leap of faith with Eris too,” he added, but there was a slight bite in his voice. 

Azriel blinked but his face gave nothing away, “You helped keep the unit distracted from Gwyn?” His shadows must have reported that bit to him, as Gwyn hadn’t had the courage to drudge up that particular part of their imprisonment. When Lucien only blinked in response, Azriel’s eyes softened marginally.

“You’re an honourable male, Lucien” he said eventually, taking his hand in a firm shake. Lucien’s mechanic eye looked like it was trying to get a read on the famously expressionless Shadowsinger, but he simply nodded again and the males dropped their hands. Lucien cast her one last glance as a reminder before he turned to leave. He was less than two steps from them when Azriel asked in a low tone, “Elain and the Dawn Court trouble… were you aware of any schemes before you both were taken? Had she mentioned anything untoward to you before?” 

Lucien half turned, keeping his eye downcast, taking in the rich woven fabric of the carpeted hallway when he replied. “Elain barely said two words to me when we were Thesan’s guests. I fear if not for the kidnapping, we’d have very little to converse upon.” He gave them both one last lingering look, then retreated down the hall to the furthest room, closing the door behind him. 

Shocked and confused at Lucien's admission, Gwyn tried to look calm, knowing Azriel’s penchant for secrecy. Raising her brow and crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned against the doorway, “Graciousness becomes you, Shadowsinger. Why the sudden change in heart?” 

She went unnaturally still as his eyes hooded over, raking over her body as he took in the figure hugging dark blue dress she was wearing - one lent to her by Nesta for tonight’s dinner. It had a neckline that plunged lower than she was used to, but she’d convinced herself the long sleeves made up for the raciness, despite the low and open back. She’d even tried to tie her pin-straight hair into a semblance of an elegant updo to match the tone set by the dress. He stepped forward, his eyes hungrily taking in every detail. “The truth, Priestess….” he lifted her hand and held her gaze as he dropped a delicate yet searing kiss on her knuckles - the most gentlemanly of gestures somehow turned completely erotic by the depth of his voice, the heat in his eyes, the tilt of his luscious mouth. 

She forced herself to breathe, to regard him with a sultry confidence and assuredness - neither of which she knew how to imitate, “And what truth is that?” 

He stepped closer, taking her hand and kissing the scar on her palm gently before he looked down at her with a sincerity that she’d rarely witnessed from him before. “Were it not for Lucien and Elain, I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” She let herself look at him properly, the open collar dark shirt that gave him that casual air of sex appeal, the intricate whorls of tattoos peeking from his tanned chest and neck, one’s she’d spent hours the night before tracing until he’d fallen into a calmer state. The elegant planes of his face, back to its normal, glowing colour of health. Her heart raced at his beauty, his sheer size and strength and power - and he was holding her, he wanted her . 

He continued to hold her gaze boldly before he leaned down and ran his lips lightly across her jawline, then her collarbone, “You are divine, Gwyneth Berdara and this dress is sinful perfection.” Her core tightened and she wanted nothing more than to let him continue running that beautiful mouth of his further down the plunging front of the dress, for him to take her nipples in his mouth and… 

She blinked the moment she scented her own arousal, so bold and unforgiving, “We have dinner…” she managed weakly as she felt heat where he kissed the hollow of her neck. He let out a deep rumble in the back of his throat and she thought she may pass out from the primal desire she felt at hearing it. Taking his jaw gently in her hand, she guided his face up to hers and looked intently into his eyes, “Dinner, Shadowsinger. We can figure out dessert when there’s more time and less fae hearing…” she managed. She had no idea where the confidence came from, but she knew she just needed to buy herself time to build her own boldness before she gave herself completely to her body's needs. 

He breathed through his nose, his shadows thinning considerably as he stood back to his full height, blinking away the lust. She smiled coyly up at him, smug beyond measure that she’d caused his momentary lapse in control.

“You have no idea what you’ve just started, Priestess,” his voice left shivers across her skin. She treated him to another saucy lift of her brow and closed the door, taking his elbow as they walked to dinner. 

The air had been hot with their shared arousal but that all ended the moment they passed the doorway Lucien had disappeared into as she asked, “Why do Lucien and Elain not talk? Aren’t they mated?” 

Azriel had stiffened, his shadows looming dangerously. He didn’t answer immediately, only when they were a whole floor down and walking towards the dining room did he answer in a flat tone that she’d come to realise he reserved for broking no further questions. “Elain has not accepted the mating bond, chafes against it as much as her impeccable manners and kindness allow. Lucien is patient but the circumstances of his being here, of her being Made in the first place…” he growled but Gwyn’s surprise at his sudden anger was short-lived as he continued, “It will always work against him in her eyes. It is…” he stopped talking and Gwyn could suddenly see it all so clearly. 

She echoed what Feyre had said, “Complicated.” 

Azriel’s mouth was a hard line and from that moment, he’d been quiet and reserved - even more so than was normal for him. The others chalked it up to him still being exhausted from his injuries but Gwyn read the underlying story there and it had been what convinced her she needed to go see Clotho. 

She’d made an excuse to stay in her own room that night, he’d been understanding and polite. The next morning, once she’d said goodbye to Nesta and Cassian, Emerie and Mor, she’d told him that she needed to go see Clotho urgently, that she would catch up with him when he was back at The House of Wind. He’d looked momentarily confused but nodded before she was winnowed and flown back by the High Lady herself. 

And now that she sat in front of Clotho, she had no idea where to begin. 

Chapter Text

Start at the beginning, brave one

So Gwyn told Clotho everything. Almost everything, at least. She talked of her experiences in Rite, the training she’d been doing with Azriel when they’d all returned. Her feelings for him and how they’d developed, her fears of his past experiences - his own secrets. Her discovery of Narben - the sirens, the worries, the implications. Clotho listened in patient silence, as was her way. Gwyn kept the information about their assignment into the overlapping worlds to herself, though she had no doubt that Clotho knew a little bit on that score too - she was the High Priestess after all, wise beyond even her considerable age and talent. 

As Gwyn spoke, she felt her chest ease, her heart-rate calm. After Sangravah, in the first year of her being in the Library, Gwyn had seen Clotho every week for these counselling sessions. Although all the Priestesses were in each other's confidence about their histories and traumas - only Clotho was intimate with each individual’s mental and emotional state at any given time. Gwyn had forgotten how much those sessions had helped clear the mental fog, find a semblance of control in an otherwise spiralling time in her life. 

When Gwyn finished, her voice hoarse from talking, she watched nervously as Clotho’s pen travelled across the page in front of her, her gnarled hands resting calmly on the wooden table, littered with books and paper. 

After your rape at Sangravah, do you remember what you said was one of the things you were most angry about? 

Gwyn flinched as she read the words. Clotho never skirted a subject - it was part of her power and why Gwyn respected her. But even so - it was never easy to face it. 

“My choice…” Gwyn’s voice shook with rage, “They violated my ability to choose, to make a decision for myself, by myself.” 

Clotho bobbed her head knowingly, her pen moving effortlessly across the page. 

And now you’ve cultivated a life where you have regained that power. 

Gwyn started at the words on the page, the realisation reverberating through her. 

You have choices in every direction… The most important part is that you choose for yourself. Not for the sake of the Court, or your friends, not for the sake of destiny and fate - but for yourself.   

Tears welled in her eyes and she almost felt the need to scream at the absurdity of the situation. She’d fought with every fibre of her soul to be here, where she was. Yet now, when she was on the precipice of happiness and acceptance, she felt overwhelmed - scared and unsure of herself. 

Most of all, trust yourself Gwyneth. Trust yourself. 

Gwyn read and reread the final lines of Clotho’s script, holding the paper like a lifeline. Clotho’s movement pulled her back to the present. Taking Gwyn’s hand in her own mutilated ones, the words appeared on the paper in front of them again. 

Why do you hesitate? 

Gwyn sniffed loudly, “You don’t think I’m rushing into it all? It’s only been a few years since …” She took a long exhale, letting the memories of Sangravah wash over her. “And it’s only been a few months with The Shadowsinger, what if I’m wrong?” she whispered her admission, her fear. 

Clotho’s surprisingly soft skin traced a soothing set of circles on Gwyn’s hands as they sat together. 

Time… What is time but a mechanism of our own mind? It’s a crutch we use to judge success, to covet failure. Don’t trust time - trust your heart, brave one. 

Chapter Text

Azriel watched moodily as he swirled the wine in his glass, his shadows mirroring its action. Sitting at the House of Wind’s dining table, he mulled over the details that lead to Narben’s discovery - trying to piece together how Beron could have an inside knowledge of its whereabouts, and how Elain and Lucien - all the way in Dawn - got mixed up in it too. He knew he needed to get back into the field, to touch base with all his sources and hear the most recent reports - but he wanted just one more night of stillness before he let himself down that dark and lonely path for a few days. 

“You should know better than to try to sneak up on me, Priestess,” he said flatly, turning his head slightly to see her standing perfectly poised at the archway leading into the dining room. She gave him a mischievous smirk in return. 

“Just making sure that all your previous talents remain unaffected by your recent dalliance with death,” she teased, her voice melodic as her breath brushed the back of his neck. Though he could scent her, he hadn’t noticed her move so quietly, until she left a featherlight kiss there before seating herself casually in the chair next to his. 

He raised his brow, draining the last dregs of his wine and licking his lips before he replied, “I can assure you, all my talents are perfectly intact.” Colour bloomed on her freckled cheeks and he wanted to explore the angelic beauty of that blush. Wanted nothing more than to see it spread all over her body as he showed her, in precise detail, just how talented he could be… 

Though he wanted to keep teasing her, to see how many ways he could make her squirm - the need to have her closer overruled his want to be a smartass. He reached down and pulled the legs of her chair towards him, forcing her in closer proximity. Draping his arm casually over her shoulders, he leaned into her neck, breathing her in. He felt rather than heard the smile in her voice as she asked, “How are you feeling?” 

His shadows stilled. When was the last time someone had asked him that with such sincerity? He took a few moments to simply look into those clear teal eyes. Feeling his shadows tumble off his shoulders and around them in a cool, soothing caress, “You’re here now,” he stated, blinking before looking at her lips, at the freckles framing the porcelain skin around them. 

She nodded slowly, though he could hear her heartbeat increase as she replied, “I’m here now.”

He touched her lip with his forefinger, “Then, may I kiss you?” She didn’t answer him with words, but the way she leaned forward and captured his mouth with her own told him enough. 

He could kiss her like this all day and everyday - wholly, slowly, passionately. He wanted every part of his scent to mark hers, to claim her soul for his own. He nipped at her lower lip and she bloomed for him like the lotus flower of her scent, her mouth parting for him as his tongue swept in to taste her again properly. The moment he did, he lost control and the low noise escaped his throat only seemed to spur her on. She pushed forward, climbing into his lap, straddling his legs with those strong, lithe ones of her own as her deft hands found themselves in his hair, setting every sense on fire as she did so. 

Before he could move his hands from her waist, before he could even tempt the idea of grabbing her perfect ass to pull her closer, to slowly start undoing the laces of the trousers she wore, she broke off the kiss. Breathing heavily, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, “You didn’t answer my question,” she opened them and regarded him with an air of no nonsense.

A soft snarl escaped him, “Priestess, do you really think how I’m feeling is as important as what we were just doing?” He leaned forward and nipped at her earlobe, earning a satisfying shudder from her. 

“Yes,” she moaned, and his whole body went alert at that sound, that sensation. “What you feel matters to me,” she breathed and he had to blink twice before he let himself understand her completely. 

Talk, Singer. 

He shook his head from the lust. What was she doing to him? “What about how you’re feeling? You left earlier…are you, ok?”

He waited patiently for her to answer, stroking idle circles on her back as she looked at his face intently, her eyes darting from his eyes to his mouth, to the shadows coiled around his neck and back again. She finally replied, “I needed a bit of time to understand my own thoughts.”

He went still. There it was. The moment she’d left, he knew she’d realise her mistake. Realise he wasn’t a good, honourable male. That she couldn’t and shouldn’t taint herself with him - no matter how much he might want her to. She must have felt him stiffen because she cupped his face in her hand again, looking at him with a tenderness he knew he didn’t deserve, “If you’re not going to tell me how you feel, may I ask you something instead?” 

He swallowed. Why was this so difficult? He allowed a slight nod of his head and she gave his shadows one last lingering look before asking quietly, “Do you still have feelings for another female?” 

He blinked and his shadows all but disappeared, deciding he would deal with this one alone. Shock, fear, shame coursed through him and he couldn't even find the words quickly enough before she whispered again, “Am I simply a consolation, Shadowsinger?” 

“Never!” He replied roughly, gripping on to her. What or who had she spoken to to bring this about? “You are…” he couldn’t find the words, and had never had his brother's silver tongue. It had taken him centuries to open up last time, and now…now he had no idea where to begin. He couldn’t feel his shadows but still heard their echo: 

The truth, Singer. The truth 

Then it hit him. Gwyn was far more clever than anyone else he knew, more emotionally astute too. She had probably garnered enough of his mannerisms with Mor to hazard a guess as to their previous situation. And he’d acted aloof and difficult last night when she’d asked perfectly rational questions about Elain and Lucien. He sighed, she really would make an excellent spy. 

He allowed himself to fully take her in, to let his senses settle at her proximity, her scent, her warmth, her challenge. He couldn’t afford centuries of unspoken truths again, that much he knew. But how could he put in words a feeling he’d barely let himself acknowledge yet? 

A good presence, Singer 

His shadows’ reminder tipped the scales.

“You are someone I don't deserve yet everything I never knew I needed and all I could ever hope for, Gwyneth Berdara. You have surprised and inspired me, challenged and vexed me, empowered and overwhelmed me completely. Everything about you sings to me, as though you are in my very veins and I can’t,” he shook his head, closing his eyes briefly before looking back at her again, “won’t…give you up.” 

He was breathing heavily, his whole body viscerally reacting to the emotions he’d laid bare, the fears and insecurities, the hopes and dreams. 

The silence between them seemed to stretch for an eternity, her beautiful, bright teal eyes staring long and hard into his but eventually, she let out a shuddering breath and surged forward, crashing her lips to his. 

Silver tongue indeed, Singer 

He ignored his shadows and surrendered himself wholly to the brave female in his arms instead. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn had only meant to ask him if he still harboured feelings for Elain, ones he knew he couldn’t act on based on her mating bond with Lucien - yet once again Azriel, as he always did, exceeded her expectations and obliterated all her fears and reservations. 

And now, she knew. 

Knew that all she had to do was give herself to feeling and instinct - to let logic and calculation simmer down while she allowed herself to completely fall into him.

His grip on her was both strong and safe, frantic and claiming. His hand travelled from her face into her hair, whilst the other gripped her by the waist, pulling her even closer - a gesture she realised she wanted more than she’d ever dreamed. She could feel his shadows weaving between their bodies as they moved and suddenly all the material between them enraged her. She needed his skin, to feel his warmth and strength for herself. She started to rip at the shirt he was wearing. His eyes were nearly entirely black with lust when he pulled back, gave her a sexy as hell smirk and pulled the shirt off his body for her. Heart pounding, breathless and wanting for more, she leaned forward and started outlining those tattoos with her lips. Kissing the lines chastely before losing her control and licking the column of his neck where the final tattoo ran its course. She took his ear lobe in her mouth, sucked at it gently then nipped it with her teeth. 

The deep rumble in his throat was her only warning before he grabbed her by her backside and lifted, standing effortlessly as he lay her on the dining room table, his wings casting an indomitable wall behind them as his shadows cushioned her head. Breathless at the speed and ease with which he’d moved, she wondered whether he could feel their arousal clinging to him like a second skin the way she could. Wondered what exactly he was thinking as his eyes roved over her face, taking in the swollen lips and flushed cheeks, before languidly taking in the rest of her body. She hooked her leg behind his backside and used her strength to force his body to meet hers, feeling his erection again as it pushed up against her. 

Her heart fluttered at the sensation, the throbbing between her legs increasing. Progress, she thought to herself, this was progress. She wanted his entire length on her, to feel the skin coating him, to hold him in her own two hands - because she could already tell, it would need both her hands. He watched for her reaction a moment, then seized her mouth with his again, his tongue sweeping skillfully alongside hers before he sucked at her bottom lip and started leaving hot kisses from her chin to her chest, kissing her breasts through her top, moving down the planes of her stomach and pausing at her crotch. Looking up at her through his dark lashes, his hazel eyes glowing dangerously, he took an audacious breath, running his nose along the seams of her trousers, as though drinking in the scent of her sex, even through the fabric. She whimpered, wanting nothing more than for him to rip the material away and dive straight in, to show her what that beautiful mouth could do to other parts of her body. 

Before she could make any move to discard the offending clothing, he blinked and stood to his full height, his spectacular wingspan taking her breath away. Running long strokes of his strong hands up the back of her thighs and along her calves, massaging the nervous tension away, he swallowed and spoke in a low, husky voice, “You want this?” 

The voice that came out of her was a whisper - but the confidence she felt gave it a power she didn't expect, “More and more with each passing day.” 

He closed his eyes, rolled his shoulders back and let out a long exhale as his shadows swirled, a vortex of alluring darkness. “Then we need to slow down,” his face said one thing, his voice another. Surprised at the direction, she took the hand he offered her and frowned. 

Sitting at the edge of the table, her legs on either side of his as he stood in her space, still running his marbled hands up the columns of her neck and into her hair, she whispered, “Why?” 

He watched her carefully, “Because this is important, getting this right is important.”

She pulled his hands from her head, though she could have happily sat in that posture for hours - purring at his touch, “I’m not sure I quite understand,” she admitted. 

“You will, Priestess. You will,” was his only promise before he kissed her again. 

Chapter Text

Azriel paced the length of the training ring’s wall, contemplating whether throwing himself off it and simply forgetting how to fly would be a good alternative to his current circumstance. 

Patience, Singer. Patience and positivity 

He scoffed. One of those he’d cultivated over the course of centuries. The other, well he’d felt the emotion from time to time, but really - it wasn’t his forte. 

He cast his wings out wide and decided to work on a couple of stretches whilst he waited, trying to ease the lingering pain and unease his body held from the Isle of Arrynth fiasco. 

Despite the movement, his mind still wandered as he waited. He’d made a bold and terrifying offer to Gwyn last night, and now had to deal with the consequences of his decision despite the fear and lack of control he felt about its outcome. 

Forcing himself to stop kissing her last night, to pull away from the drug that was the scent of her arousal, had been one of the toughest things he’d had to do in centuries, perhaps ever. The overwhelming need to ravish her had nearly stripped him of all sense of decorum. Only the thought of her own experiences anchored him in his own body and allowed him to pull back and consider their next steps. 

He needed to court her. As far as he knew, she’d never experienced that before. As far as he knew, neither had he. She deserved to be swept off her feet, without his wings on this occasion - to spoil her, soothe her, dote on her. And, having completely stripped himself bare in front of her, emotionally speaking - he had nothing left to lose in trying to prove, to himself at least, that he could be a decent, honourable and caring male too. One that understood that sex could be about intimacy and connection, not just primal pleasure. Not that he had a lot of experience on that count either… 

But Cauldron damn him, the sight of her spread on that dining table - the one he knew his brothers had had countless sexual experiences on… even now, his cock throbbed at the primitive need… wanting nothing more than to rip her clothes off, kneel between her legs and devour her. 

The moment she’d left him last night, shyly bobbing her head in goodnight - so innocent in comparison to the raw need he’d felt in her when she ripped at his shirt, pulled him into her body… 

He had needed to take a freezing bath afterwards and only then had he opened his mind. 

‘Rhys, I need a favour,’ 

‘This may be the first time I’ve ever heard you ask for one?’ His brother's amused voice echoed around the cell walls of his mind. 

‘I want to take Gwyn away for a couple of days. Can you spare us?’

He could practically feel Rhys's curiosity spiking, ‘You don’t need my permission but, do pray tell Brother, where are you whisking her away to?’

Azriel pictured it then, the reality he hoped to conjure with this idea. Rhys’s approval sent his shadows into a tailspin of excitement.

So he’d sent another request, to Feyre this time - then dunked his head under the cold water. 

“Ok Shadowsinger, colour me intrigued…” He whirled at her voice, frowning at his mischievous shadows for allowing her to sneak up on him again. 

You were stuck in your own head, that’s not on us. 

They had a point. He’d been convinced she wouldn’t show. The last time he’d opened his heart to a female - he’d spent the next four centuries being subtly rejected for his efforts. Having laid a terrifying confession and an open offer at Gwyn’s feet last night, he’d spent most of the night and morning deliberating all the ways he could disappear if she declined his invitation. 

She was wearing a light blue dress under a floaty white robe. The dress hugged her svelte figure beautifully, accentuating her breasts and proudly showed off the charm necklace she wore. His gaze snagged on it a moment longer than he meant for it to, which she noticed - of course. 

“It was a gift, from a friend last solstice,” she explained, taking it gently in her fingers and turning it, “it has a lovely way of reflecting the light - look!” As she twisted it, it did indeed shine bright, multicoloured light on the balcony ground. His shadows weaved in between the rainbow of colours and she giggled. He had to blink twice - once to enjoy the sound and the second time to push the feeling of shame and dread deep down, where he would deal with it later. 

He walked towards her, taking in the small satchel at her feet before staring pointedly at the pile of books she gripped under her other arm, “I was about to congratulate you for packing so lightly…”  

She clutched them close to her chest, “Books don't count!” 

He let himself smile as his shadows reached for her of their own accord, “Ready?”

“I don’t know, am I? I have no idea what to expect, Shadowsinger.”

He had been vague on purpose yesterday, simply stating - “I need to go away for a few days, would you like to join me?” She’d said yes quickly enough but when the questions came soon after, he’d been less forthcoming. “It will be a surprise,” was what he left her with. 

“Let’s find out,” he cast his wings out wide and felt the thrill of earning an appreciative look from her as he did so. 

Chapter Text

He’d shadow walked them to the sweetest restaurant on the outskirts of Velaris. The waitress seated them at an intimate table on the balcony, which they had entirely to themselves, the early Autumn sun casting a warming glow around them. From where they sat, Gwyn could see the entire city of Velaris on the one side and the distant sea and coastline on the other. 

If she listened carefully, she could hear everything in the heart of the city, could see individual streets as everyone bustled along. She could also hear the birds by the beaches, the crashing waves on the shore. He’d held her hand as they walked in, pulled her chair out for her when they sat down and even plucked a flower, a blue aster that matched the shade of her dress exactly - from one of the hanging baskets and tucked it behind her ear as they sat. 

Gwyn had laughed, “I don’t know what you’re up to, Shadowsinger, but this place is beautiful!” 

“Wait until you’ve tried their pancakes,” was all he said in response, before he ordered ninety percent of the contents of the menu from the shocked waitress. Gwyn wasn’t sure if it was the amount of food that had her in the confused state - or the fact that the Angel of Darkness, Death’s loyal servant - the notorious Shadowsinger of the Night Court was currently smiling. Smiling, picking flowers - even wearing a white shirt - so unlike his usual trademark dark outfits. His blue siphons glowed as they sat on his hands, his shadows wreathed calmly around his neck and wings, as though lounging to watch. 

“Who are you and what have you done with Azriel, please?” She teased when the food had arrived and he dived straight into the sickly sweet stack of pancakes before even touching the oatmeal he’d also ordered. 

His eyes were bright and she was struck by how at ease he looked - happy even. “Don’t tell Cass - I’d never hear the end of it,” he replied flatly before tucking back into the food. 

They’d fallen into an easy rhythm - her teasing him for his surprising sweet tooth, him asking her questions about the books she’d brought on the trip. A trip that she had no idea what to expect from. 

Still bewildered from his behaviour the night before - when he’d been ready to rip her clothes off one second then chastely kissing her goodnight the next, all but forcing her to go back to her room in the Priestess dorms. She’d been even more shocked to find The High Lady knocking on her door this morning. 

Giving Gwyn a smirk that reminded her so much of Nesta, Feyre had purred, “I hear someone’s going on a little trip,” she wiggled her brows saucily and Gwyn let her into her room. 

“Is this how all romances in the Inner Court go?” Gwyn had asked, exasperated, plonking herself down on her bed. Feyre had laughed huskily. 

“Oh no, not at all. We’re usually way more involved with one another's lives. Azriel however, keeps everyone at a distance - so the fact that I'm here to help you pack - is all the more intriguing because of it.” She whipped out a brand new brown satchel from a pocket of darkness and stood at Gwyn’s modest chest of drawers. “But before we do any of that, I want to ask you first - and make sure you answer honestly please - I have Helion Spell Cleavers magic in me, I'll be able to know if it’s a lie,” she’d winked then. Gwyn knew that wasn’t how his magic worked but she appreciated the diffusion, “Do you want this?” 

Gwyn could hear the double meaning behind her words easily, but she hadn’t prepared herself for feeling so vulnerable in her response. “There’s a lot I'm still trying to figure out about my life right now, but in this - I’m sure. I want to try…” 

Feyre had given her an understanding smile then started throwing clothes into a bag and pulling dresses out of those handy pockets of darkness she could conjure. Gwyn hardly knew what was happening until Feyre pushed her out the dorms and up to the House of Wind an hour later, “Be patient with him, Gwyneth!” 

And now she was enjoying breakfast with him. No training, no warring Illyrians, no death swords and scheming sirens - just her and Azriel, enjoying one another's company. She sipped the tea in front of her and tried her luck, “Do I get any clues as to what we’re doing for the next couple of days? The High Lady packed entirely for me, I wasn’t even allowed to peek into the bag to hazard a guess!” 

That delicious half-smile was back, tempting the dimple on his left cheek with its presence, “If you’re done with breakfast, we can head to our…” His voice trailed off and his eyes went glassy for a few beats before he blinked and suddenly his shadows were deathly dark, the air around them fraught. 

“What is it?” Her heart rate had shot through the roof the moment she noticed his hand stiffen beneath hers. 

He breathed heavily, “I have to go…” he sounded so pained by it. She couldn't let this dream end so quickly, wasn’t ready to let go. 

“Take me with you?” She offered, gripping his hand tighter. 

He shook his head, “Not to the Court of Nightmares, never.” 

She reached forward and took his other hand in hers too, “Do you really want to keep playing this game, Shadowsinger?” She let the fire in her blood come to the surface, finding that it was much easier and quicker to respond to her suddenly. His eyes went wide as he watched her. 

“I need to see Eris, to retrieve Truth Teller - I can’t be sure as to what else he wants from me, Gwyn. This isn’t your job,” he explained tightly, logically. She couldn't fault him for his explanation - he had a job to do after-all but she desperately wanted him to remember that she could handle something as trivial as another palace within the Night Court. 

“You don’t have to hide that from me Azriel. I know what you do there - I’m not afraid of it.” There was silence for a long time. She thought he was either mind-speaking to the High Lord or Lady or perhaps had already slipped into his Spymaster persona. But then he blinked and his shadows fell off his shoulders and crept onto her arms, cloaking her with a whispered caress. He watched them carefully, so she closed her eyes and let the feeling of them take over her senses, somehow appreciating the soothing touch of them. 

“Against my better judgement, the shadows have an idea,” his voice was low, it seemed the Spymaster was truly back. She opened her eyes and looked at him expectedly but his eyes were roving over her body as the shadows held her. “You’re to be cloaked in my shadows the entire time. I don't want Eris catching a whiff of your presence.” 

The primal part of her sat up at that, understood the need within him - her chest aching at its meaning. 

Chapter Text

Fucking classic. 

The moment he let his guard down, physically and emotionally removed himself from the pressures and stressors of his life so he could enjoy one god-damn moment of happiness and peace with the beautiful female that he wanted more than anything - Eris happened. 

He knew Rhys had been trying to convince Eris for days to meet Azriel so they could discuss Arrynth, the Autumn soldiers, for him to retrieve TruthTeller and …albeit begrudgingly, thank the heir of Autumn for helping save them - but Eris had been noncommittal in his responses. 

Of course the moment that Azriel stopped giving two shits about what Eris was up to, was the moment Eris would want to cash in for that meeting. Azriel was fuming as he strode the length of the dark, looming corridors of the Court of Nightmares, wearing his battle suit again. Gwyn was cloaked beside him within his indomitable wall of shadows. It had taken him at least a century to learn how to cloak someone else so completely within them, hiding all traces of their presence and scent so that only he could still see them, sense them. And right now, he was grateful for the skill. 

He let the fury, the rage, the cruelty that clung to him like a second skin at any given time - show clearly on his face as he pushed open the heavy marbled doors to the room they were used to meeting in at the Court of Nightmares. Black marble walls, cold granite tables, harsh free-standing stone chairs. There was nothing warm, welcoming or remotely pleasing about this place - it was a room to broker death deals. No more, no less. Azriel had chosen it, naturally. 

“Oh Shadowsinger,” Eris drawled from where he lounged on one of those severe chairs, his legs propped up casually on the table in front of him as though it was a plush chaise lounge. “You certainly took your time. Has the near-death incident slowed you down in your old age?” 

Azriel snarled quietly, noticing Gwyn take a stand at the far corner of the room, keeping her breathing low and quiet - as he’d instructed her to. “Truth Teller, where is it?” 

Eris tusked and swept his long legs off the table then stood, flicking a speck of dirt off the sleeves of his dark green silken jacket as he straightened the elegant outfit. “Those were not the first words I wanted from you,” he moved quietly around the table to step closer, maintaining his regal posture to perfection. 

Azriel checked himself, rolling his shoulders and breathing power into his body, his siphons glowing with it, “Pick your battles wisely, Eris.” 

Eris lifted an elegant brow, “Oh, you’re here to play. I like it - tell me, are the rest of your menagerie of shadows joining us today or are you really all alone?” 

Azriel didn't move a muscle, gave nothing away as he repeated in a low voice, “Truth Teller - now.” 

Eris let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled his amber eyes, “We should have done this in the dungeons - that’s the only time I ever really get to see your fun side.” He took the blade out of his pocket, revealing the perfect darkness of it, the intricate detailing on the hilt, the magnificent power and magnetism that Azriel had yearned to be reunited with these last few days. Before he could say another word, Eris flung the dagger lethally across the space, its tip spinning straight for Azriel’s face.

Azriel wanted to laugh at the attempt. Pathetic male - he evidently didn't understand the bond Azriel had formed with this weapon. The way his body and every inch of the blade were one in the same - carved from darkness. Unique, unyielding, imperturbable. Azriel caught it in his large grip, blade first. The scent of his blood hung in the air as he held it aloft, mere millimetres from his face. Raising his brow, he gave Eris a deadpan look then palmed Truth Teller into his other hand, instantly feeling a knot in his chest loosen at being reunited. 

“And what about yours, little swimmer?” Eris kept his eyes trained on Azriel but his voice was wicked with suppressed delight. The hairs on Azriel’s arms stood on end - it couldn't be. 

“I am not one for nicknames, Eris. Keep your forked tongue to yourself,” he muttered with deathly calm. 

Eris sneered, the effect disturbing. How dare this drip of a male look at him like that? “I’m obviously referring to the delightful redhead in the corner, Shadowsinger.” 

Gwyn stepped out of the shadows, pointing a dagger at Eris as she walked to Azriel’s side. She didn't take her eyes off him as she bared her teeth, “What do you want?” 

Eris regarded her with such cold, calculating eyes that Azriel truly felt fear this time, unsure of what was going on in that diabolical head. “I recognise your scent. What excellent water skills you have, but I daresay there’s some fire in your blood?” 

Gwyn, to her credit, barely blinked. But Azriel felt the heat in the air, and knew Eris could too. “So, do you?” he pushed again, leaning irreverently on the back of one of the chairs, checking his nails in feigned disinterest before flicking those cruel eyes back to them. 

“You have nothing else we need,” Azriel was about to guide Gwyn to the door when a whistle in the air had him ducking, millimetres before a blade bounced off the marble wall behind him. He stood back up to see Gwyn pick up one of the blades he’d gifted her for her birthday, weeks ago. 

“I found those among the bodies in the cave on Arrynth,” Eris explained as he slid the other blade along the table, where Gwyn grabbed it. “They aren’t standard issue Autumn weaponry and they are far too pretty to belong to an Illyrian even as dazzling as yourself.” Azriel gritted his teeth but Gwyn let out a low snarl this time - and he couldn't believe the power it had over him. Eris didn't seem to care because he simply continued, his voice laced with cruel amusement, “I figured they belonged to our keen little swimmer over here. Or should I refer to you as our newest Goddess of Death now?” 

This time, Gwyn did react. Her whole body shook as power rippled off her, a slight glow starting to show. Before he’d even registered her movement, before his shadows could intercept, she’d flung the smaller dagger right at Eris’s face, the blade skimming his cheek purposefully before ringing loudly as it hit the wall behind his head. 

Azriel reacted quicker this time, casting a wall of power between them with his siphons as he saw the rage light in Eris’s eyes. Flinging his wings out, he pushed Gwyn behind him to protect her if Eris decided to attack. But he didn’t, instead he took long, deep breaths and touched the blood coating his cheek with irritation. 

“Not so smart, young one - to attack an ally in your court, the one that saved your ungrateful ass in that godforsaken cave,” he gritted out. 

Gwyn stepped round Azriel, casting him a dark look that dared him to stop her before she growled back, “I know enough about you to know we can’t truly trust you. You saved us, we all saved Lucien. We’re even. But throw one more goddamn dagger at The Shadowsinger and I swear to the Cauldron, the Mother, the old gods and the new - I will rip you to shreds where you stand.” 

Eris bristled. 

“Who are you?” he demanded, banging his fists on the granite table, his teeth bared. 

Before Gwyn could answer, Azriel threw power into his siphons, he needed to end this immediately. “Eris, you saved us. You helped me. You returned Truth Teller and reunited us with these objects,” Azriel’s voice was flat but he tried to make his posture open, to show that he was politically trying to make amends. “No doubt we will hear of your price for this kindness soon enough,” he couldn’t help the bite in his voice. “But leave her out of this.” Azriel wouldn't even say Gwyn’s name to him, wouldn't give him that kind of power. 

“My father is raging about Narben. He levelled an entire village when he discovered what happened to his elite soldiers.” Eris and Gwyn held each other's gaze in a dangerous battle of wills, hers cracking with energy and power. Azriel watched carefully, taking in the new information. “He doesn’t consult me anymore but from what I understand, his new ploy is Gwydion. I’m not suggesting the Night Court collects another magical artefact for their trove, but I know what Rhysand and the creature he calls his Second, will do with this knowledge. It’s the only reason I’m telling you.” 

Azriel turned it all over in his head, but with Gwyn metres away from one of the most powerful and dangerous males in all of Prythian, he couldn’t think straight on what it all meant. “Tell us what we can do to support the families who lost their homes and livelihoods in the village?” 

Eris blinked and looked at him for the first time in minutes, even Gwyn turned her attention back to him. “On some sort of charitable crusade now, are we Spymaster?” He sneered and Azriel’s shadows loomed dangerously again. “Drop the act, it’s not a good look for you. We all know there’s nothing you care about outside of inflicting death and destruction,” he spat the words before giving another dark look at Gwyn. “As for you…I’ll find out who you are…and why an Autumn Court prodigy is shacked up with Rhysand’s pathetic excuse for an Inner Court.” The room was sweltering at this point, “Then we’ll learn who Narben truly answers to.” 

Gwyn smiled dangerously, her white teeth gleaming with promise, “Go on, I dare you…” 

He reeled back, teeth bared again before he threw a disgusting last look at Azriel and stormed out of the room. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn watched the great onyx marble doors shut behind Eris, her chest heaving with barely contained restraint.

The moment it clicked shut, she whipped round to find The Shadow of Death and Darkness standing in front of her. His wings loomed magnificently behind him, his shadows coiling and uncoiling like asps around the twin peaks of his talons. His face was devoid of emotion, his eyes almost completely black as his dilated pupils took her in. He was cold and cruel - he was retribution and reckoning. He was exactly as she remembered him to be the first time she ever laid eyes on him. She recalled that power of his, that conviction to end a threat and help those who couldn't help themselves. Her blood thrummed at it - at the dominion he suddenly held over every one of her senses. She bit her lip as his near-on five centuries of undulating predatory intent zoned in on her.

Warmth bloomed in her chest and she felt the fire inside her clawing to get out. Saw one of the shadows uncoil itself from his neck and reach for her, as though it sensed it too. She let out a shuddering breath at the exact same moment he blinked and they moved together. 

In a clash of powerful need - the exquisite ache to touch, feel, taste, claim - he lifted her into his arms, her legs encircling his waist instinctively as their mouths devoured one another, meeting stroke for stroke. Her hands plunged into his hair and she couldn't breathe, didn't want to - just needed him, all over her. He groaned as she bit his bottom lip and sucked at the drop of blood that she’d extracted from it. Unleashing his true strength, he pushed her up against the wall behind them, his wings spread protectively as he manoeuvred her so her dress hiked up all the way to her waist. Her delicate panties brushed up against his torso, the heat and wetness between her legs begging to be satiated with friction, with contact, with him. 

He gripped both her thighs with a strength she knew would leave marks on her skin, but then pulled back from their searing kiss. His beautiful face pulled with feral desire as he slowly looked from her swollen lips, down the length of her pulsing body and to those white, lacy underthings she wore between her legs. His eyes flashed to hers, holding her prisoner. She saw the question there, clear as day despite the darkness surrounding them. “Yes,” she whispered in a barely restrained breath, “Yes.”

Permission granted, he let out a deep-throated sound and she could feel the trembling of his muscles as he fought for control before he lifted his knee, sitting her on it where she couldn’t help but grind herself on its hardness. He plunged his hand into her hair, pulling her face closer to his again as he thrust his tongue into her mouth - battling for a deeper taste as she craned her neck to grant it, letting her tongue sweep alongside his. She realised a second later that the movement had been a distraction, his other hand traversed the length of her body, a searing touch that lit every particle of her on fire before his fingers landed to the wetness between her legs. She should have been shocked by the touch - shocked and, she hated to admit it, triggered. But she wasn’t - and the realisation made her heart soar. The combination of his sturdy, muscular leg that she was shamelessly grinding against and the delicate touch of his scarred fingers as they touched her clit through the fabric, completely undid her. She moaned into his mouth, her eyes rolling at the contrasting sensations - hard and gentle, danger and safety, unravelling and building - she wanted all of it and so much more. 

She felt the predatory satisfaction of his answering smirk as he licked down the column of her neck before biting hard on the pounding pulse beneath her skin. She was soaked, her core tightening as his fingers continued to move on her clit with savage grace, stroking, flicking, caressing, pinching at the bundle of nerves. She moaned again and ground herself harder against him, pulling his face back up to hers in another tempestuous attempt to stifle the sounds coming out of her. His answering rumble of pleasure at the taste of her flicked a switch in her mind and she climaxed right then and there against the walls of the Court of Nightmares. 

Squeezing her eyes shut, her mind reeled. The Shadowsinger had extracted from her a blissful reprieve from the darkness of her own mind, giving her the first frenzied experience of pleasure outside of her Priestess dorms. Opening her eyes slowly, she realised she was panting like an animal in heat - yet she couldn’t even find the sanity to feel remotely embarrassed by it, her mind still scrambled by the experience. His kisses turned softer, his bite soothing - not savage. He moved his leg and lowered her feet gently to the ground but held her eye contact boldly as he lifted the two fingers he’d rubbed against her. He watched her reaction as he licked each digit slowly, sensuously - the most gorgeous smirk, one that even showed one of those diabolically beautiful dimples, gracing his divine face. 

Her breath hitched, her cheeks flaming at their rampant behaviour. She forced it all deep down as she reached for that same hand, which was not only coated in the scent of her sex, but also his blood - from the cut that Truth Teller had made when he caught the blade. She looked at him from under her lowered lashes and boldly licked the length of the hairline cut, tasting the copper in his blood mixed with that night-chilled mist and cedar. 

Another low rumble sounded in the back of his throat as he bent down and kissed her mouth, no doubt tasting his own blood too, “Fuck, Priestess.” 

It was too much to contain - the entire transaction had stripped her of decorum and sense. She let out a nervous breath of laughter and could have sworn his shadows followed that exhale in blissful contentment too. 

Chapter Text

Azriel had to learn to stop underestimating Gwyneth Berdara. The moment he thought he understood her wants and needs - she completely blew him out of the water with her ability to shock, delight and inspire. 

His heart was still racing when he shadow-walked them to the Palace above the Court of Nightmares, showing her to a room where she could change after he soaked her panties and covered her in his own blood. Whilst she changed, he fisted his cock in the bathing room of the room down the corridor, remembering their mingled arousals, the ecstasy on her face when she climaxed, the bold and sexy as fuck image of her licking his wound. He had to stifle the roar of his pleasure in a bathing towel and felt almost sick with desire again, wanting nothing more than to barge into her room and rip that bloodied dress apart to finish what they started in the Court of Nightmares.

How dare she - he thought ruthlessly, cleaning himself up afterwards. How dare she turn a place that he loathed with every fibre of his being, into a new and exciting location for their first overtly sexual experience together. How dare she turn him on with her fiery refusal to give into Eris’ cruel demands - how dare she look at him with light in those captivating eyes, with such raw and unexpected lust. How dare she throw herself at him and touch him with such unbridled need that every inch of his skin burned for it, burned for her. 

Ten minutes later, he forced himself to look calm, to not show any signs of his still frantic state as he knocked on her door. She opened it with such spirit and gusto that he was almost bitter she looked so unaffected so shortly after. Pulling him into the room, his shadows swept over her body frantically, searching to see if there was something wrong. She swatted them gently, as though they were naughty pets rather than death's own tools for destruction. 

“Eris - would you say he’s the worst of the Vanserra brothers?” She asked, letting go of his hand and walking to the pile of books laid out on the balcony of the room. He watched her walk away hungrily, she had a cream dress on this time, one that was floaty at the bottom but cinched at the waist, the material swaying elegantly as she moved. She flicked her luscious hair over her shoulder and regarded him, “Azriel?” 

He cleared his throat and followed her, “Unfortunately not. Beron’s pack are all ruthless and despicable but Eris is smarter than that. He knows he needs to be something more if he ever hopes to survive them and one day rule the Court his father is destroying.” 

She watched him carefully, “Why do you hate him so much then?” 

He shook his head and reached for the ribbon tied at her waist, running the ends of it through his fingers, “That’s not my story to tell, I’ll let Mor share it with you when she’s ready.” She blinked but he could see the vacancy of her expression as understanding dawned. “Why do you ask?” 

She took a deep breath and laid the pages of a book flat, pointing at the Vanserra family tree within its pages, “It’s just the third time someone from Autumn has commented on my scent.” 

He stood behind her, reaching to lay his hand flat on her stomach and pull her in to him. Leaning down, he ran his nose along her neck, “That’s because it’s intoxicating,” he muttered huskily, enjoying her quivering at his touch. 

“No,” she sighed willfully, “only to you. To them it’s familiar - but I’m trying to figure out if it’s familiar as in, all of Autumn have a distinct scent marker, or familiar in another way…” her voice was breathless, she’d leaned her head back into his shoulder to give him room to run his mouth up and down the column of her neck. He had to blink away the desire he already felt rise to the surface and concentrate on her words. 

“Either way, he’s not coming within a scenting distance of you ever again,” he threw power into his words, nibbling at the chain of that stupid necklace. She pulled away, turning to face him - the challenge sizzling in those eyes again.

“You don’t get to make those calls, Shadowsinger,” she said hotly. “I thought we’d had this conversation?” He held her gaze dangerously, letting his own will surge to the surface as his siphons lit with the energy of their mutual stubbornness. 

Choose your battles wisely, Singer 

His shadows fell from his shoulders and wreathed themselves around her waist, pulling her - he realised with shock - toward him. 

She huffed out a breath of annoyance tinged with amusement, “They say you’ve killed entire legions with the use of these shadows. Yet here they are being nothing more than coddled house cats looking to broker peace between us,” she laid her hand on his chest, right over his newest scar and looked up at him ruefully. 

“That’s because they know we’re stronger together,” he tried, recalling the image of her exiting that pool in Arrynth, going back to back to fight with him, saw her fling that dagger at Eris’s face and snarl at him. 

She hummed softly and the sound soothed all the ragged edges from the last hour, “So, Shadowsinger, Spymaster, Surprise giver…where are we off to?” 

He stilled, “You still want to go away?” He didn’t utter the words, ‘with me’ - but he had feared the disruption to their date this morning would have put her off from spending more time together, knowing that it was always bound to get ruined by a murderous new scheme or another. 

She grinned, “I didn't realise you gave up so easily?” She placed her arms around his neck, twirling the ends of his hair in her long fingers. He wanted to purr at the sensation, but she was right - he had a point to prove - to both of them. 

Chapter Text

A warm, salty breeze caressed Gwyn’s face, her ears adjusting to the crashing sound of waves. She opened her eyes and found herself gazing out at the thrashing ocean below. They were standing on the edge of a lofty white cliff, the sheer drop below them dizzying. 

She gripped Azriel’s hand tightly as she turned her back on the drop and looked toward the land, and gasped. 

In front of her was a sprawling stone mansion, built with such stunning sympathy for its surroundings. It looked almost as though it was part of the rockface around it. Were it not for the countless immense windows, the carefully crafted crenellations and balconies, it may even have looked like it was the cliff itself - the colour matching almost precisely. 

She could tell there was more to it than just what her eyes could see too. Even from where they stood, she spied a rocky staircase winding down from one of the balconies, the steps leading all the way down the cliff edge and onto the beach below them, which was nestled in a safe alcove - a blissful sanctuary from the vast ocean around it. 

“What is this place?” Gwyn breathed, instantly adoring the way the light hit the many windows, aching to see the other side of the inimitable property. 

Azriel’s voice was careful, “This is my home, Priestess.” Her heart raced at the shy smile he gave her. He pulled her forward and they travelled the short distance across the rocky pass to the huge front door of the castle-like house. Upon inspection she realised the colour of the door was actually a deeper hue of navy. Azriel lifted his scarred hand and knocked heavily on the dark wooden door, two hard taps and a softer third. Why would he need to knock on his own home’s front door? 

Before she could ask, a noise on the other side pulled her attention. The door swept open to reveal an overwhelmingly stunning older Illyrian female. Her eyes went wide as she beheld them, a small whimper sounded from somewhere in her throat and she threw herself at Azriel, flinging her arms around his neck so forcefully that he dropped everything he was holding - Gwyns hand, the luggage, her books. Azriel pulled the female into him, holding her in a tight embrace, burying his face in the mass of her dark hair. Stunned, Gwyn took a step back as she watched. She’d never seen him react like this to anyone - had only recently started to see moments of this affection when he was alone with her.

The female sniffed audibly then pulled back, cupping Azriel’s face tenderly as tears fell from her exquisite face. Her eyes were a dark hazel and almond shaped, her full mouth had a natural tint to it, her lips pulling over straight white teeth to reveal a gorgeous smile, one Gwyn realised with a start - was the exact replica of Azriel’s - even down to the dimples. But as captivating as her features were, so was the brutal crescent-moon-shaped scar, nearly the size of her hand, that disfigured the one side of the female's face, its white ridges framing her striking features. Gwyn shivered, realising that the scar was the exact shape of a scythe-like weapon she’d seen the Illyrians use in the Rite. 

She tore her eyes from it to see Azriel stroking the ends of her hair, which was flecked with strands of grey. “Mother,” he breathed, kissing both her cheeks and holding her hands in his. Her hands, Gwyn noticed, were also mottled with scars but the female simply beamed at him before her eyes shifted to find Gwyn’s. 

She froze - his mother. He’d brought her to meet his mother - without a warning! Had she had more time, she would have… well, she didn’t know what she would have done to prepare differently but either way, Gwyn wanted to punch him in his stupid rock hard stomach for trying to catch her off guard like this. Instead, she kept her breathing even as she held her gaze graciously for another beat, before offering a warm smile and respectful bow of her head. 

Azriel must have remembered his courtesies a moment later, because he lifted Gwyn’s chin with two fingers and said in a low voice, “Gwyn, this is my mother - Lyra.” Looking at his mother, he raised his hands and made a series of efficient gestures before he said her name, ‘Gwyneth Berdara.” 

Dactylo - she realised with a start. He was speaking a different language with those gestures - he was speaking the language of signing. She looked on in shock as Lyra bowed her head gracefully back at Gwyn and signed back to Azriel.

‘You haven’t told her a thing about me or this place, have you?’ 

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh but it was Gwyn that answered, using the language herself - which she’d learned at a young age with the acolytes in Sangravah. They’d discovered one of the younglings couldn’t hear sounds at all and they’d all rallied to learn the signs required to help. 

‘He has not, which is odd considering how forthcoming and chatty he usually is…’

Azriel’s brows raised and Lyra’s eyes crinkled in delight, ‘Come in, young one - you’re most welcome here,’ Lyra signed, taking Gwyn by the elbow and leaving a surprised Azriel standing by the large, navy front door. 

Chapter Text

The hallway from the main door was the only dark part of the entire house, Gwyn realised - as Lyra ushered her into a vast foyer.

The rest was bright and open, with two sets of sweeping staircases leading two floors up to reveal high arches and the ceiling far above them. The mahogany of the interior was warm against the pale creams and gold of the furnishings, with bright colourful decor interspersed throughout. Large, abstract paintings hung from the walls, vases full of an array of exotic looking flowers, plush cream carpets… and the light! The light within the space stole Gwyn’s breath away. She realised why a heartbeat later, when she looked above them to see a magnificent stained glass window at the top of the two joining staircases. Looking closely, she realised it was the Night Court’s sigil, a colourful representation of the three mountain peaks beneath the trio of stars. She touched the necklace she was wearing - the colours and way the light hit it matched so well. 

There was a soft echo of music somewhere in the house and Gwyn ached to find it, to hear the sounds that somehow elevated this warm home into one of the most beautiful places she’d ever seen. Azriel’s hand on her lower back pulled her out of her reverie. “I hope you don’t mind if we stay here a couple of days?” 

Warmth spread through Gwyn’s body as she beheld the light in his eyes, his shadows swirling happily. Gwyn couldn’t find the right words to express what this meant to her so she only smiled softly, nodding her consent. It was Lyra that answered them, signing, ‘Excellent, just in time for lunch. You may get settled, then we’ll eat.’ 

Gwyn wanted to laugh with delight, but then Lyra turned to walk down the hall and Gwyn swallowed all her joy. Lyra’s gait was uneven, her one foot twisted at an uncomfortable angle that made it look incredibly painful to walk. Then there were Lyra’s wings… her delicate wings were savagely scarred. Mottled with angry red, black and white marks across the membranous surface, the tips scrunched in an awkward and disfigured way. Gwyn recognised the effects of a botched clipping, having seen Emerie’s enough to recognise it. But the rest of the scarring - there was a violent and traumatic story in that walk, on her hands, her face, her wings. Gwyn wasn’t sure if even she could stomach to hear it. 

As though understanding her sudden change, a stray shadow from Azriel’s shoulder wrapped itself around her hand in solidarity and she cast it a grateful look before she felt Azriel gently guide her forward to follow Lyra into the house proper. 

They traversed the mahogany staircase up two levels to reveal an open corridor lined with doors. Azriel held Gwyn’s hand as he opened the third door along to reveal a large bedroom with a huge four poster bed, a tall armoire, a quaint dressing table and at the far end, to Gwyn’s delight, a little reading nook overlooking the ocean beyond. Similarly to the House of Wind, the room had floor to ceiling high windows that cast daylight into the space. She walked forward in wonder, eager to go sit in that little sun trap and devour the books she’d brought with her. 

“Your room,” Azriel rumbled and she turned to frown at him where he still stood in the doorway.

“You’re not staying with me?” 

The silence that always seemed to pulse from him vibrated, but he bowed his head subtly, “You may stay wherever you choose to, Priestess. But it’s important to me that you have the option of your own space.” 

She could have melted at the gentle openness in his features, his consideration and care. He placed her satchel and books on the bed and turned, “I'll just go drop my things in my room then we can go down together, feel free to freshen up,” he looked towards the door at the far end of the room, which likely led to a bathing room. She bit her lip, all nervous energy as she watched him leave, suddenly curious beyond measure as to what his room looked like. 

She’d never seen his room at the House of Wind and somehow understood that as a chronically private and reserved male, it was probably something they had to work up to. She decided to give him that choice, when to allow her that privilege. Deciding that being in this home - the one he evidently kept incredibly secret and secluded for a reason - was enough of a show of faith, of his intentions and affection for her. 

She’d barely finished in the bathroom when he returned, his battle suit gone, replaced with a loose-fitting pair of trousers and a light-coloured cream shirt that made his eyes look even brighter somehow. She blushed as he took her hand, kissing it gently.

As they walked back down the corridor, the first door on the right opened, light streaming out of it, followed by a piercing screech, “Azieee!” Gwyn couldn't believe her eyes or ears as an Illyrian youngling came bounding out of the room and flew towards them - her little wings beating erratically.

Azriel once again dropped Gwyn’s hand and caught the young female in his arms, laughing deeply as he spun her around. Gwyn guessed the stunning little girl had to be about four or five years old. With a head of straight, dark hair down that reached her waist, her dark brown eyes were crinkled with exuberance, her little sun-freckles bunching on her golden brown Illyrian skin as she giggled. Gwyn couldn’t tell what she enjoyed more, the sound of Azriel’s matching unrestrained laughter or the sight of him holding a youngling with such open care and enthusiasm. She’d seen him be gentle and nurturing with Nyx but this was a whole other level. Her chest tightened almost painfully at it. 

He pulled away and the little female immediately started peppering him with questions, “You haven’t been here for ages, Azzie, why not? Is it your shadows? Are they keeping you away from us? Let me tell them what I think…I think you should be here to help me paint the new dance room and I think we need more Pink Azalea’s planted and you really should meet my new…” she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening to stare at Gwyn. 

Without blinking, she said quietly, “Azzie, who is this female? What happened to her wings? Why are her eyes so big? Can you see her glow too?” Azriel gave Gwyn a wicked grin, winked and whispered something into the little girl's ear. Her eyes went as wide as the moon. She wiggled and Azriel put her down before she strode to Gwyn, shoved her tiny hand into the air and said with a confidence Gwyn could only marvel at, ‘Hello Gwyn, I’m Vega. Azzie says you’re my new friend, so I’ll consider letting you play with my new pegasus, if you’d like?” 

Gwyn laughed, kneeling to take the little girl’s hand with a soft shake, “Hello Vega, what a beautiful name. Tell me, what kind of pegasus do you have - did you know they are my favourite?” 

Vega gave her a delighted shake of her head, her hair shimmering in the light. “No, but I’m sure Azzie knew that - he knows a lot .” 

Azriel had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched them, “Want to know a secret, Vega?” she whispered. The youngling let out a squeak of delight and shuffled in closer, cupping her rounded ear eagerly. “I know even more,” Gwyn whispered loudly, causing Vega’s eyes to go even wider and Azriel to let out a louder-than-expected bark of laughter. Vega watched the interaction with great interest and took Azriel’s hand then Gwyn’s.

“Lyra told me that she felt something good was going to happen today, she promised me a cake with lunch and I didn't understand why earlier - but now I do. Shall we go?” She didn't wait for them to answer, simply started pulling them back towards the staircase. 

Chapter Text

The knot in Azriel’s neck, the one that had been troubling him for days now - was finally gone. 

He couldn’t recall the moment he realised the tension from it had left his body - but sitting at the dining table in his home, watching his mother, Vega and Gwyn eat cake after lunch, all signing amiably - with Vega squealing in delight and Gwyn laughing loudly at certain points, he understood why. 

There was no opportunity for him to speak or sign amongst these three females. And it was exactly what he’d hoped would happen. Here - there was no room for dark thoughts, dark words or dark pasts - this was a place of light and life, where he came when he needed to let go of the pressures and live peacefully. He’d known from the moment he first saw her literally light up, that Gwyn could perhaps find comfort here too. Knowing she had her own dark past, her own trauma and healing journey - he hoped introducing her to his mother would only further show her that there was a strength in them that needed to be cherished, celebrated. And they could do that here, in the home he’d designed and built with the help of his brothers, nearly two centuries ago. 

His mother’s light touch on his forearm brought him back to the conversation. She signed, ‘Vega would like to show Gwyn the house?’ He bowed his head graciously and motioned for them to lead the way, placing his napkin on the plate littered with carrot cake crumbs. Vega grinned, pulling Gwyn from the table as her little fingers gripped her hand. 

They walked the quiet halls of the house, Vega excitedly pulling Gwyn from the ornately designed kitchen to the flourishing garden. Then into the bright and spacious dancing hall and the resplendent, midnight blue furnished lounge - all the while chatting excitedly about the things they got up to day-to-day. Having seen Gwyn with Nyx, knowing she’d given her life to save the younglings at Sangravah - Azriel knew Gwyn was good with children. But there was something about the way she conversed with Vega, the delectable blend of cool authority laced with eager playfulness, that was wholly addictive to watch - and the fact that she could sign too! He was continually enthralled to learn the range of her skills and talents. 

Azriel and Lyra walked quietly behind, Azriel signing to his mother, telling her as much as he could about the recent court happenings. 

‘And where does Gwyneth come into all of this? A priestess and a …’ she paused, her mouth lifting in a shy, hopeful smile, ‘a friend?’ 

Azriel allowed himself a small nod. ‘I’ll let Gwyn tell you her story herself.’ 

They rounded the corner to the main part of the house when Vega stopped dramatically outside the huge mahogany double doors in front of her. “This is our favourite room in the house…” She raised her little brow and gave Gwyn a dazzling smile before looking to Lyra for permission, which she granted with a warm nod of her head, her eyes sparkling. Azriel helped Vega open both doors and stepping aside, he watched keenly for Gwyn’s reaction. 

Those brilliant eyes went as large as he’d ever seen them, a small gasp falling from her mouth as she glided forward, as though walking on clouds. Twirling slowly, she took in the entire space and Azriel drank in the sight of her marvelling at the room. She swept over to the floor to ceiling bookcase spread across the far wall, housing hundreds of books. Running a delicate finger over the spine of one, she laughed as she saw the tall runner ladder attached to the shelf, as though already excited to climb it and explore the books on the top shelves. 

Turning, she looked to the other side of the expansive room, at the comfortable indigo settee surrounding the large mantelpiece and fireplace, littered with an array of plush navy pillows. But it was the scene next that revealed that addictive glow of hers again. She omitted a squeak of delight as she all but skipped toward the large alcove, where the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the vast ocean provided the backdrop to an array of musical instruments. She delicately touched the far key of the huge black pianoforte, before gazing longingly at the majestic golden harp, the fine violin, the beautiful guitar - all poised to perfection - ready to be played by a master musician. 

She whirled, her skirts billowing as her eyes zoned in on his, before she signed to them all, ‘This is now my favourite room, too!’

Vega clapped her hands, delighted, “Do you play any?” She tried to launch herself, to use her little wings to take off and fly towards Gwyn, but the fine bones within her tiny wings made an uncomfortable cracking noise and Lyra immediately grabbed her, pulling her back down. Vega’s little body quivered as violent coughs racked through her. 

‘There, there Vega darling, too much excitement…’ Lyra kneeled next to the little female, who was scowling defiantly. Smoothing the creases of Vega’s brow with two crooked fingers, Lyra looked calmly at Azriel, signing; ‘I need to see to Vega’s medication. Son, why don’t you show Gwyn the beach?’ 

Azriel bent down too, pulling a dark blue ribbon out of his back trouser pocket and revealing it to Vega, signing to her, ‘This is a special ribbon, for strength and courage. Wear it in your hair later for dinner - we promise to see you then.’ She took it from him cautiously, glancing nervously at Gwyn, who gave Vega an encouraging smile. Vega huffed in irritation but nodded, letting Lyra guide her slowly out of the room. 

Azriel’s shadows caressed his arms, his neck, his wings. 

The Priestess expects quite the explanation, Singer 

Chapter Text

Gwyn had no idea where to begin with her questions. On the one hand, she knew Azriel was private, reserved and tactical about whom he divulged personal information to, and would likely tell her what she needed to know when he deemed it the right moment to do so. But on the other, she simply had to know more - about everything. This house, this family, this beautiful, loving side of him. 

He quietly led her down the stone steps to the beach, his dark wings stark against the white rocks and the brilliant blue of the ocean ahead. Gwyn’s hair whipped around her face as she held onto her skirts, battling the elements but enjoying the bite of the wind, the freshness of the air. It was like being back in the eye of one of Catrin’s stormy moods - she knew her sister would have loved this place too. It’s proximity to the ocean, it’s unassuming but warm interiors, it’s careful contemplation. She wished more than anything she could tell her sister everything right now - about how she felt so much for this new life of hers. 

The beach was situated in a wide alcove, with the semi-circle of the cave walls providing a shelter from the wind. Azriel strode to a small stone hut built into the walls, pulling from it a blanket which he laid on the sand, motioning for her to join him as his shadows created an inviting cocoon.  

Sitting, she crossed her arms over her legs, resting her chin on her knees and stared at the choppy waters ahead, breathing in the salty air and listening to the meditative sound of the waves. 

“You may, Priestess,” his voice was as soothing and alluring as the waves, his featherlight touch on her back indicating that he was giving her permission to commence with her line of questioning. Closing her eyes, she thanked The Mother for granting this to her, but as she looked over her shoulder at him, her breath caught. 

What shone in those hazel eyes was unlike anything she’d ever seen grace his perfect face before. In fact, she was sure that it was a side he let very few witness - it was both gentle yet wholly vulnerable. Raw and perhaps terrified in a way she doubted even he’d acknowledge. Her mind went into overdrive - had he ever let anyone else do this? Question him like she wanted to? To learn more about the magnanimous male behind that stony exterior? And though she was practically quivering with the need to know, she swallowed her questions and took his hand in hers instead. Stroking it gently before kissing his fingertips, moving to his palm, turning it and finishing with a lingering kiss on the azure siphon, still strapped to him. She let a bit of that fire back in her blood, “I have an idea.” 

Ten minutes later, he was holding her by the shoulder and waist again as they flew above the ocean, the winds whipping at them violently. Gwyn had tied the ends of her skirts artfully around her calves with more ribbon Azriel had procured from his back pocket. 

“Ready Priestess?” His voice rumbled behind her, his grip tightening at her navel. 

She couldn’t help the grin that spread on her face as she shouted, “Now!” 

Then, he dropped her. 

It was part of the game after all, the little impromptu training session she’d created to both distract him and let him burn off some steam. 

As she plummeted towards the stormy sea below, he flew around her, using his siphons to create multiple physical discs of power, which she was supposed to use to jump and swing from one glowing blue power source to another. It was a game because he was not only having to create different shapes and sizes of obstacles and aids using his Illyrian siphon magic, but he had to weave in between them to try to throw her off course too. 

She’d always wanted to try this. Had always looked on in keen interest when the Illyrians used their killing power to create beautiful, clever weapons, obstacles, shields. Tools for bloodshed yes, but also tools for survival. Doing this at the training ring in Velaris would be infinitely more dangerous thanks to the hard stone ground. But with the ocean as her safety net - she felt free to explore her own skill, knowing that Azriel would sweep in to catch her if she did fall from too great a distance. 

With a great whoop of excitement, she let instinct take over. Her senses guided her as they weaved in and out of one another’s eye line - her swinging and leaping from glowing blue power plates and bars, him playfully throwing more obstacles in her way to jump, roll and glide underneath. They’d travelled a huge distance from the beach alcove, but the thrill of the exercise, of the new surroundings breathed fire into her blood. She could tell he was enjoying the challenge too but just to be sure, she decided to miss a step - to test his instincts. 

As she free fell, the gusts whipping at her, the ocean hundreds of feet below her coming closer by the second, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of the thrashing sea, much closer now, that she opened them again to see she was less than a few feet from breaking her entire body on the tempestuous waters. Before she could truly let panic seize her, she saw the shadow on the water, felt the reach of his most adventurous shadow then she barreled into his arms and chest, her arms immediately circling his neck, heart racing from the adrenalin. 

His powerful wings sounded like the beat of war drums behind them as she giggled into his neck, knowing he’d left her to the last minute to spite her. “Serves you right, Berdara, for trying to catch me out like that.” His vocal chords vibrated against his Adams apple where she brushed her nose against it. She looked into those dark eyes, alight with playfulness now and wiggled her body, “Again!” 

He laughed properly this time and she let herself lean forward and graze that delectable dimple with her lips before he winked, then dropped her again. This time, he made the obstacles smaller, the leaps longer, the falls greater and all the while - he gained speed too. Her lungs were practically on fire, her body burning with effort. By the time she spotted how much closer they were to the beach, she could see the light on the horizon dulling as dusk started to descend. The sea would be much colder now, but seeing Azriel’s stunning silhouette against the inky sky - taking in the heavenly build of him - she realised there was one last trick up her sleeve to play. 

This time, she actively went out of her way to avoid being caught, waiting until she was just low enough to avoid injury then dove straight into the dark waters. The moment she was submerged, she felt the breath in her lungs expand and her heart calmed. The biting chill of the water was punishing yet also revitalising - the darkness in the depths soothing. Gwyn closed her eyes and could swear she heard singing in the distance again, but a second later - when Azriel came crashing into the water after her - she realised she’d imagined it. 

Breaking to the surface, the choppy waters rocking them, Gwyn spat out the salty taste and waited a second before Azriel emerged too. He shook his head and coughed loudly, his great taloned wings poking up above his head - his shadows completely gone. Grinning wickedly, she waited for his reprimand - but he only swam closer, gripped her by the waist and leaned into her arched ear, “Last one to the shore has to make dessert,” before he took off at a breakneck speed in the water. 

She swallowed at least two great mouthfuls of salty water between her guffaws, letting him get the headstart this time - he needed it after all. 

Chapter Text

She still beat him to the shore - damn her. No matter how big and powerful he was, she was simply quicker and she knew it too. Her face was one of practised smugness as she waited at the edge of the beach, the now-gentle waves brushing against her pale ankles.

Azriel couldn’t even be mad at her for beating him, because he was being rewarded with a view that left him panting with need. Soaking wet in that practically translucent dress, Azriel took in every elegant line of her body - the long legs that he wanted to wrap around his torso again, the strong thighs that he wanted to rest his face between, the shapely hips that he wanted her to grind on him with again. He couldn't get enough as his gaze continued to climb, drinking in the sight of those breasts - he hadn’t had the honour of cupping them yet, but he could tell they’d be the perfect handful, couldn't wait to run his tongue over those soft, delicious curves and bite gently - or perhaps not so gently - on those erect nipples. But it was that face that completely paralysed him - the way her mouth had parted as she beheld him walking out of the ocean, the look of equal hunger as she let her eyes greedily take him in. He’d been averse to fire his whole life - but the flames in those vibrant eyes could burn him to Hel and back for all he cared - so long as they could burn together. 

As he approached her, letting her scent ground him again, she reached a tentative hand forward, tracing the lines of his Illyrian tattoos under his chest and gazing at him through lowered lashes. It was male arrogance that had him pulling her in, breathing into her ear, “If you wanted me to take my shirt off earlier Priestess, you should have just asked - no need for the aqua-acrobatics.” 

She gripped onto his shoulders, pushing herself up against the front of his body in the most delicious way as she breathed into his neck, “I don’t think there’s a female alive that doesn’t want to see you with your top off, Shadowsinger.” 

“There was once,” the words were out before he’d even managed to think them through. He flinched. What was wrong with him? What reason could he have to ruin a perfectly good moment with this past? Unsurprisingly she pulled back, careful contemplation etched on her ethereal features. He mentally kicked himself - realising his lack of previous courting confidence was already showing and he was already unsure of how much he could or should divulge to her of his long life. His mistakes, his fears, his desires.

There’s a first time for everything, Singer 

Swallowing, he guided her back to the blanket by the alcove. Pulling out towels from the stone hut, he draped one over her shoulders before he sat next to her and told her the hard truth he’d barely forced himself to swallow, “For nearly four centuries, I was completely and absurdly in love with Mor.” His shadows rippled in soothing waves all around them. When he didn't hear the gasp of surprise or sense any sort of shock from her, he knew that she’d already figured it out - but wanted to give him the space to tell it in his own words - just like she had given him the chance to do earlier. 

“I should have stopped pining for her the moment she decided to sleep with Cassian instead - when she made that decision about her future. But somehow, I couldn't admit defeat. Despite my better judgement, despite my shadows and sources, despite every sign pointing to the fact that she was not only not interested in me - but was actively interested in everyone but me - some small, hateful part of me resigned myself to the fact that I would only ever love her, even if she never reciprocated it.” Suddenly the words wouldn't stop falling out his mouth, wouldn't leave him be. 

“Then the Archeron sisters slipped through the void of our existence and turned all of Prythian upside down,” he knew she would understand the equal parts wonder and vexation that laced his voice. “The moment I realised my brothers were mated to two of the three sisters - I …” his voice broke. The next admission, the one which he hated himself for more than anything in recent years… 

She shuffled in closer, taking his hand in hers again and running light strokes across the scarred, sickening skin. He felt warmth spreading from each digit, and the magic she imbued in his hands gave him the confidence to continue, “I made a mistake - I lusted after a female that I had no right to. I respect Lucien, respect the bond. I don’t know if they’ll ever truly be mated, but what honourable male tries to court another male’s mate behind his back?” He spat the words, the disgust he felt for himself overwhelming. 

But now, Singer…

He looked from the distant coastline to the contrasting shapes, sizes, colours and textures of their joined hands, “I want you to know, Gwyn - I haven’t spoken to Elain in months. I would never make the mistake of approaching her like that again.” His heart was racing - why was baring ones soul such exhausting work? Why couldn't he breathe properly, speak in calm sentences? She reached up to lay her long forefinger against his lips, gazing at him boldly. 

“No more, Azriel - no more punishing yourself. The past only has power over us, if we let it,” she whispered, running the soft finger over his lips and down to his chin. Perhaps she was right - in so many ways. “But the future…” she whispered, her eyes glazing over, “the future is ours to choose.” She leaned forward and delicately brushed her mouth against his. The chasteness of the move ripped at his soul and all he could do was swallow his sins and kiss her back.

He knew he should be taking it slow, be nurturing and gentle with her, but something about the way Gwyn kissed him always left him aching for more. More contact, more challenge, more of her and it thrilled him to no end when she mirrored that hunger. Forcing her to straddle him, she sighed against his mouth and he let himself explore the divine body beneath all the wet fabric. His hands ran up her thighs again, cupped her backside and swept exploratory touches up her back until his hands found themselves in her wet hair. Her kiss became bolder, more insistent as she pushed forward and he fell flat against the sand behind them, her hips perfectly positioned so she could feel the immediate effect of his desire for her. 

She broke away from their kiss, sitting upright to look down at him with something almost akin to fear - to trepidation. He stilled, unsure how she wanted to work through this - having only ever been in this position that one time in training. He let his shadows caress every inch of her instead and watched for her reaction as she closed her eyes and moved herself slightly, positioning her pussy against his erection more, then she put a bit more pressure on - slow and torturous - but he understood the necessity for her. The clothes prohibited true pleasure, but the friction of the movement was enough to give her an idea of the size of him - for her to come to grips with what they could do. He kept his breathing steady, forcing himself to go slow as he cupped her backside, pulling her down a bit more insistently on him, knowing that he needed to be careful - not to scare her and not to give himself over completely to his carnal desires. Her eyes went wide but after a second, she gave him a shaky smile and put her hands on his chest, grinding herself slightly harder against his cock, using his chest to leverage herself. He helped her with the rocking motion until he saw the quivers start running through her body, felt himself go even harder at what it meant. 

The noise that escaped the back of his throat was both a blessing and a curse - the moment she realised the animalistic instinct that he was suppressing, she surged forward and kissed him hard, lifting her hips slightly to avoid any further friction. He ran his hands from her ass up the length of her back before he gripped and twisted, sending them both spiralling. Laying her gently on her back, he held himself steady above her by leaning on his elbow in the sand. “Are you ok?” His voice was hoarse with desire. 

She nodded, her eyes hooded. 

He leaned forward, kissing her nose delicately before brushing his stubbled jaw along her neck and whispering in her ear, “I need to hear…” 

She cut him off breathlessly, “I’m ok, I’m ok…” 

He smirked as he pulled back, taking in the now-sand covered damp dress she still wore. He kissed her languidly whilst starting to undo the buttons on that dress, “What sort of female wears a pretty dress like this to complete Illyrian siphon training with?” He slipped the thin straps down her pale, freckled arms, kissing her collarbone - avoiding that gods forsaken necklace. “What sort of female dives into one of the most violent ocean stretches in nothing but a delicate day dress?” He ran the tip of his nose along the tops of her breasts, licking between her cleavage and going even harder at the sound of her panting.

“Are you really ready to know that kind of female, Shadowsinger?” He appreciated the sizzling challenge she imbued into her voice, the one he loved to incite, but her ragged breathing told a different story, her back arching to allow him more access to those pert breasts. He smiled smugly, then pulled the top of her dress down and let her breasts bounce free from the bindings of it. At the sight of them, her pale skin stark against the perfect blush of her nipples, his mouth watered and he couldn't help it - after brushing them softly with the back of his knuckles, he just had to have them in his mouth. The little whimper he was rewarded with nearly had him coming in his loose, already soaking wet trousers - and with that knowledge, he pushed himself harder against her, using his other hand to stroke and tease the other nipple, before switching sides and paying close attention to the other breast with his mouth too. 

She wiggled, trying - he realised - to cause friction between her legs - and he wanted nothing more than to now move his mouth from her pretty pink nipples to the pretty pink lips between her legs - but was she ready for that? Was he? He was so hard, it was practically agony to watch her writhe around like this. But it was an agony he couldn't get enough of, so he kissed her with rising fervour and let his hand travel, lifting the sodden skirt so he could access her pussy with his fingers.

Before he could get to the true treasure, to find the seam of her underwear, move it aside and slip one of his fingers into her, she broke off the kiss and lurched forward, “What am I doing!” Her eyes were wide, her mouth swollen from their clash of lips and teeth and tongues. “I’m at your mother’s house, I can’t be fondling her son so brazenly!” She hissed, pulling at the straps of her dress. He wanted to laugh, but he kept himself stoic.

“I believe it was actually me fondling you, Priestess.” He nipped at her earlobe and she swatted him away casually so he added, “and I do believe it’s my house.” 

She pulled back, giving him a deliciously stern look before scoffing, “That’s just what she lets you think.” 

His shadows rippled with amusement and he felt his cock throb with delight at her irreverence. Preparing to launch himself at her again, to capture that clever mouth with his own, he wasn’t expecting the speed at which she got up and tried - in vain - to straighten her clothes and make herself presentable again. Holding her hand out saucily, she looked down at him where he still lay on the sand, “Come on Shadowsinger, let’s go have dinner with your mother and daughter.” 

This time he did choke, “My who?”

The crease in her brow bunched her freckles, “Vega?” 

Azriel got up stiffly, “Gwyn, Vega isn’t my daughter. I don’t have any children…” he said carefully, his lust immediately dispelled. 

She put her hand in front of her mouth, “I assumed, perhaps from a previous lover or a…” She didn’t finish the sentence but the rage had already taken hold. 

In a voice like cold death, he said,  “I am the bastard of an Illyrian Lord who raped my mother and abused both of us for decades. I would never, ever have a child born into that life.” 

Chapter Text

Submerging herself under the scolding water in the bathtub once again, Gwyn counted to 400 and surfaced only when her lungs couldn’t handle any more, when her pounding head felt fit to burst. 

A bastard born of rape. 

Clotho had been right, Azriel would understand - but for all the wrong reasons. She wanted to fall to her knees when he said those words, when the shadows loomed ominous, as though readying to whisk him away - when he divulged the truth that had led to him becoming one of the most terrifying, damaged and dangerous males in all of Prythian. 

She tried to open her eyes and stare at the orange, red and purple hues of the setting sun from her place in the golden bathtub. But she couldn’t appreciate the view - couldn’t stand the surrounding decadence of the bathing room with its cream and gold tiling, its open balcony that revealed the breathtaking open air of the ocean. All she could do was let fresh tears roll down her wet and hot face, let her eyes burn as she allowed herself to sob at the pain she’d seen, the pain she’d felt to her very core.

She’d barely blinked and they were back in the corridor, he’d shadow walked them directly to her door. Still covered in sand, her wet dress clinging to her body, she’d hugged herself, shock coursing through her as he stalked off and closed the door three rooms away - his own room.  

He’s as stormy as me, sister - unbidden she heard Catrin’s voice in her head. The next moment, a flash of memory blinded her. The twins quarrelling about something as younglings - their mother painstakingly working through their different temperaments with them. Catrin’s dark, moody and quiet. Gwyn’s fiery, fierce and imperious. They’d been opposites in so many ways, Fate knew how Gwyn had chosen a male with just as much of a quiet, saturnine attitude as her sister’s. 

Enough , wiping her face vigorously with a cloth, Gwyn breathed in the soft rose scent. She would not cower away from this hard truth. Would not allow him to push her away. She would weather his dark temperament, just as she had with Catrin’s.

Besides, he’d brought her to his home to meet his mother - on some level, he must have expected or even known this information would soon be something she was confronted with. And if this was a test, then Gwyn - as she did with all other tests - would do her utmost to overcome the obstacles in her way, to succeed. 

When she reached for the door handle to leave her bedroom an hour later, having dressed in an exquisite, sparkling pale mint gown of sheer gossamer, which draped elegantly over her freckled arms, hugging her figure sensually before flooding the floor with its voluptuous skirt, she’d successfully calmed her breathing and steeled her heart.  

She had marvelled at the array of stunning clothes Feyre had packed for her - noticing one or two of her own items from her drawers; the trusty training leathers, comfortable and cosy trousers and blouses, warm boots and knitted jumpers. But in between these ordinary items, a selection of brand new dresses, jewels, ribbons and even - to her mortification - lacy lingerie had been packed into the magically enhanced travel bag. Gwyn felt humbled by the High Lady’s generosity, making a mental note to try to pay her back in kind at some point. Gwyn didn’t let herself second guess her outfit choice, she needed to feel powerful tonight. Needed to feel worthy of this stunning home, its family. 

Pairing her diaphanous ensemble with a pair of star shaped diamond drop earrings and an elegant updo, Gwyn schooled her face into one of serene sublimity, walking the quiet halls whilst humming a prayer for strength, courage and understanding. It was the same one she’d hummed to herself the first time she walked up the red stone steps from The Library towards the training ring at the House of Wind all those months ago. 

As she reached the landing, grounding herself by reaching for the mahogany banister to the sweeping staircase, she spotted Azriel below in the foyer, twirling Vega around the huge space. She was wearing an adorable midnight blue little dress with a tutu-like skirt and sparkly shoes, her little blue ribbon billowing in the wind as Azriel danced with her. He in turn wore a sable suit that seemed to make his golden skin glow with a luminosity she hadn’t seen in days - as though he was only now truly healed from the events in Arrynth. His shadows seemed to bleed into his dark suit, framing his devastatingly beautiful body, wings and face. Gwyn greedily watched the scene, lapping up the energy she witnessed between them. Vega’s bright laugh, Azriel’s shy smile, the shadows dancing between them, the moonlight casting a glow through the stained glass window above them.

Despite his calm and smiling appearance now, Gwyn knew their earlier conversation would have affected him, deeply. And she knew that as a Spymaster - he was infinitely capable of showing those around him completely different personalities as and when the moment required. She just hoped that staying steadfast in her own feelings and emotions would get her through this evening, this misunderstanding. 

She took a mindstilling breathe and started to walk down the sweeping stairs only to find Lyra standing at the top of the opposite set of stairs, watching her. She looked like an Illyrian goddess of midnight. Despite all the scars, despite the crumpled wings and twisted foot - there was no denying Lyra was a truly stunning female. Resplendent in a black, glittering gown of velvet and silk, Lyra held her head high and swept gracefully down the stairs, joining Gwyn on the landing where the two staircases met. 

Gwyn bowed her head graciously at the female, offering “Lyra, thank you for welcoming me into your home. I am grateful for your hospitality.” Then she looked up into the beautiful females kohl lined sparkling hazel eyes, at the slight tilt of her rouged lips, before signing, ‘Its clear to see where Azriel got his looks from,’ Gwyn tried to imbue a little cheekiness into her eyes, but her heart was racing at what that probably told her. 

Lyra looked on kindly, then took Gwyn’s hands in her own - squeezed them gently and placed a kiss on either cheek. They turned together, Lyra hooking Gwyn by the arm as they walked the rest of the way down the steps. Azriel and Vega had watched the entire exchange, Gwyn realised, catching his gaze and holding it calmly. 

Vega was sitting on Azriel’s shoulders, her eyes sparkling greedily as she beheld Gwyn’s outfit. She signed to her, ‘You have stars in your ears!’ 

Gwyn smiled but approached them carefully - as though Azriel was some skittish animal, prone to bolting. She wiggled Vega’s little sparkly shoes, replying, “I hope you’ll do me the honour of dancing with me later too, Vega - I want to see how these little feet sparkle!” 

Vega nodded eagerly and shuffled herself, allowing Azriel to put her down as she went over to Lyra and took her hand, signing to her, ‘Aunt Lyra, what dances can we teach Gwyn?’ before they turned and headed towards the dining hall.

Gwyn watched them go then turned to find Azriel staring at her intently, his shadows billowing like waves around his form. She tried to remember what that usually meant, having recently started to decipher his different emotions based on the movement of his shadows - but the seriousness of his gaze was distracting her completely. She gave him a low curtsy, “Shadowsinger,” she said in a quiet voice. 

He blinked, before bowing his head cautiously, “Priestess,” his voice rumbled, soothing her nerves. Stepping forward, she chose to take his hands gently within her own but kept holding his gaze, trying as much as she could, to imbue in her eyes - the look of patience, understanding, apology. Without saying a word, she delicately placed a kiss on the knuckles of each hand, savouring the marbled texture of his skin, relishing in the strength of his grip, the weight of his touch. 

He said nothing, but the way his eyes glazed over with barely surprised pain pulled at Gwyn’s heart again. Yet, he still offered her his arm as they walked in silence, following Lyra and Vega to dinner. 

Chapter Text

Azriel couldn’t shake the lingering anger, tension and resentment that had destroyed his good mood earlier. He’d  never been any good at pretending to be happy and carefree when he was actually dark, dangerous and dead on the inside. 

He knew he was over-reacting, knew that Gwyn had not meant to upset him - and upon reflection, he even understood how Vega’s presence may have led her to make the assumption. But he had no idea how to move on from it - to talk to her and explain how this fact had become one of the fundamental forces behind his hatred for himself - for the pain and brutality his mother had been forced to endure in every moment thereafter. 

“You have a symphonia!” Despite himself, he started when Gwyn’s warmth left his side as she hurried over to the small glass sphere on the mantelpiece at the far side of the dining hall. She’d picked up quickly enough that his mother could hear perfectly fine - it was just speaking that was the problem. 

He tried to push the rising sickness down, tried to ignore the iciness that was spreading through his chest when he thought of his mother’s lifelong injuries. 

Now is not the time, Singer 

‘It has been a constant companion of mine for centuries’ Azriel’s mother signed back, joining her as she tapped it once and a beautiful melody filled the hall. She returned to him and Azriel pulled her chair out for her to sit down at the table. The dinner dressing the table was a vast array of simple but wholesome food for the group to choose from. Fresh fish from the ocean, perfectly roasted chicken, steamed green vegetables, fluffy potatoes, a colourful mixture of salads consisting of ripened tomatoes, tangy cheeses, ancient grains. He’d eaten at the most expensive restaurants in the world, had sampled the most exotic delicacies from Courts near and far - yet it was his mothers cooking that filled his heart the most. 

‘My friend Nesta has one too. We listen to it almost everyday - when we read, when we train - everywhere really.’ Gwyn explained, seating herself on the other side of the table before Azriel could move to pull her chair out for her too. 

“Training? What do you train for?” Vega chirped as she wiggled into the high chair next to Gwyn’s, propping her elbows on the table as she stared up at her in adoration. 

‘To be strong Vega, to be invincible…’ She signed back, smiling boldly. 

Azriel stilled. He wasn’t sure how Vega would react to that, given her own damaging past - but he watched on in silence as his mother regarded Gwyn carefully before pouring three glasses of dark wine and passing Vega an equally elegant glass containing her favoured juice. 

‘You have no wings, young one. Yet I saw you exhibit Illyrian levels of strength and bravery out there in the ocean. Where did you learn to move like that?’ Her damaged hands moved with practised efficiency and Azriel wondered whether he should translate anything for Gwyn, given the speed at which his mother signed to her. 

Naturally, Gwyn didn't miss a beat - choosing to sign her response this time. ‘From your son, and his brothers. Myself and my fellow Priestesses have been training to be warriors for the last year.’ Azriel had told his mother as much in the times he’d visited but never mentioned the particulars of who was involved. Gwyn took a long sip of wine and folded her hands in her lap, listening to the sound of the symphonia’s music - as though it gave her the strength she needed to continue with words this time. “I had a …” she paused, looked anxiously at Azriel, then blinked - just once. “Myself and all the Priestesses at the Library have been through various…” another pregnant pause then she signed the word, ‘traumas.’

In that single moment, she all but obliterated Azriel’s icy heart. Instantly, he regretted his mood. How could he hold onto this hurt and anger at her, and in the process make her even more uncomfortable about her own history? Who was he to suddenly make this about him - his fears and triggers? This was bigger than him, bigger than the trauma he’d been trying to run away from since birth - and yet before he could even open his mouth to spew any and every apology - to start begging for her forgiveness, she returned her gaze to Lyra’s, regaining the strength of her beautiful voice. “One day, Nesta Archeron asked us to join her as she trained with Cassian at the House of Wind. At first, there were only a few of us…but the strength and release it gave us all, to allow ourselves the power to join the sessions, to change our circumstances…well, it was addictive.”  

Azriel watched Gwyn take a sip of her wine delicately, moving that offending strand of hair behind her ear again as she continued, “We also have an Illyrian female in our ranks - my friend, Emerie.” She looked up at Lyra boldly, “She’s the bravest of us all… still lives in Windhaven. With her title as Carynthian - she faces those males everyday, proving her right to be there, to be respected.” The passion in her voice triggered her glow ever so slightly and Azriel sensed his mother’s shiver from the conviction of her words. 

“I want to train too!” Vega said loudly, before Azriel could tell them that Gwyn too had earned the title. Sitting tall in her chair and spreading her wings slightly, Vega’s face lit with determination. Gwyn looked from Lyra to Vega then up at Azriel. He held her gaze, but refused to give his consent - it wasn’t his place after all. Instead, he looked pointedly at his mother - Vega’s guardian. 

Lyra took a deep breath, rallying her strength then bowed her head ever so slightly. The young Illyrian squealed in delight and threw her arms around Gwyn’s neck, who laughed softly, running her hands through Vega’s hair and fiddling with the midnight blue ribbon tied there. “You are already a Warrior, Vega - but I would be honoured for you to join us.”

Lyra smiled tightly. Though she’d met Mor a handful of times and had always been impressed by her fierce power and strength, perhaps it had felt different because she was a senior member of the Court - the High Lord’s third and born to be different. But knowing Gwyn, Emerie and other Priestesses - females not born into power and rank, but with the same station as hers - now coveted and wielded the strength and courage to fight back and would continue to encourage other females to do the same - when she had so little choice, so little opportunity to do so when she was young… 

Azriel looked up just in time to see Gwyn sign to Lyra, ‘Perhaps it would be apt for Vega to learn her first few steps with you, Lyra?’ 

His mother's eyes glazed over, her signing was stunted this time, weary in a way he’d not experienced in years - and it tore at the shreds of his soul to see it, to understand why she chose the words,  ‘I am no Warrior, young one.’ 

Gwyn laid her wrist on the table and tugged gently at the bracelet there, staring intently at the charm as she signed back. ‘Neither was I… but I would be happy to share my experience with you, if you would like.’ She held his mother's gaze kindly. 

Lyra bowed her head graciously, but did not reply, simply pointed to the food laid out before them and motioning for them to begin. . 

Chapter Text

Vega had Gwyn’s fingers in a vice-like grip as they strode to the music and reading parlour at Rosehall. She immediately knew the little Illyrian would be fierce beyond measure when she grew into her strength. She had a vivacity that reminded Gwyn of Mor - and she wondered whether Azriel had brought Mor here too, had introduced her in the same way that Gwyn was now being introduced…

She pushed the unfounded jealousy that threatened to bubble up inside her deep down. Mor was with Emerie - or so she hoped, for both their sakes. Azriel had already admitted he was no longer lusting for the gorgeous goddess with golden hair. But given his current and characteristic aloofness, she wasn’t sure even she was high on his wants and needs list. 

He’d been subdued and sombre at dinner - letting Gwyn, Vega and Lyra do all the talking and signing. Though his gaze had found hers frequently throughout the meal - his presence had felt flat. Even his shadows seemed exhausted by his behaviour. The realisation that she even recognised the change in them made Gwyn curious - she’d always been perceptive but since when did she feel for his shadows? Perhaps she imagined it thanks to the wine they’d had at dinner - Gwyn had never been much of a drinker. 

Shaking her head, she pulled herself back to the present moment, just in time to hear Vega ask her, “Please could you read for me and Aunt Lyra, Gwyn?” 

Gwyn sat on the sumptuous indigo couches and found herself sinking into the comfort of the settee, candlelight flickering around them as she cast her eyes around the room proper. When she’d been in here earlier today, it had been light and open - the hundreds of books and glistening instruments taking her breath away. Now - it was the view out of the window that had her transfixed. The moonlight was bathing the entire room in its luminous glow - the vastness of the ocean stretched out beneath it, reflecting the stars that littered the inky sky. The low-lighting from the candles only made the effect more impressive and Gwyn struggled to find the words to respond to Vega, who’d already brought a book over and plonked it on Gwyn’s lap, expectedly. 

“Mother…” The sound of Azriel’s deep voice - the first time she’d heard it all night, pulled her back. She turned to see Lyra sign at Azriel. 

‘I will not lose you to this feeling for a whole evening, my son. Besides, it’s tradition.’

Azriel held his mother’s gaze in a pained way, then nodded. Lyra puffed out her chest in victory then wandered to the settee where Gwyn and Vega were seated, bringing with her a tray of tea and biscuits. 

“Gwyn’s going to read for us, Aunt Lyra. I’ve picked a story about a fae with the power of starlight, her name was —” Vega’s voice died away as a beautiful sound filled the hall. Not just a sound - but music. 

Gwyn whirled to see Azriel at the piano, playing a stunning piece of music. His shadows had amassed around his whole body, hanging to his wings, pooling at his feet, bathing in his presence as he played the most haunting piece. She listened, transfixed. It felt as dark and dangerous as his personality, as pained and vulnerable as she imagined his soul to be. But there were notes of lightness, of hope. The tragedy, played with such desperation, bridged with the fantastic, dreamy quality of the higher notes - climbing and climbing as his fingers swept gracefully over the keys, all the while pulling at her heartstrings until finally, the song ended on a soft, almost dull note of resignation. 

As though in a trance, Gwyn felt a pull in her chest that led her straight to him. His gaze was charged as he watched her - taking her in with a need she hadn’t seen all night. Swallowing, she ran her fingers delicately along the glossy wood of the piano and implored, with her eyes only - for another. 

His mouth hooked up ever so slightly, as though he wanted to smile but his treacherous body and his ruinous mind wouldn't let him. But he took a breath, his shadows receding ever so slightly then started playing at those glorious keys again. The moment the first few notes were laid out, Gwyn’s breath caught - she knew this melody. 

It was a ballad - one she’d often sung as a young girl with her mother and sister. Ambitious, dramatic, commanding. A song which she knew all the words to - about daring to take the leap of a shared life. Of the fear of rejection, yet the yearning for togetherness. Of trials, adversities, passion and love. His hazel eyes looked into hers and she knew what was happening immediately. He was laying out a challenge at her feet.

She knew the answer - in her heart, in her blood and bones, her very soul - she knew the answer. He had the decency to extend the introduction as she took long, deep breaths - wetting her lips and preparing her vocal cords as she closed her eyes and remembered the words. 

The first few were shaky, she gripped the edge of the piano as she felt the reverberations of the keys flow through her, helping her find the strength. She kept her eyes closed for the whole first verse - simply letting the music inhibit her senses, the clarity of the notes he played, the symphony he was creating became the backdrop to her voice. 

By the second and third verses, she felt the words not in her throat - but in the essence of her being. Opening her eyes, she saw a light shine on him as he stared at nothing but her, drinking her in as her voice grew in power. His shadows had amassed around them, creating an intoxicating cocoon. Then the ascension started… 

The words tumbled out and she felt his shadows pulling her towards him - she let them as he hammered at the keys, the vibration rattling her bones as she seated herself next to him and continued blending her part to his. She took a deep breath. There was a slight tilt to his mouth as he continued to rise to the challenges of her voice, as she rose to the challenge of his melody. The crescendo was building and the light in his eyes shattered her senses. Tipping her head back, she felt the music through every particle of her being - from the tips of her toes to the top of her head - her entire body alive with the feeling. She stood suddenly, filling her lungs as the final notes and words surged through her, his shadows sweeping her skirts and flitting between the light in her soul. She’d spread her arms in ecstasy, spinning around at the euphoric feeling of the music as she belted out the last words until suddenly, the last line was upon them. Swallowing, she stared at him hopelessly before crooning the final word for a long, mournful moment until every shred of the declaration culminated in the power of their exchange. 

His fingers stopped, his chest rising and falling as he watched her. She felt his shadows ebb and wanted to rush to him, despite his occasional detachment and consistent secrets and mysteries - she wanted to bask in his presence and dare him to walk away from what she laid before him - what he’d just laid before her. Before she could do anything of the sort, Lyra and Vega were upon them.

“You might not be an Illyrian, but you’re definitely an angel, with a voice like that!” Vega squealed, bouncing on her feet and flapping her wings incessantly.

Lyra’s mouth hung open, shock radiating from her as she signed back, ‘In my years I've only ever heard one voice with its like - and the light!’ 

Gwyn tore her eyes from Azriel’s and cleared her throat, thanking them shyly before walking back to the settee and pulling the book Vega had wanted to read onto her lap. Trying, with all her might, to regain some semblance of control over her heart following the transcendental musical moment. 

Chapter Text

The tang of salty sea air and the distant crashing of waves woke Gwyn the next day. Blinking at the brightness in her room, the first thing her eyes focused on was the vast ocean stretching out for miles, the sun already beating on its glistening surface. 

She sat up slowly, realising that she’d slept in later than she’d allowed herself to for months - years even. When she noticed she still had her dress on from the night before, she smiled to herself as she breathed in his scent, which lingered on her skin.

Azriel had continued to play for them for hours last night. His scores sweeping and serious, but the melodies were divine nonetheless. Gwyn had been reading to Vega when Lyra stood and joined her son at the piano and together, they continued to play. Lyra’s piano choices were far sweeter, less foreboding but there was a melancholy that Gwyn lost herself in. Equally distracted, Vega laid the book they’d been reading aside and they continued to just stare at the beautiful duo as they immersed themselves in the movements. 

Gwyn must have fallen asleep at some point, Vega nestled in her lap as they both fell prey to the combination of beautiful music, calming candlelight and soothing tea. 

Rising, Gwyn carefully pulled the dress off and hung it in the ornate armoire, noticing her earrings from last night already laid out carefully on the vanity adjacent to it, her shoes perched neatly at the foot of the bed. Azriel may be a male prone to moments of rage and melancholy, shrouded in darkness and mystery, lethal and distractingly alluring. But he was also far more gentle and conscientious than she’d hoped. Kind, patient and vulnerable… if only for brief moments where he’d let someone see that side. And Gwyn was determined to be the one to coax it out of him. 

Throwing on a casual sweater and some leggings, Gwyn made her way to the main areas of the house, following the rhythmic sound of knocking - but before she could explore it more, she found Lyra in the kitchen, kneading bread. 

She smiled as Gwyn entered, the crescent scar pulling awkwardly at her skin - though it didn't diminish her radiance one bit. Gwyn played with the ends of her hair as she signed to her sheepishly, ‘Good morning. I’m sorry to have slept so late!’ 

Lyra’s smile didn't let up, she simply wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and moved towards Gwyn and kissed her on both cheeks before signing back, ‘Azriel built Rosehall to be a place of healing and recovery. Even he tends to sleep later when he visits here - it brings me so much joy to know that you fell under the spell too.’ She winked and ushered Gwyn into a high chair by the kitchen island.  

‘I didn't realise I needed the healing sleep,’ Gwyn signed back. Lyra pulled out two cups and set about making some tea.

‘Wounds - whether they are physical or emotional - can take centuries to heal, young one. They require constant care and attention - and Rosehall provides that, to anyone that steps over its threshold.’ She handed Gwyn a steaming cup of ginger tea. 

Gwyn looked down at it, hoping the spiciness would settle the knots in her stomach, hoping the warmth of it would overpower the ice that spread throughout her body. Using her words this time, she replied, “I don’t know if I’ll ever truly heal.” 

She hadn’t meant for it to come out as a whisper - but Lyra stopped what she was doing and considered Gwyn with those large, hauntingly beautiful eyes of hers. A long moment passed and Gwyn didn’t know whether she should change the subject - perhaps ask where Azriel was - but Lyra pulled out the chair next to Gwyn’s instead and seated herself calmly.

Gwyn didn't know what to expect, but she certainly wasn’t prepared for Azriel’s mother to open up and tell her everything about her own injuries and traumas. 

Her hands flowed from one Dactylo sign to the next as she talked of her upbringing, growing up as a female of low birth and little importance in the Illyrian camps. In her late teens, she had met the young and handsome son of a Lord. Despite his volatile temper and higher rank - she thought she loved him and they agreed that when the time came, they would marry and start a family together. But his father found out a week before their intended wedding date and stopped the entire exchange - kicking Lyra out of the camp and forcing her to leave her friends, her family and her life behind. 

A few years later, they met again when he visited her new camp. He was now the Lord - as his father had died the previous summer. But he was also married, with a youngling on the way and so Lyra kept her distance from him, wanting nothing of their disastrous history to come up in her new home. But eventually, he did discover her and tried to convince her to come live with him - as his lover. When Lyra refused - he hit her. Over and over again. 

Once he’d left that night, she knew the camp wasn’t safe for her anymore, that she needed to leave and find a new home, another new start to her life. But he found her the next morning, as she was preparing to leave. He punished her again - for daring to go - for refusing him. Her face was already blackened from the bruises of the previous night, so this time he focused on her feet - battering them and tying her up so she would not and could not walk away from him again. 

On the third night he returned, remorseful for his behaviour and begging her to be with him. He told her that he still loved her. Still wanted to father her children. Had known since the moment they met, that they would create powerful Illyrian offspring - claimed they were fated, the stars had proclaimed it. His passion, his power, his strength was too much - she tried to run despite the brutal injuries. That didn't stop him and neither could she when he forced himself on her. 

After that, she had no choice. She had to go with him to his holdfast in the most remote part of the Illyrian mountains. 

‘For the full term of my pregnancy, I thought myself happy.’ Lyra signed, taking a long sip of her own tea and staring out the window at the sprawling garden and vast ocean beyond. ‘He didn’t bother me at all - his wife must have fought tooth and nail to keep his attentions on her and the legitimate children they were having. I’m ashamed to say that I fell into the trap - his and hers because the moment Azriel was born - he was taken from me.’ 

Tears were streaming down Gwyn’s cheeks as she continued to listen, her heart breaking as each sentence was signed to her. Whilst Azriel grew up away from her - he could visit her once a week. But every night after he’d left - his father would come to visit Lyra - and beat her violently for the privilege of seeing her son. 

It wasn’t until Azriel was a fully-grown Illyrian, with the most powerful allies in the entire Night Court - that he was able to rescue his mother from his father. 

‘In the century I’d been held by his father, the screaming - it broke my vocal chords irrevocably. When my voice left - so did any hopes and dreams of ever recovering. For nearly a century after, I lived with other Illyrian females who had obtained lifelong injuries, in a sanctuary courtesy of Rhysand’s Mother. But I didn’t and couldn’t heal.’ 

Gwyn gripped the edge of the kitchen island, holding onto it for support as she felt every torturous word Lyra signed. Lyra leaned forward then, gripping Gwyn by the knee and her eyes shifted - from the dull deep brown to a sparkling onyx. ‘Then Azriel and his new brothers built Rosehall. Rhysand’s mother too was involved - it is thanks to her that I have these stunning high windows.’ 

Lyra stood and walked to the window and Gwyn startled when she saw Azriel in the distance - hacking away at a great big tree. Vega was circling around him, using her wings at times and running at others. She could barely see his shadows and it made him look so domesticated somehow. Calm - at home. 

‘Rosehall became a place of refuge for all the Illyrian females that had struggled under the harsh realities of male rule in their camps. Here we created a safe space, a sanctuary. The more females that joined - the more I realised that in not letting myself find peace and happiness again, I was letting him win. Letting brutal, unjust and selfish males that rule the world - win.’ She turned then. Staring at Gwyn boldly, power seemed to thrum beneath her skin, her posture strengthened and she held her head high. ‘And I refused. The pain and suffering of my past will never leave me. I will never be what I once was. But I’ve been gifted a new life, one dedicated to finding peace and healing not just for myself - but for others too. Everyday, I remind myself that I am here - with a beautiful family and belonging to a Court that is doing what it can to change the rules of oppression and brutality.’ 

Gwyn stood then, walking over to Lyra and holding her hands as she stared deeply into her eyes and thanked her for sharing her story. “I’ve known you for less than a day, yet I feel connected to you inexplicably and profoundly, Lyra. I want you to know that I see you, I am with you and I respect you - so much.” 

A tear rolled down Lyra’s cheek and her eyes lit as she nodded then kissed Gwyn’s brow before signing back, ‘Where are my manners? You must be starving - that was a lot to handle on an empty stomach. Let’s eat!’ 

Despite the pain she still felt from Lyra’s story, the sorrow still sweeping through her, Gwyn smiled and nodded, following her to the cupboard to help prepare breakfast. 

Chapter Text

Azriel had always loved this tree. Its wide, spacious branches, its luscious leaves, its ancient presence. When they’d first started building Rosehall, he’d picked the location of the house carefully and this tree had been one of the key factors. For a tree as magnificent as this to make its home on this sweeping cliff side had to mean there were idyllic qualities to the land. The opportunity for life and prosperity. So they’d built the house and everytime Azriel came to visit, he came to thank the big old tree for standing sentinel over his mother. 

The irony that it now had grown so well that it was damaging the very house he’d chosen for it to guard, was not lost on him. He knew he needed to cut it down, knew that the roots would continue to grow and destroy the foundations of the cliff side Manor - but he decided he’d take his time cutting it down. He’d do it by hand, no powers. He’d give his sweat, blood and - yes, tears - to honour the great Oak. 

Wiping his brow, Azriel was grateful for the sea breeze that kissed his skin as he gripped the handle of the axe and prepared to take another swing. 

The Cursed Fire Queen and her Rebel Ally seek your presence, Singer

Vassa? Jurian? What could have spurred this? He lowered the axe an inch and heard a sigh in the wind, like the great oak let out a breath in relief. His gut twisted at that. He looked back towards the house, wondering what to do. He desperately wanted to spend just a few days here, to forget courts, politics, curses and schemes. Not to mention, he was intending on apologising to Gwyn today. Perhaps if he told Rhys, he’d be willing to go in his stead - but no. Azriel thought through the optics of that - it would seem absurd for a High Lord to bother with small and at this point - unspecified requirements. No, Azriel could go and could do so quickly. But he wouldn’t disappear without telling his mother - she’d have his wings for that. As would Gwyn, for that matter.

Turning, he beckoned Vega - who was making a crown of autumn leaves to add to her collection of floral charms she’d created in the time they’d been outside. As he called her, Vega’s excitable face lit up and Azriel knew what was about to happen. She lunged into the air, her little wings trying their very best to support her. It looked as though she’d be ok, that their strength would prevail but two feet before she reached him, the echoey crack sounded and her wings crippled, her little body falling towards the ground. Azriel’s shadows leapt into action, as did he. Creating a safety net of shadows and siphon power, Vega’s face was one of quiet rage as she was caught in it then clambered to her feet less than a second later. 

“I would have been fine!” 

“I was simply rescuing the grass you were about to destroy. You know how long it took me to tend to it earlier.” He adjusted the crown on her head. She rolled her eyes at him but leapt up into his arms as they headed back to the house.

Pride, it was the one thing all Illyrians were born with - even sometimes, to their detriment. Vega was a distant cousin on his mothers side and as with most females born into Illyrian camps, had faced the brutality of a botched wing clipping. Though in Vegas' case, the monsters in her camps tried to do it when she was still a babe - the results devastating. By the time they managed to rescue her, it looked like enough damage had been done to irrevocably alter not just her wings but every aspect of her growth forever. In the half a decade that followed, Madja had worked tirelessly to help rectify the myriad of issues. News had spread in the healing quarters of the various courts until Thesan’s personal healer reached out with an idea. The medicine she took daily was courtesy of their generosity, a one of its kind trial serum to help not just heal what was broken, but regrow the anatomy that was destroyed. It worked - 80% of the time. Azriel’s shadows kept an eye on Thesan’s healer in solidarity - always monitoring to ensure the High Lord of Dawn’s most trusted healer and their family were safe in thanks for what they had done for his blood.

Hearing a commotion in the kitchen, they found Gwyn laughing loudly, catching a flying pancake in a pan as his mother clapped gleefully with her disfigured hands. From the moment Gwyn had stepped into Rosehall, he’d been relieved at how easy her interactions with his mother and Vega were - but the sight before him didn't just bring him relief. It brought him joy. True joy - a feeling he’d not been blessed with many times in his life. Indeed, the sensation was so unfamiliar to him that he always found a deep, rising heat spread from his neck to his cheeks, his chest tightening with its presence. Vega laughed as she beheld what they were doing and it brought Azriel back to the moment, just as his mother and Gwyn looked up at them. 

Gwyn’s gaze caught in his and suddenly the bright smile of hers faltered a bit. An arrow pierced his heart as he realised that his outburst - his coldness - his own wretched behaviour had given her reason to doubt. Perhaps that was for the best - perhaps this light and life he saw as clear as day in her was something he could never truly hold close. Perhaps she burned too bright and he was doomed for a life in the shadows, in the dark. 

“We’re making pancakes - you’re just in time!” Gwyn exclaimed, raising her brow at him. 

He swallowed and put Vega down in the chair by the kitchen island. “I need to go. There’s been a message. I’ll be back later.” He looked down at Vega’s wings and back to his mother. “I’ll give Vega her medicine first.” 

Before he could move, Gwyn swept towards him, her hair bright against the light cream of her woolly jumper. “Wait, where are you going? Do you need help?” She stood close to him, her hands covered in flour, her eyes flashing. 

“No. I need to do this alone.” He donned his Spymaster face and voice and watched her recoil. 

Despite his own icy show, that warmth of hers spread around them again, “Is it dangerous?” She pushed instead. 

He took a breath. In his line of work - it always was. But he’d already disappointed her enough these last few days, he wouldn’t willingly break the spell again. “No. I’m simply going to see Rhys.” 

“Liar,” she breathed and his shadows rippled around him in shock. She held his gaze boldly. He stared right back. If she claimed to know what he was, what he did then let her decide for herself if she wanted to fight him everytime he had to go do his job.

She seemed to realise what he was doing and flicked her braid over her shoulder, wiping her brow and smearing flour all over her head. “Ok. I see. Well lucky for you, your mother has offered to teach me how to bake something special. So I’ll leave you to your Spymaster sneakery for today.” There she was - smart irreverence and bold challenge. “But if you don’t return in one piece, there will be Hel to pay, Shadowsinger.” She’d stepped right into his personal space, her scent wrapping around him as she pointed her floured finger right at his nose. She flicked it then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek before striding back to her station of pancakes. 

He ground his jaw - unsure who had just won that particular battle. But then he looked up at his mother’s face and he knew the truth of it. She looked immensely smug about it too. 

When he knocked on the door to the manor granted by the Grayson family in the human lands an hour later, he’d successfully donned the notorious mask of Shadowsinger, Spymaster and harbinger of darkness. 

The air around the Band of Exiles’ make-shift home felt fraught, like they were on the cusp of a great change. When Jurian answered the door, Azriel didn't need his shadows, he simply read it all in his face - something had changed. 

“You’re late.” He said brusquely and admitted Azriel into the cold, darkened halls of the once exquisite and stately manor. 

“What’s happened? Where’s Vassa?” Azriel asked instead, turning to the calculating General. 

But Jurian wasn’t that easily deterred, he strode from the hallway into the waiting parlour and asked angrily, “Last night, we sent a message across the usual channels but you didn't respond. Why?” 

That was news to him. He kept his face impassive but silently admonished his shadows. Just because Azriel had been completely and uncharacteristically hypnotised by a certain coppery-haired songstress, didn't mean they could keep urgent business like this from him. 

We heard nothing but the music of your souls, Singer 

Azriel had no idea what that meant so pushed for more information from Jurian instead. “You have new information?”

“Yes and no. We need answers - what’s happened to Lucien?” Jurian’s deep frown created what looked like permanent marks on the skin that had been newly given to his corporeal form after his creation in the Cauldron. “We’ve heard nothing from him in weeks…” 

Azriel considered it - if Lucien hadn’t told his Band of Exiles about Elain and why he was staying in Velaris until she woke up, it was either because he didn't want them privy to the knowledge, or he was so lodged in his misery at Elain’s situation that he hadn’t thought to tell them yet. He decided to play it safe either way. 

“There was a slight accident in Dawn whilst they were on their trip. They are recovering now in the Night Court.” He allowed, hoping his shadows would read whatever reactions he couldn't pick up. 

Jurian eyed him angrily, “And I’m assuming you won't tell me what type of accident?” 

They were standing by the disused fireplace of the great common room, the light from the day shining onto the dusty floor tiles. Jurian looked haggard in a way Azriel hadn’t expected and wasn’t used to. 

“What information do you have?” 

Jurian sneered, “You expect me to give you intel willingly when you won’t do a thing to reassure myself and Vassa that something terrible hasn’t happened?” 

Azriel’s temper flared even as his voice remained icy and dark, “If you want to live, then yes.” 

Jurian glared at him for another beat then stalked over to the drinks cabinet at the far, darkened wall of the room. He pulled out a decanter of dark liquor, poured a glass and knocked it back in one breath before running a hand through his muddy brown hair. Breathing heavily, he explained. “Vassa’s been summoned back to Koschei’s lake, permanently.” Azriel went still, his shadows sweeping to check if the intel was indeed correct. “We thought we had more time but something must have happened. I don't know when we’ll be able to see her again now that the death lord has called her back - we’ve lost a valuable asset in our fight. I’ve lost …” Jurian blinked repeatedly, his voice grave and his shoulders slumped. Azriel knew that the three of them were close, but now he understood Jurian’s stake in this - could understand that the pain pulling at Jurian’s shoulders was about more than just an ally out of his reach. 

“Was there anything that gave you both cause to think her tenure of freedom was about to end?” Azriel asked instead, bending over the grate of the fireplace and starting to clear the area. 

“A week ago, when she was in her firebird form - she said she felt the pull to return to the lake.” Jurian explained, slouching into the couch by the fireplace as Azriel continued to work. 

A week ago. The Isle of Arrynth - Lucien’s kidnapping. Elain’s coma. Narben’s discovery. Azriel turned the information over in his mind, appealing to his shadows to help but their silence weighed on him. Jurian spoke before he’d found a direct route to answer. 

“Then just last night, before she was forced to leave, she was talking in her sleep about the other girls. About a new one joining them. A new female promised.” He intoned dramatically. “She kept repeating it, as though she was in a trance. It seemed like the rambling of a night walker to me at the time - but then the sun rose and the pain she felt - the fear I saw in her eyes.” Jurian shuddered and sat forward, his eyes glued to the now cleaned hearth where Azriel was starting to pile logs. “She had to leave at sunrise today, we didn’t speak about it.” 

Azriel found some old flint and started chipping away at it, inciting the flames against the kindling he’d found. “I’ll do what I can with this information,” he promised when the small spark caught. 

Jurian ran his broad hand over his handsome face and stared at Azriel darkly. “That’s it? You can’t expect me to sit here and do nothing whilst Vassa’s in his clutches again and Lucien is recovering from who knows what a million leagues away?” 

Azriel stood, keeping his eyes on the flame as it took to the logs, spreading much needed warmth into the room already. “Lucien was kidnapped by Beron and tortured by his elite soldiers for information on the death sword Narben.” Azriel thought through the eventualities of telling Jurien this information and against his better judgement, decided this small amount of information would be ok to assuage Jurian’s desperation. 

“What? Why would Lucien - of all of us - know about Narben? Hel, he should have kidnapped me for that information!” Jurian exclaimed, his face pulling in outrage. 

“Either way, we got him out. Beron doesn’t have Narben, but we know he’s working with Koschei. Perhaps recalling Vassa is Koschei’s answering desperation. Perhaps it’s a resource we can tap into - to gain information on him….” 

Before he could finish the sentence, he felt Jurian about to launch himself at him - anger pulling at his face. Azriel stepped away gracefully as Jurian caught himself on the mantelpiece and turned quickly, snarling. “Don’t you dare, Shadowsinger.” He spat, “We are not pawns in yours and Rhysand’s game of power. If Vassa is harmed…” Azriel looked into Jurian’s eyes. It was almost as if he could see Vassa’s firebird form burning in his dark brown irises and it made Azriel think of another, potentially equally powerful redhead, also kissed by fire, at home - safe. Unlike Vassa.

Azriel gave him a shallow nod, “Vassa is important. We will do everything in our power to get her back.” 

Jurian’s form was still tense, but he nodded gravely despite it, casting his eyes to the fire that now roared to life in the hearth. 

Chapter Text

Azriel landed in the lawns of the River House and could immediately see the effects of Elain’s absence on the once perfectly manicured and enchanting gardens. Hoping this was the right decision, he kept his mind guarded as he stalked into his brother and sister-in-law’s home and knocked quietly on the door where he knew Elain was resting.

Lucien answered less than a second later and Azriel had to wonder how much that eye of his really could see and sense. 

More than you think you know, Singer 

That was both a mild relief and somehow wholly disconcerting. Azriel’s gaze only swept over Lucien’s for a second - the tight scars stretching over that golden eye, the dark skin mellowed by his bright red hair - but then fixed on the sleeping form behind him, surrounded by potted plants and flowers in vases. 

In the grand bed by the window, Elain looked peaceful in her slumber. The colour from her cheeks was completely gone and her once glossy hair was lacklustre - but Madja, Nuala and Cerridwen had kept her healthy at least. It didn't seem like she’d lost weight - unlike Lucien. 

“Shadowsinger,” his voice held a hint of confusion. His body was tense as he blocked the door, not allowing Azriel into the room. Azriel swallowed and kept his face as impassive as possible.

“I’ve just seen Jurian,” he said simply, tearing his eyes back to Lucien’s, who regarded him for a moment then sighed. Running a hand through his long hair, he stepped back and beckoned Azriel into the room proper. 

Azriel looked over at Elain’s form for another brief moment then sat in the lilac chairs by the bedroom’s lounging area with Lucien. Lucien offered him a cup of tea - which he declined. 

“I haven’t told them what happened. I’m not even sure what it was myself yet - I didn't want any information to spread.” He explained as he took a sip of his tea and looked longingly over at Elain's form. Azriel nodded.

“You made the right decision. Vassa’s been summoned back into Koschei’s service. Her period of liberation seems to have come to an end. Jurian is….” 

“Distraught, I imagine.” Lucien responded gravely, still watching Elain closely from where they sat. “I can’t say I’m surprised that Koschei has resorted to this. He’ll know we have Narben - and we have too many other aces up our sleeve. Taking control of Vassa again - it should have been something we foresaw. Should have been something we planned for…” He stood then, angry and flustered. Azriel felt the same - had spent the flight over from the human lands fighting the urge to punish himself for having missed this. 

“I’ve been…” He started unsure, what was it he wanted to say to Lucien, of all people? “After your capture - Gwyn and Narben and….” he rarely rambled but something about Lucien’s pained features hit a little too close to home. 

“You nearly died, Azriel. Not to mention the realisation that Gwyneth…” Lucien shook his head. “We’ve both been a bit preoccupied, it seems.” He looked at Azriel then - his face clear and almost hopeful. As though he understood the fracture in Azriel’s reasoning that allowed him to become so close to Gwyn, despite knowing it was damaging to her as well as damaging to Prythian’s safety - for him to be so distracted by her constantly. 

Tearing his eyes from Lucien’s, Azriel jerked his head over in Elain’s direction instead, “How is she?” he asked as softly as he could. 

Lucien took a big breath but before he could reply, a sound came from the bed. A delicate cough, followed by movement. Lucien moved swiftly, Azriel stayed rooted to the spot. 

Elain’s eyes remained closed, but her head moved from side to side, her fists clenching and unclenching as she stirred. Lucien gripped her hand just before she whispered in a coarse, unused voice, “Azriel?”

Azriel’s stomach dropped, his shadows looming protectively as Lucien’s face contorted in alarm then anger as he stared at him. He blinked a second later, looking down at Elain again, wiping her brow with his other hand as he pleaded, “Elain, come back. You’re safe, we’re at home. Please, come back.” 

Elain coughed again and shook her head, Lucien looking on frantically. Azriel immediately sought out his shadows, instructing them to get Nuala and Cerridwen, then he shadow-walked out of the room and into the corridor one floor below - right in front of Rhys’s office. 

He barely knocked before entering, sensing there was no magical barrier in place. 

“Az? What’s happened?” Rhys shot to his feet, paperwork flying as he moved from behind the ornate desk and strode to Azriel’s side. 

“Elain, she just woke up. I can’t be there.” Azriel explained darkly and Rhys nodded, going vacant for a second before returning and grabbing Azriel’s arm. 

“Feyre and Madja are on their way. What happened?” His brother led him to the armchairs by the high windows overlooking the Sidra, casting a silencing bubble around them immediately. 

Azriel explained what he’d learned from Jurian and why he’d been with Lucien. Then detailed exactly what their conversation had been about before Elain stirred - hoping that his brother knew there’d been nothing untoward about the exchange. 

Rhys ran his hands over his face then sat back in his chair and considered Azriel carefully. “You never truly get time off - do you, brother?” He looked pained by the notion and Azriel started. 

“You should be scrutinising every one of my actions from the last week, Rhys!” Azriel abruptly stood from his chair, casting a shadow over his brother’s form. “You should be raging at me for having missed this. You should be…” before Azriel could finish, Rhys cut the air from his lungs and Azriel gripped his throat and glowered at him. 

Rhys remained seated, glowering right back at him, his voice taut, “Don’t tell me how I should feel about this so-called ‘missed information’ and ‘mistake’. You are alive, Az. Gwyneth is safe, Lucien is healed and now Elain is back with us. We’ll figure out Vassa and Koschei in due time - but you are all more important.” 

Azriel’s self-loathing was running rampant. His brother was wrong. He’d made so many mistakes. How could he afford to keep his title of Spymaster if even these small details escaped him? Rhys sensed this wasn’t over for Azriel, not even close. He leaned forward in his own chair. “Az, death clung to this house like a second-skin the days after the Isle of Arrynth. I know you’re intimate with its presence but I confess myself somewhat less enthused with its constant and unwelcome residence in my home.” He closed those star-flecked eyes of his, using his thumb and forefingers to massage his temples. “If there’s one thing this whole exchange has revealed to me - it’s that you cannot do this alone anymore. You may be my Spymaster - but you are not the only one who is responsible. We need to train more spies, we need to trust more resources - when will you have a life if you’re always required to stay on top of every scheme and plot that every creature this god-forsaken land is concocting?” 

Azriel bristled where he stood, “Are you saying I can’t handle it all?” 

Rhys looked disgusted, “How can you think that, Az? For nearly five centuries you have done it all. Look at our position, look at our allies, look at our defences and knowledge and power.” Rhys stood then and strode forcefully to his desk, leaning against it, he took a few deep breaths. He turned slowly, running his hand through his now disheveled midnight hair, “All this power,” he waved his hand elegantly and five pockets of darkness appeared before them - The Harp, The Crown, The Mask, Ataraxia and Narben ensconced within each one. The room pulsed as Azriel’s power pushed against his skin, he felt Truth Teller vibrate in the holster on his thigh, felt his shadows thicken at the threat. Then he felt Rhys’s answering power swallow it all - holding the world in its grip. 

Rhys whispered, “What is all this power if the people we love are held hostage under the guise of control, if they cannot live their lives - cannot love and let go and be free and safe. What is this power for?” 

Azriel didn't know what to say, so he said nothing at all. Rhys closed his eyes, breathed deeply and every pocket of darkness vanished. Azriel felt his shadows recede slightly as the myriad of threats diminished. Even his siphons guttered as the power eddied away. 

“You were meant to have a few days off, Az.” Rhys was admonishing him after all. Azriel shrugged, unsure where their argument had led to but evidently his brother was battling his own demons today. Joining him at the desk, Azriel perched next to him before Rhys considered him with a sidelong glance. “How has it been?” 

Azriel couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He decided to open his mind rather than his mouth, showing his brother flashes of the last few days. Gwyn mortified at how much food Azriel could eat for breakfast. Gwyn flinging a dagger at Eris’ sneering face. Gwyn leaping between his siphoned power plates as they flew above the ocean. Vega pulling Gwyn around the house, showing her all her favourite pastimes. Gwyn glowing with power and presence as she belted out the ballad Azriel played for her at the piano. Lyra’s answering smugness as Gwyn’s irreverence went head to head with Azriel’s stubbornness just this morning… 

Rhys chuckled and flung an arm over Azriel’s shoulders, “Well, I’m sure Eris deserved it,” was all he said in response. 

Azriel chuckled too then stood properly. It was time to return to his sanctuary, where the fiery Priestess was probably ready to challenge him to some outlandish training feat or quiz him on some historical finding of hers. He looked into his brother's glittering violet gaze when instead, another question came to mind. 

“Rhys…” Azriel swallowed, treading as carefully as he could with this subject. “How did you… after Amarantha and your time under the Mountain with her. How did you…with Feyre… was it…?” 

Whatever that was, it wasn’t careful Singer. It was barely a sentence, actually.

Rhys’ eyes softened in understanding nonetheless. “I had the right person, Az. She saw me for everything I was and everything I went through and didn’t baulk. She was the right person.” 

Panic lodged itself into Azriel’s chest but Rhys stepped forward then, laying a hand on his chest, where he could probably feel Azriel’s ferocious heartbeat. “You are the right person, Az. Trust that and trust Gwyn. Let her set the pace and don't - for the love of all that’s right in this world - don’t decide for her what she is or isn't ready for.” 

Azriel’s panic was still firmly rooted and Rhys could tell, so he asked instead. “Do you…do you want it, with Gwyn?” 

“Of course,” Azriel breathed, his shadows swirling in agreement. “More than I…” Azriel swallowed, closing his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, his brother was staring at him understandingly. “Then don’t mess it up.” 

Chapter Text

The sun had already started its descent when Gwyn felt the brush of a shadow that told her Azriel had returned. Sitting at the grand piano, Lyra was teaching Gwyn a few keys on the magnificent instrument as Vega drew a picture of them from where she sat by the window - the soft oranges of the setting sun casting a glow on her dark, glossy hair.

Gwyn looked down to see the shadow snake between her fingers then Lyra’s as Azriel entered the great room. A warmth spread through her chest at seeing him, whole and unharmed. Though his face held its usual air of emotional vacancy, Gwyn could see the tight set of his wings, the way his shadows were darker around the set of his shoulders, the slight fidgeting of his thumb and forefinger that told her he was deep in his own ruminations. She felt Lyra stiffen beside her and knew she sensed it too. 

He tried for a smile as he approached, but they both knew it was a challenge. “I leave for a few hours and already you’ve replaced me as the piano player at Rosehall.” 

Lyra replied before Gwyn could, signing to him, ‘Gwyneth has already picked up the basics in the short time we’ve been here. I’m starting to teach her the next set of scales.’ Lyra beamed at Gwyn and she couldn't help the small smile back at Azriel’s patient mother. They had only been at the piano for a short time - the main part of their day had seen Gwyn teaching Vega and Lyra the beginning steps of basic training in the garden behind the house. It had been all Vega could talk about during breakfast - learning to be a warrior, like Gwyn and her uncle Azzie. Lyra had originally just sat on the patio, watching as Gwyn showed Vega the steps but before long, she drifted over - asking questions and getting involved. They’d enjoyed hours out in the autumn sun, Gwyn talking about how the Priestesses had learned all these steps over the course of a few months. She found it cathartic to talk about her fellow acolytes in the Library underneath the mountain, to explain how their fears had been honed into something more practical, more powerful. Lyra had watched and listened with a keen fascination and lingering sadness - mirroring Gwyn’s own reactions to Lyra’s own history and trauma she’d heard of that morning.  

After lunch, Gwyn went for a run along the beach - clearing her mind and pumping fresh air into her lungs as she allowed the sea breeze and crashing waves to soothe her lingering anxieties. A warm bath followed by tea and a slab of buttery bread - which they’d baked together this morning - had been Gwyn’s reward when she returned. It had been then that Vega suggested they return the favour of teaching basics, and give Gwyn a lesson on the piano. 

“I’ve never met a more proficient student myself,” Azriel’s voice had dropped an octave and the thrill of it rushed through Gwyn’s blood. He’d come much closer, resting his marbled fingers on the smooth top of the piano as he held Gwyn prisoner in his gaze. “But for now, may I steal Gwyn from you - I have something I’d like to show her.” 

Lyra nodded and Gwyn tore her eyes from Azriel’s to thank her softly before getting up and following Azriel, who held the large doors open for her, out of the room. 

Azriel said nothing when the doors closed and they were alone again. He didn't look at her or speak to her again in fact, until they were right in front of his bedroom door. He entered smoothly, but she hesitated at the threshold. 

He’d barely spoken to her since their disastrous exchange on the beach yesterday. He’d been absent for most of the day and though she’d enjoyed her time with Lyra and Vega - the fact that he’d brought her to his home only to leave himself had vexed her. She understood his demons and darkness had to find release in his own way - but how would they ever come to understand and grow intimate with each other if the silent treatment was his way of coping? 

He noticed her hesitation and breathed quietly, “Priestess?” 

Her mind was telling her to stop but the powerful tug in her chest spurred her forward, just a step - but enough for her to enter his room and take in his personal space. The first thing she noticed was the smell of the sea breeze that swept through the area from the open balcony at the far end of the room - no windows in sight. A decadent chaise was positioned on it, overlooking the great ocean beneath them. Bedecked in plush pillows and two open books sprawled across it, Gwyn could almost picture Azriel lounging there in the late evening or early morning, when sleep wouldn't come and his thoughts found solace in the vastness of the sea beyond. Gwyn supposed there was a magic keeping the elements from entering the space and destroying the tranquility. 

The room itself was the exact opposite to Gwyn’s room a few doors down - dark navy and midnight black interiors where hers were creams and golds. The bed she had in her room was large and spacious but his was positively gigantic - to allow space for his illustrious wingspan, she knew. Though the small, curious and perhaps slightly terrified part of her couldn’t help but imagine what else could happen under those navy sheets. Couldn’t stop the image of his golden tanned and tattooed skin contrasting with the luxurious and inviting darkness of those silks. She walked in a bit further and drank in the sight of the ornately decorated space - with its dark bookshelves lined with old tomes, hauntingly beautiful artwork of trees and forests, clever metal mechanisms and structures lining the shelves on the walls. A dull faelight flickered all around them, his shadows looking at home within the darkened walls. 

She went to reach for the nearest book on the shelf in front of her, but he stopped her. “Not that one,” he said quietly. She watched instead as he reached for a book three shelves down - it had black leather binding and ancient-looking golden script lining its spine. Gwyn couldn't make out the words and she realised why a second later, when he pulled it towards them. It wasn’t a book after all, but a lever which made a great cracking sound before the entire wall started to turn. 

Gwyn gasped, stepping back - right into Azriel’s sturdy frame - watching enthralled as a secret wall revealed a large armoury beyond. Her mouth dropped open as faelight flickered to life on the walls and she took in the redwood surfaces adorned with a vast array of weapons in every size, shape and discipline. There was enough armament here to equip a small army - a thoroughly deadly one at that. Azriel moved from behind her then and stepped into the space, moving to the large red velvet pouffe that took up space in the middle of the room and opened its lid to reveal another wicked selection of daggers. 

Gwyn couldn’t handle it anymore, her resolve crumbled as she stepped into the room and asked quietly, “Shadowsinger, what is going on?” She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that a male of Azriel’s skill set and reputation would have a room like this hidden in his home - yet the thought was both disturbing and yet somehow thrilling to her. She itched to touch every blade, drank in the sight of the stunning and deadly equipment before her, marveled at the craftsmanship and somehow, she just knew that Azriel could handle each and every one of these weapons with beautiful, lethal precision. 

She noticed his deep inhalation before he turned to her, watching her intently for a beat. There was another loud crack and suddenly the wall behind her was closing again, sealing them in. A small part of her panicked at that - that she was about to be closed in this terrifying space, alone with him. A bigger part of her melted at that same thought. The semi-darkness around them seemed to pulse as the final thunk of the wall closing echoed behind her and she stared right back at him. 

He moved slowly, purposefully. “I made a mistake. Actually, I’ve made a few...” he started, his gaze fixed on a dagger he’d picked up from the collection. “Yesterday, on the beach - that was just one of them.” His voice was flat, listless.

Her heart pounded, did he mean bringing her here was a mistake? Or being intimate on the beach with her? Perhaps telling her his secrets? Why was he always so cryptic and volatile? 

“What happened to you, what happened to my mother… I have no idea how to handle this…” His voice was strained as he kept staring at the dagger - not meeting her gaze. His shadows bled from his form, pulsing and swirling around his wings, his words. 

“Today, I learned of something that happened when I was away and … it's my fault. I should have seen it coming, I should have been prepared…” He swallowed, turning the dagger over in his hand to take the blade side in his large, scarred palm. 

He offered it to her then, walking slowly towards her and pushing the dagger’s hilt into her palm as he implored, “I accept my punishment. For my outburst - for my unfair treatment - for my mistakes. I won't fight it, won’t fight you.” His voice was dark and drawn, his shadows swallowing all the light in the room. 

He stepped back and stood still and her heart was about to rip out of her chest as she watched him wait for her to make a move. Fear, nausea, pain - she felt everything as she looked from his beautiful, weary face and at the shining dagger in her palm. 

He wanted her to punish him. To strike him, hurt him, to make him pay for the supposed hurt and anxiousness, for the alleged mistakes he’d made and - yes ultimately - for the fear he felt. 

She frowned as she looked up at the shadows weaving in and around his form. This was what he was, she realised. A male with so much toxic trauma that he believed he was deserving of violent, physical retribution at even the slightest inconsistencies. There was a fracture in her soul as it dawned on her that he had no idea how to recover in a healthy, positive and loving way. She looked up into his eyes but refused to let the tears spill from her own as she stepped toward him. 

“Ok Shadowsinger,” her voice was hoarse as she pointed the sharp end of the dagger towards his heart, the tip piercing his black shirt. “I understand, you want to be punished.” She swept her gaze from the tip of the dagger to the whorls of ink lining his chest, followed their path up the columns of his neck until her eyes took in the fullness of his open lips. Her arched ears listened to the rapid beating of his heart, his shallow breaths and she knew - he’d never let anyone do this to him before. So she moved the dagger, running its tip all the way up to the soft underside of his jaw, where she pushed ever so slightly and let a tiny drop of blood ooze out of his skin. Even just at the sight of that - her gut twisted violently, but she knew what she had to do. “So allow me to punish you.” 

Without causing any more damage to his sublime skin, she kept the dagger where it was but moved her other hand into the pocket of his black trousers. He stiffened as she pulled out a red ribbon from its contents and she almost smiled at it - her hunch had been correct. She kept her eyes fixed on his, drinking in the sight of his burning hazel eyes as she removed the dagger and licked the tip of it so the taste of his blood lingered on her tongue. Then she stepped back and assessed him, “I will punish you and you will do nothing as I do so. Is that understood?” She said in a husky voice she barely recognised, the fire in her blood lighting at her idea. He nodded once, his eyes glazed as he continued to stare at her. “I need to hear you….” 

“Yes,” his voice was rough. She allowed herself a victorious grin, then edged forward and gripped the top of his cotton shirt before she used the infinitely sharp dagger to rip it clean in two. Once she’d stripped him of his top, pulling carefully around his wings until he was completely shirtless, she stepped behind him. Staring longing at those large, stunning wings - she kissed the red ribbon and started slowly tying his wrists together beneath them. Again, his breath hitched and she ached to know what was going through his mind. 

With the dagger still in hand, she returned to her position in front of him and pushed him down - perhaps a little harder than intended, but with the use of his wings, he balanced himself easily enough. She leant forward, forcing herself into his proximity and used the tip of the dagger to run its sharp edge over every line of his tattoos, following their path exactly - but never causing any further injury. 

When she reached the tip of the ones on his neck, she pushed herself further and placed the dagger, blade side on, into his mouth. He got the idea and bit down, holding the dagger in place between his teeth as his hooded eyes took her in. 

“And now, for the punishment to begin,” she cooed as she knelt between his legs and started at the bottom of his torso, retracing the lines of those tattoos again - but this time with her lips and tongue. The scent of his arousal swept through the room and she felt her confidence flare with it, alternating between hot kisses and long, sensual licks. She tasted every inch of his golden skin, weaving between his perfectly sculpted stomach muscles, sweeping towards the strength of his shoulders, outlining every inked surface of those bulging muscles in his arms before eventually sitting in his lap, straddling his waist and holding onto his shoulders as she kissed his chest, licked up the lines of his neck and settled her mouth at the end of the inky journey, right beneath his earlobe.  

“Duty, honour, strength, victory, glory, pain, redemption, justice.” She whispered the words into his ear, reciting the words she had memorised with her lips - the Illyrian symbols she’d studied and worshipped on his skin. His breathing was shallow, his entire form tense from the exchange, his cock a solid column beneath the fabric of his trousers. His eyes, fully dilated now, followed hers hungrily as she pulled the knife from his mouth and said slowly and resolutely, “There, consider yourself punished.” Then she captured his lips with her own, sinking into the depths of his irrevocably disturbed soul. 

He growled and kissed her back with a vengeance. She allowed his hunger for another beat, tasting every glorious inch of his mouth before she broke off the kiss suddenly and gave him a dangerous look. “Don’t ever ask me to hurt you again, Azriel. Do you understand?” He looked shocked and yet gazed boldly back at her.

“I deserve to be hurt, Priestess.” His voice was coarse and bitter. 

“No,” she pushed, gripping his face in her hands and forcing him to understand the need she had, “You deserve to learn what it is to be cared for, understood, worshipped. I will never hurt you again, do you hear me ?” 

He just stared at her. Stared and stared until she was completely lost in the darkness of his gaze. She couldn't think or breathe or feel anything but him imprinting on her within the intensity of this room, locked away from the rest of the world. But then he swore, low and filthily and surged forward, his hands ripping free from the confines of her expertly tied ribbon. She’d studied a Valkyrie book right at the start of her studies with Merrill on the subject and memorised each intricate and clever series of knots the warrior females had used before teaching herself. It had been an invaluable skill in the Rite and the Challenge course too. Yet here was the male that obliterated every clever knot, seemingly as with little effort as breathing. Before she could even be shocked at the strength and skill required for him to do that, he’d gripped her from behind and pulled her towards him, forcing his mouth on hers in a desperate, searing kiss. 

She could hardly catch a breath between their frantic need, but she forced him down so she could control the speed of their exchange and her heart soared as he seemed to understand. His broad, textured hands gripped her waist beneath her thick jumper and his knuckles brushed against the smoothness of her skin - so she ripped it off and revelled in the sight of him drinking in the sight of her breasts, her nipples pushing painfully against the white, lacy bralette Feyre had packed for her. 

She hardly let herself stop to think before she was upon him again, pushing her tongue into his mouth. He gripped her ass and pulled her down, right against the hardness of his cock and she groaned as she felt it, moving carefully to feel its length against her. She felt a zing of pain then pleasure as he bit her nipple through the lace of her bra then licked her through the material, before moving to the next one and repeating the gesture. It felt so good, so right that she knew she wanted this, she needed this. Breathing became so much more difficult - was she ready? How could she be ready? There was only one way to find out. 

Sitting up suddenly, her core pounding, her lips swollen, her breath shallow and hot, she maneuvered herself and slowly, purposefully, unlaced the front of his trousers. Looking at him once for permission, which he granted with a silent but sure nod of his head, she pushed down the front of his trousers and undershorts and unleashed his cock from the offending clothing. 

Time seemed to slow as she watched, horror-struck as Azriel’s length revealed itself in all its glory. Gwyn backed away only an inch before she fell off his lap and into a heap on the hardwood floor. The breath knocked right out of her as she looked up and beheld it in front of her again - pulsing and gigantic. Nausea gripped her and before she knew it, a small squeak escaped and she backed away, closing her eyes and gripping her head in her hands. 

She heard him move and knew he’d be covering himself quickly, trying to diminish her fear, to take away the trigger she’d forced herself to see. She held her hand up, “Wait!” She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, finding his burning with panic. Keeping her eyes firmly on his, she stood slowly and from her place by the secret door, she forced herself to look at the outline of his cock again. 

She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her then. Covering her mouth, she tried to stifle the giggles she now felt coming on as she sunk to the floor again and failed, uncontrollable laughter escaped her. 

Azriel gave a distinctly unimpressed cough, “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for, Priestess.” He reached for his trousers and pulled them back on in one swift motion, sitting up and staring at her incredulously from his position on the velvet pouffe. 

Gwyn couldn't help it, her sides hurt from laughing so much. “I’m sorry!” she said over and over again, her ears burning as heat spread from her cheeks, down her neck, all around them. Her laughter suddenly turned to sobs and she closed her eyes and gripped her head again, confused, anxious, mortified. 

Before she knew it, he'd approached, crouching before her and lifting her chin so her tear-soaked gaze could meet his. 

“I won't insult you by asking if you’re ok, but what can I do to help?” He said gently, his knuckles stroking her flaming cheek as she fought to control her breathing. His shadows reached forward, sweeping across her arms and chest - cooling her down, she realised. 

She shook her head, “Azriel, I knew you’d be magnificent - just look at the rest of you!” His eyes flickered and she wiped her tears hastily, “But how will I ever be ready for you? I’m…I’m….” She couldn’t even find the words, her mouth was still dry from the memory of seeing it. He pursed his lips then sat in front of her, his enormous wings casting a shadow over the already moodily lit room. 

“Do you still want to…with me?” He asked quietly, reaching out and touching her fingers ever so gently. 

Gwyn glowered at him, “Don’t insult me by asking me to answer that ridiculous question, Shadowsinger.” 

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth and he looked back at her. “Then I guess that was the first of a few small steps to us figuring it out.” He reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I apologise if my actions were a bit…insistent. But I can’t help it, you’re…” he swallowed and bit his lip, heat returning to his gaze, “Beautiful, powerful, dangerous, and painfully good at…” He didn't finish his sentence, but that delicious textured forefinger of his was sweeping along her bottom lip and immediately, she felt its effects on her core. 

Gwyn closed her eyes and just allowed herself to focus on the feeling of his searing touch, carving a line of need wherever it went. From the crease of her mouth, following the pulse in the column of her neck, down her cleavage, over the tight nipples - still straining against her bra, further and further down the flat lines of her stomach until he laid his hand against her hip and she allowed him to pull her forward and position her in his lap. Only then, did she open her eyes - feeling both hot and needy yet somehow, soothed too. 

“I’ve never let anyone do what you did to me today.” He whispered into her ear as he held her tightly. 

“You were never truly at my mercy though, were you Shadowsinger?” She huffed, knowing what he meant. 

He stilled and replied smoothly, “I have been at your mercy since the day you cut that damned ribbon, Gwyneth Berdara.” 

And maybe it was something about how, for the first time with him, she felt every emotion in his words, or the way the faelight flickered with the surety of them, but she knew in that moment that she was at his too. 

Chapter Text

The Cauldron, The Mother, Hel and all the prickish Gods, demons and higher powers that existed in this world had some sort of twisted, sick sense of humour. What else could explain why the most innocent and pure young Priestess, one that he’d somehow grown to admire and desire in equal measure - could be as devilishly kinky as he was - and yet have no idea of that fact. 

Azriel was doing his utmost not to focus on Gwyn’s backless black dress as they relaxed after dinner in the music lounge. He was certainly not imagining ripping those silken straps from her freckled body, using the shreds that remained to tie her hands behind her back and sink his tongue deep into her pussy. To watch her writhe and squirm as she allowed him to extract screams of pleasure so exquisite, that he’d be so hard he’d have to fuck her deeply, slowly, without remorse for hours and hours until they were both covered in sweat and dripping come for days. 

He drank in the sight of her as she moved her long, elegant fingers over the strings of the golden harp, watched greedily as the slit in her dress revealed the top of her shapely thigh, forcing himself not to recall how she’d tied him up earlier. Him - the Shadow of Death, Prythian’s greatest Torture-Master and Demon of Darkness. How she’d crippled him with her exquisitely slow, devoted and gentle treatment in response to one of the lowest points he’d felt in years. He wouldn’t let himself consider how those depthless eyes had lit when she tasted his blood again - when she pushed a dagger into his fucking mouth - and stripped him of all his senses in the process. He’d never admit that it was the single hottest fucking thing a female had ever done to him in his near on six centuries of life. 

But because Azriel was destined for a life of cruelty and injustice, he couldn't even tell her that she was so fucking good at seducing him that had she merely winked at him earlier when she was unlacing his trousers and taking in the sight of his cock, he would have come so powerfully that even Velaris - a thousand leagues from them - would have trembled with the power of his pleasure. Instead, she’d laughed, then cried. Terrified of the one thing that had always been an asset for him with other females - the thing that dwarfed even his brother's considerable ‘talents’. 

He couldn't even tell her that everything she did - from how she held her fork when she ate to the sway of her ponytail when she walked, to the furrow of her brow and the light in her eyes, to the bite in her kisses and the way she somehow knew absolutely everything before he did… it all turned him on so much that he was battling with every ounce of self-control not to claim her in every moment they spent in each other's company.  

Then claim her so we may rest easier, Singer 

Azriel bit back the growl he had in response to his snarky shadows. Didn't they understand - he couldn't. She was scared and he was finally brave enough to admit that so was he. Especially as he watched her interactions become more and more confident and comfortable with his mother and Vega. Watching them laugh and dance, bake and joke - every action and reaction a balm he’d never thought he’d find. 

By the time the candles were nearly spent and Vega was passed out on the indigo couches, Azriel couldn’t take it anymore - he needed Gwyn’s scent wrapped around him tonight and hoped, no - prayed that she would stay with him. 

Gwyn had said goodnight to his mother and smiled gently at him before returning to her room, and he’d been forced to part from her as he carried Vega to her room in the same wing of the house as his mothers. It was only when he was on his way back up the staircase to their side of the house that he heard it. A small scuff and the whistle of wind that told him something was out of sorts. 

Immediately, he was on high alert. In the two centuries he’d had this house, no one had ever breached it. No one outside of the Inner Court knew of it - never mind how to gain access past the layers and layers of security he, Rhys, Mor and Amren had laid around its premises. 

He immediately called upon his shadows, slowing his breathing down and sinking into the darkness. A minute passed before another sound echoed from down the hall, towards the dance studio. He followed it silently, stalking its presence. Everytime he thought he was close, he’d come up empty. In every room where he thought he’d identify the culprit, suddenly there would be no one there. Only when he was back on the floor which led to his and Gwyn’s rooms did true fear lodge itself in his heart. 

She is safe, Singer. 

His shadows' reassurance settled him for only a second before they whispered to him again.

But you are not.

He turned a split second too late and felt the cold steel touch his throat as her scent wrapped around him and she let out a breathy giggle. “Surprise!” 

He nearly snarled, but he was too damn impressed to do anything but disarm her in one, clean motion and pin her up against the wall of the hallway and rip the air from her lungs with a forceful and demanding kiss. He felt her smile against his mouth as she wrapped her long legs around his waist, as he lifted her and took three long strides straight to his bedroom door - never breaking for air. 

Only when the door slammed shut behind them and the faelight flickered to life did he break off the kiss and lay her - as gently as his deprived desires and Illyrian strength would allow - on the bed of silks. She looked up at him with those huge, sparkling eyes - alight with mischief. Her hair was a crown of coppery fire around her captivating face. Her skin stark against the darkness of his sheets. All he could do was stand and admire the view and try not to unleash himself entirely on her unsuspecting and inexperienced body. He raised his brow at her and placed the dagger - which she still had from their earlier rendezvous in his hidden armoury, down on the table next to the bed before he gripped her thighs and breathed deeply, scenting both their arousal. 

“Note to self, do not bait an apex predator born to darkness in the dead of night.” She swallowed before repositioning herself so she was kneeling in front of him, her face close enough for him to capture in his large hand - more roughly than he intended. 

“Note to self, never forget that the hunter can easily become the hunted.” He allowed, nipping at her jaw as she melted with his words. 

She raised her hands and with painfully slow movements started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Looking up at him through lashes she’d darkened with make-up tonight, she asked, “So you agree to train me in more ‘Spymaster sneakery’ then?”

His mind scrambled, was she really negotiating with him - now? “You play a dirty game, Priestess.” 

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and sunk her teeth into his shoulder and before he knew it, he felt a soft - tentative touch grace the place where his wings and spine met. A shudder of pleasure coursed through him and there it was again. The Gods - fucking with his sanity over and over. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” She breathed and brought her mouth to his again, pulling him down onto the bed with her in one powerful motion. Let the gods be damned, he thought as he kissed her ferociously, whatever she wanted tonight - he’d give her. 

It wasn’t until she was half on top of him, his hands inching further up her thighs towards her backside, their kisses turning more insistent, that she sat up and gazed lustfully down at him. “I really am sorry for my earlier reaction.” Her cheeks had turned a stunning shade of pink and he wanted to lick both of them immediately but he forced himself to be more restrained than that. 

“Don’t be. Ask Rhys and Cass - I could do with being humbled.”

She barked out a laugh and his shadows sat up in delight, rushing to catch the breath she expelled as she looked back down at him. “I’d like to try again, but perhaps we should even the odds this time?”

He raised his brow and put his arm behind his head, ever the picture of male arrogance as he waited for her to reveal her plan. She bit her lip and smirked - though there was a nervousness to the movement that reminded him to stop being a prick. This was all new to her - despite her naturally being fucking phenomenal at it. 

She moved off the bed then and stood, turning her back to him. Moving her sweep of glossy hair, she gave him a shy smile over one shoulder before she tugged gently at the strap of her dress and immediately, the whole thing fell from her body like liquid night. 

It was as though he’d been taken by the ankle and dipped into a pot of molten lava. His entire body scorched as he beheld her pale and utterly naked body. She turned and revealed all of herself to him and stared at him from where she stood - unmoving. 

Time seemed to still and his mind went utterly silent as he allowed himself the divine honour of seeing her for the first time. Every inch of Gwyn’s body was sheer perfection - just like he always knew it would be. Freckles lined almost every inch and all he wanted to do was count each one with his lips, mapping them out like the starry constellations above them. He tried to swallow, to wet his parched mouth and throat - but nothing was working. Carefully, he stood from the bed and towered over her, slowly coming in close into her personal space and breathing in every drop of her scent as he leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on her mouth, “You, Gwyneth Berdara - are exquisite.” 

She let out a nervous breath and kissed him right back, gently pushing him back towards the bed before he could hold her closer. She simply replied, “Your turn.” 

He obliged her, breathing carefully to control the roiling power he felt flow through him. He hadn’t expelled nearly enough of it today and right now, with hers roaring to life all around him, it was difficult to keep it all at bay. He took the siphons off his hands first, laying them gently on the bedside table. They were the only two left on his person, the others he’d removed earlier today upon his return from Velaris. 

She watched every movement like a hawk until eventually he pushed his undershorts down and stood, allowing her the space and time to take him in and decide what to do next. He followed the rise and fall of her chest, the slow and deliberate bob of her throat as she swallowed with that large, all-seeing gaze of hers trained on every line of his body before landing on his cock. 

Eventually, she let out a breath and motioned to him. “Magnificent doesn’t seem a strong enough word, after all.” She croaked and he wanted to laugh but simply took her hand and guided her back to the bed, gently laying her on her back and settling in next to her, gazing at her calmly. 

“Tell me what you would like, Priestess?” He watched for her consent then ran his fingers from the tip of her ear, down the entire line of her freckled body, marveling at every curve, every divot, every perfectly honed inch of her. 

She watched his finger mapping across her body for another moment then squirmed, “I don’t…I don’t know?” 

Azriel gave her an assessing stare, twirling the tips of her hair with one hand and making slow circles on her skin with the other. “Yes, you do. It’s ok… you can tell me.” 

She turned pink, looked at his hand once more then bit her lip, whispering, “I think… maybe we can try… I think I’d like your fingers inside me.” Her admission was shy but her arousal was so potent, he could practically drink it - and he knew exactly how. 

Nodding in reassurance, he positioned himself a bit lower and said in his voice reserved only for the bedroom, “Show me how you do it first.” 

Her eyes widened as she blanched. “But…what if I don't, what if I don't do it right?” She stuttered, folding her legs over one another so Azriel couldn't access those perfect pink folds between them. 

He leaned forward and pressed kisses from her abdomen down to the apex of her sex before breathing her in. She allowed him to gently pry her legs back open, “There’s no such thing as right or wrong when it comes to your own pleasure, Priestess. You are in control of what you desire, and tonight - I am your student.” 

She still looked anxious, but after a couple of deep breaths, she nodded and shakily guided her long fingers down towards her pussy and slowly - so painfully slowly - started to gently work her clit before entering one solitary finger between the folds. A soft gasp left her mouth as she closed her eyes and allowed herself to fall into the feeling and Azriel watched with quiet concern when she didn't enter a second finger - like he thought she would. 

Her body started vibrating ever so slightly and he could see that she’d merely touched the surface of pleasure, but was already falling and would probably - very soon - reach a climax and that would be it. Swift, gentle and perfectly satisfactory. The Priestess way. 

And though that image was enough to keep him hard, enough to keep her mildly happy. He knew the true Gwyneth Berdara. All fiery challenges and resolute determination. A warrior - a Valkyrie. He wanted her to scratch the surface of that vixen tonight.

Before she could reach that mild climax, he kissed the top of her sex again and ran his tongue gently down, spreading her thighs a bit further as her eyes flew open. He held her eye contact gently as he continued to leave soft, lingering kisses in the most sensitive area then he raised his brow in question. Her mouth popped open and she took her own finger out then nodded quickly, as though terrified of losing her nerve. He simply replied, “I need to hear you…” 

“Yes, of course yes.” The words fell all around them and he let out a low, sensual chuckle before taking a long, sweeping and audacious lick from the bottom of her pussy’s folds all the way up to her clit, where he kissed it reverently. He thought the soft sound of surprise and satisfaction she made would topple him - but it was actually the taste of her that did that. That crackling flame, the lotus flower and ginger lily - he tasted every particle of it on his tongue and it unleashed him. He pulled her closer and went again and again until his entire mouth was covered in her sex. Only then, when her breathing was coming in hot and heavy, did he wet his finger in his mouth and gently pushed it inside the walls of her pussy. 

Immediately, she clenched and he stilled - holding her gaze, he said gently, “I’m here with you, I’m here for you. I’m yours to command, Gwyn.” The breath she’d been holding eddied out and she moaned as she unclenched the walls of her pussy and let him slowly, deliberately start pumping her before lowering his mouth again and sucking, nibbling, licking at her pulsing clit. 

It wasn’t long before her whole body bent in pleasure and his own cock was pounding with need. Just before he thought she’d reach her climax, her eyes flew open and she gripped his hair in her fist whispering, “Another…” 

His heart soared. There she was - his Warrior, his Valkyrie - already taking control of her fear, her pleasure, of him. He couldn’t help the low groan of approval in the back of his throat at her insistence. He licked his second finger then inserted both together and slowly, he built her up again. His fingers and his mouth worked in tandem as he extracted her climax and drank it like a fine wine until she let out multiple, perfectly pitched moans. 

As she finished, he softly kissed back up her body. She lay panting, her eyes glowing like the Sidra on a summer's day. “Are you o…” before he could finish his question, she blinked and surged forward to capture his lips again as she mumbled against them, “More, I want to do more…” 

He couldn't help the smile that pulled at his mouth, but he simply continued to kiss her languidly, “You shall have it, but not tonight. Let’s take our wins and build on them gradually.” She pouted and he laughed, despite himself. He was still hard as a rock and she noticed.

“But you haven’t…”

He cut her off with another kiss and gently turned her over so he could cradle her into his chest and hold her close. “We’ll work our way up to that, Priestess - I promise.” 

She scoffed, “So much for being humbled…” but she let him pull her in tightly and he could feel the exhaustion pulling at her, his male ego preened at the knowledge that his actions had gifted her this release. “Goodnight Shadowsinger,” she mumbled and he couldn’t resist laying one more kiss on her neck, breathing her in as he allowed himself to fall beside her into a deep sleep.  

Chapter Text

Gwyn was lightheaded from the dull ache she felt between her legs. It was little after dawn, she’d watched the sun rise over the ocean from the safety of Azriel’s arms, reminding herself over and over again that the reason she was slightly sore was because she wanted it. She’d let him, she’d asked him to pleasure her and she’d enjoyed it - felt strong and sure of herself during and after. But she also couldn't deny that this ache, this slight pain also reminded her of the morning after her rape. Of the damage that had been done - her maidenhead ripped from her, her insides shocked by the abusive vulgarity of the male that had taken it. 

The medical treatment she’d received straight after Mor had brought her to the infirmary had been swift and gentle. A priestess had asked her to drink the tonic that would stop pregnancies whilst a healer worked everywhere else. Though the injuries had been dealt with quickly, the feelings - the phantom touch of that diabolical soldier - the one Azriel had ripped clean in two when he’d arrived - that lingered. 

Gwyn hated that after a practically perfect experience with Azriel last night, where she’d bared herself and seen him completely stripped too - when she’d felt dizzy with lust, want and need and been satiated by a male so captivating, so powerful and mysterious and imposing that she’d fallen into a sleep so sublime… Only for her body’s treacherous muscle memory to bring her back to reality. 

But she refused to let it hold power over her any longer than it needed to. Just like Clotho and the other Priestesses had taught her, she acknowledged the trauma - let the horrendous thoughts and feelings, doubts and insecurities play on her mind for a while but kept reminding herself that she was in the safety of Azriel’s bed, stroking his unique hands as he slept, reminding herself she was safe, she was whole. Then she appealed to his shadows, hoping they’d hear her - as they did last night when they’d hidden from him and played a thrilling game of cat and mouse in Rosehall. She thanked them for their assistance in that feat first - then asked them to allow him a bit more peace this morning, to let him sleep. She knew that the weight of the world came with the privilege of the shadows - knowing what was happening a million miles away - and she knew he didn't sleep nearly enough because of it. But first, she needed to get her own thoughts back on track - so she rose and made her way to the bathing room to cleanse herself from the negative emotions. 

She nearly laughed out loud at how perfectly it matched his dark and moody bedroom. There was black marble everywhere - with specks of silver swirling amidst the designs. She could only shake her head in disbelief at the luxury - this quiet and seemingly unassuming male, with the most exquisite taste. 

The bath had been the perfect antidote to her restless mind - the water a source of strength she always relied upon. Padding into his room on her tiptoes afterwards, she found his chest of drawers and pulled out one of his humongous tops and slipped into it, revelling in the scent of him clinging to her naked body again. That’s when she spotted the books laid out on the chaise on the balcony and itched to find out what he had been reading about before. 

She’d been sitting on the lounge for about an hour and had finished three books on the subject he’d been studying when he stirred. She smiled softly and mentally thanked his shadows for their diligent work. 

Facing the ocean whilst reading his book, she felt him rise and his shadows rejoin his huge body as he came up behind her and kissed her on the head. “The sight of you in my clothes is undoing all your hard work of humbling me, Priestess.” She smiled at the sound of his sleepy voice, tugging at his top as it slipped off her shoulder.  

“I’m sure I’ll find other ways to keep you on your toes in that department, Shadowsinger.” She replied, gazing at his gorgeous face as he joined her on the chaise and she curled herself into his side. He smiled tightly but then fell quiet for a long moment and she knew it wasn’t because he was still half-asleep. Whatever had happened yesterday when he left Rosehall was finally catching up with him. Before she lost him to his secrets, she pointed at a picture in the book in front of her.

“I think I’ve figured out how to save your tree.” 

A crease formed on his brow, the elegant lines of his face pulling in confusion. “My tree?” 

“I was wondering why you would be cutting it by hand when your siphons could bring it down in one clean sweep. I figured, never take a perfect tree away from a seasoned spy, right?” She teased, jabbing him in his rock-solid chest. His lips lifted a bit and the shadows rippled in amusement so she continued. “Your research into the matter was sound - you had the right books here. But you were missing one key thing…” 

He lifted one elegant brow. “And that is?” 

Gwyn smiled saucily, “Me.” 

A couple of hours later, after a leisurely breakfast - which Azriel cooked for them - Gwyn, Vega, Lyra and Azriel sat underneath the great oak tree and Gwyn laid out her plan. 

“First we need to heal the tree from yesterday’s damage,” she gave Azriel a pointed stare and he simply shrugged. 

“How was I supposed to know you’d try to find a way around cutting it down?” He replied flatly. 

“We need to work on your ability to ask for help, Shadowsinger.” She replied tartly, flicking her hair over her shoulder and approaching the divots in the trunk that Azriel had made yesterday. “Lyra, Vega - I need you to play some music for the tree, please.” Azriel scoffed at her when she said that. 

“Don’t give me that, Shadowsinger. You want to know why this tree has grown so beautifully here? Don’t you hear the music of the land, the music of this house? It’s what feeds it - nurtures it. The books you were reading confirmed just that - remember?” 

When she’d asked what it was about music at Rosehall, Azriel had explained to her that his mother had been a truly gifted singer and dancer when she was a young female. Her beauty, paired with her talents in movement and music had made her highly desirable to many. 

It had been what she’d taught him, when she still had her voice - in the years when he visited her as a young boy. How they communicated when the only other language he knew was that of silence and darkness, distrust and brutality. 

And though she couldn’t sing anymore, she continued to play music everyday and this particularly powerful tree - a magically imbued oak - somehow had grown a musical memory, and was doing everything in its power to grow towards the symphony. 

A quiet exchange happened behind her and Gwyn somehow knew that Lyra was admonishing Azriel and telling him to get on board, which he did by shadow-walking the violin from the music room down to the garden and handing it to his mother. 

Gwyn nodded at them and Lyra started playing a stunning string combination, with Vega softly singing its melody alongside the notes. Azriel stuffed his hands in his pockets, his shadows swirling moodily as he stood by awkwardly so Gwyn beckoned him over as she worked. 

“The music isn’t just for the tree,” she whispered, imbuing power into her invoking stone and watching her magic take form as it sealed the damage to the bark of the tree. “It’s mostly for me, I adore it when your mother plays her instruments. But I also wanted them to feel helpful,” she winked. “When will you sing for me, Shadowsinger?” 

He raised his brow at her and cast a genuinely surprised look towards Vega and his mother, who were flowing beautifully from one verse to another. “You’re more conniving than I had you pegged for, Priestess.” He rumbled in response. She didn't miss his deflection. 

Finishing the last, harrowing hack in the tree’s trunk and watching the bark regrow over itself, she winked at him, “I’m a quick study, remember?” 

Now for the difficult part. She had no idea if this would work or not, but she had a hunch - and had read enough about this particular strain of magic to give her the confidence to try this outlandish strategy. 

“Ok, Shadowsinger - do you trust me?” She asked quietly, letting Lyra and Vega’s music ground her. 

He gave her a flat stare, “You’re making quite the spectacle of this aren’t you, Priestess?” 

She gave him a sizzling stare back, “Do you want your tree to stay or not?” 

He smirked and took her hand gently, stroking that hairline cut in the middle of her palm, “What are we doing?” 

“We’re going to power share, Azriel.” She said matter of factly and watched as the air left his lungs and his jaw dropped open. She forced herself to continue holding his gaze calmly. 

“We can't!” He managed after a beat, stepping back and staring in fear at the siphons on his hands, then to the stone in hers before his eyes met hers again in horror. 

“We can try. And…well, your power would kill the tree, my invoking stone will simply heal it - but together, we can convince it to grow in a way that protects the house, doesn’t destroy it.” She explained, turning the invoking stone over and over in her hand.

Power sharing wasn’t something that had been done in millenia. There were histories and legends of fae that could do it - but only in extreme cases. It had come from a dark and dangerous time - so it was completely taboo. Especially with those not fae or of your own species. But when Azriel had said he heard singing when she used Narben - the same way she had - she wondered whether perhaps their magics were more aligned than their races originally pointed to. 

“Priestess, I’m incredibly powerful. I could hurt you - I could…” He didn't finish his sentence but she knew the risks. His seven siphons versus her one stone - that kind of power could indeed kill her. 

“That’s why it’s a good thing you’re practically ancient and therefore well versed in control and patience…” She gripped his hand tighter. 

“Don’t joke right now,” He growled, pulling his hand from hers and flaring his wings. “All this, for a tree?!” He shook his head angrily and she straightened her spine. 

“No, all this for your home .” 

She’d lost her home a few years ago. Her home and her family. Here, she felt some semblance of that again - and she knew she’d do whatever it took to help keep it safe. He held his ground for another beat, glaring right back at her, his wings spread imposingly and his shadows swirling but then Vega’s voice hit a new key and it pulled him back. Slowly, the anger in his eyes fizzled out but tension billowed from every powerful line of his body.

“We have to have rules,” he ground out eventually, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the muscle in his jaw flickering.

“I would expect no less, Shadowsinger.” She smiled triumphantly and took a deep breath, reaching forward to kiss him on the cheek - right where she knew that dimple lay dormant on his currently stricken face. “The second I feel anything other than butterflies and brilliance, we will stop. How does that sound?” She blinked innocently up at him. 

“Gwyn,” he growled - his shadows darkening considerably and she knew that she wasn’t just fighting his protectiveness now, but theirs too. 

“Ok, your mother will be our anchor then. Let’s go explain it to her.” Gwyn allowed, gliding over to Lyra where she was lost in her music. 

It wasn’t until half an hour later, when Gwyn had explained the magic to Lyra and Azriel had instructed her three times over on every eventuality to look out for, that Gwyn found herself kneeling in front of the tree, holding her invoking stone, re-reading the passages in the book one last time and waiting for Azriel to join her. 

“What if we’re not compatible, Gwyn?” Pain, sorrow, longing laced his words as he stood behind her. 

She looked over her shoulder at his tense form, “Do you always have to be so morose, Shadowsinger?” She winked but if she was honest, the nerves tugged at her too.

He took one last, deep inhalation and dropped to his knees next to her, pulling Truth Teller out. “Fine, but you will cut yourself.” He muttered as he swiped the dark blade against the bronze of his marbled palm. At the sight of the cut, she felt her stomach twist, her chest tightening in alarm. All she could do was push down the roiling feeling and take the blade from him and mirror his action.  

“Azriel, I trust you. We can do this. Now let's hear our magics sing…” she pushed her bloodied hand into his and the effect was instantaneous. 

It wasn’t butterflies, brilliance, singing or anything of the sort. It was cataclysmic. It was the end of the world and the beginning of the next. It was the entire solar system, every particle of life. There was a deep, roiling darkness then a powerful explosion of light and there, at the end of it - she sensed him. 

His scent wrapped around her and she clung to it as she sought his magic and came upon an entire lake of power. She touched the surface and it rippled. Somewhere, she heard a groan and realised that he’d allowed her to do that. 

It had worked. They were… they were… Gwyn’s breath quickened but she refused to let herself get too lost in what this was. She had a job to do. 

Feeling for her stone, she looked at her power - the beaker that she’d always pictured, and she poured the power from it and guided it toward the tree. She started to sing then - repeating the words from the books she’d read just that morning. It was a musical tree and she was gifted with the power of song - so she would sing it as many times as required to get it to understand its role at Rosehall. Protection, protection, protection. 

She finished the first part of the song and realised her beaker was empty - already. So she took it to Azriel’s great azure lake and carefully, whispering words of gratitude and reassurance, filled it to the top and returned to the tree  - starting the second verse. 

The process felt like it took an age, and Gwyn’s entire body was starting to overheat with exhaustion. But she was on the seventh and final stanza and though Azriel hadn’t said a word, she could sense his own trepidation. All of this was so new to him - to them both. She stared longingly at that lake of power - and suddenly she wanted to dive straight into it, to immerse herself so wholly in him. She dipped her finger in, just to feel it. Then her hand…

Priestess… 

That wasn’t Azriel’s voice. It was a voice she’d heard before but she couldn’t recall where. It was darker, more ancient in presence, it felt neither good nor bad, but something else entirely. She pulled her hand back immediately and begrudgingly took the full beaker, finally guiding the power into the tree as she sang the last lines from the book. 

As the last drop of their shared power soaked into the soil, she sat back and allowed herself one lingering last look at his lake of power then pulled herself back. 

As she did so, the world faded to black.  

Chapter Text

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. 

Azriel gripped his head in his hands as he continued to breathe heavily, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. 

When he’d emerged from their power-sharing, he’d found Gwyn face down in the dirt by the tree - Lyra fanning her as Vega went to fetch water. Azriel had not sensed losing her - but had felt her primal need to test his powers. She’d wanted more, wanted to see all of it. And he’d allowed her to choose for herself how to navigate that feeling. But the next moment, she’d let his power be - finishing her task of siphoning his power through hers to the roots of the great Oak as she sang her protection spell. But the process had evidently cost her - she’d been passed out for ten minutes already but her breathing was even, her cheeks rosy - she’d simply overheated, exhausted herself and needed to rest.

Which left Azriel plenty of time to panic and ruminate as he strode the length of her room over and over again, replaying every moment of their exchange again and again in his mind.  

Was this what they’d always meant to be? Destined to find one another because of a power bond? What if what she felt for him was just an iteration of that bond, begging to be satiated? And now that it had - now that they’d delved into this part of their connection - what if she didn’t want him anymore. 

‘Rhys…’

Even as he opened his mind, his voice sounded broken and hoarse. 

‘Rhys - we have a problem. Please, I need…’

‘Brother.’ Rhys’s smooth voice was laced with concern. ‘ I’ll be right there.’ 

Azriel felt the shift in the air as Rhys winnowed through the wards and entered the house. It was less than a second later and he stepped into the room - rushing to embrace Azriel. 

“What happened?” He pulled back and stared at Azriel with those starry eyes before sweeping over to Gwyn and hovering his hand over her form - sensing for injuries.

Azriel’s legs gave out and he fell onto the couch by the window, opening his mind to let Rhys see the entire exchange by the tree for himself. 

When Rhys emerged, his face was pale. “Carranam,” he murmured, spellbound. 

Azriel’s mouth was dry. So it was true. “Fuck Rhys, what does this mean ?” 

Rhys ran his hands through his dark locks, pacing for a minute then he looked from Azriel to Gwyn and let out a breath. A brilliant smile lit his entire face, “Az, this is a blessing!” 

Shock rippled through him as he tried to see through the haze of his own emotions, tried to make sense of this on a strategic level. But he couldn't, all he could think of was the dangers, the risks. “Are you crazy? If our enemies discover this, she’ll be hunted. She didn't ask for this Rhys! To be chained to me is to risk her life every fucking day!”  

Rhys rushed forward, gripping Azriel by the shoulders, “The Carranam bond only chooses those with equal power and importance. You are destined to help one another, to…” 

“No,” Azriel snarled, pushing Rhys’ hand off angrily, unwilling to accept Gwyn’s life was now to be sullied with his person. “I will not allow her to be in more danger because of me. To be the same…” Azriel’s life was dark, dangerous. Growing intimate with her was one thing - he knew he could keep her at some sort of distance from his job so that she was safe in that at least. But having a power bond to her - how could he expect her to want that?

“Az, you have no choice in the matter either way. She must have known this was going to happen, otherwise why risk what you did today? She’s fucking brilliant…” Rhys’ words were heavy with awe as he looked over to Gwyn then turned back to Azriel. “Do NOT let this steer you off course.” Now his words held that unbridled power and authority but Azriel’s head was ready to burst. 

“Why?” He whispered hoarsely, “Why would the Gods do this to her. I’m not good for her, Rhys. I can’t …” 

Rhys looked at him, understanding shining in those cosmic eyes. “Brother, this bond gives you the best chance to help protect her… for you to protect each other. Think about it.” 

A good presence, Singer. Good …

“No,” Azriel snarled, his vision going white with rage. “I won’t let her…”

Before he could finish his sentence, movement from the bed cut him off. Gwyn was holding her head as she sat up, blinking at the light in the room. His shadows were on the case quicker than even he could be, ushering over to soothe her. 

“Gwyn,” he reached forward to cup her face as she kept blinking. 

But she pushed his hand aside and frowned, narrowing those luminous eyes up at him. “What did you just say?” 

Azriel was on a precipice and he knew it. Keep her safe or keep her close. He had a choice to make, he allowed himself one fleeting look at Rhys then steeled himself as he stared back at her determined face. 

“You don’t understand Gwyn, what we just did…” 

But she cut him off, pushing herself up and out of the bed, gripping her head as she stood. “ I don’t understand?… You won’t let me?” She repeated his words, her voice dripping with disdain, it hit him right where he didn’t even know he could feel anything. “I may be a few centuries shy of your illustrious experiences but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want, Shadowsinger.” She looked at her High Lord, giving him an assessing stare before turning that gaze back on Azriel, who had slipped into his cold, calm battle demeanor. For that’s what this was, a battle they needed to have. 

“Now, you can either join me and fight for it,” she fisted her hands, that luminosity edging around her skin again. “Or you can sink back into your darkness - where you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” She said boldly, daring him with those all-seeing eyes of hers. 

He let anger fuel his response. Anger for the situation. Anger at the Gods, anger at his whole goddamn life. “Being bonded to me will get you killed!” He seethed, his wings flaring with his words. 

He saw his words hit her, saw the split second of pain cross her face. But it was gone in an instant and she practically flew back towards him, getting right into his face as she snarled, “You think I fear death?” Anger flashed. “Those soldiers murdered my entire world! And as I lay there beneath that vile creature, defiled and desperate - I prayed. No, I begged… I begged for Death to come. Because I knew Death was my only salvation.” She took a deep shuddering breath, “And there you were.” 

The world fell away at her words. Both their chests rising and falling with the weight of the revelation. All Azriel could do was stare at this brave, brilliant and fearless female - one he’d been too late to help. One he’d failed that day… and couldn’t allow himself to fail again. 

She took another breath and his shadows reached for her in a way he couldn’t and wouldn’t allow himself to. Closing her eyes, she stepped back from him and massaged her temples. “I don’t fear death, Shadowsinger.” She pinned him with that glare of hers, “I fear never living or trying, for I welcomed death once and was rewarded with another chance because of it.” That light was back in her eyes. “Let The Mother judge me for it, but I will never fear death again.” 

As a child, growing up caged and brutalised - he’d only learned the words necessary for survival. Outside of those instincts, he had learned that saying nothing at all was the safer option. So that’s what he chose. For her safety, for her survival - nothing would have to do. Even if, for the first time in his painful existence, it broke him to do so.

She steeled herself, rolling up the sleeves of her jumper then giving him one last, disappointed look. “Very well. I’m going to go with the High Lord now. Come back to me when you’ve come to your senses.” 

She turned towards Rhys, who nodded in acknowledgement then looked towards him tensely. Azriel didn’t even need to say anything, his brother could read everything plainly either in his mind, on his face or from the dangerous vortex of darkness his shadows had created all around him.

‘I have to take her Az. As her High Lord and as your brother. You’d do the same - if it was Feyre asking you…’ 

‘This isn’t the same!’ Azriel all but roared in the inner recesses of the blackened cell in his mind.

But Rhys had already turned, walking behind Gwyn to the bedroom door. She didn’t look at him, not even once, before she walked straight out. Rhys did though, and cast his voice into Azriel’s mind one last time. 

‘It is, Brother. It is.’  

Chapter Text

Gwyn hadn’t planned on spending the last 18 hours pouring over every scrap of history about the Carranam bond. She hadn’t planned to head straight into the darkened recesses of the Library under the mountain to hunt for ancient histories, stories and accounts and miss lunch and dinner as a result. She hadn't meant to ignore every single priestess that stumbled upon her makeshift book fort and offered to help her, to keep her company or even to get her a blanket and some tea when her teeth were chattering and her fingers were white. Yet here she was. Exhausted, hungry and cold - now sitting at her desk in her Priestess dorm room re-reading the same paragraph she’d been struggling with for the last ten minutes.

She really needed to try to get some rest, to put the books away for just a few hours and sleep off the pounding headache. She knew it was a combination of stress, exhaustion and the lingering effects of burnout - but she feared that the moment she closed her eyes, she’d dream about him. About their last few days and interactions. 

But she couldn't afford to think on those things right now. Not the taste of his sumptuous mouth as he kissed her, or the feel of his remarkable body as it wrapped around hers. Nor the weight of his wrath when he realised what they’d done, or his unchecked fear for what they could be…

Shaking her head, she slammed the dusty book shut and groaned as her head fell forward and her forehead leaned against the thick leather bindings. She thought he was different - assumed his distaste for the Illyrian ways would make him more aware of their manipulating, territorial bullshit. But no, he seemed to be just like the rest after all. 

But she had seen the other side of him. Had seen the caring, gentle, open and warm side that she knew was dormant when he was with the majority of people - but tentatively crept to the surface when he was with those he trusted, those he cared for. 

Yet, she still couldn't shake the image of Lyra’s stricken face yesterday afternoon, when her and the High Lord had descended the staircase after their row with Azriel, readying to leave. Lyra had stood in the foyer, holding Vega by her dainty little shoulders and waiting patiently as Gwyn and Rhysand approached. 

‘Are you ok, young one?’ She’d signed once Vega had given Gwyn a tight hug and they’d both dipped their heads in acknowledgement to Rhysand. 

‘I’m sorry to have startled you. I’m ok, but sadly I need to go now. I can’t tell you what coming here, meeting you both and spending time in your home has meant to me. Thank you so much.’ Gwyn had signed back, twirling the ribbon in Vega’s midnight hair and looking at Lyra with as much respect and appreciation as her exhausted features could muster. 

Lyra looked to Rhysand, pursed her lips and nodded, signing, ‘You will always be welcome here, Gwyneth.’

Gwyn tried not to let the tear slip down her cheek as she hugged Lyra in farewell. But the stunning female caught it in her gnarled fingers nonetheless. ‘Thank you,’ she signed, the tear still clinging to her finger. 

“What on earth for?” Gwyn replied out loud, the frown at her forehead making her head pound even harder. 

‘For showing us a future.’ Was what she replied with, giving Rhysand a shallow nod of her head before closing the great big navy door. 

Gwyn’s heart already ached when she thought back to Lyra’s understanding face, her warm and gentle care. Would she ever see her again? Or would Azriel pull back so thoroughly now that what they’d started, the small amount of time they’d had together to tentatively take steps towards…no. She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t relive the terror she’d seen on his face when he’d talked about being bonded. His refusal to even consider it said enough.  

Swallowing her rising nausea, she decided to grab a quick bath before going for an early breakfast. It was before dawn so the others would only be at the training ring in a couple of hours. She had time to squash these feelings and return to the ring with power, with purpose. That’s what she’d promised the High Lord, after he’d winnowed them back to Velaris. 

 “Thank you, Gwyneth.” He’d said softly, kindly even, when they landed back on the House of Wind’s balcony. 

Gwyn threw her arms up in the air, flustered beyond belief. “Why does everyone keep thanking me?! I just evoked the wrath of one of Prythian’s most dangerous males. I just pissed off a near-on 600-year-old apex predator. I just turned my back on a male that could topple empires with his mind alone…” 

But she’d meant every word she had said to him earlier - she wasn’t afraid of this. Wasn’t afraid of him. 

The High Lord gave her a sympathetic look but shook his head, his midnight hair glistening in Velaris’ autumn sun. “No. You just showed him that he can be more than all of that. For that, I am thankful.” 

Gwyn was struggling to breathe, the day's events catching up with her. She merely shook her head but he continued smoothly, “May I offer a piece of advice?” Gwyn was almost too exhausted for words, she merely shrugged her shoulders in response. 

“That power of yours,” he gazed pointedly at her hands. When she looked down, she was shocked to see she’d clenched her hands and her fists were glowing with light. “If you’re not careful, it will burn you up from the inside. Did it feel like this before?” 

She knew he meant before Arrynth. She bit her lip, “The fire in my blood has always been there, but only recently have I felt its power simmering closer to the surface.” She allowed, tucking her coppery hair behind her ear. 

He nodded and approached her carefully. “It may have been triggered then. But there’s more than just fire… I can’t confirm what but that -” he pointed to her fists again, still glimmering with light. “That is something else…something raw. And if left unchecked - could be harmful to you.” 

Gwyn’s breath caught. Raw power? But how? Was this part of her deal with the Sirens? “What do I do?” She whispered, fear lodged in her throat. 

“I’ll give you the same advice as I gave my mate when she first discovered her new powers. Train. Find your power and purpose in any way that feels right to you. Start small but please Gwyneth… please don’t do it alone.” It was a plea and a warning, wrapped in that unbridled authority that came with his rank, his age, his abilities. “You may decide how you want to proceed, but please let us help you, whatever you choose.” 

She thought about the worry etched on his face as she lay her head back on the lip of the bathing tub under the mountain, wishing she was back in Azriel’s black marble bath, overlooking the ocean. The discussion about her powers with The High Lord had left her feeling overwhelmed and out of control. But the Carranam bond - and information about it - at least that she could control. With books, knowledge, research. 

She took a deep, steadying breath, hoping the steam in the room would ease the headache that still pounded relentlessly but knowing only one thing could truly take off the edge. It was time to get back to training. 

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight, you come back from the Isle of Arrynth with not only a legendary death sword and kick ass survival story, but you also managed to get the Shadowsinger of the Night Court to break his vow of eternal broody silence and confess his feelings for you and…” 

“He didn’t quite go that far!” Gwyn stopped her, rolling her eyes. They were sitting in her priestess dorms after morning training, nibbling on some bread and cheese as Gwyn filled Emerie in on her last few days. 

Emerie waved her hand irreverently, “Whatever…you make him realise he wants to be in a relationship with you and then….” 

“Not a relationship!” Gwyn admonished, her cheeks flaming. “We just agreed to…I don’t know, to try? You know?” 

Emerie’s wings shuffled as she gave Gwyn a no-nonsense look. “For a male of Azriel’s history and reputation - that’s the same thing! Then what…you get to the good stuff?” Emerie lifted her brows suggestively. 

“Not then, no. First he took me to his home to meet his mother, remember?” Gwyn corrected, popping another piece of bread in her mouth. She’d worked up quite an appetite after morning training, which had been incredibly interesting but also exhausting. She was shocked and yet thrilled to see it was the High Lady taking the training session for them. 

Cassian and Nesta were still away, though due back soon and doing very well, from the way Feyre told her, lifting her brow as though she was impressed with them. Azriel was on a mission, it was all Feyre said before she gave Gwyn a softer look that told her she knew about yesterday, and sympathised. The High Lady was a brilliant teacher to the females. The fact that she didn’t grow up as a warrior and had to learn to fight out of necessity meant she had a truly unique outlook. She helped them with their mindset, talked of some of her own experiences and even showed them some new tricks with the bow and arrow.

“Cauldron, that’s a bit…” Emerie looked lost for words. 

Gwyn raised both brows, “Intense?” She laughed awkwardly when Emerie gave a nod in agreement. “Well, I can confirm that Azriel is intense in every way shape and form.” She emphasised each word for dramatic effect. 

Emerie leaned forward and popped a piece of cheese from the board into her mouth. “I could have told you that for free!” She chewed then continued, “Ok, so you don’t, you know… get to the good stuff then. But when you did… was it good?” Emerie was always in it for the saucy details. 

Gwyn gave her another admonishing look. “We didn't go all the way, obviously! We’re both a bit… complicated?” She tried, cringing at the word. 

Emerie merely nodded in a sad sort of way, but her eyes were understanding when she said, “Don’t worry, the best ones usually are.” She gave Gwyn a squeeze of her knee then continued her line of questioning. “So not all the way yet but then somehow you had the courage to do your magic bonding thing with him? Why?” 

Gwyn struggled to find the words. “I just had a feeling.” She popped the crust of the bread in her mouth and looked at Emerie innocently.

“A feeling?” Emerie deadpanned. “Tell me, how often do you get these feelings?” 

“More often when I’m with him,” she admitted between her mouthful, remembering the look he’d given her when she revealed her idea to him. 

Emerie frowned. “So now you’re callahans - what does that even mean?”  

“ Carranam ,” Gwyn corrected, pulling one of the books she’d been studying and flicking to the page with its details. “It’s an ancient magic - one which allows equals to share their power with one another. They used to use it in battles but it became tainted by the few that took it too far and created slaves with the bonds. It’s been taboo for millennia and we have to keep it a secret. The way Azriel reacted when he realised what we are…” She shuddered. “He immediately went from being the strategising, clever male that thinks through all possibilities to an overbearing, territorial Illyrian in a matter of seconds,” Gwyn huffed. 

“Hey - not all Illyrians are overbearing and territorial!” Emerie contested. 

It was Gwyn’s turn to give her a deadpan look. “Who was the one who refused to leave me behind and instead carried my unconscious body up a damn mountain?” 

“Your point is?” Emerie challenged back. 

Gwyn laughed. “The point is, I now don’t know what to do about it all. He blows so hot and cold - I never know what to expect.” 

Emerie blew out a breath, “Well, what do you expect?” When Gwyn merely frowned at her in question, she continued. “In a matter of days - you’ve changed almost everything in his life. First you both nearly die on that Isle to find a sword that many believed to be only myth. Then you manage to make the most secretive, brooding male in the whole of Prythian open up by taking you to his home . Then you tell him - Surprise - I’m more than five centuries younger than you, and I’ve never exhibited much of my powers but hey, I’m just as powerful as you and whilst we’re here - we can do a thing that’s been unheard of for centuries. Now take me, Shadowsinger and pleasure me…” 

Gwyn rubbed her temples, her headache still lingering as she replied saucily, “And your point is?” 

“Gwyn, my darling friend. He may be smart but he’s still a male. They get jumpy when you back them in a corner. Just give him time to stew and I can guarantee he’ll be back…  She replied smoothly. 

“How can you be so sure?” Gwyn whispered, letting the insecure part of her come to the surface, just for a moment. 

“Because, there’s no one out there like you. No one. And he knows it and he’s got it bad… ” Emerie teased. Gwyn allowed a little smile at her friend’s reassurance, her confidence. “Besides, males like him? They love a challenge. And you are a whole barrel of challenges wrapped with a pretty little ribbon. He won’t be able to resist.” Emerie bopped Gwyn playfully on her nose, popping the last piece of cheese in her mouth as she did so. 

Gwyn laughed out loud this time, “You’re ridiculous. But thank you.” 

“Talking of overbearing Illyrian males and challenging females…” Emerie’s voice changed, her entire posture more rigid. Gwyn mirrored it automatically. “I’ve got news to share too. Two females came to my shop yesterday. They asked me about training… Valkyrie training.”

Gwyn nearly fell off the small rickety bed as she gasped. “What? This is amazing! Who are they? We need to get them here!” 

Emerie held up her hand, “ Yes and no. They won't be able to leave Windhaven. I don’t blame them. It’s a real nightmare, even for me to get to training every day with the current set-up - having to be winnowed in by someone every time. I spoke to the The High Lady about it this morning when she picked me up. She said she’ll inform The High Lord and we’ll come up with a solution to be able to help them and train there.” 

Gwyn’s heart was beating out of her chest. “Ok, but we should be involved in those conversations.” Gwyn grabbed Emerie’s hands as she looked at her friend in earnest, “Emerie - this is incredible! This is because of you .” 

It was Emerie’s turn to blush. “No, it’s not just me. Anyway, it won't be easy for them. Look what we’ve been through…they’ll have it ten times worse. We need to do this carefully.” 

Gwyn nodded, “Yes, and we need to do this stylishly.” 

Chapter Text

Vassa was indeed back at Koschei’s lake, a firebird by day and her own self at night. 

And Beron had indeed levelled an entire village in the Autumn Court, massacring innocents and ultimately destroying any chance of escaping Azriel’s wrath and retribution one day. 

Eris, the conniving shit, was still splitting his time between his home court and the Court of Nightmares, continuing to feed intel to both sides in equal measure. 

Elain was awake but a ghost again, floating around the River House, refusing to speak to her mate. 

Lucien was withdrawn and absent. Splitting his time between the Grayson manor with Jurien, the Spring Court and Tamlin’s self-inflicted prison and the River House - trying and failing to speak to his mate. 

Nesta and Cassian were flourishing in Winter, keeping themselves warm and fit in the two ways that they excelled at. Nesta had managed to win over the icy regard of the Court’s High Lord and Cassian had taken a great interest in the Court's use of animals and beasts in their armies. 

Feyre was still trying to soothe her sister and raise her son whilst Rhys kept a close and watchful eye, ensuring that every spare ounce of his power maintained the wards on Velaris, protected the people of the Night Court and kept the Dread Trove and the other formidable weapons at their disposal under magical lock and key. 

It was only Mor, who was not where she said she would be. Supposedly taking care of politics in Vallahan, it was a surprise to find she was in fact splitting her time between Windhaven and her secret horse estate. He’d never told her he knew about her hideaway - had never felt the need to. 

And all the while, Azriel watched. Listened, learned, scouted, sourced and basically did everything he could to distract himself from the burning hole in his chest. From the new and frantic incessant beating of his heart. From the pain lodged between the two as he ignored the need to fly back to Gwyn each day. 

But in that, he ultimately failed too. For every night, when he was overwhelmed with information and bone tired - he’d head back to the House of Wind’s training ring. Hoping he’d find Gwyn there, ready to train. 

But she never was. Part of him was glad - because it meant she’d got the message… he was bad for her. The other part of him, the selfish one - was heartbroken every time she didn’t enter the ring with that sizzling challenge of hers, that light and life and beauty. It had been nearly five days and everytime she didn’t show, he’d wrap his hands in the cloth bindings, find his favoured tree stump and start beating the shit out of it as he thought of all the ways he’d fucked up something so fresh, so good. Then he’d drag his sorry self back to his bed and find a restless sleep for a few hours before leaving Velaris and starting the whole process again. 

Except for today. Today he couldn’t escape any of it. Because today, Cassian and Nesta had returned and the Valkyries, with the support of the Inner Court, would go to Windhaven to scout the first Illyrian female trainees for their units. 

Azriel had spent all of yesterday spying on the wider camp. Watching the females that had approached Emerie in her shop closely, trying to decipher if there was a bigger, more sinister plot behind their motives. He found none. 

The females were the only surviving sisters of a family that had lost its males in the Battle of Hybern. Their matriarch had died in the summer after an extended illness and both were unmarried and uncourted. Not that many of the Windhaven males hadn’t tried, of course. Both were young but fully grown, despite their cruel wing clipping, and had turned down the advancements of the males in their camp. Azriel soon learned that they were being supported and - to a degree - protected by their distant cousin, Balthazar, who had more sway with the males in the camp than he had originally acknowledged. Azriel had instructed his shadows to keep a closer eye on him - just in case. 

But today wasn’t about Balthazar. It wasn’t about Azriel and his 5-day-old bad attitude either. It was about showing support and strength as the females took a stand. So here he was, standing sentinel with Cassian in an abandoned training ring just outside Windhaven as they awaited the Valkyries' arrival. 

“So I hear this was all Gwyn’s idea. To do it out in the open,” Cassian hollered at him, trying to make his voice heard over the roaring of the mountain winds. 

Azriel gritted his teeth. Out in the open, where Devlon and the other males could find them. Could bully them. Could punish…

No Singer. This strategy is smarter. In the open, they have nothing to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. They are stronger here. 

Only because of their other agreement. The Valkyries would train the Illyrian females here twice a week but the other two times, they’d be winnowed to a secret training space in Velaris. In Windhaven, they’d do basic training. Nothing fancy, nothing that would give away their true strength and purpose to the scheming Illyrian warriors. But in Velaris, they’d train with the rest of the Priestesses in a new facility that Rhys was having made for them - where they would train to their full abilities. Simulating new environments, new challenges, new and aggressive tactics. Only when they were all absolutely sure that the Illyrian males were on board with the training females, and respected the Valkyries - would they learn to combine the units. To work as one stronger team. Cassian hoped it would take a few years. Rhys imagined it would take decades. Azriel doubted the Illyrians would ever learn to accept it and work alongside the females. 

Yes, Azriel thought with bitterness and - he had to admit - pride. Only Gwyn could take a simple idea and weave it into something practical, purposeful, deadly. Azriel and Cassian would continue to help when they could - training the females in Windhaven, but Feyre and Mor would be involved in their training in Velaris too,  continuing to share their stories and experiences. 

He felt a shift in the air and checked his shadows and siphons. 

The Illyrians are here 

It was the only warning his shadows gave as a large group of males flew from the mountainside of Windhaven’s camp, landing brusquely in the square just a few metres from the ring, the trees around them billowing from the unified flight.

“So glad you could join us today, Devlon. You do have a knack for being around when the tides are shifting.” Cassian projected his voice powerfully, his preening arrogance delivered to perfection. Better the males unleash their fury on him and Azriel now, than cause trouble when the females arrived. 

Devlon sneered as multiple males behind him flared their wings in irritation. “Welcome back, General. I see mated life has softened your outlook. Seems you’ll accept any old riff raff into the Night Court’s ranks now.” 

Cassian didn't even need to respond, because within a millisecond of Devlon’s despicable words, Azriel’s shadows had unleashed themselves. He didn't even bother to try hold them off as they wound themselves round Devlon’s neck and pulled, prohibiting air to reach his lungs. It wasn’t long before not only Devon was gagging for breath, but the other 19 males behind him too were going red and blue in the face. 

“Sorry Devlon, it’s just - it’s so loud out here,” Cassian shouted back, cupping his rounded ear. “Must be the wind...” 

Azriel let himself enjoy the sight of their flustered faces for another heartbeat before he instructed each shadow to let go, but not before he threw a wave of siphoned power into the ground beneath them, rumbling the earth they stood on. The ground shook with his power and all the Illyrian males in front of them fell to their knees, clutching their throats as they tried to catch their breath.

“So loud,” Cassian murmured again in mock shock as he stared pointedly at the sky around them. Azriel couldn't help but smirk - he’d missed his brother. 

There was another rumble of power and Azriel’s spine straightened as he wiped the smirk from his face, revelling in his other brother’s knack for grand entrances. Rhys’s aura filled the space with his infinite might as he winnowed them in. 

Rhys and Feyre stepped out first, resplendent in their Night Court fighting leathers, their wings proudly displayed. Neither wore their crowns - neither felt the need to - not in front of the Illyrians. Their true power lay in their combined magic - in their overwhelming authority and strength. Azriel and Cassian simultaneously bowed their heads in respect as they walked towards them. 

But that’s when Azriel’s attention snagged. Behind Feyre and Rhys stood the Valkyries - bedecked in brand new fighting uniforms. 

Azriel focused his attention on keeping his knees locked, his spine straight, his face impassive as he beheld Gwyn for the first time since their argument at Rosehall. All three Valkyries wore a matching set of custom cream leathers. The stitching was a shimmering gold, which matched the metal plates that adorned their knees, shoulders and torso’s. A sky blue leather holster draped over their waistlines, holding in place the swords they each carried on one side, and a lasso of rope to the other. Azriel’s eyes immediately flew to the set of daggers he’d gifted Gwyn months ago, strapped securely to the holster on her shapely thigh. Nesta had Ataraxia strapped to her back - the same way he and Cassian carried theirs -  and Emerie carried a shield on hers. When he lifted his gaze to their faces, he realised they each had a ribbon tied to their brow. Nesta and Emerie’s the same shade of blue as their holsters. Gwyn’s was a white one - the one he knew she’d had since the day she cut it after Solstice. 

It wasn’t just their new outfits that stood out. It was the fierceness of their expressions. The Valkyries had arrived and they would not baulk, nor cower from the challenges laid out before them. Azriel’s shadows cooed in his ear, and even he felt the quivering need to go over to Gwyn, to take her hand and bow down to her. But he forced himself to stand still - used every ounce of his centuries-honed restraint to let her and her warrior sisters do what they needed to do today. 

Behind the Valkyrie’s stood the two new Illyrian females that were here to train with them. They both looked terrified, wearing ill fitting leathers and awed expressions as they looked on at the Valkyries standing before them. Azriel was surprised to see Balthazar in the retinue - surprised and impressed. The male had more balls than he’d originally expected - so what exactly was his play here? 

“You will fail, you know. All of you.” One of the males shouted from the lineup at Devlon’s side. Azriel narrowed his gaze, finding the offender and waiting for Cassian to put him in line, to dole out a suitable punishment. 

But it wasn’t Cassian who stepped forward. It was Gwyn. 

Chapter Text

Horrorstruck, Azriel forced himself to stay still and watch in silence as Gwyn, without missing a beat - walked straight-backed and purposefully towards the group of males around the makeshift ring. 

Her coppery ponytail billowed in the wind, the ends of the ribbon curling with the power of the gusts as she kept her chin high and her gaze focused solely on the single soldier in front of her. Trudging through the dirt all around them as though she was walking on the wind itself, she didn’t stop until she was right in his personal space, coolly assessing him. The males all around them stepped back and Azriel’s jaw clenched painfully at the scene unfolding. 

She was close enough for him to grab her, to hurt her, to do any manner of fatal things - but instead of getting into a defensive position, she merely swept that all-assessing gaze of hers up and down the lines of his powerful body and when it landed back on his face, she smirked. 

That’s when Azriel felt it. The energy that usually accompanied one of her sizzling power shows. It was as though the cracking flames of her scent ignited and sparked, causing his blood to rush through his body, his heart to race with anticipation, with need. 

Without another second of wasted energy, she made her intention clear as she turned her back on the seasoned Illyrian warrior, the slight clear. Azriel wanted to roar at her. Roar and lunge towards her, to sweep her up into his arms and fly her as far the fuck away from this volatile situation as possible. But as calm as a stream, as smooth as ice - she simply stepped into the ring, unsheathed her sword and pointed it right at the patch of dirt in front of her. Lifting her brow, she looked back at the male expectedly. 

A series of growls, snarls and fists bumping on chests followed from the Illyrian males as they hyped the male in their ranks. He puffed out his chest, tapped the single orange siphon on it and unfurled his wings threateningly. All the while, Gwyn stood still as a statue, watching and assessing - he knew. They’d been through it a million times in training - both with the other priestesses and just between them. 

“You’re going to regret this, witch.” The male snapped as he approached, all angry bravado. She schooled her face into one of cool disinterest and fiddled nonchalantly with the ribbon around her brow. 

Azriel had seen Gwyn move a million times over. Had watched with quiet pride as she learned and evolved in her style, in her sequences. Marveling at how her lithe and agile body navigated tight spaces, close cuts and challenging manoeuvres. All of this awareness, this pride at her skill, her talent, her determination came crashing back into him when he watched, awestruck as Gwyn waited patiently for the male to make the first attack. And when he did - she allowed him to lunge, strike, leap and even fly - she simply dodged him with absolute ease, time and time again. Not once did he land a blow, not even when he tried to use his singular siphon to throw power at her as he simultaneously tried to strike at her chest with his short sword - she simply bent over backwards and moved easily again, blocking the attack. 

She was playing with him. A predator toying with its prey. And it was clear - so impossibly clear that he was tiring and he was losing his temper completely in the process. 

The males on the other side were snarling, jeering at Gwyn as she continued her fluid showcase, moving from one defensive block into another with grace and ease. But then something twisted in his chest and he just knew instinctively what was about to happen. 

There she is 

His shadows were right. The moment the male turned his head, just a little too much to the one side, to seek reassurance, perhaps even support from his commander - Gwyn used his delayed reaction to launch her counter attack. She wasn’t nearly as big as him, nor as wide - but she was lightning quick and infinitely smarter. Azriel preened as she displayed one of the attacking manoeuvres he’d taught her to perfection, leaping over the Illyrians body as it folded in half at the force of her attack and sweeping into a graceful but powerful lock, his wings stuck. In the next second, she dislocated his shoulder in one clean and satisfying crack - the reverberations of the sound echoing all around them a split second before his scream of pain echoed in the air. 

But she was already moving again, sweeping around him and pointing her thin sword at his chest. “Yield,” she whispered - though somehow her melodic voice carried in the wind all around them, her victory clear. 

But Illyrians were proud, they were stubborn - they were brutal. The male simply picked his sword up with his left hand, swung it at hers and re-started his counter-attack - albeit sloppily. That’s when he saw it - her grin. 

And he couldn’t help the grin pulling at his own mouth, mirroring hers. She’d wanted him to do that - so she could really get into the attack with him and show the unique set of Valkyrie training techniques they’d learned. This wasn’t just about beating the male - shutting him up. This was about showing the new females what was in their future - the potential they had. Gwyn ran circles round the Illyrian - his countenance completely off thanks to his injury. The shadows helped Azriel sense Devlon’s rage from the other side of the ring. They fed him Rhys and Feyre’s pride, Nesta and Emerie’s satisfaction, the new female's awe. But then he also sensed Cassian’s quiet concern. Though they all had a stake in the female's training - showing the male Illyrians’ weaknesses like this was just another headache for him as their General. 

Fortunately, for Cassian’s sake and for the male in front of her - Gwyn kept it short and sweet, finally leaping over the male in another attacking manoeuvre and simply dislocating his other shoulder. Azriel wanted to snort in amusement - the male obviously wasn’t one of the smarter ones, if he hadn’t learned to protect himself from the same move twice. 

Finally, as he knelt in the mud of the ring in front of her, his breathing laboured and his sword metres away from him, he bowed his head in supplication. 

Gwyn simply bowed her head in a mock courtesy back at him, gave the males behind him a low and sweeping curtsey and turned her back on them all as she stalked gracefully back to her Valkyrie unit. Azriel couldn't take his eyes off her - off the faint glow emanating from her form, the fiery expression on her captivating face, on the muddy but victorious ribbon at her brow. She gave Nesta and Emerie both a wicked grin then stood patiently and waited. She didn't look at him, not once.

This time, Cassian did step forward. “Your soldiers need some work, Commander.” 

It’s all he needed to say before Devlon gave the male in the ring a filthy look, cursed loudly and took flight. The others around him followed suit. 

Only Balthazar, who had stayed firmly with his female cousins throughout the fight, now stepped forward. He gave them both a nod in acknowledgment then bowed his head graciously to Rhys and Feyre before stepping into Gwyn’s line of vision. Azriel ground his jaw as he watched Balthazar give Gwyn a cocky grin - one which acknowledged her own power, her skill before turning on his heel and stalking to the male in the ring. 

Before Balthazar could even bother to help him, the male snarled up at him. Balthazar simply stared right back then stuck his thumb deep into each socket and reset each shoulder before powerfully pushing himself into the air. The male gave Gwyn one last sneering snarl but took off a moment later. A deep and profound satisfaction was etched onto Gwyn’s face, yet exhaustion seemed to emanate from her too. Azriel could almost sense the strength it took her to stay upright - to stay present. He could have sworn the howling of the wind turned into a strange sort of melody as he finally let himself bask in her presence again.

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s head was still pounding as her senses returned to her slowly, groggily. 

She could hear voices and smell a combination of scents - but none more powerful than that night-chilled mist and cedar that had become almost as recognisable to her as her own. She breathed it in hungrily, having missed it these last few days. Begrudgingly, she opened her eyes.

“Gwyn!” Emerie’s face was the first in her vision, the light in the room momentarily blinding her. 

“Are you ok?” Nesta’s voice came next and Gwyn turned her head to take in the scene. They were all in the spare room she had somehow commandeered at the House of Wind. She was in bed, in her leathers - the golden-plated armour discarded to one side, her weapons with them, Emerie and Nesta sitting on either side, still in their new Valkyrie leathers too. But it was the looming figure at the doorway that Gwyn sought out the most. She couldn't tear her gaze from his form - the commanding size of him, the wisps of darkness pulsing around those magnificent wings, the stillness and silence on his face, masking the depth of emotions she knew he hid from the world, hid from himself. She hadn’t allowed herself to even look at him for a second when they landed at Windhaven, but now he was here, she couldn't help how her chest tightened and her throat dried at the mere sight of him. 

“What happened?” Gwyn croaked, blinking and forcing her gaze back to that of her sisters as she sat up in bed, trying to squash the need she felt in every particle of her being to go to Azriel, to just be close to him. 

Both looked concerned. “You passed out after training, when we landed back in Velaris, you just collapsed.” Emerie explained, leaning forward to touch Gwyn’s cheek, checking for a temperature. 

Thank goodness, at least she didn’t pass out in Windhaven. She hadn’t battled every lingering insecurity and forced herself to be calm, fearless and powerful just to pass out in front of the brutal and barbaric Illyrians. She frowned, recalling the males leaving, then starting training - albeit in a very basic fashion - similar to what she’d taught Lyra and Vega, with the new females. Cassian had gone through the motions with them all, Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn chiming in with pointers and their own experiences of their first session. Gwyn was surprised Azriel was here now - he’d left soon after the Illyrian males had, alongside the High Lord and Lady - not wanting to overwhelm the Illyrian females. 

Cassian had then flown the two new females - Divara and Ulani back to their camp and The High Lord had returned to bring the Valkyries back. It would be the only time they needed him - he’d worked with Amren and Feyre to create a new system for transporting the Valkyries to their various new training areas. He showed the Valkyries the unassuming black rock, latched into the mountainside about 100 yards from the training ring. They simply needed to touch the rock and it would take them to their chosen location. 

Gwyn was the only one to guess what magic was at work. “It’s a rune!” She looked at the rock closely, noticing slight scuff marks in places but nothing that would uncover it to the ignorant eye. 

Rhysand’s eyes had sparkled, “One of a few. Amren and I have had a lot of fun with our histories.”

Gwyn had shared a knowing smile with him as he explained there would be three more just like it. One in Windhaven - behind Emerie’s shop - where the Illyrian females could touch it and be transported to the ring just outside their camp. One in the training ring at the House of Wind and one in the new training ring that was being completed atop one of the highest points in Velaris, nestled between the mountain ranges. No one would see them there, no one would bother them. 

Gwyn had been so busy marveling at the ingenuity of the magic systems - at the power it took to create them, that she had pushed the lingering nausea and headache she’d had for almost a week now aside in favour of trying to figure out how it all worked. 

Emerie handed her a piece of chocolate as she rubbed her head now, trying to clear the fog in her mind. “Why is it always me?” Gwyn sighed as she bit into the chocolate. 

Nesta gave her an assessing stare. “When last did you sleep, Gwyn?” 

She swallowed, trying not to look guilty as she rubbed her temples. “There’s been a lot going on…” she shrugged instead. 

Nesta huffed with impatience, standing from the bed abruptly and walking directly to Azriel, giving him that icy scrutiny she was famed for - the same Gwyn had tried to emulate when she was in front of the Illyrian soldier today. She’d seen countless males baulk at that look but Azriel’s face remained impassive, his wings only shifting slightly. The shadows curled around his neck, as though whispering in his ear. Nesta simply turned back to Gwyn from her place by the door. “You were amazing against that soldier today, but if you don’t get some rest - you and I are re-enacting that little scene and I’ll bring Ataraxia.” She threatened, but Gwyn understood the Nesta beneath the biting words, the one that was begging her to look after herself properly before putting her safety on the line in front of others. “Or, I’ll just tell the House not to conjure Peggy for the next girls night. It’s your choice.” Gwyn’s mouth dropped open. 

“You wouldn't!” She muttered in outrage.

Nesta smirked, “Try me.” She turned her attention back to the Shadowsinger then and gave him a long, cold and hard look, as though they were having some sort of silent exchange. Azriel simply gave her his own cold stare back, but under the weight of Nesta’s expression, it transformed into one of quiet resignation. He stepped aside and let her leave the room, straight-backed and tempestuous as ever. 

Emerie raised both brows as she watched her go. “Guess that’s my cue too. You’ll be ok?” She looked at Gwyn critically. 

Gwyn nodded, squeezing Emerie’s hand. “Thank you for offering your shop as one of the stone locations.”

Emerie winked, “Females are only good for shopping and cooking, remember? That’s the only reason they’d come to my shop, after all.” Gwyn couldn't help the conspiring grin she threw back. The males expected their Illyrian females to tend to the family, the house. Not to train and become warriors in their own right. Emerie’s shop was the perfect disguise. 

Gwyn watched Emerie leave then pulled the covers off and tried to stand. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice sent shivers down her spine. She ignored them. 

“I’m getting up. It’s time for evening service and I have a…” A shadow pulled the coverlet from her fingers and she looked up angrily. “What are you doing?” She demanded, crossing her arms. 

He didn't move, hadn’t stepped into her room yet but his face was one of careful contemplation. “I’d like to propose you stay in bed, and rest.” 

Gwyn bristled, “Why should you care what I do?” 

Azriel mirrored her stance, crossing his arms over his chest too. “Be reasonable Priestess.”

Her jaw dropped as she seethed, “You, Shadowsinger, do not get to lecture me about being reasonable.” The blow landed and she found she didn't regret a single drop of venom in her voice. “Now, let me be so I can get back to putting males like you back in their boxes.” 

Azriel’s shadows darkened, “There aren’t any other males like me, Priestess.” His voice was like cold death, the darkest, purest symphony she’d ever heard. It ignited every element of her mind, body and soul. 

Stepping around the bed, she practically flew at him in anger, “You are insufferable - you arrogant, overbearing…” she clenched her jaw, unable to think straight for being so damn close to him again. 

He narrowed his eyes, his face full of deathly promise as his icy voice replied, “Come on - say it.” 

She shook her head in frustration, throwing up her arms. “Bat! You insufferable, arrogant, overbearing bat!” 

Azriel watched her closely for another second then tipped back his head and roared with laughter. Only when she huffed, crossing her arms in frustration did he look down at her again, “You, Gwyneth Berdara - cannot throw an insult to save your life.” 

The shadows billowed around his form and she felt her blood heat in rage, she stared daggers at him. 

He cleared his throat, bending down into her personal space and murmuring, “Fortunately, you rarely need to resort to insults - do you?” She let his words wash over her, cooling her rapidly heating skin. He was referring to today’s display with the Illyrian male. 

She said nothing, did nothing. She knew it was his preferred tactic - so why couldn't she adopt it to spite him? She merely glared back up at him and refused to move an inch. 

He stood back to his full height, took a deep breath and watched her carefully, extending his finger towards her abdomen but stopping short of touching her. “These leathers are…” His eyes glazed over and she snapped at the hunger she saw there. 

“Shadowsinger, let me leave.” She interrupted, losing her patience. 

He took another breath and shook his head slightly, and she knew he was fighting with himself. “Not today, please?”

She didn’t know whether to punch him or be patient with him. “Then what do you want?” 

That cold mask, the eerie stillness that clung to him, the silence that ebbed and flowed all around him - it shifted - just for a second but there it was, the vulnerability she wanted to see. “I told you Gwyn, I really don’t know what I’m doing…” His voice was pained in a way she hadn’t heard before. 

She uncrossed her arms. “Just talk to me then. Like a reasonable, civil male.” 

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the shadows fall from his form. Finally, he crossed the threshold and proceeded to walk towards the window - where dusk was starting to fall on the horizon. Gwyn waited by the door, watching him grapple with whatever he needed to say. “Ever since I was gifted with the shadows, I’ve been able to know more than most, to see and hear and…” he hesitated. “At least have an idea of what would unfold, sometimes before it ever does.” She’d never heard him refer to his shadows as a gift - but she agreed - they were. 

“And yet with you, the world is constantly being ripped from under my feet and I never know what’s coming, never feel in control,” his voice was hoarse. 

Gwyn swallowed and moved back to the edge of the bed, fiddling with the soft cream covers, she murmured, “Glad to keep you on your toes, Shadowsinger.” 

He turned and gave her a sad sort of smile in response before muttering, “It isn’t something I’m … accustomed to.” The admission seemed to make him uncomfortable. “It worries me - especially when it concerns you. Especially when somehow - you always seem to know…everything.” He frowned and her head continued to throb as she mentally worked through what he was saying. 

She took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed. Opening her palms, she only whispered, “I don't know everything. But maybe if you would just work with me, learn with me, grow with me...” He’d moved silently, crouching on the floor before her - still not touching her, even though she yearned for him to do so.

He put his fist over his heart, his jaw clenched as he murmured, “I’ve never done this, never let anyone this…” He closed his eyes then, shaking his head and she knew what he meant. He’d never let anyone in before - not truly. And here she was, demanding it of him in the first week of them being intimate. Perhaps Emerie had been right. Yet, still - Gwyn couldn’t shake the feeling that unless she stood firm and made her point here, they’d continue to have this argument until it broke them completely. 

“This thing between us,” she couldn’t help it, she reached forward, cupping his gorgeous face, running her thumb across the slight stubble at his jaw. “This thing we’re trying to start - it could really be something beautiful.” She whispered, spreading warmth into her hands when he leaned into her touch. “Lasting and beautiful. But not if you regress into an overbearing, over protective, territorial Illyrian bat.” 

He closed his eyes and huffed a breath of amusement, the tension of the moment cutting ever so slightly. When he eventually opened them and looked back into her eyes, he really truly looked into them and that frown turned into something tender and real, something that made her insides glow. He swallowed and merely whispered, “Priestess,” again. 

That’s when she knew what to say - what truly needed to be said for him to understand. “Azriel, I am a Priestess - but I am also a Carynthian and a Valkyrie. I own my own decisions and my heart. I know what I want.” 

The silence in the room around them seemed to stretch into eternity as he stared at her for so long, so hard that she was sure she was melting under the intensity of that gaze and she knew this was it. The moment they needed to decide whether to sink or swim. Her heart was beating out of her chest, as she whispered, “I want a carranam and a lover who will stand by my side willingly. Nothing less.” 

The sincerity of her words, the meaning and strength behind them shocked even her. Which is why she knew they were the unequivocal truth. “Do you understand?” She breathed. 

He stood then, slowly and purposefully, pulling her gently by the hand to stand with him. Bringing her hand to his sensuous mouth, he kissed her gently on the palm of her hand - right on the scar that tied her to Narben. Finally, he nodded and that ball in her chest, the one that had been causing her utter turmoil these last few days, seemed to finally feel at ease. 

“Can I request one thing?” He muttered and she lifted her brow. His shadows fell off his shoulders and caressed their hands as they held onto one another. “Train with Narben. Your power, it’s vast, it’s …” she stared at him, confused. How would he know? “You have to learn how to use your powers. We’ll train together. That way, we’ll be stronger… together.” 

That’s all that she’d wanted to hear him say. She stood on her toes and flung her arms around his neck and repeated the mantra, “Together.” 

His impossibly strong arms wound round her waist, his battle leathers gliding over hers and she melted into his touch, breathing him in as she allowed her instincts to settle at his proximity. They stood like that for a moment until he pulled back and lay a soothing kiss on her brow, the gesture melting all previous iciness between them. “I have something for you.” 

She waited patiently as he pulled a small vial of dark powder from a pocket in his suit, holding it up for her. She took it gently and sniffed it as he explained, “It’s for your headache.” 

She looked at him in surprise but he gave her a knowing look. “You’ve had a headache since you woke up at Rosehall, and not resting and not accessing your powers will only make it worse.” 

She nodded solemnly, the High Lord had alluded to it too. He pulled her in again and nuzzled her neck, breathing into her ear. “Let me make you dinner, then you can take the powder and we can start debating all the things you’ve read and theorised over the last few days.” 

She grinned up at him and when he gave her that shy, tentative smile back - she suddenly wasn’t all that interested in going to evening service in the library anymore.

Chapter Text

“How do you feel about some siphon work on our way to the training? Like we did at Rosehall?” Azriel asked Gwyn as she walked into the training ring at the House of Wind, the cool autumn wind blowing tendrils of hair loose from her braid. 

It was just after lunchtime, Azriel had been present for the Valkyries training this morning for the first time in weeks and had been rewarded with a particularly boisterous set of new Priestess trainees from the library. They’d asked a thousand questions and only listened half the time when he explained the answers, often moving onto the next topic before he even managed to explain the last. Gwyn had laughed herself hoarse at the exasperated expression he’d given her when she high fived each one of them on their way out of the ring after training. 

“That’s for stewing in silence for 5 days and leaving me to our task all alone,” She’d stuck her tongue out at him, her face flush from the training the more experienced group had done. 

“So you set a bunch of chatty novices on me?” He raised his brows, his shadows swirling in amusement. It had been a certain kind of hell to him. 

“Naturally. I think you forget the power I hold here, Shadowsinger.” She’d teased back. 

But he hadn’t forgotten. It was part of what overpowered every logical sense he had to stay away from her. Her display in Windhaven only helped seal the deal. He’d long ago accepted his fate - accepted there was no hope for him in this life. But somehow, this female in front of him, with her boldness, her brilliant mind, her dedication and kindness and humour - was making him realise that perhaps there was more… more to this world, more to this life, more to him. 

He’d approached her cautiously, letting her decide how much she wanted the other priestesses, who were exiting the ring slowly, to see of their newfound intimacy. He bowed his head and looked at her long and hard, infusing his words with as much promise as he could. “I’ll never make that mistake again, Priestess.” 

She’d smiled shyly in return, bobbing her head in that bashful way the Priestesses had been taught, but the light in her eyes spoke of her true, fiery response as she replied, “and I’ll never let you.” 

But now, none of that earlier fire, that earlier challenge of hers was present. She looked unsure, nervous even. “Siphon work? Training where? Aren’t we staying here?” She folded her arms and regarded him suspiciously. 

He rolled his shoulders and cast his wings wide, “I thought we could do with a change in scenery. Plus, I need to let off a bit of power - you’d be doing me a favour.” 

She regarded him carefully. “I see through you, Shadowsinger.” He only gave her a slow smile, flaring his wings even more and hoping her penchant for flying would at least tip the odds in his favour. Instead she bit her lip and raked those teal eyes up and down the lines of his leather-clad body. Immediately, his senses went on high alert, his cock stirring in his pants. 

“Keep looking at me like that Priestess, and training will have to wait.” He rumbled, causing that delicious blush to spread over her freckled cheeks. 

“Ok, ok - I give in. Let’s go.” She sighed, reaching for his hand and pushing herself into his space, looping her arms around his neck. 

He smiled to himself and picked her up with ease, turning towards the edge of the balcony. 

“But first,” she muttered and before he could turn his head to look at her, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s for coming back to me, even if it did take 5 days.” She whispered and let her head rest on his shoulder. He squeezed her tightly - relieved to finally have her back in his arms after their separation.  

The beach was deserted when they landed twenty minutes later, Gwyn flush from the exercise and Azriel buzzing following his use of power. She smiled broadly as he set her on her feet - he was glad for the momentary distraction the training had provided from their real task today. 

“The beach is so close to Velaris! Do you come here often?” She quizzed, stopping to run her hands through the sand and watched as the wind carried it away. 

“Not really, I go to Rosehall if I need to see the sea. I prefer the lakes and mountains for the most part.” He explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He was still getting used to divulging information about himself - even something so trivial. 

“Ah yes - more trees, of course.” She sniggered, earning an eye roll from him in response. “So why choose here for our training? And how exactly do we begin?” She quizzed, putting her hands on her hips as she regarded him. 

“Always so eager for knowledge…” A voice rippled in the wind and Azriel could only smirk at her surprise as she whirled to see Rhys and Amren step onto the beach from where they’d winnowed in. Similarly to Azriel, Rhys wore his training leathers, complete with two long swords strapped to his back. Amren’s sparkly Night Court outfit looked more fit for a night at Rita’s than training on a beach in the middle of their windiest season. Despite the petite female usually only being found in plush surroundings, surrounded by her jigsaws and jewels, she still pulsed with almighty presence, even in this vast setting.

Gwyn regarded them for a moment before turning back to Azriel, her mouth a thin line, a question shining in her eyes. He made his way towards them, feeling the reassuring weight of his shadows on his shoulders,  “You may think I’m old and….what did you say… illustrious in my knowledge, Priestess. But even I’m willing to acknowledge that we don’t know what we’re dealing with here, and need help.” 

Her face paled and she tucked her hair behind her arched ears in frustration, “But we don’t even know if I do have powers! I’ve used the sword once! I’ve shown a bit of light maybe a handful of times…” she argued, exasperated. 

“You’re plenty powerful enough, girl.” Amren snapped, folding her dainty arms over her bejewelled chest as she regarded Gwyn cooly. “Even if Narben bonding with you, The Shadowsinger being your Carranam and your display at the Illyrian challenge wasn’t enough of a reason - the fact that you used a wyrdmark on him successfully to save his life,” she pointed her perfectly manicured fingers to Azriel, “proves that your powers have awakened and need to be channeled.” 

Azriel's stomach dropped, as did Gwyn’s jaw. So it was true - Death had been waiting for him that day, and somehow - thanks to Gwyn, he’d avoided its icy embrace yet again. What had he been thinking, trying to convince himself to stay away from her? 

“How did you know?” Gwyn breathed, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“More importantly, how did you learn to do that?” Amren replied haughtily, tapping her foot in annoyance. Yet there was also a hint of…

The Ancient One is impressed with the Priestess, Singer. Impressed and a bit concerned 

Good, so he wasn’t the only one. Gwyn looked down at her feet nervously before regarding him with trepidation. “I didn't know if it would work. When the Siren’s gave me the sword - my blood was taken and though I didn't understand how the sword worked exactly, I hoped that by drawing a protection rune on The Shadowsinger when he was injured, with a mixture of our blood - that it would help protect us, at least a bit.” Her voice was heavy. 

Amren nodded once, “And how did you know that was the mark to make?” 

Gwyn shrugged, but it was Rhys that replied for her. “You’ve been doing more research into the different worlds - and finding gateways? For the assignment?” Evidently Amren was now in the know about the project, as she barely blinked.  

Gwyn nodded cautiously, “I am gifted with the ability to recall in perfect clarity, what I’ve seen written - even long after seeing it. The shape came to my mind’s eye in the height of the battle. I drew it as quickly as I could.” 

Rhys and Amren’s faces mirrored his own feelings of shock and awe but Amren simply replied tartly, “No wonder Merrill has hoarded you these last few years - she’s always had an eye for prized possessions, that one.” 

Rhys pursed his lips and approached Gwyn slowly, “Amren taught me how to use my powers, when they first manifested. She’s a bit sharp around the edges, I know…” He threw a pointed look at his Second in Command, but she simply gave him a deadpan one in return. “But she knows what she’s doing, trust me.” 

In one clean motion, Rhys opened a pocket of darkness to his left and there twirled Narben, in its starry prison. Immediately, Azriel felt that thrum of power surrounding them as Narben’s ancient and almighty presence made itself known. He floated it towards Gwyn but she simply looked towards Azriel, her face shining with worry, with fear. It was so unlike her usual, bold and sizzling demeanour. That he knew how to handle - that he knew how to temper. That would be what he incite.  

He stepped forward, “If you didn't want Narben…and still don't, then why did you go out of your way to get it?” He asked flatly, letting his wings flare as he saw her temper rise to the surface, right on cue. 

“To save your sorry ass, Shadowsinger!” She replied indignantly, her eyes flashing. He could sense Rhys’ amusement, Amren’s approval but still - she hadn’t taken the sword as it continued to turn in front of her. 

“So why the apprehension towards it now?” He asked, genuinely intrigued this time. He watched her carefully, trying to read the signs her body gave away of her feelings, her intended actions. Vaguely he was aware of Amren moving in their periphery, starting to map out the wards around them. 

“Because it’s a death sword.” She whispered, her face paling.

“Do I spout the Truth all the time because of Truth Teller?” He challenged, now aware of how Rhys had stepped back from them both - letting Azriel do what he needed to get Gwyn engaged.  

She scoffed, “That’s a weak point, and you know it. This is so different. I could be … different .” She spat the word out. 

He clocked on, “You’re not going to become obsessed with Death just because you wield this sword, Priestess.” He tapped his siphons, feeling the energy as his power rose to the surface, readying. 

“You don’t understand,” She shook her head, closing those mesmerising eyes for a moment as the wind blew all around them. “What I felt when I used that sword - it was a rage that I've never known.” Her voice broke, “I wanted them dead. All of them…” 

“Did you want me dead?” He stepped an inch closer. 

Her eyes flew open, “No, of course not! But that’s different… you are…” She didn't finish her sentence, just bit her lip and looked at him uncomfortably. He couldn't handle it - her fear and uncertainty. 

“You are a goddess with this sword, Gwyneth Berdara.” He growled, infusing power into each and every word of spoken truth. 

She shook her head again, “What if I don’t want to be a goddess of Death…” 

He let a smirk grace his face, “Didn’t you say yourself - you don’t fear Death anymore. I don’t know, being the Goddess of it, sounds pretty hot to me.” 

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared, “You’re so twisted…” 

He raked his eyes over her, taking in every powerful line of her body in the Illyrian leathers she liked to train in. He watched her go still under his attention, “Oh you have no idea. But I'm also right.” He sensed Rhys and Amren’s job complete - felt the wards of safety go up all around them and knew it was now ok to push her over the edge. “So join me, Priestess - we do this together, remember?” He didn't give it a second to rethink his strategy before throwing a dagger of siphoned power straight at her. 

Her training, her muscle memory, her power all surfaced in the blink of an eye and she grabbed the sword, swiping easily at the dagger, which disintegrated before their eyes, just as a flash of light filled the air all around them. When the light ebbed away, he watched as her entire body was alight with power - her eyes bright and hair flying in the wind around them as she regarded him with that assessing stare of hers. 

“Ok, Shadowsinger. But you asked for it…” 

Chapter Text

The moment she held Narben in her palm again, Gwyn’s body thrummed - as though every particle was on fire with power. 

But the moment Azriel tried to wield his long-sword against it - the steel fizzled out of existence right in front of their very eyes. Rhys went up against her next, and lost both of his long swords to the same effect. 

“Put your useless steel away, we don’t need to test her swordsmanship,” Amren snapped, giving both males a withering stare. 

“Though you do carry its weight well, Valkyrie.” Rhys murmured, nodding in recognition - one warrior to another. 

“Well enough to start with,” Azriel interrupted, crossing his arms and frowning at her as she dangled the sword dangerously by her side. “But you need to be stronger to use it for longer periods of time. It’s too heavy for you right now.” 

He was probably just annoyed that he'd lost one of his precious weapons, Gwyn thought. Her mouth flattened into a hard line, “There’s always something with you, isn’t there.” 

One side of his sensuous mouth lifted slightly, “Glad to keep you on your toes, Priestess.” She couldn’t help the flutter in her stomach at the remark, the playfulness she so rarely saw but coveted from him. 

Amren walked towards Gwyn without caution, circling her as she held the blade. “Helion was right. This blade, though powerful - isn’t the same as Nesta’s previous powers. I don’t sense the pure death that was associated with it in millennia past. Its allegiance - its goal has shifted. I daresay, if Nesta had got her hands on this blade when she was able to yield her full abilities, the world would be a very different place right now.”

Azriel, Gwyn and Rhys all shuddered at Amren’s words, the air around them fraught with the imagined carnage. Though Gwyn knew that to her core, Nesta was good, her powers had been uncontrollable, had been cataclysmic. Amren continued circling Gwyn, frowning as she watched the steel in front of her. “The blade will trigger and multiply your power's effects - but first we need to establish what they are. Show me how you create a flame.” 

Gwyn started. She’d always been able to create heat, but no more. “I’ve never done that, I’m not….” 

Amren sniffed, clearly unimpressed. Despite their height difference, Gwyn forced herself not to shrink under that silver-eyed glare. “But there is fire in your blood. What about that light…” she pointed her tiny finger, covered in diamonds, at Gwyn’s hands - still glowing where she held Narben. 

Gwyn shook her head. “I don’t have the first clue how - but when I touch Narben, I feel it clawing at me, as though my skin is burning under the surface.” 

Gwyn looked up in time to see Azriel visibly pale at that, but she had to ignore that for now, had to focus on the ferocious and ancient magical being evaluating her. 

“Very well, pull at it the same way you call your powers with your invoking stone. Feel it only in your fingers if it helps you visualise…” Amren stood close to her, staring her down. 

Gwyn closed her eyes and tentatively touched the power, seeking out that beaker she always kept maintained inside her. But nothing answered. No rumble of recognition or reward. Even Narben in her hand had dulled when she opened her eyes and gave Amren a defeated look. 

“You don’t believe me, girl?” Amren admonished and Gwyn couldn’t help but flinch this time - Amren was part of the myths and stories that her mother used to tell them to keep them in line. Even her temper was legendary. 

Gwyn’s shoulders fell. How should she visualise something she hardly knew, hardly understood? 

Amren tutted loudly and pointed her red painted fingernail at Azriel. “You’ll show her, Shadowsinger. Use the Carranam bond, show her the power you saw, what you showed us.” 

Gwyn's chest tightened painfully as Azriel paled again. He didn't move, simply looked between Amren and Rhys with those dark, unsure eyes, his shadows swirled protectively. 

Amren threw up her arms, “I mean, really! No wonder! If you two don’t start accepting this - and learning to understand it - how will we ever hope to help you?” She turned that glare onto Rhys, “Talk to them, now .” 

Rhys showed his palms placatingly. “Again, sharp around the edges - but she’s right. Az - this isn’t a mistake. Yes, you may be Illyrian but evidently, there is some High Fae in you - or enough to make this possible. Gwyn must have believed it too, or else…” 

“It’s not his ancestry,” Gwyn croaked from where she stood a few feet from them all, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “Though, I don’t know - maybe that has some part to play too. But what I sensed was his power. His magic, his shadows, his…” She swallowed - there was only so much she could really explain. “It’s a melody to me…” she allowed, whispering the words as she looked to Azriel, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. 

He gave her no indication of whether he did or not, standing as still as a statue. His shadows were weaving quickly in and around his form, making it nearly impossible to interpret his reaction. 

It was Amren that stepped in his line of sight, his eyes barely moving to watch her. It should have looked ridiculous, this petite and glittering female confronting a huge, winged Illyrian warrior who stood more than a foot taller than her and easily twice as wide. But nothing took away from her power and presence as she prowled right up to him and snarled, “This female …” She turned then, pinning Gwyn with her all-seeing gaze before sniffing loudly. Her eyes flashed and something flared on her striking face for a split second before it was gone and she turned her attention back on Azriel. “.... this female of light and infinite life has chosen you to bond with - you big, overbearing, brooding mess of a male! So for The Mother’s sake, get your shit together and start helping her understand this before we all lose her to this power.” 

Azriel snarled softly down at her, but it was half-hearted and didn’t carry. Gwyn watched with bated breath as his eyes finally moved and met hers over the top of Amren’s head. Without breaking her gaze, he stepped around Amren and approached silently, his shadows billowing all around. Without saying a word, he took Truth Teller from its holster at his thigh and sliced his palm, blood oozing where marbled skin met the blade. 

The instantaneous increase of her heart rate, the ball of fury at seeing him injured - it flew to the surface, making her nauseous with its onslaught. She breathed heavily, looking up at him as he offered her Truth Teller, for her to repeat the sequence. She bit her lip and nodded, propping Narben against her thigh as she let his ancient dagger cut the soft skin right beside the scar she had from the death sword. 

Finding his gaze again, she saw his face mirrored her own feelings of nerves, apprehension, anticipation. His shadows swirling protectively as they slowly brought their bleeding hands together -  the world went dark around them, then flashed a brilliant white. 

When she opened her eyes again, she was standing right in front of him, in the mountain oasis above Velaris, that stunning azure lake they’d swum in all those weeks ago, rippling behind him. 

“Why are we here?” She asked, staring longingly at that lake, wanting nothing more than to forget all of this and just swim in its beautiful waters with Azriel again, reliving that day.  

“That’s what I thought when we power-shared the first time,” He explained quietly. “It must be how our magic is represented, at least in our shared collective.” He breathed, looking around cautiously before his gaze softened and he looked down at her shyly. “The picnic by the lake certainly did have a magical quality to it,” She couldn’t agree more. 

“I only see your power though?” 

He took her gently by the shoulders and leaned into her ear, “Turn around, Priestess.” 

What she saw made her jaw drop. There it was, another lake, almost a replica of his but with light glistening on its surface, making it glow brightly. “How did I not see this before?” She stuttered, taking a tentative step toward the water's edge. 

“You weren’t looking,” Azriel rumbled, close behind her. She crouched and let her pale fingers slip under the surface. Immediately, she felt it - the energy that felt like it would burn her from the inside out. 

She pulled her hand back, terrified. “I still don’t understand, how is this different from my fire magic?” Gwyn asked, returning her gaze to his as she stared out towards her lake. 

He frowned. “Perhaps it’s not? Perhaps it’s not quite light and not quite fire - but something akin to both?” He shook his head. “But more importantly - now you understand the extent of your powers. Do you think reaching for it, working with it, will be easier now you can visualise it?” 

She pursed her lips as she squinted at that bright, yet terrifying lake. “I can try.” 

Chapter Text

They’d spent over an hour trying to pull her powers out. Unless she was touching Narben, no light glowed from her - in any way. Unless she used her invoking stone - no healing happened. She’d managed to pull heat easily enough, showing Amren the different ways she’d used it in the past, but that didn’t seem to impress the ancient female quite enough. 

Rhys had given her an understanding nod of his head, “It takes time, you’ll figure it out.” They had gone through other techniques in the time her and Azriel had spent in the High Lord and his Second’s company. Gwyn knew she’d barely tapped into her power, now that she could sense the vast lake of magic at her disposal - even without Azriel’s assistance through the Carranam bond. Yet still, something was clawing at her, making her blood boil and her skin taut. 

They’d let her wield the sword a few more times against Azriel’s siphons then against some of Rhys’s magic - she’d even felt a jolt of energy, a spark of awareness as she sliced through the coiling snake of darkness the High Lord had tried to attack her with. Yet Narben vaporised each new threat with little to no effort on Gwyn’s part. Though she hadn’t been able to wield it for long. She scrunched her nose in irritation - Azriel was right - she needed to gain some muscle if she ever hoped to wield the Death Sword properly. 

She raked her fingers over her face, feeling the incessant itch of magic underneath her skin. It was like now she’d seen it for herself, it wanted out - wanted to be unleashed - wanted to play. If only she knew how to… 

Sighing, she wiped her brow as she stood from her place at a hidden alcove in the Library. They’d returned from the beach and Gwyn immediately took a long bath, hoping the water would settle the thrumming need she felt. It had done very little to that effect - it had only made her hot and clammy. She’d descended to level five of the cool library, hoping a bit of research and the miles of books would take her mind off her failures earlier instead. 

She returned a book to its shelf, using a bit of that magic she knew she had control over - letting it float up to the top shelf and place itself neatly in line with the others. Sighing, she leaned against the shelves and pulled her invoking stone from her Priestess robes, turning it over and over in her hand. Now that her true power had been awakened, would this tiny jewel be capable of handling it? Or was it only able to help her wield positive power, such as that associated with Priestesses - protection, healing, and would never hope to survive these new, currently unclear powers she supposedly possessed? 

A sharp tug in her chest pulled her from her reverie, her senses on high alert as she looked around. Was it that presence again? The one she felt with Nesta before? She moved quietly, deciding it was time she explored lower, time she found out what could be lurking in the darkness. Perhaps then, her powers would show themselves to her. On silent feet, moving just like she’d seen Azriel move a thousand times, she slipped between each of the enormous book cases quietly, her robes billowing quietly behind her. The power in her thrummed again, shifting under her skin, begging to be released. Calming her breathing, she waited for another sign of movement but all she could feel was her heart, frantically beating as her chest tightened, the little ball of light flaring only a moment before - 

“Look who came to play with the monster under the mountain after all,” She could hear his dark voice, shivers erupting over her skin, and she could scent that night-chilled mist and cedar - but she still couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him. It enraged her. 

Her breath was laboured as she tried to figure out her next move, tried recalling all the ways he’d taught her to move. But therein lay another problem - they’d always practised in light, never in the dark. “Why don’t you show me how to handle the dark, like you do?” Her voice came out deeper than expected, tinged with a need she was starting to feel deep in her very core. 

His breath sent chills down her spine as he breathed into her ear from behind, “No one handles the dark like I do, Priestess.” 

There it was again, that word - Priestess. He should know by now - she was so much more. She whirled, her power flaring in her fist and lighting her way as she found him mere inches from her, leaning up against a particularly old looking shelf lined with books. “We’ll see about that,” she breathed and before she knew what she was doing, before she’d really given any thought to where they were and who else could be around, she crushed her body to his, finding his mouth with hers as she kissed him with the passion she’d held on a tight leash since their time at Rosehall. 

The moment their lips met, the fire and a crackling energy within her roared to life. She grabbed his face and couldn’t think straight for the need pumping through her - the need to touch him, taste him, claim every part of him. She bit his lip in her haste and he groaned - his arousal a potent drug all around them. It was the fuel she needed to throw all caution to the wind. They entered a fierce fight for dominance - meeting stroke for stroke. She pawed at him, unlacing his leathers as her tongue continued to work alongside his to taste every corner of his sensuous, twisted mouth, whilst he battled to find the clasps of her Priestess robes, choosing instead to thrust his hands into her hair and tilt her neck before licking the column of her throat, sucking at the soft area there, kissing every freckle she knew lined her skin. 

Finally, his leathers came undone in her hand and her skin felt like it was on fire as she moaned when his hands travelled from her neck and down the lines of her body, cupping her breasts - squeezing her nipples. Then she felt his hands move further with intention and a snarl left her mouth. With strength she didn’t even know she had, she pushed him away - so hard that his entire weight rattled the bookshelf he fell against. She breathed heavily, watching the way those wings loomed over him, the way his shadows sat perfectly poised on the talons, his pupils fully blown as he watched her. 

It was as though a switch flicked in her brain. “Mine,” she growled, stalking back up to him and watching as his eyes widened. She took his hands and shoved them above his head, then asked those incredible shadows of his to let her feast . 

That’s when she stopped looking at his flawless face and fixed her attention and all her bodily urges on the huge erection now straining against his undershorts beneath his half opened leathers. Dropping to her knees, her mind went blank as her body took over and all she could think of was the overriding urge to hold him, taste him, pleasure him. This male that saved her, that pushed her, challenged her, protected her, fought with her and for her, who would - until the day she couldn't breathe anymore, be perfect - for her. She took the length of his cock, in all its magnificence and her mouth went dry as she held it in both hands and started running her fingers up and down the length of it. Her eyes rolled back in her head when she realised its weight, its girth, its delicious length could someday be inside her, could incite such pleasure that she’d never, ever need to know anything else again. 

But why one day, she thought as she looked up and saw Azriel’s jaw hanging open as he stared at her with a hunger she knew her own face mirrored. “Gwyn…” Her name on that delicious tongue of his stripped her of all sense - she looked up at him from under her lashes and held his gaze as she moved forward, running her lips along the seams of his entire length, from base to tip. Before he could make another sound, she took him in her mouth and sucked, hard. 

He bucked, his whole body going rigid and molten with one easy movement. She blinked as she realised with a tidal wave of desire that she could do this - she could make this male with five centuries worth of illustrious experiences all hers, with just her mouth. She pulled back and took the base of his cock, stroking the soft skin of his balls and licking up the column of his huge member before taking him in her mouth again - deeper this time. 

His breath was coming in hot and fast - she barely registered hers. Her skin burned at the fire she felt in her core, at the wetness between her legs - which mirrored how wet she’d made him, his hard length pushing against her tongue, then her cheeks, then her throat. Gods, he tasted… he tasted like cedar and night and all things dark, dangerous and… she could eat him alive and still never be satiated… 

“Fuck, Gwyn - I’m going to…” His voice was hoarse, the muscles in his legs contracting vigorously as she upped the ante, moving faster and harder with her mouth, taking him so deep to the back of her throat, her jaw ached. Then right back until only the tip of his cock was on the tip of her tongue and back again. All the while, she ran her long fingers up and down the base, across his balls, wherever her tongue and mouth couldn’t reach, her fingers worked to ensure every part of his pleasure was hers to own, hers to control, hers to enjoy. 

And she did enjoy it. She never thought she would but the moment his entire body went hot and solid under her ministrations and he let go, she felt the come rush into her mouth and wash down her throat as he came with a barely contained roar of pleasure. When his cock had stopped throbbing in her mouth, the come all but finished pulsing from its tip, she pulled back and looked up, watching as his shadows unwreathed themselves from his form and fell towards her, washing over her skin, cooling her down.  

He crumpled to the ground in front of her, his jaw still hanging open as his eyes roved over every inch of her face. Gwyn suddenly found she couldn’t breath, couldn’t stop the ceaseless beating of her heart, couldn’t see straight. He reached a tentative hand forward, his scarred fingers shaking slightly. “Gwyn,” his face was pulled with emotions she couldn’t read. 

The power inside her had finally simmered down and replacing it was the trifecta of shame, fear, anxiety. What had she just done? Where had that come from? How was she able to…? She put her hands over her mouth, mortified and choked out, “I’m sorry!” before rising to her feet as quickly as she could and sprinting away from him. 

Chapter Text

Azriel was struggling to catch his breath as he stumbled up the stairs from the Library and back into the House. 

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Cassian’s voice startled him. He looked at his brother’s broad frame, he’d crossed his arms over his chest and was examining Azriel like he’d just stepped out of another dimension. 

Azriel shook his head. He didn't even know if he could answer truthfully. What the fuck had happened? He’d been looking for more books on the lower levels, hoping to surprise Gwyn with some new tomes to research, when she’d arrived in all her stealthy glory and somehow, completely turned the tables on him. The way she’d pleasured him so thoroughly, with his own shadows working with her - until he’d lost all semblance of control and sense of self and just let himself come into her mouth… 

His mouth was dry with disbelief, his muscles still bunched from the pleasure coursing through him. Cassian, still waiting for an answer - simply sniffed him. Fucking sniffed. 

“What in the Cauldr-” Cassian whistled low then let out a bark of laughter, clapping Azriel hard on the back. “Do you two need a chaperone down there?” 

Azriel looked at his brother, swallowing hard. Fuck no! He didn't know what had got into Gwyn, why she’d left in such a state - but he couldn’t let anyone else near her right now. He needed to see her - immediately .

He pushed past his brother and found himself limping back down the steps to the library, trying to regain control of his muscles as the blood flooded back into them. He instructed his shadows to find her, he needed to make this right. 

Be patient, Singer.

Before he could rage at them, to try and understand what was going on, Cassian caught up with him. “Ok, so either you and Gwyn had a fight and it’s turned you on like no one’s business...” He stood in front of Azriel, barring the way. “Or you both just defiled the Priestesses library with some twisted sexual encounter.” His hazel eyes danced in the faelight of the staircase and Azriel’s senses sharpened. “Either way, it's probably best you don’t go down there right now, Brother.” Cassian laid his large hand on Azriel’s shoulder, “Why don’t we go for a drink instead?” 

They sat at Rita’s half an hour later, Azriel moodily swirling his liquor as Cassian watched him from the opposite side of the booth. 

“Come now, Brother. We have about 500 years of shared sexual experiences behind our backs. Nothing could make me judge you after the shit we used to do.” Azriel barely blinked - he was right. They were full-blooded warriors in every way, and had a thirst for the flesh that could very rarely be quenched - even through the most erotic of ways. Yet somehow still, the Priestess with almost no sexual experience had just made every other explicit encounter of his feel dull in comparison. The noise of the Gods laughing at him again echoed in the recesses of his mind. 

Azriel sat forward and emptied his glass. “I’m losing control,” he admitted finally, his shadows darkening with his mood. When Cassian’s confused face stared pointedly back at him, he had no choice but to explain. 

He took in the semi-dark room they were in, only a handful of others were interspersed in the snug booths of the establishment, the various aromas of alcohol drifting as they enjoyed the decadence of the early evening. Azriel breathed through his nose and gritted his teeth. “She just made me come like a novice at camp during their first coupling…before I could even get to her, I lost control.” 

Cassian moved sharply, the movement making Azriel look up in alarm. “Thank fuck for that - it’s not just me then!” He whispered urgently, his hazel eyes wide.

Azriel drew back, a snarl leaving his lips. Cassian threw him a disgusted look, “Prick - not with Gwyn! With Nesta… the first time we…” he looked round desperately, trying to keep his voice down. 

Considering him, Azriel raised his brows and shook his head, “Fucking Valkyries…” he muttered in desperate resignation. 

Cassian gave him a slashing grin, clinking his glass against Azriel’s empty one and winking. “Yes… Fucking, Valkyries.” He said with enough male arrogance and pride that Azriel couldn’t help but let out a breath of amusement. 

Chapter Text

“How long did you say it was again?! Nesta purred, using her hands to indicate an extending scale. 

Gwyn buried her head in the cushion on her lap, her cheeks, her ears, her entire body flaming with embarrassment. “Nesta!” She groaned, wanting nothing more than to scream. 

“More importantly, how thick did you say it was?” She asked undeterred by Gwyn’s mortification. 

Gwyn threw the cushion at Nesta’s face instead, but Nesta was laughing too much to deflect the onslaught. Gwyn just groaned again and closed her eyes, feeling that tidal wave of anxiety flare in every part of her body. 

They were sitting in Nesta’s reading parlour in her and Cassian’s bedroom, where Gwyn had found her when she came racing up to the House after her experience with Azriel. 

She felt movement a moment later as Nesta’s strong arms enveloped her in a hug, holding her tightly from the side as she shuffled in closer. Gwyn kept her eyes shut but focused on her breathing, letting the scent of her friend, her sister settle her. 

Before long, Nesta gave her a squeeze, but there was no mocking in her voice this time when she said, “I’m so proud of you,” and pulled back to stare into Gwyn’s eyes. 

There was a lump in the back of Gwyn’s throat but she had to admit, the pain in her chest had dissipated, just a warm glow remained. “I just don’t know what came over me…like this animal inside was unleashed.” She whispered, looking down at her fingers where she fiddled with a golden thread on the couch. 

Nesta blew out a long breath, “I mean, who can blame you? My one is an absolute specimen, but your one is on a whole other level…” Gwyn looked up to see that sly smile grace Nesta’s exquisite face again and somehow, she found herself unwilling to stop the feeling of smug satisfaction at her words this time. 

“But he’d said to take it slow, that it was important to take it slow…” Gwyn managed after a short minute, still unable to grasp how her body had taken over and her mind had only come back to its senses after the deed was done. 

Nesta’s mouth pressed into a thin line as she unhooked her arms from Gwyn’s shoulders and regarded her carefully. “It’s either because your power was tempted today after your training and just needed an outlet - and chose to exhibit that through you in the most primal way it could. Or it’s because of what he…” 

Gwyn cut her off, shifting quickly in her seat and pointing her finger at Nesta dangerously, “Don’t say it!!” She gritted her teeth, her heart rate spiking. 

Nesta’s eyes went wide as she put her hands up, placating. “Careful where you point that thing!” She narrowed her gaze on Gwyn’s finger and Gwyn felt her power rumble within her as Nesta’s sat up at the display. 

Immediately, she lowered her hand and gripped her head instead, moaning at the throbbing that had started again. Nesta laid a palm gently on Gwyn’s back. 

“Trust me when I say, you did absolutely nothing wrong. If anything, Azriel is tearing his wings apart right now with the need to return the favour…” Blood rushed through Gwyn’s body in a molten wave and she sat up alarmed. 

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready!” Gwyn stuttered, staring at Nesta with big eyes. She only shook her head. 

“Don’t worry, they have more self-control than we actually give them credit for. He’ll respect that, but I just don’t want you to feel shame for what you did. You took back your own control, Gwyn. You took a big step - now you need to own your choice.” 

Gwyn breathed carefully, staring at the mugs of tea the house had conjured for them as they talked. Taking one, she found herself parched and drained it in one go, staring at the view of Velaris below when she finished. 

A couple of hours later, once her and Nesta had finished a cosy early dinner in the beautiful dining room at The House, Nesta having recounted all her stories from The Winter Court, Gwyn was making her way back towards the steps leading to the Library when she heard it. 

Soft music echoed along the halls, the sounds beautiful beyond comparison. She looked back in the direction she’d just come. It couldn’t be Nesta’s symphonia, no one else would use it without Nesta present and she was still in the dining room, finishing her cake and the last chapters of her new Sellyn Drake novel. One she promised to lend Gwyn afterwards. 

Closing her eyes instead, Gwyn let her senses take over as she followed the sound of the music, losing herself completely in the labyrinth of the house, as though it wanted to disorientate her. 

When she eventually found the doorway to the music, her entire body felt fluid with its melody. Tentatively, she pushed the great wooden door open and peered inside quietly, as to not disturb whoever was in here. 

But all she saw instead, were those magnificent wings wreathed in a cloak of thick shadow as he sat at a grand piano in a room Gwyn assumed was for dancing. The tall windows overlooking Velaris stretched across the whole wall on the far side, the chandelier directly above the piano casting a rippling light show all around. There was a small stage at one end of the room but mostly, it was clear - except for the Shadowsinger and his piano, right in the centre of the room. She smiled to herself - of course it was him. No one played quite like him. His music called to her, summoned her, filled her. She gave herself a moment to relish the sight of him, how the shadows pulsed in and around his whole body, ebbing and flowing with the music he was playing. His back was to her but she could see him almost entirely engrossed in the task at hand - the rapid and dramatic pace of the score he was expertly sweeping through.

She closed her eyes and resigned herself to the fact that - though she still felt embarrassed about her earlier performance, nothing could keep her away from him for long. Padding towards him on silent feet, she stopped only when she was about to hit the wall of his shadows. As he lingered on the cusp of another phase of the score, she decided to harmonise to it, to finally reveal herself. Taking a deep breath, she counted down the beats and opened her eyes, joining his song. 

She smiled softly when his head perked up, but he didn’t turn, didn’t miss a beat and just continued playing. She appreciated his dedication, his precision to the craft as she walked around the perimeter his shadows had created around him, softly trailing her fingers through them as she circled him, continuing the harmony. 

It wasn’t until the final, closing coda of the score that she stopped, standing behind him as he hit the final note, bowing his head in thanks to the magnificent instrument in front of him. Once the music stopped, his shadows thinned and Gwyn could see his form more clearly right in front of her. Without turning, he simply reached his arm backwards, offering her his hand. 

She took a breath and reached for it, relishing the feeling of his permanently cold fingers tempering her forever warm skin. Gently, he guided her until she could see his face - and the glow in his hazel eyes took her breath away. “Music,” he mumbled, his voice rough as he stroked her fingers with his, watching her carefully. “Music, challenge, emotion - it brings your power out.” 

Her mouth went dry. Of course, she’d known it but somehow, under the pressures of Amren’s presence, Rhysand’s immense talents, the sword’s disorientating proximity, her mind had gone blank. She’d always been told she lit up when she sang, but only recently had she felt that thrumming energy beneath the surface, giving strength to her voice. 

She also found she had it when… “And when I fight…” she breathed, moving closer to him. He raised his other hand and laid it gently on her waist, waiting for her approval before pulling her closer. 

“You literally light up when we argue a point during our studies. Or when you’re sparring and know you’ve got the upper hand. And today… today I saw it too.” 

She ducked her head, shame coursing through her again as she remembered the way her hands flared with light but he shuffled in closer, taking her chin in two of those scarred fingers and lifting until her gaze met his. Raw understanding shone in his eyes, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Absolutely not. She was still mortified beyond comprehension. But she owed him a proper apology, so she blurted it out. “I’m so ashamed of myself, Azriel. I’m so sorry.” She willed the tears pricking at her eyes not to fall, not to make this any worse. 

He let out the whisper of a breath and moved forward again, his face inches from hers. “What do you mean, sorry? Gwyn what you did was…” his eyes glazed over and he shook his head, wetting his lips.

She pushed away, shaking her head as she explained the true terror of their exchange. “No, what I did to you today was no better than what those soldiers did to me in Sangravah. I forced myself on you, forced you to submit whilst I fulfilled my most carnal desires. I cannot stand myself for what I did…” She couldn’t help it then, a sob racked through her as her chest caved in with fear. What if she’d just ruined everything? Who was she becoming? 

Azriel growled, pulling her in tightly and sitting her in his lap, stroking her hair. “Gwyn, that’s not what happened! We are both consenting in this. Besides that, what you did gave me true, mind-numbingly fucking insane pleasure!” 

She continued to shake her head against his chest as he held her, “How can you say that? Your shadows, they held you back…I made you powerless…”

“Never Priestess! My shadows belong to me and would never work against me. But…” He stilled and she felt him breathe carefully, “I think they helped us both by letting you do what you needed to, to take back control of your own fear, and your own desire. Had they not been so active in our experience earlier, I fear I would have pushed it too far - I would have lost all control and …” She felt him shiver beneath her. She couldn't speak, couldn’t even form solid thoughts, never mind words. She simply curled further into his lap, letting the tears run down her face. 

“I fear I would have scared you with my… had you not taken control. Had the shadows not intervened…” He whispered the words into her ear as he stroked soft, gentle motions onto her skin as he held her. 

“Instead, I scared you…” She shuddered. 

He let out a long breath, “Never! You make me feel more alive than I have in centuries, Gwyneth Berdara.” 

She let the admission settle in her as she clung to the honesty she felt in his words. Swallowing, she forced herself to find the courage to look into his blazing eyes, “I’m sorry.” 

His mouth pressed into a thin line, a slight frown pulling between his brows. “I thought we agreed never to say sorry - not about this.” He stroked her cheek with the rough skin of his knuckles, gently brushing the tracks her tears had made on her face. 

He was right, she realised. As was Nesta. It had happened - for whatever reason, the flame of her sexual desire had been ignited and now she needed to own her choice, and perhaps get used to the thought that maybe she could handle more. She was grateful beyond reason that Azriel understood her trauma more than anyone else… and could be here to help her navigate those lingering fears. She nodded, curling back into his chest and breathing in his scent, reminding herself that he did not seem angry, or disappointed or alarmed by her actions. Finally, once her heart rate had calmed and her chest had stopped pulling tightly, she felt her body properly relax, her chest loosening.

That’s when she felt his shadows fall from his shoulders and caress the back of her neck. She sat up slowly, finding his gaze charged as he watched her instead. His pupils were dilated, his mouth mere inches from hers as his wings created a shield behind them, his shadows continuing to stroke her neck with their cooling touch. 

She closed her eyes at the sensation, then felt him brushing his nose against the skin just below her earlobe. “Clever Priestess,” He rumbled, pressing his lips gently to the area, shivers erupting across her body in its wake. 

She kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to focus on the feeling alone - not the anxiety from earlier. “Kind Priestess,” He moved to the other ear, kissing the soft skin just below it. She felt her whole body melt as she realised what he was doing, the memory flitting into her mind's eye.

“Ruthless Warrior,” he murmured next, moving from her neck to her cheek, brushing it gently with his knuckles before his lips met the freckled skin there. 

She squeezed her eyes as the sensation ran down the length of her body, pooling in her core. He moved gracefully to the other cheek, “Courageous Carynthian.” 

Her mouth was dry, but she held onto the little spark in her chest for dear life as he shifted, bringing his mouth to the hollow of her throat before kissing her there too, “Ferocious Valkyrie.” 

Breathing was near impossible now, but she kept her eyes sealed shut, refusing to give light to her previous insecurities and to just enjoy the feel of this divine male’s attention solely fixed on her. The next second, she felt his hands cup her face gently as he murmured onto her lips, “My Carranam,” before capturing her mouth properly in an insistent, powerful and heart-wrenching kiss. 

Instantly, her heart soared and her eyes flew open as a powerful light radiated from her skin, her entire being warming with his words. They broke apart and she stared at him boldly before whispering back, “My Carranam,” then surged forward and returned the kiss with as much power and longing as she felt from him. 

Somewhere in the process of their deliciously deliberate and unhurried exchange, her fear completely disappeared and she found herself moving, her legs straddling his waist as she gripped his shoulders, feeling the rock solid strength of the muscles he’d honed to perfection. In turn, he ran those sinfully capable hands of his down the length of her back and cupped her backside before lifting her effortlessly. Her eyes flew open at the powerful movement then he laid her flat against the piano top, her slippered feet hitting the keys in a clumsy clanging of sounds. 

He allowed her a split second to giggle at the terrible noise then he was upon her again, wrapping his arm around her waist and cupping her face as he lit her soul on fire with his mouth, with his body, with his presence. This wasn’t the frantic, searing experience she’d had with him previously, this was slow… purposeful. The way he kissed her, held her, worshipped her - reminded her of all the beauty she still had left to explore - in this world and the next. All the divine moments that she could grasp, if she was brave enough, strong enough. Sinking into the feeling, she ran her hands up the sides of his torso, along his arms and shoulders, then his neck and into his hair. His kisses slowed and she felt him pull back, forcing her eyes to open. 

Her breath caught at the heat in those eyes, the shadows all but gone - so much so that she could almost taste his earnestness and his playfulness. “Before I forget to tell you,” his voice was dark, it was deep, it was all the things she knew it would be when she first allowed herself to truly see him. “What you did today was one of the sexiest fucking things I’ve experienced in my whole life.” He’d managed to get his hands under her robes, was running those perfectly cold fingers up the backs of her thighs, his nose skimming the column of her neck as he whispered, “But now… for the sake of your pleasure, and my pride - I would like to ask your permission to allow me the honour of returning the favour?” 

Chapter Text

Azriel watched, spellbound as Gwyn’s glow lit the room around them, her eyes fixed on his as she nodded. 

He smirked at exactly the same moment as his hands found the lacy underthings she wore beneath her robes. He pulled at them slowly as he leaned forward and with his mouth only, unclasped her Priestess robe at the front so the hooded material fell off her shoulders. Her mouth dropped open, but before she could speak, he replied smoothly, “I need to hear you say it, Priestess. Tell me what you would like.” 

She watched him for a long second, her eyes wide as she took in his shadows, his wings, still splayed out wide behind him. He wondered what was going on in that remarkable mind, suddenly terrified that she would bolt, that she hadn’t truly moved past her earlier fear, her anxiety. 

But yet again, Gwyneth Berdara baulked at nothing and no one.

She flung her arm forward, gripped him by the thin, dark shirt he was wearing and pulled him in, her lips finding his in a passionate kiss. “I thought I made it perfectly clear what I want, Shadowsinger?” She mumbled against his mouth, her lips setting him on fire, her heat, her fervour igniting him completely. He let himself enjoy a single moment of wry amusement at her short temper, then moved with practised efficiency, lifting her ass and pulling those lacy underthings out from underneath her and gripping them in his hand. He pulled back from their kiss, took her underwear and put it against his nose and his mouth and closed his eyes in ecstasy as he breathed in her arousal, the evidence of how ready she was. When he opened his eyes, her eyes were burning with the same need he could feel pushing painfully up against the cotton of his trousers. “I still need to hear the words, Gwyn…” 

She whimpered, closing her legs and rubbing her thighs together for friction but her eyes were clear as day when she moaned at him, “Yes.” 

That simple word, freely given and truthfully spoken, unleashed him. “There she is,” he mumbled, gazing at her with a passion he could hardly comprehend, before he let go of all his demons, all his insecurities and focused himself wholly on exploring every inch of Gwyn’s body as she lay against the dark surface of the musical instrument they both adored. 

He felt a shift as his shadows swarmed where she lay panting. Her hand gripped his hair as she gritted out the words, “Not in my robes. The robes …no.” He stood abruptly, blinking. Of course - at Sangravah, she’d been in her priestess robes, on her back like this. He knew she wanted to handle one trigger at a time…it was enough that he was above her, she flat on her back, but the robes were too much…

Within moments, Azriel - with tortured gentleness, watching for any minuscule change that would indicate she was uncomfortable or didn’t want this, had her completely and utterly naked - his knees weak, his body quivering with unrestrained lust. He gave her a few moments to recalibrate but she simply took his hands, kissed each palm with a tenderness that burned in his very chest, then placed them on her hips and smiled softly. He could have fallen to his knees in desperate relief at that smile. Instead, he ran his mouth over every inch of her skin before eventually sinking his tongue deep into her pussy and savouring every drop of her pleasure. 

It was only apt that they were sequestered in the music room of the House, because the sounds Gwyn was making as Azriel pleasured her was the sweetest symphony he ever heard. Not even the off kilter sounds of her bare feet pushing against the piano keys could take away from the melody of her moans. He’d instructed his shadows to guard the door and shield the tall windows overlooking Velaris so that he, and only he could experience the spectacle of her back arching, her erect nipples pointed to the ornate chandelier above them, her skin flushing with heat as pleasure racked through her body and she came. 

This time, Azriel pulled out all three fingers from inside her, preening at how incredible she was, how beautifully she was learning to work with him, then he licked one digit at a time as her eyes tracked his movements. Pure, male satisfaction pulsed from every line of his body, the siphons on his hands aglow with it. 

The sound of her heavy breaths followed him as he stepped back from between her splayed legs and begrudgingly left that view for one just as phenomenal. He relished the sight of the goosebumps appearing wherever he ran his fingers on her skin as he moved to the top of the piano and positioned himself by her head, his fingers stopping only when he reached the tips of her delicately arched ears. He looked down the length of her exquisite body, her pale skin glowing against the dark wood, her powerful legs - now buckled from the pleasure he’d ignited in her. Her beautiful breasts still bare before him. But it was her face that made even those mind blowing assets pale in comparison. Her huge, glowing eyes had watched him the entire time he moved and he kept hold of that sizzling gaze of hers as he gently lifted her chin and kissed her from above. “Thank you, for saving my life.” He said softly, his chest tightening at his own words. Knowing she wouldn’t truly understand that he’d never thanked anyone for that before.

In all the times he’d been in near death situations over the centuries, he’d only returned to the world of the living because he knew he was needed - knew he had debts to pay for his existence. But this time, for the first time - he was truly grateful, to be alive and more than anything, to be here, with her. He couldn’t say any of that, of course, so he hoped his lips would say what his voice never could. 

Her gaze softened as she looked up at him from where she lay, stroking his jaw softly she replied, “Thank you, for saving mine.” 

He merely leaned forward and kissed away the single tear that ran down the length of her cheek. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn was sprinting full pelt at the terrifyingly sharp ten-foot blades swinging dangerously from a wooden contraption stationed in the middle of two overlapping rock faces. Counting her steps and breathing through her nose hard, she calculated her next move. 

Gripping Narben, she tried to keep her speed steady as she maneuvered the sword to her back, sliding it carefully into its holster strapped between her shoulder blades just before she dived, head first between the twin blades in the the miniscule moment of time when there was a gap just wide enough for her to squeeze through. 

She held her breath as she flew through the air - even a tiny miscalculation could result in her gruesome and fatal dismemberment. But she couldn’t let that thought distract her, because if she did make it - she’d hit the rocky ground beneath her and have to roll before moving onto the next obstacle on the course. 

When the rocky earth came flying towards her and she felt her entire body crash into its hard surface, she rolled on one shoulder into a ball and sat on her haunches, flicking her hair out of her face. 

Finally, the breath she held flew out of her as she looked back at the slashing blades, less than a metre from her. Thank The Mother for that, she thought - she’d been fairly confident in her ability to make it through but there never was really any guarantee when it came to real simulations like this. She turned her head to the rest of the course, starting to map out her next steps.

This was her life now - mornings were spent training with the other Valkyries, Priestesses and Illyrian females. Today they were at the brand new training facility the High Lord and Lady had built for them in the mountains of Velaris, sheltered from the outside world but completely open to the elements. It was an expansive and terrifying training space - with the most advanced challenges, obstacles, weapons and simulations the General of the Night Court’s Armies could think of. And, Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie had quickly learned that - along with the help of The Shadowsinger of the Night Court - those two brute’s really could create some pretty demonic challenges for the Valkyries to work through. 

But for that, Gwyn was actually grateful. They had real-world experience, after all. They knew what it took to battle the most diabolical creatures, armies and Gods that existed - they knew how to prepare the Valkyries for the worst. Besides, only two days a week were spent at this level of training, the other two were in Windhaven - going over the basics with their, now growing, collection of females from the camps. 

Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie all helped in training the new females, along with Cassian and - Gwyn was pleased to report - Balthazar. He wasn’t always available, but on the few occasions he had come along to the training with the females, he’d been a positive and steady presence with them, providing interesting insight into what the males did during their training sessions, so the females could use it to their advantage. 

The Priestesses from the Library had a choice - continue to work at the House of Wind one day a week, where Feyre or Mor would take the session and help them work through more techniques - or join either in Illyria or in the new training ground to keep challenging themselves. Gwyn had nearly wept with joy the first time Deirdre and Annake came to visit her after evening service and expressed their interest to join both other sets of sessions. 

But training, no matter where it took place - was only ever a morning activity. Which left Gwyn with time for her and Azriel’s assignment in the afternoons. But even in that - she had become a little distracted, thanks to her and Azriel’s new training with Amren on some afternoons. She’d progressed her magic - albeit at a devastatingly glacial pace. She could now conjure flames, but not the normal kind. Though she was convinced it still came from her Autumn court heritage, for some reason - Gwyn’s flames were blue and white. Warmth still surrounded any fire she did hold in her palm, but it wasn’t the same burning type that Feyre exhibited with her fire magic. In another strange twist - whenever she held Narben and called on her power, the flame would ignite so powerfully that it would lick up the lengths of both arms - though never burn her skin. So she’d hold Narben with her arms covered in the blue and white flames of her powers, trying to figure out her next move. That’s when it would all extinguish and she’d be left with nothing - despite her great lake of remaining ability. 

It frustrated her only eighty percent of the time. The remaining twenty she spent grateful for the fact that she could now heal without the use of her invoking stone. They’d realised that about two days after her initial training on the beach with Azriel, Amren and Rhysand. That had been part of what Amren and sometimes Feyre helped teach her in the afternoons too. So she’d put the stone into a small casing and hung it from the same chain as her rose charm necklace - which she wore proudly almost every day. 

Azriel had also been subjected to magical training - and could now store things in the same pockets of darkness only the High Lord seemed to have access to. She’d not been privy to the session between them, but he’d surprised her the one day by pulling Narben out of one and handing her the ancient blade himself when they’d arrived at training. It meant the High Lord didn't have to be present every time she needed to practise with the blade. And she really needed the practice.

Though she was strong and her endurance was phenomenal, the blade seemed to eat at her energy - which meant she ate more and trained harder. Both of which, Azriel encouraged vehemently. It seemed to become their own little ritual for the time they spent together. Eat, train and sometimes - when she felt brave enough, play. Gwyn wouldn’t dare replicate their sexual encounter in the Library again - and he seemed to understand that in that particular area, they needed to remain professional during the day when they worked together. 

But in the nights, even if they were both bone tired, they’d always find time to enjoy a quiet dinner together after her evening service with the Priestesses - sometimes even with Cassian and Nesta, before going to their quiet spot in the House of Wind’s training ring and working through more techniques that Azriel had somehow learned over years of spying on or visiting other courts. Every session together taught her something new about defensive work, about the spying he’d do…but simply, more about him. She lapped it up like an information-starved miscreant, pushing him to tell her more, show her more, let her experience more. 

And as always, he’d been a patient and dedicated tutor. In that training, and in the more intimate moments they snuck in when they could too. She hadn’t built up the courage to stay at the House of Wind with him yet - and he hadn’t invited her back to his room yet either…but they were taking things slow… or as slow as her burning desire for him, and his hungry need for her - would allow them. 

She’d never known intimacy like it. Whether it had something to do with the pace at which they were going or their original foundation of friendship - somehow they had some sort of prenatural understanding of the others wants and needs. It meant whenever they came together, mapping each other’s bodies with hands, lips, tongues, teeth - whatever they could use to bring pleasure - she’d relish the feeling of their magics literally singing to one another.

She could sense him now, in her very bones - she somehow knew when he’d have too much pent up energy that he needed to work through. When he was in a dark, dangerous and cold place. When he was lighter, perhaps more open to affection and communication. Somehow, she’d started to sense it all. 

And he’d learnt how to speak the language of her body so eloquently that everytime after she’d handle Narben, when the power would claw at her and make her practically quiver with need - he’d satisfy her with such devastating thoroughness, that she truly felt she had stepped into another time, another dimension. Slowly, she was gaining her confidence in pleasuring him too, in the couple of times she’d plucked up the courage to do so - showing him how much she adored every heaven-sent inch of his presence. And soon…soon she promised herself she would take it another step further and they could take their trust to the next level - and she could truly put to rest her past and let him in, all the way. 

It wasn’t that she felt it was time for that step. Time had nothing to do with it - in fact. It had only been two weeks since they’d started properly training with Narben, after all. But Gwyn hoped Clotho’s original advice and judgement was sound… what did time matter when she knew in her gut, her heart, her bones, her very soul - that this was right? 

She shook her head, Gods, what was she doing? She couldn’t think about taking Azriel to bed right now - she had a course to complete, otherwise she wasn’t allowed to take the next step. A step backwards to go forwards…

His shadows had rippled in surprise, she noticed when she proposed her plan to him two days ago. 

“I want you to take me to Ramiel, please?” They were in their private study in the Library under the Mountain and she’d spent at least two days plucking up the courage to ask him that much. Had spent every waking moment reading and re-reading the texts to try figure it out. 

“Why?” was all he’d replied with, his voice distant - as though fighting against his initial gut reaction. 

She believed that there was something about Ramiel that didn't add up. Perhaps wyrdmarks she needed to see for herself, or a presence she wanted to feel to figure out if her hunch was correct. She knew no one was allowed to step foot in or around Ramiel's vicinity at any time other than the Rite - but surely working with Prythian’s greatest spy and the only person who could literally cloak them in shadows, had to come in useful at some point? When she explained something akin to those thoughts to him, he’d stared at her for so long, so hard - that she was sure he was about to refuse her and then they’d start one of their epic debates about right and wrong. She’d been readying herself for that eventuality, pulling her power from her core - when he nodded. Just once, before he gripped her by the shoulders and said with a darkness she hadn’t heard from him since their time in the Court of Nightmares…

“But we’re not going until you can handle Narben throughout the entire challenger series at the training ground and not until you can keep your power steady for that entire time too.” 

So here she was, proving to him… proving to herself… that she could and would do exactly that. 

Chapter Text

Azriel spent an inordinate amount of time pacing these days.

He paced up and down the muddy banks of the training ring in Windhaven, his lingering anger and resentment towards the Illyrians fueling his bloodlust, but forcing himself to stay focused on the brave females taking small steps towards conquering their own fears, their own anger. 

He paced the rugged terrain of the new Velaris training ground during the more grueling sessions he and Cassian put the Valkyries through. Both wondering who would be the first to break, the first to falter, the first to fall. Both grateful beyond measure for every practice the females finished still whole, still hungry for more. 

He paced the darkened length of the room he and Gwyn had their assignment sessions in, when he knew she was on to something but hadn’t filled him in yet and he was restless to know what was going on in that rapid mind of hers. 

He paced in any minuscule manner of space he’d find when he was on an assignment, checking in with an informant, spying on a meeting, even when he was in his torture chamber beneath the Court of Nightmares, uncovering symphonies of secrets and pain. 

He paced relentlessly across the ornate rug in his room at night when sleep wouldn’t find him, and the need to have Gwyn next to him, in his bed, on his cock was clawing at him, ripping his self-control to shreds. 

And every day, and every night, his shadows would wrap themselves around him in a cooling caress, echoing their silent manifesto in his mind, in his soul... 

Patience Singer, patience. 

But yet again, he found himself pacing - this time the length of the balcony on the House of Wind, waiting for Gwyn to arrive before their, definitely illegal, trip to Ramiel. 

The moment she did walk out of the archway to the House and towards him, he couldn’t help himself. Taking long, purposeful strides towards her, he greedily took in the way her Valkyrie leathers clung to her fucking powerhouse of a body, the way the gold from her armour made the copper of her hair glow even brighter, the way that seemingly immortal ribbon tied at her brow rippled in the wind as her fierce gaze captured his. One hand going straight to her waist, he pulled her in by the holster draped across her hips and wrapped his other hand behind her neck as he leaned down and captured her mouth in a blazing kiss, hungrily lapping up every morsel of her scent, her power, her very essence. 

She was positively incandescent when he pulled back, breathing heavily. She blinked, putting her hand gently on his chest as she stared deeply into his eyes. “Shadowsinger?” 

Azriel leaned his forehead against hers, breathing her in, hoping she knew how much it was taking for him not to default to protect and shield. To fight his instincts and let her go to one of the most dangerous places in all of Prythian - on a fucking ‘gut’ feeling she had, no less.

“Priestess,” he rumbled in return, breathing heavily as he reminded himself again and again that she was strong, she was capable, she was here. 

She looped her arms around his neck, bringing her body flush to his. “Talk, Azriel. Either as The Spymaster or as yourself - but either way, tell me what’s going on.” 

He forced himself to step back, to assess her with a warrior’s eyes - not with his heart, but with his head. She stood straighter, as though she knew exactly why he needed to make this distinction now. “Ramiel is ancient, it’s powerful and utterly inscrutable. There’s a reason why even the Illyrians only approach it once a year, why even myself, Rhys and Cass hardly ever venture there. You follow my orders, you listen to reason, you stick to our plan. Do we understand one another?” 

She nodded once, her eyes blazing. 

He bowed his head in acknowledgement but continued flatly, “I want your mental shields up, your power close to call and Narben within gripping distance at every opportunity. Are we clear?” 

“We’re clear, Shadowsinger.” She replied strongly, one warrior to another. 

By the time they’d shadow-walked into the Illyrian forests a mile out from Ramiel, he’d managed to completely transform back into the Shadowsinger of the Night Court, the dark, cold, terrifying male that could inflict pain like death's most loyal servant. 

He lowered Gwyn to her feet and pulled his shadows around them both as he looked at her, “There’s one more thing you need to know. Ramiel is guarded. We can try to go as far as possible, but ultimately, if we are not able to pass - we must turn around.” 

Gwyn’s eyes widened, her nostrils flaring. “Guarded by what? Why would we come all this way if we can’t get in?” 

He ground his jaw, the shadows coiling dangerously, warning him. “We may be able to get there, but only if we can slip by the thing that guards it successfully.” 

Gwyn threw her arms up, “Another monster under the mountain? What are you saying, Shadowsinger?!” She threw power into her words and her eyes burned bright, that flame igniting in her fingers. 

“We stick together, that’s what I’m saying.” Was all he could reply with before he started on the path that would lead them into the deepest, darkest part of the Illyrian forests and caves of the immortal mountain. 

They didn't speak for the entire trek to the caves and Azriel was grateful they hadn’t come upon any beasts from the forest - he had chosen this time in particular, knowing it would be quiet, but even he couldn't always be right about their bloodthirsty habits.

When they were at the foothill of Ramiel, Gwyn stopped and looked up at it as though it was the ribbon she’d had to cut after Solstice. She glared at it for less than a second, sniffed audibly then pushed on, following him into the cave where he waited for her. He understood, Ramiel wasn’t just imposing and gigantic, the entire mountain pulsed with ancient power. Even his shadows were silent in its presence. She ignited that small part of her power that would be their guiding light, her fist glowing with it as he guided them through the caves, the darkness ebbing and flowing around them. 

It was about thirty minutes into their descent that he felt it, that otherworldly presence that had recently made its home in this mountain. Azriel stopped and saw her eyes widen as she understood what to do, extinguishing her power immediately, pushing it far down, where she’d only rip it free if things went wrong. Instantly, darkness blanketed them both in its grip. Azriel breathed deeply, this was where he became truly free - in the dark with his shadows. But he understood that for Gwyn, born in light, this would be uncomfortable - if not suffocating. They had to be quick. 

This bit was crucial. He knew what lurked here, knew it wouldn’t truly harm him - who had been the one to find it in its new home. But he couldn't risk Gwyn being discovered. 

He cloaked her in his shadows, covering her scent as best he could - his own too as he sensed the lip at the edge they were about to skirt around. They only had to traverse ten metres of crumbling rock face in order to reach their next goal. But it was pitch black and the drop was hundreds, if not thousands - of feet down. He hoped that the work Gwyn and he had completed for the last few nights, scaling the House of Wind’s walls with blindfolds on - would help her with this savage task. If not, he could catch her with his wings - but would they get out of this labyrinth of caves in time before the monster under the mountain got to them? He wasn’t convinced… 

He lowered himself onto the ledge and found the purchase which he’d scale, sensing Gwyn follow him with dedicated precision. He dared not breathe, dared not do anything other than focus on one-foot hold, one hand hold and the careful replacement of each as they edged at a painfully slow pace across the rockface. 

Azriel had been so focused on listening to her movements, sensing her within his shadows, with finding the next hold - he didn't notice the shift in the air that told him something was desperately wrong until it was too late. 

Bryaxis rose from his slumber and blinked one nightmarish slitted eye at them. 

Chapter Text

A death god was staring at Gwyn, and all she could think about was not vomiting against the rockface and angering it even further. 

Clinging to the side of the mountain, her insides were boiling her alive as fear gripped every particle of her body and soul, making her want to heave every morsel of her breakfast over and over again. 

Gwyn hadn’t looked at it, not truly. Yet she knew enough of its story, its legend to know even without looking - this was the god of nightmares, the monster in the mountain, the end for her if she didn't keep her calm, didn't keep her power close. 

Azriel had let go of the wall the moment they both felt Bryaxis rise from the pit below them. She could hear his wings beat powerfully as he silently conversed with the demon of darkness. She knew that’s what he was doing, because after less than thirty seconds, the death god was in her head too.

HOW DARE YOU

She quivered with the need to let go, to fall to her death and let this horror be over. But she held on, keeping her eyes sealed shut as Bryaxis’ terrifying voice continued to roll through her head… 

I promised not to harm the Lord of Darkness here, but for you - I hold no promises.

Wait , she roared in her own mind. 

Do not presume to order me around… its voice was so cold, so infinite. 

I’m not, I didn’t know you were here. He didn't tell me anything, I swear. Please, don’t harm him. It was me -  I wanted to see the markings - I wanted to know if the mountain was perhaps a door… 

She sensed Bryaxis still. What are you?

I am nothing, I am no one. But I want to help our world, and the others. Are we truly safe - from the higher powers that dictate time and space? 

No. Its voice was so simple, so empty. Your powers are … delicious. 

She stilled. What did he mean? Was there perhaps a way out of this? 

She swallowed, If you promise to let me and The Shadowsinger leave here unharmed, I’ll show you mine and you can show me yours

Oh, child of worlds - you will see mine. You will see mine and weep for me. But I shall have a taste of yours first - just a little taste, then perhaps you shall be free.

She shook, adrenaline coursing through her body as she tried to recall everything from her studies into this particular creature of legend. I come from the Library under the Mountain, where you made your previous home. Why did you leave us? You were a steady presence to me and the others like me. We held hope that you were guarding us from the world.

She almost felt like she sensed it shivering. Was that even possible? 

I left that light, the semi-darkness of my previous home for something truly despicable, it's true. But I am needed here more . 

To guard another gate? Gods - was she really trying to negotiate with a death god? What the fuck was she doing?

Not a gate, child. The key. 

A key to… before she could finish her question, an almighty roar was unleashed and she felt her skin flame under its wrath.

Now let me FEAST!

Wait - our deal! Her arms were shaking from exhaustion, sweat beading on her palms as she tried to continue gripping the rocks. 

Bryaxis stilled. She took her chance… 

I’ll even sweeten it with another offer. When you were in the Library, I used to visit level five - I used to sing there. 

It was silent, but she felt the hesitation on its part… 

I’ll sing for you again?

You will not escape your nightmares, child of worlds - no matter how sweet your voice sounds. That voice made her blood feel like it was being pumped backwards, out of her very head and into the ether. 

Very well, nightmares but life. You promise to let me and The Shadowsinger live and leave? 

Deal . Bryaxis’ monstrous roar raked down the length of her spine, her legs buckling and arms spasming as she was forced to let go and started to fall. 

Azriel swept in, grabbing her roughly by her hands and sweeping back towards the cave mouth - but it was too late. She’d opened her eyes in the split second she’d free fallen and she’d seen Bryaxis, and Bryaxis had seen her.

And so, the nightmares began. 

But she didn't fall into the past - didn't catch a single glimpse of Sangravah or the Illyrian Rite, didn't’ see the flash of onyx hair tumbling to the ground as her sister’s head was cut off right in front of her, didn't feel a single sensation of the vile soldier’s pressure on her as she guarded the younglings. Those were the nightmares she knew, the nightmares she could now handle... 

No, what she saw instead was Azriel - his stunning, powerful, majestic form - looking down at her with disgust, with pity and sadness before he turned from her and walked away as she gripped her stomach. When she looked again, her stomach was an empty pit - her womb was that pit. She was barren. She, who’d loved younglings since she was a teen. She, who had always wanted a family of her own someday. Then the Hybern soldier's vile face flashed in her mind's eye again. This was because of him. This tragedy of her physicality - the reason she’d never have a child of her own - was because of what he’d done. 

Gwyn couldn’t handle it anymore, she thrashed in Azriel’s arms until he was forced to put her down on the cave floor, where she crumpled into a heap and unleashed her voice in a tidal wave of pain. She screamed and screamed - her power flying to the surface and bursting from her in uncontrollable, terrifying ways. Her entire body buckled under the immense pressure of that power - she felt Narben heat at her back and she pushed herself to her knees, grabbing the blade and ripping it free from its holster as she stood.

“NO!” She roared at Bryaxis, finally seeing him in his whirling cloud of darkness, claws, teeth and that slitted eye that saw far too much. “NO!” She roared again, her power pulsing - the blue and white flames licking up not only her arms now but across her entire body, thrumming with energy, with purpose.

“I DO NOT ACCEPT THIS!” She hollered at the Death God, her throat burning. 

WHAT ARE YOU, it roared back. 

“I am the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me!” She screamed at it, tilting Narben furiously towards it, taking up her fighting stance. 

You have the god-Killer…

She heard that terrifying voice in her head, but she imbued as much power, as much presence in her own as she whispered back with barely controlled rage, “I am the God Killer.”  

You promised me a song, God-Killer - Bryaxis pushed forward, almost reaching out, as though to caress her. 

She swung Narben dangerously, stepping back. But it was right. She’d made a deal. If she didn't comply, neither her nor Azriel could leave here alive. 

So she let her senses ground her, breathed deeply through her nose then closed her eyes. She continued to hold Narben aloft and felt the words flow through her as she chose a song about power, about defying the odds, about surviving. It was an ancient text - one she hoped this ancient creature would understand. 

Whenever she sang with the other Priestesses, she controlled her voice - let the music be the guiding presence but never overwhelmed the others. But here, under the mountain that changed her life forever, staring Death right in eye - with her Carranam by her side - she didn't hold back. She gave everything to her voice and watched as the power that flowed over every inch of her skin grew in brightness, felt a burning sensation at her back, between her shoulder blades. Narben glowed brighter and brighter with every higher note she reached until finally, she belted out the last line of the ancient language and fell to her knees. 

Azriel rushed forward, his icier-than-normal hands gripping her by the shoulders, but it was Bryaxis that said the last word. 

Leave now, do not return until you are truly ready, God Killer and Lord of Darkness. 

Chapter Text

Azriel’s scarred fingers itched with the need to grab his dagger and go find something truly horrific to inflict pain on. He needed to let out this overwhelming urge to injure, maim and kill. Because if he didn't find a release soon, not even his siphons would be able to control the roiling power he could feel tearing at his very bones to be unleashed.  

But he couldn’t do any of that. Wouldn’t do any of that, not until Gwyn woke. And if she didn't wake - if she didn't open those mesmerising eyes and speak with that light and beautiful voice, if he didn't feel that crackle of fire in her spirit or see that radiant light of hers again - there would be nothing and no one in this world that could escape his eternal wrath, his infinite retribution. And he’d start with Bryaxis - for causing her this pain in the first place. 

But he couldn't blame the death god - not truly. It was Azriel’s own fault that this had happened. After the battle with Hybern, when Feyre had sent Azriel hunting to find Bryaxis, he’d been unsurprised to find the creature of nightmare already under Ramiel’s impenetrable foundations - having accepted its fate. 

He welcomed Azriel into his darkened pit, as he had done when Azriel first found him on Level 7 of the Library Under the Mountain all those centuries ago. He wouldn’t say they were friends exactly - but Azriel was one of the few alive that the ancient creature could look upon, could converse with - without the nightmares starting and the horrors it extracted from people, becoming too overwhelming. 

So he’d promised Bryaxis that he’d keep his new home a secret - because he needed to be there and as long as Rhys and Feyre knew he would do no harm to their people, their land - he could stay there, with their gratitude. 

The promise was etched onto his skin. The first time Gwyn saw it, when they slowly, gently explored each other that first night - he’d been silent on its origin. She’d always understood his need to keep some of his Courtly duties secret - so she had not pushed it. But now, as he interlaced their fingers together where she lay nearly naked in her bathtub in the spare room at the House, he on the floor next to it, still in his battlesuit - he wished she’d tried to inspect it further, to dig a bit deeper so that they weren’t in this situation. 

He could have tried to get around the promise - even if it was one with a death god. Instead, he was the reason she had been unconscious for nearly an hour - her entire body freezing to the touch. He’d brought her directly back to the House, instructed the House to warm a bath and keep her as warm as possible. He couldn’t even join her to share body heat - his body always seemed cold to touch, whereas her body was always so warm - so inviting. Yet now… he swallowed, rubbing at his eyes with his forearm, never losing his grip on her where she lay… now she was cold and unconscious and… 

A groan pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts and back to the present moment. He sat up, gripping her forearm just as she opened her large teal eyes, squinting at the light in the bathing room - the late sunset casting a rippling show of oranges, purples and dark blues on the walls behind him. 

“Gwyn,” he breathed, searching her face frantically as his shadows swirled, trying to ascertain if she was truly ok. 

She looked down at her half-naked body in the bathtub filled to the brim with bubbles and hot water, with a small dose of lavender oil - to help keep her calm, to help soothe whatever tension her body held. “Did I smell or something, Shadowsinger?” She croaked out - and he could feel his entire body melt at those words. 

He let out a long breath of relief and kneeled next to the tub, gripping her face in his hands and laying a gentle kiss on her brow, his shadows sweeping to caress them both protectively. 

She held his forearms and searched his eyes, rubbing soft circles into his skin. “Are you going to explain or make me guess?” She raised one delicate brow and again, he could only marvel at her charming irreverence. 

He wet his lips, breathing deeply. “Your power surge… your body wasn’t quite ready for quite that much power, that quickly. You were freezing cold and I couldn’t get you warm in any other way, I had to get the House to help - I’m sorry if it was presumptuous of me to undress you…” 

She shook her head, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly, “It’s only fair - now we’re even.” 

He huffed a breath at the memory before sitting back, frowning at her. She reached forward and stroked his jaw, ran her long fingers across his lips and rested them right between his brows, smoothing away the crease there. “Thank you for getting us out, for bringing me back safely. I’m sorry I passed out.” This time, she frowned too, shaking her head. 

“Sorry? Priestess - I should be the one apologising! I put your life in danger, I didn’t prepare you…” his growl was cut short. 

“But you couldn't tell me, couldn’t truly prepare me for it. Correct? That eye in the triangle on your ribcage - that’s the promise tattoo, the deal you had with Bryaxis?” She pushed, the colour returning to her cheeks slowly. 

He nodded, swallowing. “Are you ok?” Of course she wasn’t - she’d just had the God of Nightmares in her head - yet had still come out on top, had survived it. He could only marvel at her strength, her skill, her bravery - this young, brilliant female. 

She broke her gaze from his, staring at the water in front of her, snaking her fingers through it. “Bryaxis is guarding a key, not a gate. Ramiel has something beneath it that has something to do with the other worlds - I’m sure of it. Did you tell The High Lord yet?”

He ground his jaw, surging forward to grip her arm again, “Gwyn, I don't give a fuck about a key or about telling Rhys about other worlds! Are you ok?” 

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him with trepidation, then she blinked and looked away again - and his whole body went alert at the tension he could feel emanating from her. “Priestess?” 

She didn't look at him, simply pulled her knees into her chest and whispered, “What am I?” 

He reached forward, stroking her arm soothingly. “You are the female that looked the God of Nightmares straight in the eye and made it cower at your power.” 

She closed her eyes, whispering, “Not before it did the damage it needed to, not before it showed me true horror…” 

His chest caved in, worry lodged deep into his ruined heart, yet he had no idea what to do, no idea how to help her. 

“So you haven’t told the rest of them about my powers?” She whispered before he could answer, anxiety pulling on every word. 

Azriel scooted further forward, reaching to stroke his knuckles across her soft cheek. “Your power is yours. I don’t decide what and who to tell about it, you do.” 

They were silent for a long minute, until she squeezed her eyes shut and finally looked back at him. “I’m warm enough now for you to join me, if you’d like?” 

He watched her carefully, keenly aware that she was hiding something, upset about something - but he couldn’t push her. Wouldn’t push her - not now. Right now, his primal self - the one that needed to be closer to her, to feel her beating heart for himself, to breathe in her scent…it overruled his logical mind. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn turned in the tub, partly to give Azriel privacy as he undressed - slowly taking off each siphon of his with dedicated care as his battle suit peeled off his body. Partly so she could remove her own remaining underclothes - placing them neatly in a pile on the side once she’d managed to wiggle her wet body out of them. But mostly, so she could complete a few mindstilling breaths and gather her thoughts. 

She wasn’t ok, she could at least admit that to herself. She was terrified and overwhelmed but also desperate for information. She wondered what Bryaxis meant by a key? She wondered how her power had covered her whole body in blue and white flames - yet she’d not been burned? She wondered why and how her Carranam was in league with a Death God? She knew he kept secrets as part of his job - but this time, it hit closer to home, to their assignment together. 

She felt him slowly lower himself in behind her as the water level rose, the goosebumps on her skin instantly flaring at his proximity, his presence. Backing herself carefully into his arms, she let his legs fall in line next to hers as she maneuvered herself to sit between them, leaning her back against his broad and muscular chest. She breathed deeply, more than anything, she wondered how she would ever come to terms with the vision Bryaxis had forced upon her. The vision that broke her heart and had stolen away the hope for a future she’d always craved… 

His strong arms wrapped around her torso, his forearms brushing the underside of her breasts. “You were phenomenal today,” his breath sent shivers down her spine, the feeling pooling in her core. 

Despite it, she let out a shuddering breath, “No, because of me - we didn't get to see the wyrdmarks I’m sure cover Ramiel’s foundations.” 

He moved, bringing himself closer so that she could see his devastatingly beautiful face, his legs squeezing around hers as he lifted one of her arms out of the warm, bubbly water and gently twisted it to show her the new mark on her freckled skin, just above her elbow. “Priestess, because of you - we got out alive.” 

The tattoo was a triangle - no bigger than the size of her pinky fingernail, with a small and almost indecipherable key within it. She moved, taking her own arm and examining it more closely. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” His voice rumbled behind her, his fingers moving to take her hair to one side so he could lay a hot kiss on her neck. 

Closing her eyes, she shuffled back again and this time, this time she felt the effect of their naked bodies pressed up against one another. “I want you to make me forget,” she whispered instead, moving her hand to his erection and slowly - so painfully slowly breathing courage into her body, she took his length in her hand and started to pump him under the water. 

His breathing immediately reacted, his mouth returning to her neck as both hands cupped her now heavy breasts. “I’m sorry for what Bryaxis did to you today. But we can work through it, we can work through it together.” 

Gods, she thought angrily, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the hot tears she felt pooling behind her eyelids to disappear, to leave her be. She could never tell him what she’d seen - could never reveal this dark, damaged, tragic part of herself to him. Yet here he was, trying to communicate, to be open and understanding -  something she knew was not second nature to him. But all she wanted was to forget - to rip that vile memory away and replace it with something real. Something she could control. 

She continued to pump his cock under the water, reaching with her other hand to stroke his balls, knowing how his whole body reacted to the sensation. He buckled under her ministrations and she knew she had him. His growl was laced with desire and barely suppressed need - and it undid her. Turning swiftly, she was grateful for the huge baths in this palatial home when she climbed on top of his lap and felt his cock line up perfectly with her pussy, wondering if she really could…if she should just let herself sink onto him, to truly forget everything . 

Before she could decide, his mouth was on hers, his tongue sweeping in as he grabbed her backside with one hand and thrust his other into her hair, deepening the kiss. Despite her frantic, hurried movements, wanting to touch and taste every inch of him - he worked her body with such dedication, such care - this male that ripped enemies to shreds with hands that had been mutilated, yet the way he touched her with such quiet reverence... She couldn’t help it when the tears did eventually start to fall, running down her face as she let him take her breasts in his mouth, running those marbled fingers over her nipples as her pussy begged for his attention too. She ran her hands through his hair, rubbing herself against his cock for friction, breathing heavily as she let his sheer size introduce itself to her entrance. 

“Gwyn,” his voice was strained, his cock a pulsing presence beneath her as she rubbed herself harder against it. “Gwyn, talk to me...”

She took his mouth with hers again, biting his lip as anxiety bloomed inside her and her chest pulled uncomfortably. The only way she could think to extinguish it, was to bring him pleasure. She reached her hand behind him and whilst she still held his mouth captive with hers, raked a single nail down the membranous skin of his wing and felt his entire body quiver at her touch. 

“Priestess,” his growl made her blood rush through her body in anticipation. But he simply took her face in his hands and stared right into her very soul. “Whatever your darkness, I can handle it.” 

Her breath caught at his words - the exact same as she’d said to him earlier this year, on her birthday. Her heart was beating out of her chest as she struggled to slow her breathing and realisation hit her.

She wasn’t ready. She wanted him - yes, with all her body and soul. And the power that was clawing under her skin, begging to be satiated - begging to be unleashed, made it so much more difficult…but this wasn’t the right way to do it. This wasn’t what either of them deserved.  She couldn’t find the words to say to him, to make him understand. He seemed to understand that and merely pulled her in, kissing her with such gentle tenderness - her heart practically cleaved in two. 

“Here, I’ll wash your hair, then you can rest and we can try again another day.” He whispered, holding her gently. 

The breath she’d been holding eddied out of her in a painful way and she roughly wiped the tear rolling down her other cheek before nodding. Hoping… no, praying his shadows, which swirled among the steam from the bath, from their shared heat and passion - didn’t understand the depth of her newfound fear. 

Chapter Text

“A key?” Rhys’s face was impassive, betraying nothing, but Azriel could hear how unsettled he was by this knowledge simply by the pitch of his voice. 

“If Bryaxis is to be believed,” Gwyn shrugged, twirling one of his daggers in her hand - she’d disarmed him earlier in training and was doing a wonderful job of flaunting that fact to him. In his defence, he’d been completely distracted with the memory of her lighting up Ramiel’s underbelly, igniting into a living beacon of fiery white flame to stand against Bryaxis. He couldn’t get the image out of his head - but he meant what he said. Her power was hers to discuss and divulge - not his. He’d wait patiently for her to be ready to share its potential with the others. Had it been anyone else, he’d have ripped his precious steel straight back from them the moment training was done. But he couldn’t resist drinking in the sight of her handling his weapons with such grace and irreverent ease. And though she was wearing a pretty dark green dress today, one that brought out the auburn strands of her coppery hair, he couldn't wait to one day show her to his room, strip her down, lay her down in his bed and show her all the wicked tricks he’d learned with his favourite daggers… 

Azriel pulled himself out of his fantasies and replied sharply, “It is…” at exactly the same moment Feyre said it too. Azriel looked at his High Lady in respectful acknowledgment, relishing the fact that another living soul had interacted with the creature almost as freely as he did. 

Gwyn narrowed her eyes at him and his shadows sat up at the challenge in that gaze. Evidently she had questions about how his deal with the death god had come about - and why Bryaxis didn't seem to affect Azriel the same way it affected her - and everyone else. They hadn’t had the chance to discuss it last night, considering she practically passed out from exhaustion the moment they got out of the bath.  

“And you’re sure Bryaxis won’t let you past just to have a little look at what this supposed key is for?” Rhys raised an elegant brow, his midnight tailored suit drinking in the sunlight. 

Azriel shook his head darkly, “Do not mistake tolerance for affinity.” 

The sounds of Velaris’ vibrant life drifted to them as they sat on the balcony outside of Rhys’ office, enjoying the rare early winter sunshine the day had afforded them. Azriel was grateful for Rhys’ impeccable sound shields, knowing no ears could overhear what they were saying, but still having an awareness of their surroundings - it was vital not only for Azriel’s job but also for his psyche. 

“I’ll overlook the fact that you broke one of our fundamental laws to get this information,” Rhys drawled, stroking the sleeve of his jacket as he continued to watch them closely. 

Azriel, standing at the balcony railing with his wings to the sun, gave his brother a deadpan look but Gwyn visibly paled. “It was my fault, High Lord - I made Azriel do it.” 

It was Feyre who laughed first, waving her tattooed hand, “Oh please, Gwyn don’t let him get you - since he’s become a father his sense of humour has taken a real dive.” Azriel’s shadows rippled with amusement as Rhys looked truly affronted by the statement. Gwyn allowed herself a small smile at their display, but Azriel noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d been quiet and withdrawn all day. He supposed her fierce challenge in training this morning had just been an act too. 

Rhys took a long breath and closed his star-flecked eyes before sitting forward on the patio chair and steepling his fingers in front of him. “Another thing to add to the list of potentially problematic discoveries we’re making…” Azriel stiffened at the frustration lacing his brother’s voice. He understood it - on a primal level - the worry burrowing deep in Rhys’s mind…trying to figure out the bigger picture, trying to find a clear and non-calamitous solution.

“Perhaps we should ask Elain if she’s had any insight into how to solve them…” 

Gwyn’s words tore him out of his thoughts, and doused him in fear. All three of them locked their gazes on her, Azriel’s shadows moving with predatory intent at the hint of iciness he sensed. Rhys kept his face unreadable, but his eyes were watching Gwyn carefully. Only Feyre seemed to find her words.

“What do you mean, exactly?” Her voice was low, a slight glow emanating from her as Azriel sensed her lock in the spell-cleaver's magic. 

Gwyn blinked and pushed off the window pane she’d been leaning on, still handling Azriel’s dagger as though it was an emotional support tool, before she sat on the patio furniture across from her High Lord and Lady, “She has the Sight. I think she had a vision of Arrynth - she said something about a siren’s call to me...” Gwyn shrugged, now looking uncomfortable under Rhys and Feyre’s calculating gazes. “We can’t know for sure, that’s the problem with the power. But perhaps she’s had more visions since then?” 

“When did this happen?” Azriel replied quickly, his shadows swept around him, sensing the truth of Gwyn’s words, trying to calculate the ramifications. 

Gwyn looked up at him from where she sat, her freckles bright in the sunlight. “At Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony, just before you took me home.” She looked back at Rhys and Feyre with a flash of concern, “She asked me not to say anything though…” Her whole body was tense as she tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear, smoothing the lines of her dress where she sat. 

Rhys’s velvet voice replied smoothly, “Thank you for telling us, Gwyn. We’ll talk to Elain - see if there’s anything else she knows.” 

This was why Rhys was High Lord - if it had been Azriel in his shoes, he’d be pushing and pushing Gwyn for answers. What else did Elain say? Why had Gwyn not told them sooner? How could she be sure it was a vision and not just…. 

No, Azriel admonished himself, his shadows restless as he wrestled with his own conscience. Azriel had no right to push Gwyn about this. Not when he kept thousands of secrets from her. Not least being the one of that damnable necklace she wore at her neck day in and day out. Besides, perhaps Gwyn had a reason for not telling him sooner - he’d ask her later, when they were alone and he could be more gentle. When he wouldnt default to his spymaster persona and interrogate her like he would someone else. 

Rhys seemed to notice Azriel’s moral dilemma and gave him a hard look. Had Azriel deigned to open his mind, Rhys would probably be shouting at him to drop it. But with Bryaxis’ warning, Gwyn’s withdrawn attitude, the rekindled Isle of Arrynth mystery still weighing on him - he didn't have the energy or the patience to deal with authority right now. 

Sighing, Rhys stood, leaning over to nip at Feyre’s arched ear as she looked up at him questioningly. He looked at his mate with a predatory intent that told Azriel Feyre was definitely going to pay for her earlier joke. “For now, it’s time to put it all aside, at least for a day or so - for the sake of our dear Mor.” 

Of course, Mor’s birthday party was tonight. In years past, Azriel would have lavished her with gifts - jewellery, clothes, silks…. Whatever he could to get her to notice him outside of the confines of their courtly duties and friendship. This year was the first year he’d gone down a different route - opting for a stunning collection of exotic spices. Gwyn had told him how much Emerie liked to cook and Mor had always waxed lyrical about wanting to be better at the skill herself. Now perhaps - was the first time both Azriel and Mor could both move on from centuries of lying to themselves, and find something real, something they both truly wanted to focus on.

Feyre stood too, taking her mate’s hand as they headed back in through the double doors, leaving Azriel and Gwyn alone on the balcony. This was also the first year he’d be attending one of Mor’s famous parties with another female. Despite her strangely reserved nature today, he was looking forward to spending time with Gwyn in a setting that didn’t require them to be solving historic riddles or throwing punches and jabs at each other during training. 

He watched her close her eyes, letting the early winter sun soak into her pale skin as she took a few mindstilling breaths. When she finished and opened them, she looked straight at him, a weariness weighing on her features. “I couldn’t tell you about Elain earlier because I only just figured it out…” 

Azriel’s shadows moved gracefully as he bowed his head, amazed at the fact she immediately knew his tendencies, his concerns. 

“But,” she stood then, looking at him almost shyly, putting both hands behind her back where he knew that dagger was still gripped in them. She approached him carefully, “If I had to tell you every thought, theory, reasoning, idea and conversation that happens in my head - I fear you’d run for the hills from the incessant noise.” 

He couldn't help the grin he felt pull at his mouth, his worries simmering down - marginally. He bit his lip, pulling her in gently by the material at the front of her dress, drawing her body into his. “As it is, I can hardly get a word in edgewise…” 

She rolled her eyes, thumping him lightly on the chest as she leaned into him, “Oh please, don’t pretend you don’t enjoy hearing about all the books I read…” 

He pulled her in even tighter, running his nose along the column of her neck, kissing beneath her earlobe before whispering, “I enjoy all the sounds that come out of your mouth, Gwyneth Berdara. The theories, the songs, the moans of pleasure…” 

He was relieved when her body melted against his, her scent shifting. He had to reign in the desire to pick her up and fly her straight back to the House and see to her needs immediately, to ask if she was truly ok… 

She angled her head away from him but he managed to keep his arm around her waist, feeling the heat of her body against his. “There are guests downstairs, and I need to go get ready with Nesta and Emerie. Maybe, if you play nice with the others tonight, we can talk a bit more about those sounds later…” 

He wanted to lap up this sultry confidence of hers like a vintage liquor. Ever since they’d started exploring more of each other intimately, she’d been slowly opening up and showing him her playful side. But today’s comment held an edge - she was deflecting and they both knew it.

Blinking, he realised what she was actually saying. Of course - Mor’s party - where Helion would be present, having arrived just this morning on that sensational steed of his again. Not to mention Elain and Lucien were both crawling out of their hiding places to attempt socialising again too. 

Gods, she was right. This would be a tough task - to pretend to get along. But for the sake of those world-altering sounds he knew Gwyn could make, to enjoy some time off and away from all the court stresses with her, he’d play nice. In fact, he’d be on the best behaviour he’d exhibited in centuries.

Chapter Text

Gwyn’s leg shook with nervous energy, her fingers tapping the stem of her wine glass to the beat of the music all around them. 

Mor’s party was in full swing everywhere she looked. The entire retinue of guests had taken over a stunning riverside restaurant and dancing hall on the banks of the Sidra, the faelight glimmering all around them whilst music played and bodies swayed. 

Though Gwyn had slowly started getting used to being immersed in large crowds again - the frequent dinners with the Inner Court and occasional trips to Velaris helping her become accustomed to it - somehow tonight was completely overwhelming her. 

She’d been fine when they got ready at the River House, just enjoying some girl time as her, Emerie and Nesta caught up. Each Valkyrie had opted for one of their favourite party outfits. Nesta in a dark navy velvet number that hugged her figure to perfection, Emerie in a silky black strapless dress that allowed her strong shoulders and proud wings to be displayed and Gwyn in her short and feathery white dress. She’d even plucked up the courage to add a pair of sparkly heels that reminded her of those delightful little shoes Vega wore at Rosehall. She’d also been careful to strap a thin holster to her upper thigh and place the hard-earned dagger she’d won from Azriel earlier there, concealing it beneath the sparkles and feathers. It was an outfit unfit for the start of winter of course  - but thanks to her powers, she could keep herself warm easily enough - besides, this dress was the perfect dress for dancing.

She’d certainly been in the mood to dance at the beginning of the night, enjoying the calm start to the party with just the Inner Court in the gardens at the River House, where they toasted Mor on her birthday with some of that delicious golden bubbly alcohol Gwyn had somehow developed a taste for. 

But then Elain and Lucien had wandered down from the House, joining the group late - and suddenly Gwyn couldn't get the Seer’s voice out of her head. Couldn’t stop thinking about that terrifying proclamation - how she’d talked not only about the siren’s but also the shadows, the gold… Gwyn’s mind spiralled. She watched Lucien’s golden eye whir as he took in the group, his posture guarded. She watched as Elain ignored him almost completely, choosing instead to converse with Cassian and Nesta. Had Elain known that Lucien and Azriel would be hurt at Arrynth? Had she known and said nothing? Surely not…Lucien was her mate, she’d never truly want to harm him - despite their complicated relationship? 

But the more she looked over at the dazzling female, as she sat in her soft pink gown, the more Gwyn was unsure. Azriel, for his part, had ignored them both completely as he stayed by Gwyn’s side, a silent but solid presence as they chatted to their friends. He’d kissed her cheek chastely when she arrived at the gardens with Nesta and Emerie, bending down to whisper a compliment in her ear as his shadows caressed her skin. Despite her lingering questions and fears from yesterday’s discovery with Bryaxis under Ramiel, she couldn’t help but warm at his words, his touch, his proximity, his attention. 

Only when Rhys had winnowed them to the main party location, did she see the more territorial side of him - even though he did well to mask it. Helion had greeted them all with as much benevolent enthusiasm as she started to expect from a male of his beauty and charisma. Kissing Mor on both cheeks as he swept her into his arms, offering a smooth and sensual smirk to Emerie where she held Mor’s hand, before greeting the rest of the party. He’d bowed his head at Gwyn, taking her free hand - the one that wasn’t tucked into Azriel’s elbow and kissing it delicately. “As ever Gwyneth, you shine as bright as the moon. How splendid it is to see you again.” Then he looked the Shadowsinger up and down in an obvious show of dominance and pursed his lips, “You Shadowsinger, would do well to remember the value of this beautiful female’s companionship.” 

Azriel stiffened beside her, his whole body tense as his grip on Gwyn’s hand where it rested on his arm tightened before he eventually bowed his head at Helion graciously before pulling out a chair for Gwyn at the dinner table. 

She’d managed to let her nerves simmer down slightly as they enjoyed a lively meal. Sitting between Azriel and Amren, Gwyn distracted herself by quizzing the ancient female on some of her latest reading material. Azriel ran soothing circles on her back, sometimes touching the ends of her hair where wisps from her updo had fallen out and tickled her shoulders and neck. 

She’d caught Lucien’s gaze lingering on them at one point in the night where he sat next to his mate. Nesta often called her sister the ghost of the River House, commenting on how she’d been pretty lifeless before her trip to the Dawn Court - but since she’d woken from the spell after their kidnapping - she’d been even more reclusive, only leaving the house once a week to tend to her older fae friends in the city, when she took them flowers from her garden. Outside of that, she barely spoke to anyone - including her sisters. Gwyn gave Lucien a soft nod - feeling a sadness for the male and their situation. 

But now, dinner was over - gifts had been exchanged and the tables had been pushed back so everyone had space to dance as the alcohol infiltrated their blood and the music beckoned. 

Though music had always been Gwyn’s guiding light, her true Achilles heel - tonight there was an emptiness in her that she couldn't shake, leaving her unable to truly enjoy it. She kept to one of the smaller side tables off the main dance floor - Azriel sitting casually next to her as he conversed with a male from the winter court. He was the brother to the High Lord of Winter’s mate - and a senior official within their war counsel. Cassian sat on his other side as the three of them talked business and battle. Emerie sat on her other side, where they watched Nesta dance with Feyre then Mor - the three of them twirling happily with the other guests before Feyre pulled Amren onto the dance floor as she walked by. She shrieked but the females only roared with laughter and held on to her, forcing her to sway her petite frame as her glittery night court ensemble sparkled under the faelights. 

Nesta’s eyes were shining with life and laughter when she spotted her two friends, still sitting in the semi darkness. “Come on, we’ve shown off at training plenty of times… now let's show them all how Valkyries can dance!” She gripped Emerie by the hand and pulled her up. Gwyn moved out of the way quickly, giving them a forced smile.

“I’ll be with you in just a second!” She promised, holding on to her necklace. Nesta looked back to the throng of bodies on the dance floor and seemed to understand.

“Don’t be too long, everyone deserves to be dazzled by that outfit of yours!” She shouted over the music before dragging a terrified looking Emerie away. 

Gwyn took deep breaths, trying to steady her heartbeat, watching as Lucien and Helion broke off from the group and went out a door at the back of the dancing hall as she continued to fiddle with the charm on her necklace. One of Azriel’s shadows slipped off his shoulder and sat on hers, stroking her neck in a cooling whisper of touch. She looked at him briefly and noticed his attention was still fixed on the male next to him, but he’d somehow noticed her tension and put a calming hand on her knee. She swallowed, unable to contain the emotions - wanting nothing more than to tell him about what Bryaxis had shown her. But terrified he’d leave her, as he did in the vision. That he’d deem her unfit for a life with him. Because that’s what she wanted, she realised - looking around at the friends and family they were surrounded by. She wanted this life - to be at his side as they celebrated, fought, battled, learned, loved …together.

Gods, now she couldn’t help it, tears stung the backs of her eyes. She looked up at the dazzling crowd, trying to blink away her rising emotions - instead her gaze landed on a stony-faced Elain, who was glaring at her from the other side of the room, standing all alone, sipping from a small tumbler of amber liquid. Gwyn had never seen the beautiful female look so threatening, so fierce.  

Gwyn swallowed and rose to her feet. Azriel was up immediately, enclosing her hand in his large one. “Are you ok?” 

She shook her head and put her hand on his chest. “I just need five minutes of air. I’m ok, just five minutes - I’ll be upstairs.” 

“I’ll come with you,” he put his hand on her lower back, guiding her forward but she stopped him. 

“No, please stay. I just need a bit of time alone.” When he blinked at her, confusion lining the elegant planes of his face, his eyes shining with worry, she touched his jaw lightly but let the power within her crackle to the surface, “I don’t need to be coddled, Shadowsinger. I’ll be right back.” She reached up and kissed his cheek before making her way towards the stairway behind them.

It led to a beautiful rooftop balcony, lined with colourful winter flowers interspersed with faelights. As the fresh air hit her, the moon a beautiful beckoning light in the distance, Gwyn sighed in relief. 

Taking her sparkly high heels off so she could properly ground herself, she started her mindstilling breaths. Each intrusive thought that came her way - she worked hard to reach into herself - to acknowledge it and dismiss it for now. Choosing instead to listen not to the music still pumping downstairs, but to the soft sounds of the Sidra’s water lapping just below them. To the hum of energy in the fae lights. To the hurried, raised voices below her…

Her eyes flew open. 

Elain was rushing out of the restaurant, chasing a seething Azriel as he paced in front of her. “This was our chance” she cried at him where he stood, his back to her.

Gwyn’s attention zoned in on them. Had Elain had another vision? Was Azriel the one that had been subjected to that ordeal this time? Gods, she knew what that was like, knew how terrifying and unsettling it could be. She needed to help them, to support him. She felt her fire rise to the surface, felt that light power crackle at her fingertips. Grabbing her shoes, she flew down the steps to the restaurant - hoping she wasn’t too late. 

Chapter Text

Azriel had always loved music. Always relished the opportunities to join Mor at her favoured dancing halls. Enjoying the music and atmosphere - bodies just forgetting the stresses of life and living in the freedom the melodies provided as they flowed effortlessly. 

But perhaps the music in the dancing hall tonight had been too loud - perhaps even his shadows had grown tired of the noise - because he was sure he hadn’t heard Elain properly when she stormed up to him, seconds after Gwyn had left for some air.

“Why did you do it?” Her hands were in angry fists at her side, her hair coming undone from its neat updo and looking wild around her devastated face. 

Azriel stood, frowning as he asked, “Do what?” He needed to get her out and away from the guests. Cassian gave him a confused look but continued to talk to the Winter Court General, distracting him as Azriel guided Elain out of the restaurant. She just kept on her vocal onslaught - so unlike the prim, proper, quiet voice she usually used around everyone. 

“You leave for months at a time, you never stay to talk to me and you expect me not to be angry?!” 

He pushed through the doors of the restaurant, walking a few paces to reach the river edge, moonlight shining off its surface. 

“You weren’t supposed to save him! Why did you save him, this was our chance!” She cried. He turned to see tears streaming down her face as she gripped the edges of her skirts. 

Azriel stilled. “Him? Who are you talking about Elain?” He replied carefully. 

Elain sniffed, her eyes wild. “He gave me a choice. He said I could have whatever I wanted in return… and I asked for you. Just you! He made it… he made it so Lucien would be out of the picture, so that only you could reach me.” 

Azriel’s breath came in hot and fast, his jaw working. “Who is he ? What did you do?!” 

She gripped her head, bending over as she continued to cry. “But then you took her to save him. Why did you take her - what does she have on you?” 

Fuck. Arrynth - Gwyn - Lucien. Holy fuck…had Elain planned all this? Had Elain worked with Beron somehow to put them all in fucking danger? 

“Wasn’t it enough that you gave her the necklace you once gifted to me? My necklace?! Then you had to take her on your missions too….” She shouted loudly, her hands shaking with a rage he’d never witnessed from her. He cursed himself, his life and all his fucking choices - that fucking necklace. He tried to check with his shadows, to ask them to control the scene… to help him. But they were nowhere, he was alone. 

Azriel breathed through his nose, “Did you purposefully put your mate’s life in danger? Betrayed your friends, your fam…” His angry words died on his tongue as he suddenly recalled seeing her with the basket of flowers in Velaris, when he was with Gwyn and Nyx. “The flowers… a spell. What the fuck have you done, Elain?” He wanted to roar his fury, but this couldn’t get out - this diabolical information could not spread. 

She sunk to her knees, the cold wet grass dampening her skirts. “All I needed to do was get you to Arrynth. That was the deal. Lucien would be out of the picture and he’d bring me to you when the time was right. Your voice, only yours would break the spell…” Her own voice was drawn, he could practically taste the smell of tears and alcohol as she sobbed. He recalled the shock on Lucien’s face when Azriel had visited them for the first time, when he’d asked how Elain was - when she had woken her up from the sleep she’d been put under. 

“He’s your mate!” Azriel roared, unable to control his roiling anger anymore, the siphons on his hands flaring with energy. 

She looked up at him with that deranged look, the one he’d only seen once before - when she came out the Cauldron. Darkly, she replied,  “I didn't choose him as my mate. I wanted you and I know you wanted me too.”

He couldn't help stepping back, his wings flaring at what he was hearing. “No, that was never real. It was…” He shook his head, speechless. “It was over before anything ever happened. You know that!” His voice was as cold as hers, his heart beating out of his chest as his muscles bunched uncomfortably. 

“Is that why the necklace you gave me is on her ? Is that why you look at her the way you used to look at me?” She could have roared it, she could have whispered it - it didn't make a difference. Her words sliced through Azriel’s heart, cracking it right down the middle as he realised the devastation his actions had caused.

The Priestess, Singer…

Azriel looked up and in that moment, he was convinced his heart had stopped. Convinced death was lurking just around the corner, waiting for him. Because in front of the restaurant door, no less than 15 paces from them - stood Gwyn, holding that necklace around her neck, her jaw slack. The moment their eyes locked, he saw the shadow cross her face and before he could even make a move, open his mouth, blink - she bolted. 

Lurching into action, he tried to run after her but not before Elain gripped him by the leg - her strength shocking him as she held onto the material of his trousers, pinching through to the skin beneath. 

“She’s not good for you!” Elain said angrily, her eyes wide and terrifying. 

Azriel should have stayed with Elain, taken her straight to Rhys and Feyre and started interrogating her for what she’d done, the deals she’d made, the breach in security and trust she’d caused for their court, their family. But instead, he just ripped his leg from her grip and gave her the coldest, iciest look he’d ever perfected, “I choose her, every fucking day.” 

He launched himself towards the restaurant, chasing after Gwyn as he mentally roared at his shadows, demanding why they didn't warn him of Gwyn’s approach, did not conceal them to stop her hearing everything. 

It was not our burden to bear, Singer 

Chapter Text

Barefoot, Gwyn hurtled through the restaurant, practically ricocheting off partygoers as she made her way to the back door - hoping it would get her as far away as possible from the deranged scene she’d just been witness to. 

Her lungs burned as she breathed harder and harder, willing fire in her veins to get her out of here and not to think about the fact that the male she’d just spent months admiring, growing intimate with, giving her ultimate trust to… could betray her like this. All she could think to do was run, to leave as quickly as possible, to find her best way out. 

She knocked over two waiters on her way through the restaurant, spinning by Nesta and Emerie as they looked at her with shock on their faces. She gripped the door she’d seen Helion and Lucien walk through and found herself in the back of the restaurant, another outdoor patio lit with faelights came into her view as Helion and Lucien stood quietly in the corner, talking.

Her heart lurched into her throat - it was a dead end. Lucien was the first to approach her in alarm, “Gwyn! What’s happened?” he gripped her arms and she clung onto his jacket.

“Lucien, I’m sorry - I had no idea. The Shadowsinger… I need to leave now!” She was definitely hyperventilating, but she didn't care. 

Helion stepped into her line of sight. “I can take you, if you’ll allow me?” He extended his hand to her and without even a whisper of hesitation, she took it. 

Lucien stopped them quickly, “Wait, what about Azriel? What did he do?” 

But Gwyn found she couldn't talk about it, didn't have the words, couldn’t hear over the sound of her heart shattering into a million pieces. “I can’t Lucien, please - I have to go!” 

This time Helion didn’t wait for her permission, he took her arm the same moment Azriel came bursting through the back door, wreathed in shadows, his taloned wings looming dangerously as the whole area around them iced over. “Gwyn, wait!” 

Helion stood to his full height and blocked Gwyn behind him, “Leave her be, Spymaster. She doesn’t want you to come closer.” His voice rumbled the stones around them, the ground quivering at his might. 

Azriel’s power thrummed alive on his siphons and she saw his shadows gather strength around him as he rallied his power, “Gwyn, I can explain!” 

But of course, he couldn’t, not really, not when Elain’s slight form came crashing through the door - tears soaking her face, her dress wet and bedraggled, her hair wild as she ran to Azriel and made to grab him. 

There was a shift in the air and suddenly Lucien was in front of Helion and Gwyn, a terrifying growl of dominance ripping through his throat at the sight of his mate with another male. The power in that growl gripped them all, even Azriel backed up a step at it as Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body shaking with barely restrained rage where she clung to Helion’s arm. The sound of great wingbeats above drew their attention as Maellan flew towards them before dropping his powerful body straight into the walled patio area, right in the middle of the scene.

He reared and whinnied angrily, his hoofs swiping at Azriel and Elain. Helion took Gwyn then, lifting her effortlessly into his arms and approaching Maellan with authority and little caution. He placed Gwyn on the great animal’s back and mounted swiftly afterwards, grabbing a fistful of his mane, readying to take off.

Azriel reacted, throwing himself in front of the mighty Pegasus. “DON’T GO!” He roared - not at Helion, but at Gwyn, finally making eye contact with her. 

She couldn’t do it, she couldn't bear to look at him, to see him with the female he’d promised meant nothing to him. To know that everything they’d worked towards… She sealed her eyes shut again, grabbing Maellan’s mane just as he reared again, forcing Azriel to step back, his eyes flashing with anger yes - but also hurt, pain. 

“Do NOT follow us, Shadowsinger. Or you risk being banned from the Day Court forever and incite my eternal wrath.” Helion’s voice echoed across the stone floor and walls, the power radiating off him locking the threat in place. 

He gave Maellan one last kick in the flank and they took off into the night, flying towards the moon just as Rhys, Feyre, Cassian and Nesta came running outside. 

The last thing Gwyn saw was Azriel sink to his knees in the place where Maellan had been and unleash a ripple of power so extreme, the entire walled garden collapsed all around them. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn stared at the ceiling, wondering if perhaps she was dead. 

She supposed heaven could look a bit like this. She counted 982 clouds, 1252 sunbeams, 456 Pegasus and 1638 gold flecks depicted on the white-washed ornate space above her. To the right of her silk-adorned gargantuan bed, was a huge mosaic showing the sunrise over an idyllic mountain range, the golds, oranges and yellows casting a luminous glow along the white-marbled floors of the room. To her left was a large archway, with soft white material draped over two columns framing a view that quite literally took her breath away. Even with her superior fae eyesight, all she could see for miles was the bright blue sky and the whitest, fluffiest clouds in existence. Which had to mean they were so high up that perhaps this was heaven and she really had died. 

But she could feel the burning in her chest, the unsteady beat of her heart, the ache in her head and the clawing power beneath her skin itching to be unleashed. And when she looked down at herself under the silk sheets, she saw she was still in her white party dress from last night. Which meant she couldn’t be dead. It meant she was very much alive and had merely run away from her problems - like the coward she’d always told herself she’d never become. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, fisting her palms in the sheets - desperately wishing she’d made a different call. Wishing she hadn’t just caused a diplomatic incident by hiding behind another Court’s High Lord, wishing she’d just stayed and dealt with the hurt like a warrior, like a Berdara. 

But then she thought about what caused that hurt. About how the male and female she’d run from, how the situation had shredded the careful bubble of hope she’d been living in these last few months. Her breathing intensified and Gwyn couldn’t help it when she shakily reached a hand to her chest and felt that cold and unwelcome necklace laying against her skin. 

Before she knew it, before she could control it - rage flooded her system and she ripped the false token from her neck and launched it at the mosaic wall, screaming with her whole body as she watched it fly and shatter, shards of glass falling to the ground. Her invoking stone, still safe in its casing dropped loudly to the floor with the chain. But the charm - that charm that had once meant so much to her, had brought her joy after solstice, had lent her a quiet strength at Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony, had been a sturdy and stunning presence for her whenever she wore it in Velaris… The charm she’d worked out the moment she stepped into Rosehall’s stunningly light and colourful halls had been from Azriel…that charm was now destroyed.

All she felt now was empty. Empty and disappointed. 

Gwyn swallowed the tears that threatened to fall. The tears she’d refused since the moment she found out. It had happened. For whatever reason, The Mother had dealt her this hand, giving her this set of circumstances to navigate and Gwyn would be damned if she didn’t rise to the challenge. She’d made a mistake in leaving, but because she’d fallen asleep or been put into a spelled sleep by Helion to keep the journey a secret - she hadn’t been conscious when they arrived last night. Which meant she needed to get up and deal with the consequences of her decisions and go find her host - and figure out her next steps. 

Rising from the bed that felt like it was a cloud itself, she padded into what she hoped was a bathing chamber at the opposite end of the room. The bedroom was monstrously big - more of a small hall than a bedroom if she was honest, yet she couldn’t help the small gasp of wonder when she walked into the all-white marble bathroom. It was split over three floors, with a dual vanity and privy on the first level. Gwyn tried not to laugh at the pure gold privy, shaking her head at the High Lord’s decadence. A sweeping semi-circle of white marble shelves lined the second floor with a magnificent collection of oils, perfumes, bathing salts and - she couldn’t quite believe it - books! There were at least 100 books perfectly lined up, as though guests may choose their scent, choose their reading material and make their way slowly to the third level - where not a bath but an enormous bathing pool hung over the lip of a mountain. 

Tentatively, she tiptoed to the edge of the third level, right to the outskirts of the bathing pool, to see what was below. Her stomach jumped into her mouth when all she saw was a sheer drop literally down the side of a mountain. Gods, was this house on top of a mountain? Perhaps she had passed out on the journey after all, no spellwork necessary. 

It wasn’t until Gwyn was making her way back that she spotted the floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the second level and realised she couldn’t stand the sight of this dress anymore either. Ripping it off, she was surprised to see Azriel’s dagger still strapped to her thigh, the holster almost completely at one with her skin. 

She unsheathed it and felt a lump in her throat at its weight, its perfect balance, its simple yet stunning handle of black titanium. She tried not to think about how much Azriel loved his precious daggers. How his luscious mouth had tilted up in quiet surprise and resigned delight when she disarmed him yesterday. How she’d seen the light dance in those deep eyes when she twirled it in front of him. It wasn’t Truth Teller, but it was still his. Something restless settled in her, knowing she had this part of him close to her, even now - despite her running from him. 

She’d given herself a quick freshen up and grabbed a white fluffy robe from one of the hooks on level one and stepped back into the room when she felt a wave of awareness wash over her and her breath caught. 

“Ah, she lives!” Helion’s deep and resounding voice filled the room. She stood still as a statue as she watched him lounge on a stone chair in front of a wide table bedecked with piles and piles of food on the balcony overlooking the sky. 

Gwyn tucked her hair behind her ears, looked down at her bare feet and felt truly exposed. Helion noticed. 

“I apologise for coming in unannounced,” he stood then prowled towards her, all regal power and languid grace as his Day Court robes revealed the unmistakable strength of his body, the shimmer of his skin almost blinding her in the brightness of the room. “I operate a bit of an open-door policy in my home, you see.” He stood less than a foot from her and winked one of those bright amber eyes of his. 

Gwyn flushed but refused to look away, knowing he’d respect her more if she stood firm. “I’m honoured by your company and with your generosity, High Lord.” She bowed, remembering her courtesies. 

He bowed his head graciously in return, “Very well, can we be done with the courtly graces now and perhaps break our fast together in a more casual manner?” He peered down at her and she couldn’t help the blush this time. She nodded and forced herself to follow him back to the stone table - which definitely hadn’t been there when she examined the room earlier. 

He magically pulled the chair out for her and she sat politely. He simply smirked and indicated towards the food before plating himself some. “I thought I heard a pretty scream coming from here not too long ago. But by the perfect pitch of it, I couldn’t work out if it was one of pain or one of pleasure.” 

He popped a piece of melon in his mouth as he considered her. Gwyn watched him for a beat, reading between the lines of his words, his real question. She plated herself some fruits and cheeses as she explained. “I’m afraid it’s nothing more sinister than a lovers spat, my Lord. I shouldn’t have put you in this position but I’m still grateful for your help last night.” 

His eyes narrowed on her as he sat back and chewed his food. “Mmm… the thing is, I’ve known the Shadowsinger for centuries…” Gwyn’s heartbeat racked up a notch at his name. “He is not a male that makes the mistake of ‘lovers spats’ - as you say.” 

Gwyn kept her face neutral, simply nibbled on her cheese. 

“There’s more to this. More to you, isn’t there Gwyneth?” The way his skin glowed and his eyes lit made her realise he already knew but wanted the thrill of the chase. 

But she wasn’t in the mood to play. She shrugged. “He’s still a male, and all males can and do make mistakes.” 

Helion’s laugh was deep yet bright, “Touché.” He lifted a glass of juice to her in salute. “Well, my sources tell me we left quite a scene for the Night Court last night - and if there’s one thing I do love, it’s a scene.” He winked again and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. 

“High Lord - I didn’t mean for my actions to put you in a compromising position with my Court. I can go back immediately, I shouldn’t have…” 

But Helion waved his hand at her, “Oh no…Rhysand, Feyre and I have an understanding - don’t worry about that.” He sat forward, his face pulling in earnestness. “I do not know what happened - nor do you have to tell me. But my home is your home, for as long as it takes for you to decide what you want … what you truly want to do next.” 

He was purposefully vague, and Gwyn could only marvel at his powers of deduction. She breathed carefully as she felt the ebb of his powers all around, making her dizzy with untapped energy. She bit her lip and nodded. He seemed satisfied with the response because he clapped his enormous hands and stood. 

“Excellent. Now I don’t know if you’re one of those females that likes to hide behind food and familiar fancies when heartache strikes, or whether you prefer to expend energy on a more physical level - but perhaps we can make this time of contemplation fruitful and, dare I say it… fun?” 

Gwyn’s power rumbled and she found she couldn’t help the warmth that spread through her when she realised what he was saying. She was in another court. She was the guest of the High Lord. She’d only ever been in the Night Court and had always dreamed of visiting Helion’s famous libraries. She was here and whether her heart was broken or not was irrelevant- she’d make the most of this time. 

Chapter Text

Gwyn realised very quickly that Helion used the term ‘home’ in a loose way - because the sprawling palatial residence was as magnanimous and show-stopping as the High Lord himself - and definitely far more exquisite than any home she’d ever seen - including the River House at the Night Court.  

For starters, it didn’t just sit atop a mountain peak - as Gwyn originally assumed. She learned over the course of the next 24 hours that the enormous property swept across the entire side of the mountain. When Gwyn stood at the top, in the rooms dedicated to Helion and his most honoured guests, the luminescent white stone buildings, held up by gigantic white columns and interspersed with golden domes and spires, stretched as far as the eye could see. Dotted between the stonework was areas of expertly manicured lawns, dense and stunning gardens and even beautiful water features and ponds. It truly looked like a place fit for the Gods - and though it was exquisite beyond comprehension, it wasn’t home. 

But Gwyn was learning to enjoy walking around the warm corridors, where the sun would filter through onto the decadent marble floors and walls, bouncing light in every direction as she explored. She was grateful for the Day Court garb Helion had insisted she wear - the lightweight and flattering robes of material that draped beautifully over the curves of the body - the heat in the home was something she wasn’t used to. Though it was strictly speaking nearing the deepest winter months for all of Prythian - it was as though a permanent heat and light was etched into the sublime stonework of the property, making every area of its hallowed halls warm and comfortable. Gwyn assumed Helion’s own power was to thank for that. 

He’d graciously given Gwyn a tour on her first day, showing her everything from the gardens and party halls to the kitchens and, to Gwyn’s delight - his libraries. These weren’t the famous libraries from his cities in the rest of the Day Court - the ones she knew Amarantha had sacked during her reign of terror. “These are my private Libraries, Valkyrie.” Helion had winked at her, ushering her forward, “This is where I keep the really good stuff.” The way Helion talked about books was reminiscent of how a wine connoisseur talked about vintage blends - and she couldn’t get enough of it. 

As Helion had promised, he’d wined and dined her the first day - giving her the tour before insisting on a casual yet heartwarming meal in one of his private parlours. He stayed true to his word, and never pushed her further on the Azriel, Elain and necklace catastrophe. Instead, he told her of his people. The ones that lived in this very home - who had all been warm and welcoming to her as she wandered the gold and marble halls. Then he told her of his pegusi - and why Maellan was unique in so many ways. He even promised to take her to see his famous stud - but only if she could tell him two facts about pegasus by dinner tonight. 

Which is what she was doing now. Hiding from the streaming light behind a pile of books in the bright open library - she was already on her third book about the mythical creatures. The room she was in was a large dome shape - with shelves and shelves of books lining every inch of the walls that went up 50 feet high. Helion had introduced her to the pretty but fierce scholar that kept his treasured books in order. “This is Callidus - she will assist you with anything you may require. I have a meeting to attend but I look forward to seeing you for dinner this evening.” He’d kissed her hand chastely and winked sensuously at Callidus before gliding away again. 

“It’s Cally,” the female offered her hand to Gwyn. “He really knows how to push my buttons, that one.” She tusked, her bright green eyes shining against the dark caramel brown of her skin tone, the deep chestnut of her hair. The vibrant hue of her Day Court robes made her look young and almost innocent, but Gwyn could tell there was an astute frankness to her that probably made her at least a few hundred years old. 

Gwyn’s power flowed beneath her skin, despite the fact she’d been for a challenging but necessary run just this morning, trying to expend some pent up energy and - if she had to admit it - rage after a fitful night's sleep. Her chest was still tight with unresolved emotion - and not even a run to the bottom of Helion’s mountain and back had taken her mind off it. But at least she felt appropriately dressed in her dark blue robes next to the scholar in front of her. “I’m Gwyneth - but Gwyn.” She took the female's hand and smiled warmly, the light from the open window reflecting off the charm on her bracelet. “It must be a great honour to keep the High Lord’s private library in order…” 

Cally gave her a deadpan look. “A great honour yes - and a great pain in my backside. He’s as compulsive and obsessive with his book choices as he is gorgeous and charming.” She pivoted and walked towards one side of the domed shelves. 

Gwyn shuffled in her golden sandals and linen robes to keep up, already enjoying the energy this female was giving off. “I know the type,” Gwyn replied and Cally raised her brow playfully. 

“Oh… well then you’ll know, they make excellent lovers.” She purred back and Gwyn couldn't stop the blush that rose to her face, marking her pale skin. 

Cally had known she’d be looking for books on pegusi and had helped her pick a few to start reading. Having selected her two facts pretty early on, Gwyn’s mind wandered - as did her attention and soon she found herself lodged in a book about the ancestry of the Day Court before moving on and inhaling one on the power shifts of different generations - and how powers could appear linear for millennia then suddenly manifest in a completely unique way somewhere else. 

She’d been so enamoured by the texts in front of her, she’d almost forgotten Cally was there until her long fingers reached for a book right in front of her. “Oh, you’re not just here for the pegasi, you’re here for your powers?” 

Gwyn startled but worked to keep her face neutral, “No, I’m here because I’m hiding from my problems…” she admitted flatly. 

Cally pursed her lips but her face shone with understanding, “That’s ok - everyone needs an escape once in a while. You don’t seem the type to hide forever.” 

She warmed at the scholar’s words. “I’m not sure - the food here is so delicious, I may never find the will to leave…” 

Cally smiled broadly this time. “I have to close the Library now, but come find me whenever you like Gwyn, I’m sure we can find many more books on the subjects you’re escaping from.” 

So Gwyn returned to her rooms, deciding to take a sinfully long dip in the warm bathing pool as she gobbled up the sensational view of the sunset. She dressed in a Day Court evening outfit of pleated metallic bronze that had been left out for her on her bed. Amber stones fixed the carefully draped material to Gwyn’s body, the stones shining brightly next to her pale, freckled skin. 

Giving herself a quick glance at the reflection in the long mirrors, she couldn’t help but fix a glare at the tattoo marking the back of her arm. The memory had her stomach twist uncomfortably. She couldn’t deny that the visions Bryaxis bestowed on her still ate away at her, still made her want to curl into a ball and weep for aeons. But she also knew enough about the Death God and his powers to know that there was only a small chance the visions were rooted in truth. And that was the only reason she chose to lift her chin and put a great golden bangle, inlaid with another sparkling amber stone over her arm, covering the marking for the night. 

It wasn’t until she was making her way towards the great dining hall Helion had showed her yesterday, knowing it was where they’d agreed to have dinner - that she felt the shift in the air that told her not only was Helion already in there - but so was someone else. Someone with vast powers too. 

Taking a steadying breath, she gave the tall, muscled males at the entrance a swift nod before they opened the great doors to let her inside. 

Gwyn’s heart leapt into her throat, her power flaring in her hands as she beheld Helion sitting at the head of the great table and next to him - stood Lucien Vanserra.  

Chapter Text

“Gwyneth, wait…” Lucien’s voice was calm but held an air of authority that forced her to pause. He looked different here - his hair gleamed like molten metal, his russet eye shone like it was made of real flames, even his clothes glimmered in the light of the room. 

Gwyn couldn’t help the pull she felt as she stepped forward into the vast room. “There it is...” Helion’s deep voice rumbled and it doused her with awareness as she snapped out of her spell and narrowed her eyes at them. 

“You’re… you’ve been glamouring yourself?” Gwyn stuttered, taking in the luminous glow of Lucien’s skin. Then she looked to Helion as he lounged casually in his great chair, the mighty power of him where he watched her with a slight smirk on his face. His eyes, his nose, his stature - even his godsdamn skin! Her gaze shot from Helion’s form to Lucien’s in quick succession and it was as though a bucket of ice had been thrown over her head. 

“Yes, Gwyn.” Lucien nodded slowly, all but confirming her suspicions. "Which is why - I come in peace.” Lucien stood then, showing his palms as he approached her cautiously, as though she was a skittish animal. 

Gwyn licked her lips and forced herself to breathe. When she looked down, she noticed her hands still alight with her power, and instantly pulled it back. Gods, what had she just revealed to them herself? Lucien noticed. 

“I see your powers have manifested properly now?” He stared pointedly at her clenched fists. Gwyn said nothing but continued to look at him, taking in the raw beauty of him, feeling the pulsing power and presence beneath his skin. His scent, that crackling flame, overpowered her senses - calling to her. 

She pulled herself back, “Azriel?” she managed, letting a bite of her own power into her voice, into her eyes as she forced herself to say his name. 

The flame in Lucien’s eyes simmered in rage but his face remained calm as he said seriously, “Let me be completely honest with you Gwyneth. The only reason he still lives is because of you. I owe you a life debt, for saving me in Arrynth.” 

Gwyn couldn’t help the soft snarl that escaped her lips. Mortified - she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at him. He merely nodded at her. “Also, for that reason - I couldn’t do it.” 

She swallowed hard. Gods - what was happening to her? Lucien extended his large hand to her, his golden eye whirring as he whispered, “We need to be allies in this Gwyn, or it’s all been for nothing.” 

She watched his hand carefully, weighing up her choices. Azriel and Elain had made a mistake - yes. But Lucien didn't play any part in that demise. He’d just told her that he let Azriel live because of what he meant to her… and though Gwyn was still angry as all Hel at The Shadowsinger, there was more to this than the surface-level betrayal. Lucien was powerful, he was smart, not to mention - from what she could see, he was capable of understanding. She took a deep breath and nodded, extending her hand to his.

The moment his fingers closed over hers, a jolt of energy rushed through her, her power flaring beneath her skin as though being called forth by a power outside of herself. The lake of magic inside her rippled dangerously, before the room rumbled all around them. Lucien’s eyes snapped from their clasped grip to her eyes before he let go. Instantly, her power receded, the magic simmering down again. 

“That’s something we’re going to have to figure out…” He whispered, his face pulling in contemplation. Gwyn tucked her hands behind her back, schooling her face into one of cool neutrality as she held his gaze boldly. 

“Come Valkyrie,” Helion’s voice flowed all around them as he watched them with keen interest, “Lucien was just about to explain what’s been happening in the time you’ve been away from Night Court.” Her feet moved almost as though on his command. She found herself sitting on his other side at the great marble table, opposite Lucien who continued to stare at her with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Three cups of wine magically appeared alongside an assortment of delectable foods. 

Azriel and Lucien had fought - Gwyn was told. But there had been no real challenge from The Shadowsinger - as though he didn't want to fight, didn't even want to win. It had been part of what convinced Lucien that it wasn’t the route they should take. He couldn’t and wouldn’t beat a male who was already down. 

Elain had been the bigger issue. “My mate has betrayed us all…” Lucien’s glow simmered down with his sadness as he drained the remainder of his wine. Gwyn’s heart hammered against her chest as he explained how Elain had somehow made a deal with Beron and Koschei - which was why Lucien was kidnapped, why they’d cornered the Shadowsinger in Arrynth, why Elain was unconscious and why their enemy now knew the Night Court possessed Narben. 

“We’re trying to ascertain whether they know of Eris’ involvement in all this, and whether they know you’re Narben’s bonded,” Lucien explained, looking to Helion. “The Shadowsinger has all but disappeared. We assume it’s to gather the information required, but who knows? He could be sitting at the border of this court, simply waiting for you.” Lucien shrugged as he took another sip of his now refilled wine goblet, Gwyn glowered at him. 

“He’ll be out there killing himself to try to find the missing information, to uncover the remaining secrets. He’s not some lovesick puppy, Lucien. He’s a warrior and a Spy Master.” She said hotly. 

Lucien raised his dark brow at her. “You underestimate your importance to him, Gwyn.” 

She narrowed her eyes, “I underestimate nothing.” 

Helion broke the heated exchange, “I’ll put my resources behind the Eris link too - we’ll see what we can find out. This plot doesn’t just put the Night Court at jeopardy - but every single living thing in Prythian.” 

Lucien nodded but, Gwyn asked, “Why does the High Lord of Autumn want Azriel so badly? Why does Koschei?” Her heart twisted as she considered it. 

They both watched her carefully. Helion shrugged, “The Shadowsinger knows everyone's secrets. Some say he knows the secrets of the world itself. I myself have longed to unpick his brain on more than one occasion. Perhaps it’s purely about information for them?” 

Gwyn frowned. He was powerful, he was clever and strategic and unique - but what else was there to Azriel that had both Bryaxis and Koschei under his spell? “Do we know how Koschei and Beron got to Elain?” She asked instead. 

Lucien shook his head. “Rhys offered to look into her memories, into her mind. Feyre and I both rejected the idea.” When Helion gave him a questioning look, Lucien’s shoulders dropped. “She’s still my mate. I won’t see her subjected to it… the humiliation, the hurt. She needs to tell us of her own free will - or we’ll risk losing her forever.” 

Gwyn understood that at least. She watched Lucien carefully and couldn’t help the tug of empathy. Azriel had told her he had lusted after Elain, but that nothing had happened since he and Gwyn had started being intimate - and she would continue to believe that was true until Azriel told her otherwise. She’d had the necklace since Solstice - nearly a whole year had passed. Though Azriel had a lot of explaining to do, he’d never given Gwyn reason to doubt she was the one he wanted to be with now. Elain however, had not rejected the bond yet, but had actively pursued another male and gone out of her way to bring harm to her true mate. The realisation devastated Gwyn. 

She wasn’t thinking when she stood from her seat and walked to Lucien’s side of the table, sat in the chair next to his and took his hand in her own. She wasn’t thinking at all - she was just feeling every lingering drop of emotion as she looked into his one russet eye and felt that energy crackle in their hold.

“I’m truly sorry, Lucien,” she whispered. 

His face dropped, pain lining every striking feature. “It’s the least I deserve, for the part Tamlin and I played in their being Made.” 

Gwyn frowned, “Do you at least have a plan?” She asked instead, still holding his one hand in hers in solidarity. 

He blew out a long breath, “I’ve tried so many ways to reach her, to show her that there’s time and we can take it slow. That I am patient and understand…” He shook his head. “I was sure our trip to Dawn would help, getting away from the others and giving her a chance to see the world we call our home…” He swallowed hard. “Yet still, here we are.” 

Before she could reply, Helion spoke. He was leaning back in his throne-like stone chair at the head of the table, his long and dark locks tumbling over his strong shoulders and back, his eyes closed, as though lost in a memory. “Take it from someone who has watched their mate walk away with another male, who has watched as she was forced to have his offspring, to take his beatings and endure his cruelty for centuries…” He opened his eyes and leaned forward, staring at them with a sincerity that made her chest beat wildly, “There is always, always a reason to keep fighting. For the one you truly want, for the one you truly love, keep fighting .” 

Gwyn let go of the breath she’d been holding, catching the stray tear that slid down her cheek roughly before swallowing her own pride, her own hurt and letting Helion’s words wash over her. He was right - and hadn’t she said the same thing once? About choosing to fight for it… no matter how dark, how dreary, how damaged things were - choosing one another every single time. She nodded and infused a bit of power into her palms, letting it rise to the surface and spark alongside Lucien’s, “And now, you have allies to help you do just that.” 

Chapter Text

“So Valkyrie, where are my facts?” Helion’s voice echoed all around the lush gardens as all three of them made their way to his infamous Pegasi stables. 

It was her third day in Helion’s home and though the previous night’s dinner conversation still weighed on her, still made sleep difficult and still held her chest in its vice-like grip - she was not ashamed to say that today’s activity made her heart beat uncontrollably with anticipation, with excitement. 

“You, High Lord, of course know everything there is to know about these legendary animals. So you’ll forgive the simplicity of my facts but here they are…” She talked as if she was reciting a great poem to a vast audience. “The pegasi are known to have come from the same island the Prison now sits upon. However, there are theories that indicate they are actually originally from another Court completely - a Court that has been lost for nearly all the ages.”

Helion’s smirk only gave her further encouragement as she gesticulated whilst she talked of these incredible histories. “The legend goes that when this Court’s true heir and sovereign returns to its lands, the pegasi will flock to them - and on their command, will stamp their magical hooves on the lands of their ancestors and from it, a great well of magic will erupt and transform the entire world. This will bring forth a new age of life, light, power, wisdom, magic, art, creativity, imagination…” 

Lucien’s face was slack as he watched her, his hands loose behind his back as he ambled next to them. Gwyn was practically bouncing on her feet as she continued. “The histories say that when the Pegasi lost their land, so too did they lose their true purpose, their own magic. This theory however, says the pegasi are linked to the bloodline of its ruler and will only thrive once more when they return.” 

Gwyn peeked up at Helion, to see what he thought of her findings. He was smiling at her. “And what do you think, Valkyrie?” 

She raised her brow as they turned a corner and saw a vast meadow ahead at the foot of the mountain. “Naturally I believe it, otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen to share it.” 

He laughed outright this time and bowed his head. “Naturally. Then tell me, what were the powers of this land, its rulers?” 

Gwyn lowered her voice, looking round to make sure they were truly alone. Lucien simply leaned in further, as though gripped by the tall tales. “It’s not clear…” She held her breath, frustration tickling the back of her mind. “But I have read some theories that say they were conduits, High Lord. That they could take any power and use it as their own. Some say they even have the capacity to wield the energy of the stars themselves.” 

Lucien blanched but Helion only smiled wider and raised his brows, “Go on…”

Gwyn couldn’t help it, talking about these ancient theories and histories was like drinking an intoxicating liquor, wholly satisfying yet eternally craving more. “They say this power was too dangerous to wield - and was eradicated for a darker, more sinister reason.” 

Lucien’s frown pulled at his scar, making his face look severe. “And what do you think of these theories?” Helion’s voice rippled with quiet delight.

Gwyn took a deep breath. How could she reveal what she really thought without divulging everything that she guessed at, everything she was working towards for the High Lord of the Night Court. “I hope that the eighth Court will not stay hidden forever. I think there’s more to that Island, and the mountain within it.” 

“You got all of that from a book on the pegasus?” Lucien asked incredulously. 

She stopped then, looked at both Helion and Lucien with wide eyes as another piece of the puzzle fell into place in her mind. “The pegasus… the island…the court. It sits between Night and Day…” 

Helion’s eyes sparkled, Lucien’s face pulled in confusion. “Say it Valkyrie...” Helion’s voice echoed across her bones, beckoning her thoughts. 

She couldn’t say it too loudly, merely whispered it. “Dusk.” 

He nodded, his face alight with energy and mystery. She watched him closely, his pulsing presence, his power and intelligence. 

“You’re trying to bring the Dusk Court back?” She whispered, gliding forward to watch him more carefully. Lucien’s eye swivelled as he watched their exchange eagerly. 

Helion bowed his head. “I think that Court has been trying to get back all by itself. I have the ability to sense energy, to feel shifts in magic - and when Nesta Archeron used the trove, that energy spiked. I felt it to my very core. Then Meallan - who I admit, is only half-tamed - but has kept his control and patience with me for centuries - left and flew away for days. When I eventually found him - he was flying in circles around the Island of the Prison.” 

Gwyn’s heart rate ricocheted. Gods, if this was true - then what had Nesta seen, what had she heard when she was at the Prison? 

Lucien stopped, his eyes wide. “Elain…”

Gwyn snapped out of her knowledge spiral and moved to Lucien, gripping him by the arm, “Is she ok? Do you sense something… through the bond?” She knew that could happen for those who were mated, but perhaps it was only strong enough once both had accepted it? 

“No, it’s not that.” He shook his head. “She talked about voices in the stone before. Hearing something as far as the sea…” He frowned. “Is it all connected?”

Gwyn pondered it. She’d heard voices too, when she retrieved Narben. But she knew now those were the sirens of the seas. “We can ask her,” Gwyn offered, looking at him gently. “When we get back…” it was the first time she’d voiced her wish to do so - to return home. 

Lucien nodded but looked unsure. Helion changed the subject before she could reassure him further. Clapping his hand on Lucien’s shoulder, his voice carried. “But first, Meallan and Airgead have something to show you both…” 

What Lucien and Gwyn beheld made her insides burn bright, true joy bubbling up inside her, flaring to life after days of feeling only a clawing need and lingering sadness and hurt. Helion had glamoured the meadow to look empty but really, it held the 8 mythical creatures of legend she’d always dreamed of seeing. All various shades of darkest black, brightest white, stunning silver, gleaming bronze, dusty blonde and soft grey. Gwyn couldn’t help it when she gripped both Lucien and Helion’s arms, steadying herself as she felt a wave of energy wash over her, gripping her in its dizzying embrace. 

Helion touched Gwyn’s hands where it gripped his … “Would you like to meet the newest member of our herd?” He said quietly, pride brimming in his amber eyes as Meallan and the mare that must have been Airgead approached them cautiously. If Meallan was the darkest hue of black, then Airgead’s coat was the brightest brilliant white she’d ever beheld. So pure, so beautiful that it brought true tears to Gwyn’s eyes. She lifted her stunning face and stared right at them, rearing her head slightly so her luscious white mane blew in the breeze. 

That’s when Gwyn scented it. The otherworldly smell in the air that told her something truly unique and special was near. All her senses lit up at that scent - it reminded her of the salt in the sea, the bite of the wind, the embers of fire, the stones in the earth. As though in a dream she stepped forward the same moment Meallan and Airgead stepped aside to reveal the most dazzling Pegasus foal Gwyn had ever seen. 

Not a foal, Gwyn realised - but a filly. Her coat was a sacred silver in colour, light rippling off every inch of her magnificent form. With a mane of the purest, sleekest black which rippled in the wind, she turned her head and watched Gwyn with sparkling pale blue eyes that looked right into her very soul. 

The filly stepped forward, away from her parents and Gwyn couldn’t help it, but a song bubbled up inside her, begging to be sung. She mirrored the filly’s movement, first whispering the ancient song - one about friendship, about trust and kinship and all things sacred. But her voice grew in strength with every step forward she took towards the edge of the pen, as though lost in the dream. Gwyn only stopped when both her and the young pegasus reached the gate, a mere foot from one another. Finishing her song, Gwyn bowed her head in deference to the majestic beauty before her.  

“She looks like she’ll let you touch her, Valkyrie… go ahead.” Helion’s voice echoed around them, lifting the hairs on the back of her neck as she reached her hand tentatively forward. 

The filly just stared at her hand for a moment, then swivelled those clear eyes to Gwyn’s face and somehow - as though she could sense it in the deep recesses of her mind, she just knew it wanted her to sing again. Once Gwyn had sung a few lines of the same song, the Pegasus leaned its soft muzzle directly into her palm and white light glowed from her palm and onto its coat. 

A deep sadness pulled at Gwyn’s heartstrings before euphoric light and joy replaced it. For whatever divine purpose, this little Pegasus reminded Gwyn so much of her lost twin, Catrin. From the jet black hair to the pale eyes and shining skin… even its mannerisms seemed reminiscent of Catrin’s. She let out a small sigh of laughter at that fact and the filly made a responding sound in the back of its throat before it nuzzled further into her hand. 

A bright white flash burst out of Gwyn’s body at the gesture, her power surging and washing over the Pegasus’ form, dousing both of them in energy. When the light receded and Gwyn blinked at the stunning animal before her, she felt at peace. 

The filly bowed its beautiful head back at Gwyn and stepped away, moving gracefully back to its parents. When Gwyn turned, Lucien was gaping at her as his bright hair gleamed in the sunshine of the meadow. “Is that supposed to happen?” He looked frantically between Gwyn, the herd and Helion, who was approaching Gwyn with a burning curiosity in those bright eyes. 

“Well well well, Valkyrie” he rumbled, rubbing his hands together and considering her. “It looks like we have some training to do...” 

Chapter Text

“Truly, it bothered me not knowing how you survived being ensnared by the Sirens of the Seas - until now.” 

Gwyn nearly dropped the sparkling cube of salt Airgead was licking from her palm. She looked to Helion with alarm. 

“Survived? I had to bond myself to a death sword!” Gwyn replied, incredulous. 

Lucien, perched on a bale of the softest cotton, watched Helion carefully as he skinned an apple for Meallan. “You knew this would happen?” 

Helion turned and regarded Gwyn carefully. “Do you know of your own ancestry, young one? 

Gwyn kept her face neutral as she fixed her gaze on Airgead’s shining coat. “I never had the chance to tell you the rest of the Pegasus facts I learned…” 

“Autumn seems to be the strongest link, given your colouring and that delicious temper of yours. How much fire do you sense, Lucien?” Helion continued, undeterred. 

Lucien was quiet for a long moment but eventually allowed, “Enough that I recognise it’s mark, if that’s what you’re asking?” He replied tightly. 

Gwyn still hadn’t looked up at them, simply continued to stroke Airgead. “I actually learned two more facts. The first is about the golden bridle…” 

“But then I saw that light.” Helion’s voice easily outmatched hers and she eventually forced her gaze to meet his in defiance. “That light that grows when you sing…Have you ever felt the power claw at you, Valkyrie? Waiting to unleash utter destruction upon your enemies? Calling on you to devour them?” Helion’s voice dropped as he leaned over Meallen’s back, watching Gwyn with fascination. 

For one of the smartest fae in existence, Helion’s question struck her as simple and pointless. Of course she did. In the Rite, in the Challenger course, at Arrynth… anytime she or someone she cared about was in danger, her power begged to help her. 

“Or do you perhaps feel it at other times? Perhaps more intimate moments… when the need spins out of control and nothing but obliterating pleasure will satiate it.” 

This time Gwyn’s heart hammered against her chest. Gods... Everytime after she used Narben, it would make her power grow infinitely in might…sometimes so much so that her bones would rattle inside her, her blood heating at its impact. She wouldn’t be able to settle it until Azriel had brought her pleasure, or she his. And every time she felt like it was never enough, that she’d never truly have her fill of him - in this life or the next... She felt her face burn at the rampant direction of her thoughts. She’d always assumed it was because of his otherworldly beauty and presence, her desire to finally close the gap between them and take him truly into her confidence, to heal properly with his help. 

“Ah…” Helion purred. “An excellent twist. No wonder…and with The Shadowsinger too. A truly worthy opponent…” 

Gwyn’s cheeks flamed red, she couldn’t stand the direction this was going. “So I may or may not have siren blood from generations past?” She withered, “I don’t kill for sport, I’m not a monster!” 

Airgead huffed an irritated breath at her sudden change in demeanour and backed away a step, turning her head to watch her young filly sleeping in the mound of soft cotton in the corner of their sizeable pen in the decadent stables Helion had built to house them. 

Helion put down the brush and showed his palms as a gorgeous grin graced his features. “Of course not. I told you I can sense energy, detect magic. Yours is unlike I’ve felt before … it’s raw and utterly delicious.” 

Gwyn breathed hard, refusing to yield to the insecure part of her that was convinced this was all a mistake, that she couldn’t be powerful and unique. The fire in her she’d always understood - her mother had a kernel of it so why shouldn’t she? The light was a different story… She briefly recalled Catrin playing with balls of light when they were children. But that could just be her memories playing tricks on her. 

“I’ve tried training,” she admitted, looking to Lucien for any sign of understanding, of confirmation. “The flame isn’t like that of Autumn. The light doesn’t seem to be that of Day.” 

He bowed his head, “No lady, it does feel different to mine, it’s true… but there is certainly a thread of it that mine recognises.” She was shocked he’d revealed even that much, despite their new understanding and trust.

“And it’s certainly not unmanageable,” Helion came to stand close to her now, reaching his knuckles down the centre of Airgead’s head as she nuzzled into him. “Your third fact - the one you were saving for last… a Pegasus will only respond to one that is true of heart. Yes, and you are Gwyneth. I believe the three of us…” he looked at Lucien pointedly. “Can hone those powers into something truly transformative.” 

Chapter Text

Gwyn often looked at the shattered glass charm she’d destroyed and wondered at the serendipity of it. She’d instructed the kind staff that looked after Helion’s colossal residence not to clean away the pieces that littered the floor beneath the mural, where she’d thrown it. Instead, she’d picked up each shard herself, and the dainty gold chain it had hung from and laid it out carefully on the vanity in her room. The light that flooded in every morning still seemed to catch the different colours, shining with possibilities  - even in its destroyed state. And every time Gwyn got ready for the day, she’d look at that charm with a new perspective. 

Part of her, a part she was almost too scared to acknowledge - was glad for the fact that this necklace had been hers. That it had led her to this moment. A moment where she felt proud of herself for how far she’d come, for what she could do, for everything that had happened which made her ready for the next step… 

She had spent a week in the court with the world’s greatest books and histories, learning from the High Lord who could manipulate light and energy like no other, who was patiently training not only her on the unique blend of her power - but also helping Lucien understand more of his too. They’d spent the last few days together, consuming as much knowledge as possible as to what their powers were, how they were manifesting and then trying all the different techniques, sequences, tactics to bring that power out and turn it into something that was wholly their own. 

“I usually only find my power answers the call when Narben is in my hands,” Gwyn had explained with trepidation on the first day, when Helion had asked her to demonstrate what she could already do. 

“Then it is fortunate we do not have access to it right now,” Helion had replied cleverly, “Now we can hone what is already inside you. That way, you’ll not be at the mercy of the ancient sword, rather it will be the thing you can choose to unleash if and when you feel you truly need it.” 

The power in that choice alone fueled her eagerness to come to grips with that vast lake of power of hers and learn to play with each drop, ripple and splash of its potential. 

What she’d learned over the course of those exhausting days, was that her power wasn’t necessarily fire or light - rather pure energy. Something she could wield in whichever way she chose. Her autumn heritage made the warmth easier to control - but really, she could pull power from any energy source and blend it to make it her own. 

That had been scary, the first day she plunged them into utter darkness and exploded her own light - having drained the faelights all around them and used the energy to power her own. It had also been quite a fun trick to play on Lucien one evening, when she’d hid in the Library with Cally and plunged them all into darkness - causing him to fall off his chair in fright when she snuck up behind him and zapped him with a jolt of energy. 

By far, that had been the most interesting fact she’d learned - that she ultimately could decide whether her power and energy was harmful, hurtful or destructive. Or in fact bright, healing and soothing. For the most part, she chose the latter spectrum of her powers. Helion had winnowed them to a village close to his mountainous abode one day and she’d spent the day with the healers there, learning ways to shape her power to soothe different hurts, to eradicate pain, to draw out damaged cells and cast them in a layer of energy that renewed them. 

Admittedly, that work had made her pass out with exhaustion - but she now knew she could do it and was grateful beyond measure that she had power that could help others and more importantly, that she could control. 

To a certain degree, at least. The power could also overwhelm, causing severe damage to things she directed it at when she chose to harm, not help. 

But it all had its price. Without fail, every night she’d get back to her room in Helion’s palace, fall into the sumptuous silken bed and within moments, that aching need beneath her skin would roar to life, clawing at her to be satiated. The first night it happened, she resisted within every inch of her ability - trying not to give into her own needs, not to answer the demand that was aching between her legs. Forcing herself not to think of him, his hands, his mouth, those eyes, that divine body of his, those majestic wings… 

But fighting it was pointless - because instead of controlling it herself, it entered her subconscious - where he came to her. She couldn’t distinguish dreams from reality when his heavenly voice, the one she craved to hear again, rumbled “Priestess.” Then he ran those marbled fingers of his along every inch of her skin, shivers erupting in the wake as his touch lingered on her nipples, her sex. Then, dropping to his knees in front of her, giving her that sexy-as-all-hell smirk that revealed one of those delicious dimples - he feasted. His mouth moved with such savage grace, ripping apart her self-control, unleashing the monster that was her desire until she was panting through the slow and torturous ascension. He pulled his mouth away from her pussy and whispered, “Let go, Gwyn” and her climax rippled through every aching part of her, leaving her breathless with pleasure. When she’d lurched awake, sweat covering her body, she frantically looked to see if he was in the room with her, searching for his darkness, his shadows. It had felt so real, so dangerously real. 

She now decided to revisit that dream every night since, this time of her own accord. Letting herself give into her carnal desires as she explored her own body under those silk sheets and imagined every depraved thing she could do to him, how she’d make even Sellyn Drake blush with her wanton needs if she ever had the chance to be with him again. 

Because she would see him again, today in fact - if everything went to plan. Though she was anxious of returning, to deal with the drama she’d left behind - she was ready to go back, to go home. Helion had been kind enough to share a note Rhysand had sent from Nesta and Emerie - telling her they missed her and hoped she was ok. Every part of her yearned to be reunited with her Valkyrie sisters - to return to training and show them all the things she’d learned of her powers, and find out what they’d learned from their sessions whilst she was away. She yearned to tell the High Lord and Lady about her other theories - the ones she’d sneakily researched when the halls were quiet and everyone was in bed. She’d tiptoe to Helion’s private library in the darkness of the night and gorge on other books that would help her figure out the next steps in their assignment, reading by the light in her palm. After all, just because she’d run away from her problems didn’t mean the world didn't still need this knowledge. Didn't mean she could let down Rhysand, Feyre, Amren and of course - Azriel. 

Then of course, there was her yearning to be reunited with him too. In fact, it wasn’t a yearning. It was a deep, uncomfortable, roiling beast - lashing powerfully against its restraints - roaring at her to return to him, to make sure he was ok. Of course, they still had to talk about the necklace catastrophe - just as Lucien and Elain would have to eventually acknowledge it too. But now, there was a bigger ploy that she needed to talk to him about, needed the clever mind and infinite experience of The Shadowsinger for. 

Helion had given her a choice yesterday. 

“We have a guest arriving today. One I invited - with the intention of discovering what information they have on the Arrynth situation.” He’d explained to her and Lucien as the three of them sat calmly at breakfast. 

“He responded?” Lucien’s eye whirred in its socket, his posture stiff. 

Helion nodded, “I give you both a choice. You may meet him with me and hear for yourselves, or he can address me alone and I will update you afterwards.” 

“It’s Eris, isn’t it?” Gwyn eventually clocked on, her skin crawling at the very thought of that slippery male walking these bright and warm halls. Helion simply gave her a low bow of his head in the affirmative. 

Lucien was eager to hear what Eris would say, as was Gwyn. But she didn't want to be near him - didn't want to deal with his snide remarks and calculating comments. Helion had agreed to glamour her whilst she remained in the hall, listening to the conversation they’d have. 

But that hadn’t exactly gone to plan either. 

Helion had sat in his overpowering throne of marble and gold, looking to all the world like a male bored by existence, simply fulfilling his sacred role of exuding prominence and power. Lucien stood stiffly to his side, the glamour hiding his true identity, his true power again. Gwyn remained behind the huge chair, glamoured by Helion’s magic so she could see and hear what was happening without the need to engage with Eris directly.

The huge golden doors at the end of the hallowed hall had opened and Eris glided in, all courtly grace and lean strength. His Autumn Court clothes were tailored to perfection, his hair gleaming with health. His scent drifted over to her, somewhere between cinders and smoke with embers of crackling fire mixed in - a primal part of her seemed to recognise it. Only his sneering face made it clear to her, to anyone who looked upon it, that this was a male who would do whatever it took to see to his own needs, and no one else’s. He at least had the decency to bow his head in deference to Helion when he stopped before the throne-like chair, but then he looked at Lucien coldly. 

“Ah, little brother. Playing with daddy dearest in Day, I see.” 

Gwyn nearly choked at his words. She gripped her throat to stifle any sound as she watched Lucien pale and Helion’s face turn into one of cold, ruthless fury. Before she’d known him, she’d heard the High Lord of Day was ice cold, full of an inner rage. She’d never seen that side of him, until now. 

“You never could learn to keep that sharp tongue of yours under control, could you Eris?” Helion’s voice dripped with scorn. 

Eris shrugged, as though this meeting was nothing more than a play date. “Well, considering our little swimmer back there already knows, there’s really no point skirting it, is there?” 

Ice spread through Gwyn’s veins. How had he known, for the second time? How had even Helion’s glamour not worked? 

“What nonsense are you prattling about now?” Helion muttered, though even Gwyn could hear the threat behind that tight tone. 

Eris, as though he wasn’t addressing one of the most powerful High Lords alive, simply rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, sighing impatiently. “Come out, little swimmer. Your scent has given you away.” 

Gwyn breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment and wishing she’d just chosen to stay in her room or the Library, well away from this infernal male. She felt Helion’s glamour reveal her as she stepped away from the throne and stood at Lucien’s side, baring her teeth in a silent snarl. 

“Oh excellent, you brought your temper to this little gathering. How original.” He rolled his eyes. 

Fortunately, Lucien stepped in before Gwyn could truly show him her temper. “Eris, what is it you know? What news?” 

Eris regarded them with venom in those amber eyes before uncrossing his arms and starting to pace up and down in front of them. “Really, I only came to congratulate our little swimmer over here on thoroughly taming the beast that is the Night Court’s Spymaster.” 

Gwyn’s breath hitched, her chest burning in discomfort. Lucien shifted next to her and she knew what he was doing - warning her to keep her cool, to let Eris reveal his point in whatever way would get them the information they needed. 

“Of course, there’s no official news of what happened to make him this sloppy with his work - but he’s lost another source in The Forest House this week, and when I saw him yesterday, he looked like a male that had his heart ripped out and torn to shreds. I assume, little swimmer - that’s thanks to you?” 

Gwyn’s blood ran ice cold and she wanted to launch herself at his sneering face and rip the skin from his bones - but she knew that wouldn’t fix it. Wouldn’t take away the anxiety and pain that she’d caused by just running away… 

“Losing that source in The Forest House has cost us all,” Eris continued. “Beron doesn’t allow me into his councils anymore, but I glean enough to know he knows Gwydion is still in play and Narben is linked to Night - but not who exactly from Night.” He explained, still pacing in front of them, watching them with those terrifyingly sharp eyes. 

“What about his deal with Koschei?” Lucien asked tensely and Eris pursed his lips but shook his head. 

“You know as well as I do, even if we are guessing correctly, it’s nearly impossible to link him to the sorcerer.” Eris said quietly, a hint of desperate resignation entering his tone. 

“And he still doesn’t suspect your involvement?” Helion asked, his voice low and suspicious. 

Eris shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but there is someone he does suspect…” 

The look on his face made Gwyn’s heart beat at an uncomfortable pace. Lucien stepped forward, as though an invisible string pulled him from his stoic stance. “No…” he breathed, his whole body rippling with tension. 

There was a rumble of power and the ground beneath them shook as Helion’s knuckles went white with the strength of the grip he had on the large marble chair. “We have to get her out…” he breathed. 

Gwyn’s mind went into overdrive as she read between the lines of their conversation. This had to be about the Lady of Autumn - Lucien’s mother and… Helion’s mate. As Eris’ mother, she was the only thing that linked him to this trio too. Gwyn had heard that Beron was a cruel, sadistic and cold ruler and frequently turned that temper on those in his home. Now knowing that he turned that temper into abusing his wife - it made her power want to rush out of here and rip him limb from limb. 

But she forced the power down, deep inside her - trying to internally soothe that rippling lake so she could remain present and supportive in this moment to Lucien and Helion. 

Eris nodded in a way that made her think that perhaps, somewhere behind the contemptuous act was a male who did care about at least one person out there. “Why do you think I came?” 

Lucien stepped forward again, joining Eris at the foot of the great throne and considering him, “You have a plan?” 

Eris raised his brow and turned that gaze to Gwyn, and she felt the cold wash over her again. “Yes. Her.” 

Helion replied before Gwyn could. “Why?” 

Eris started pacing again, “It’s simple really, I gather she’s been training with the Spy Master, she already has Autumn colouring and - I’ve seen her fight, I know she has power.” 

“ She has a name!” Gwyn managed coldly, stepping down the dias too and approaching him with a primal rage she’d barely let herself acknowledge. “And how exactly would I infiltrate where even a High Lord’s son cannot? Where even the Shadowsinger’s spies have not been able to?” 

He ran his gaze up and down her body quickly, assessing her before he ground his teeth and spat out, “Because you won’t be trying to infiltrate his war councils, join his soldiers ranks or steal his treasures. You’re a mixed breed female…” Gwyn nearly punched his long and thin face right then and there. “Which means, you will blend into the background, never getting noticed - never getting caught.” 

Gwyn couldn't help it then, she thought of her mother - who had been too wild for The Forest House. Who had died too young, before she could truly help teach Gwyn and Catrin the ways of the world - teach them more about their own heritage. Would going back to the Forest House allow Gwyn the chance to dig deeper into her own story, her mothers story? To find out where she really came from? 

Then she thought of Lyra - the brutal scars that marred her stunning features, taking away her voice, crippling her… Gwyn couldn’t let another male like that harm a female just because they were supposedly more powerful, held more of the control. 

Finally, she thought of the Inner Court - of Azriel, Rhysand, Feyre, Nesta, Cassian, Lucien and ultimately - Elain. How they were all wrapped up in this bigger scheme that somehow involved Beron and - if their hunches were correct, Koschei. She thought about the fact that no one would be able to find peace until they had all the information. Strangely, she understood Eris’ point, having seen enough of the Illyrian’s prejudices to know there were still males out there that dismissed the opposite sex so thoroughly, that maybe she really did have a chance to change things. To get information about Gwydion - to find out the missing link between Beron, Koschei and Elain…to save the Lady of Autumn - a mother and a mate to males that she respected. 

She realised they were all watching her, waiting for her to decide. “I accept on two conditions,” she said carefully, making her way slowly back up the steps to Helion’s dias, to stand at his side, to make him understand. “I will only help the Lady of Autumn, if she wants to be helped. If the opportunity arrives and she does not want to leave, will not run - then I will not force her.” Gwyn held Helion’s gaze, infusing power into her words, pledging them to herself as well as to him. 

He breathed through his nostrils, his eyes narrowing on her, as though he wanted to fight it, to disagree. He looked down to Lucien briefly and back at Gwyn, holding her gaze captive in the burning amber of his. Finally, he nodded. 

She bowed her head in understanding, in acknowledgement before she continued, turning her attention back on Eris and Lucien where they stood. “Secondly, I will only go on this mission if The Spymaster of the Night Court and my High Lord and Lady accept it too.” 

Eris swore, low and filthily, “Why would you care what that twisted, broken male thinks?” He seethed, prowling up the steps towards her before colliding with an invisible wall. Gwyn hadn’t noticed Helion lift the shield, but she was grateful for it. “The Spymaster is not your keeper…” Eris’ lip curled over his teeth in disgust. 

She kept her shoulders back, straightened her spine and regarded him with the same icy glare she’d seen Azriel use in the Court of Nightmares. “Because I respect him. I refuse to play any part of this grand scheme until he and I are both completely on board and involved with every single element of the plan.” 

Now, as she stood, collecting the shards of glass from the charm necklace and sealing them in a soft silk pouch, returning the gold chain that still held her Invoking Stone to her neck, Gwyn thought back to that agreement she made with Eris yesterday. It wasn’t just because she respected Azriel as the Spy Master…

Rather she respected him as the male who helped her through so much. The male who had saved her in Sangravah. The male who had been patient and practical in training, eager and collaborative in their assignment. The male who had understood her fears and showed her such surprising gentleness, teaching her how to take back her control, take back her pleasure. The male she thought about almost every moment of every day. The male who - although had made a mistake with the necklace - had probably punished himself tenfold for that, and now deserved the truth. 

The inescapable, undeniable truth that Gwyneth Berdara was utterly, unavoidably, inconsolably in love with him. 

Chapter Text

The air knocked right out of him as Azriel doubled over at the impact of Nesta’s kick to his abdomen. Backing away, he spat out the glob of blood in his mouth as he tried to recalibrate as quickly as possible, to prepare himself for her next expected monumental blow. Knowing that it didn’t matter ultimately whether he was prepared or not - because he would continue to take this beating for hours, days, weeks if he had to. 

He deserved this. Deserved her deadly rage and retribution. Deserved the fact that his friends, his family stood all around them as Nesta went in again and again, punishing him for the hurt he’d caused her sister and her friend both. He didn't need his shadows to tell him that every one of them was disappointed in him. Angry at his stupidity with the necklace, angry that he’d left for days - perhaps even angry that he’d returned. 

But in that, he had no choice either. His shadows had made it next to impossible for him to do anything other than return to Velaris today, to face the consequences. It was as though they’d burrowed into his chest and erupted, causing such severe pain that he had to stop torturing the Autumn Court soldier that killed his last informant, the one he’d been painfully trying to extract information from since yesterday - and abandon his post in the Court of Nightmares. 

Though he hadn’t slept in what felt like a week - he was prepared for the utterly enraged look on Nesta’s face when he landed in the training ring just as the Priestesses were leaving from their morning session. He’d been prepared when she unsheathed her sword and gave next to no warning before she lashed powerfully against his, his arms even buckled at her strength. He wouldn’t try to avoid this fight though, not now - not ever. He’d keep going until she either knocked him out cold, or killed him. 

Before he could decide which of those things would come for him first - he sensed the shift in the air and almost everyone’s attention was diverted for a few moments. But not The Lady of Death’s. No, this was her royal circle, her divine right - and she would exact absolute carnage on him - whether the world was ending all around them or not. 

He saw the silver flame burn bright in her eyes a second before she lifted her sword in a deadly sweep…and he was ready, for what he’d done, for the mistakes he’d made and the dark devastation he’d always brought to the world - he was ready for it all to end. 

But it wasn’t Death that waited for him at the end of Nesta’s sword - rather a strong, tall and pale body - leaping in front of his, a sword singing in the wind as its edge met with Nesta’s in a ringing clash of steel. 

Azriel choked on the blood in his mouth, swiping away the trickle that had fallen into his eye from the gash on his forehead - forcing himself to behold who stood before him. Her back was to him, but that scent and that snarl - he’d recognise anywhere. The sheer ferocity of it, the primal power it held over his senses, forcing him to stand up and pay attention. 

“I fight my own battles,” She whispered with icy promise, pushing Nesta back in one easy motion, forcing her Valkyrie sister to take a step back into the ring of bodies that surrounded them. 

Azriel wasn’t breathing as Gwyn turned to face him. Her bright eyes were the first thing he noticed, those teal orbs shining like the light of the moon, burning into his soul. She was wearing a white and gold set of Day Court robes, the material draped across her body in sensual pleats and folds, held together by incredulously large blue gems. He blinked as he realised that the gems were catching the light her entire body was pulsing with. He couldn’t help it, he ran his eyes greedily up and down her figure, from her gold sandalled feet to her bright coppery hair, desperately trying to see if she was harmed in any way. He watched as she discarded the long sword she’d used to shield him from Nesta and swept the material from her upper thigh to reveal a holster with a dagger. Not any dagger - his dagger - the one she’d won from him. She unsheathed it and palmed it in her hands once, twice - then looked at him with pure predatory intent. 

She unleashed herself. Throwing her full force into a close-combat style attack that - had he not had over 500 years worth of training - would have floored him with its precision and power. He forced himself not to look at her as the broken female he’d first seen at Sangravah, not the nervous Priestess at her first training session - nor even as the female his heart had completely and utterly fallen at the mercy of. This was a pure-blooded Valkyrie - here to remind him that she didn’t need his protection, his regard. She could handle any challenge with her own unique blend of fierce, irreverent, diabolically clever skill and power. 

Despite all his sins, despite the aching black pit of despair he’d fallen into this last week - regretting his actions, wishing he could just talk to her, to tell her everything… he was relieved that she was finally here, finally in front of him, finally within reach. He relished her ferocity, relished her display of deadly skill, relished the way she was making him dance for dominance, keeping him utterly in the dark as to her next move. 

She lashed out at his legs, as though she was going to run that devastatingly sharp dagger across his thighs. He dropped to his knees and rolled, avoiding her swipe by millimeters as he watched her turn, the cold winter wind ripping at her robes. He felt his shadows swarm around him, readying to shield - to protect moments before a blinding light erupted from her hands and rushed straight towards him, engulfing him in her energy, the very essence of her power. 

His siphons burned against his suit as power flooded his entire body. As quickly as it happened, it stopped - his power all but depleted. He watched in horror as his shadows expanded from his form in a dangerous cloud of darkness then rushed towards the bright light she held in her hands and swept over her whole body. 

Standing less than two metres from him, she raked those bright eyes up and down his crouched form, his shadows ebbing and flowing around her before she sheathed the dagger in its holster again. Narrowing her eyes, she pointed both her palms towards him and suddenly light streamed from her hands and washed over him again. This time, he didn't feel power rush through him - but rather waves of healing light. He looked down at the gash in his thigh - the one he’d been ignoring since the moment Nesta sliced him - it was gone. He touched the cut at his brow, expecting his hand to be coated in the sticky blood that had been oozing from it mere moments ago - but finding it completely sealed. 

Looking back at her in shock, she rewarded him with a wicked grin before she whispered something to the wind and his shadows rushed back towards him, reuniting with his body, his soul. 

Before he could even figure out what the fuck she was doing to him, to his shadows - she speared a blinding arrow of light straight for him. He barely escaped its zinging power before she unleashed another then another until he was forced to use his shadows to shield him, protect him from her luminous onslaught. He expected each hit to burn, to enrage his shadows, to devastate his powers. Instead, the shadows swarmed around him, cocooning him as they chanted…

She’s here, she’s here, she’s here. 

He was confused, he was overwhelmed, he was enraptured. So much so, he didn’t see or even sense the shot in the dark as she pummelled straight into him, tackling him to the ground. His shadows plunged them into darkness and her light danced alongside it until finally, the battle for dominance ended with her on top of him, pointing that wicked dagger of his right at his heart, whilst his shadows loomed above them, being kept at bay by the shining orb of light she’d shielded them in. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t sense anything other than her body on his, her eyes holding his captive, her power flowing all around them. 

She blinked and pushed herself off him in a quick and graceful movement, sheathing his dagger and turning her back to him as she walked purposefully to the line of people watching their showdown. She bowed deeply to Helion, Rhys and Feyre, who stood around Helion’s great stallion pegasus. She gave her Valkyrie sisters a nod of acknowledgement each, looked calmly at Mor and Cassian - then walked back towards the archway leading into the House of Wind. But not before she threw him one last lingering look over her shoulder, her eyes shining brightly before she disappeared into the darkened halls. 

The breath he’d been holding rushed out of him in a painful wave as he let his head drop to the stone floor beneath him. He closed his eyes for a second before he scented Mor approaching. Cracking open an eyelid, he looked hesitantly at the hand she offered him. “Get up Az,” she whispered, her voice hard. “Get up.” 

Begrudgingly, he took it, letting her help him stand as he saw everyone dispersing into The House of Wind. She lay a palm on his shoulder, steadying him. “Are you hurt?” 

He did a mental sweep, checking his power, checking his injuries. “Disappointingly, no.” 

“Good,” her brown eyes, the eyes that usually held such warmth and humour in them, were like pieces of flint as she regarded him. “Then get your sorry ass out of here and go to her.”  

Azriel’s shoulders dropped. “I can’t Mor. I’m not good for her - I’ll just hurt her, again. It’s what I am.” He looked down at his ice-cold, ravaged hands, the hands that inflicted nothing but pain. 

“Azriel, enough.” Mor’s tone was biting. “Didn’t you just feel that? Don’t you understand what she is?” 

He sighed, “She is angry…”

Mor shook her head. “No, she’s your equal. In power, almost completely in skill and certainly in temperament.” 

Azriel swallowed. It was why they were carranam, after all. But any more than that… could he really expect her to still want him, to trust him again? 

“If you spend another 500 godforsaken years moping around, I swear to the Cauldron, you deserve to be alone forever.” She snarled, shoving him so hard, he stumbled back, shocked. 

“Get your Shadowy ass in there, and go prove to yourself and to her that you are the male she wants, the male she deserves.” Mor’s voice was brimming with power, her eyes shining with her strength. 

His shadows simply echoed into the recesses of his mind. 

She’s here, she’s here, she’s here…