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The world seemed to be wrapped in a soft, ethereal glow on Solstice morning, as if the day itself held its breath in reverence for what was to come. Azriel had risen before dawn, the house still steeped in quiet, the air touched with the faint chill of winter. Slowly, carefully, he had slipped from the warmth of their bed, mindful not to disturb his wife, who was still in deep sleep beside him.
Elain laid nestled among the blankets, her breaths deep and even, her delicate features illuminated by the faint silver light that filtered through the curtains. She looked like something out of a dream—a carved Prythian goddess of ancient legends, eternal in her serenity. Her rosy lips were slightly parted, golden-brown hair spilling like liquid sunlight across the pillow, and her long lashes casted delicate shadows over her cheeks. Azriel stood at the foot of the four-poster bed, rooted in place by the mere sight of her.
His wings shifted slightly behind him, an unconscious movement born of the quiet awe that Elain always seemed to inspire in him. His sharp eyes lingered on the gentle curve of her rounded belly beneath the covers, a testament to the life they had created together. A strange, fragile warmth unfurled in his chest, spreading like the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. It was a feeling he hadn’t quite learned to name—awe, pride, love so fierce it bordered on fear and mania.
Elain had transformed his life in ways he had never imagined, had filled the hollow, shadowed spaces of his soul with light he hadn’t thought himself capable of holding. And now, she carried their future within her—a future he found himself yearning for with a quiet, almost painful intensity. The thought of their child, of a life where laughter filled the halls of the townhouse and tiny feet echoed on the floorboards, made his chest tighten in a way that was both unbearable and beautiful.
Azriel forced himself to move, though he couldn’t resist brushing his knuckles lightly against the edge of her hand, which rested atop the blankets. His beautiful wife stirred slightly, her brow furrowing for the briefest moment before her expression softened once more, the corners of her mouth curving into a faint, dreamlike smile. He wondered if Elain was dreaming of the same things he was—of a future filled with quiet mornings like this, with warmth and love and everything he had never dared to believe he could have. Never dared to believe he deserved.
With one last lingering glance, Azriel slipped out of the room, his steps as silent as the shadows that followed him. The glow of Solstice morning seemed brighter now, as if the world itself had shifted in some imperceptible way, as if the universe acknowledged the love he carried and the family they were building.
Azriel freshened himself quietly in the bathroom of one of the guest rooms, so as to not disturb the tranquility of the morning or his wife’s much-needed rest. The room was one that had belonged to Cassian before it was yielded to Nesta during those uncertain, early days when the Archeron sisters had come to live under this roof. It felt like a different lifetime ago. So much had happened in between—grief and healing, war and ruins, love and loss, and the delicate stitching together of lives once thought irreparably frayed.
As he padded silently down the hall and descended the staircase, his mind lingered on those moments—on how far they had come, and yet how fragile it still all felt, like holding something impossibly precious in calloused hands. The townhouse was steeped in the hush of early morning, the only sounds the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his bare feet and the soft whisper of shadows that trailed him, ever watchful.
In the kitchen, Azriel set about preparing breakfast, his movements fluid and deliberate, a dance of quiet efficiency. He reached for the ingredients Elain had requested the night before—or rather, craved. Her pregnancy had brought with it an unpredictability that might have frustrated another male, but Azriel found himself wholly devoted to meeting his wife’s every need. Her appetite, once delicate and restrained, now waxed and waned with no rhyme or reason. Foods she had once adored were now turned away with a wrinkle of her nose, their textures suddenly intolerable. Yet Elain’s cravings, whimsical and fleeting as the tides, were declarations he honoured without hesitation.
He had scoured the markets of Velaris in the early hours to find the perfect blend of ripened berries she had asked for one week and journeyed to the coast of the Summer Court for a rare spice she’d whispered longingly about in another. No task felt too great, no request too small. Each trip, each meal prepared with care, was more than just an act of love—it was Azriel’s way of grounding himself in this new chapter of their lives, of caring for her in ways words could never truly express.
Azriel cracked an egg into a bowl, whisking it with practiced ease as he thought of Elain. Her cravings, her aversions, her laughter at his exasperation when she changed her mind mid-meal—all of it was precious to him. He savoured these moments, this quiet rhythm of their shared life, even when her sudden whims sent him chasing through half of Prythian and hunting down merchants. It wasn’t just about the food; it was about Elain, about the way her face lit up when he presented her with whatever odd concoction her heart had desired. It was about the way she teased him for his efforts, calling him overprotective, even as her eyes softened with gratitude and love.
As the smell of bread warming in the oven mingled with the sharp, earthy aroma of brewing tea, Azriel let himself exhale. These mornings, these small acts of devotion, were his solace in the storm of uncertainty that often shadowed him. Because though so much had changed, though the future loomed vast and unknown, this was his constant: Elain, their child, and the quiet joy of building a life together, one small, tender moment at a time.
Elain was a vision to behold, especially in the golden glow of the morning. Azriel moved into the room with the stealth and grace of a mountain lion, his shadows inching the door open and close without so much as a whisper of sound. The sun was now gracing Velaris with its blessing, bathing Elain in reverence.
With a gentle kiss pressed to her forehead and a scarred hand smoothing over her round belly, Azriel gently woke his wife, coaxing her from her dreams.
“Azriel.” His name fell from her lips in a reverential sigh, and something warm and all-consuming spread from his chest, all the way to the tips of his wings, at the mere realisation that his name was the first thing Elain uttered when she woke.
“I’m here, my love.” Azriel whispered, watching with rapture as Elain’s doe eyes fluttered open and gaze upon him. “Happy Solstice.”
Elain’s smile could tame oceans and stop time. “Happy Solstice, darling.”
Azriel leaned down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Elain’s lips, his hand cradling her jaw as though she were made of glass. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, and for a moment, they stayed like that—wrapped in the quiet intimacy of morning. His shadows curled faintly around the edges of the bed, as if they too were reluctant to let her go.
When she made to rise, he was already at her side, helping her sit up and swing her legs over the edge of the mattress. Elain heaved a soft, frustrated breath as she stood, and Azriel was there in an instant, winding a strong arm around her waist to bear the brunt of her weight. Instinctively, his hand covered hers under her round belly and Elain smiled up at him as he ushered her into the en-suite.
As Elain washed her face and brushed her teeth, Azriel stayed close, his hands never straying far. He gently brushed her hair, the strands like spun gold between his fingers and the brush, and his palms skimmed along the sides of her rounded stomach with an almost reverent touch. They spoke in hushed voices, as though afraid to disturb the peace of the moment and the babe nestled in her womb. Elain chuckled softly when his shadows drifted across her stomach, tickling the spot where their baby had kicked.
Despite Elain’s protests that she could handle the stairs, Azriel transported them to the kitchen through his shadows. They shared breakfast and tea at the round table in the kitchen, sharing excited speculations about the festivities later in the day. As Azriel cleaned up the kitchen, Elain set about their home to make sure that all the gifts were accounted for and the jars of jams that she made from the berries she grew in her garden were packed and labelled correctly to be brought with them to the River House.
They shared a bath and got dressed in their finest clothes; Azriel in a formal, dark navy pants and tunic tailored to fit around his wings, and Elain in a long-sleeved, velvet dress in a matching colour. Silver flowers and golden stars were embroidered along her neckline and bodice, trailing over and accentuating her rounded belly.
“You’re so beautiful.” Azriel murmured in awe for the third time in the past hour.
Elain beamed at him, tilting her head to accept his kiss. Then she smoothed her hands down the front of his tunic, fixing the lapels before cupping his face in her soft hands. “And you look absolutely princely.”
Though Azriel had initially planned to shadow-walk them to the River House, Elain had gently laid a hand on his arm and looked up at him with those soft, pleading eyes he could never resist.
“Can we fly there?” she had asked, her voice quiet but hopeful.
Azriel hesitated, glancing at her rounded belly. Elain was in her third trimester, and flying with her had become increasingly rare. His protective instincts warred with the undeniable truth that, as her husband, he could deny her nothing—especially when her gaze held that wistful longing.
“You miss it, don’t you?” he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her cheek.
Elain smiled, her fingers brushing lightly over his forearm. “I do. I miss being in the sky with you.”
That was all it took. Moments later, with his wife and unborn child cradled securely in his arms, Azriel stretched his wings in the crisp morning air of the garden. He leapt into the sky with a grace that belied the strength it took to keep them steady, his shadows trailing faintly behind as they ascended.
The Sidra sparkled below them, winding its way through Velaris like a ribbon of molten silver. Azriel took the scenic route, as he always did when they flew together, skimming low enough for Elain to admire the bustling streets. The city was alive with Solstice preparations—children laughing as they ran through the shops, musicians tuning their instruments, vendors calling out their wares.
Elain tilted her head to take it all in, her face glowing with the joy of the moment. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind rushing past them.
“Not as beautiful as you.” Azriel replied softly, earning a warm smile that she buried against his chest.
By the time they landed gently in front of the River House, Azriel still hadn’t let her go. He only set her down when they reached the front door, his hands lingering at her waist as if to steady her, even though she stood perfectly fine on her own.
Elain gave him a look of fond exasperation as she smoothed the velvet of her skirts. “You know, I’m not made of glass.”
“You’re carrying my entire world,” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple before lifting the ornate knocker and rapping it against the heavy oak door.
From inside, a high-pitched shout of excitement rang out, and they exchanged amused, knowing smiles. Moments later, the door was pulled open, and Feyre stood there, smiling warmly as her five-year-old son barreled past her with unbridled enthusiasm.
“Aunty Elain! Uncle Az!” Nyx shouted, his little wings fluttering as he all but launched himself toward them.
Azriel caught the boy with ease, lifting him into the air before setting him down beside Elain. Nyx’s sparkling blue eyes were already glued to her round belly, his tiny hands tugging eagerly at the soft velvet of her dress.
“Is the baby ready to come out yet?” he asked, practically vibrating with excitement.
Elain chuckled, exchanging a playful glance with Azriel. “Hmm,” she hummed, closing her eyes as she placed a hand on her belly and pretended to be in deep contemplation.
Nyx’s wings quivered with anticipation, his wide eyes darting between her and Azriel.
Elain gasped dramatically, causing Nyx to jump in surprise. “The baby is almost ready to meet us,” she whispered, leaning down as if sharing the most important secret. “But they need a lot of magic.”
Nyx’s mouth fell open, his hands clutching the edge of her skirts, his voice dropped to a whisper too. “What kind of magic?”
Elain lowered her voice conspiratorially, her gaze sparkling with amusement. “Solstice magic. The baby can feel it in the air, and it helps them grow strong and ready to meet us.”
Nyx’s eyes widened even further, and he turned to Azriel with absolute determination sparkling in the blue of his eyes. “Uncle Az, we need more Solstice magic! We have to make sure the baby has enough!”
Azriel knelt on one knee to meet his nephew’s earnest gaze, his shadows curling faintly around them as he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The little boy looking up at him looked so much like Rhysand that it made his heart clench with nostalgia.
“Then we’ll make this the most magical Solstice yet.” He promised, his voice solemn but tinged with warmth.
Nyx beamed, his little wings fluttering again as he bounced on his toes. Feyre laughed softly from the doorway, her gaze flicking between her sister and Azriel with quiet gratitude.
“Happy Solstice,” said Elain as she kissed Feyre on the cheek. “And happy birthday.”
Feyre beamed, accepting the one armed hug from Azriel as he murmured the same wishes.
“Thank you. I’m so happy that you’re here.” Feyre squeezed both of their arms, her eyes glistening with emotion. “Now come in! We need to get you off your feet, Elain. Nesta prepared three different teas for you.”
As they stepped inside, Elain placed a hand on Azriel’s arm, her smile soft and full of love. “Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his scarred hand.
“For what?” Azriel asked, leaning close as they followed Feyre and Nyx into the warmth of the house.
“For everything.” Elain replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of her words was unmistakable.
Azriel pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his shadows wrapping protectively around them as they joined their family in the sitting room.
The warmth of the River House embraced them as they stepped inside, the lively hum of Solstice festivities filling the air. Garlands of evergreen and golden ribbons adorned the walls, the scent of spiced cider wafting from the dining room. But Azriel barely noticed any of it. His attention remained fixed on Elain, his hand resting lightly on her back as they were greeted by their family.
“Sit,” Nesta commanded almost immediately when she noticed them, her sharp gaze sweeping over Elain like a hawk surveying for any signs of discomfort. “You’ve been on your feet enough.”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Elain replied with a soft laugh, though Nesta was already steering her toward the plush armchair by the fire. Feyre appeared on her other side, fluffing the cushions and handing her a steaming cup of tea.
“Just humor us.” Feyre said, her tone teasing but her eyes brimming with sisterly love and concern.
Elain sighed but let herself be fussed over, a small smile playing on her lips as she exchanged an amused glance with Azriel, her hands on her stomach. He inclined his head slightly, a silent gesture of understanding as he stepped back, giving the sisters their moment.
Cassian sauntered in, grinning wide. “Already taking bets on how long before she tells you two mother hens to leave her alone.” He joked, earning a sharp glare from Nesta.
“Shut it.” Nesta retorted, though there was a flicker of fondness in her eyes as she straightened the blanket she’d draped over Elain’s lap.
Azriel felt a firm clap on his shoulder and turned to see Rhysand, his High Lord and brother, smiling warmly. “Looks like you’ve got her well-protected.” Rhysand murmured, his gaze shifting briefly to Elain before returning to Azriel.
“She’s my world,” Azriel replied simply, the weight of his words settling between them.
Rhysand’s expression softened, and he nodded before Cassian pulled Azriel into a quick, brotherly embrace. “Don’t let them bully you to the sidelines, Az. Nesta’s got enough bossiness for the entire Inner Circle.”
“Watch it, Cassian,” Nesta called from across the room, though her sharp tone was undercut by the faintest twitch of her lips.
Azriel chuckled, exchanging a look with Cassian before slipping away quietly with his shadows trailing behind him. His steps were purposeful as he silently made his way toward the kitchen, his shadows trailing after him like wisps of smoke.
The kitchen was bustling with activity, Nuala and Cerridwen moving gracefully as they prepared the feast. The smell of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced desserts filled the space, but Azriel’s attention was drawn to the corner of the counter where a delicate bamboo steamer sat.
“Nuala,” Azriel greeted softly, his voice low enough not to startle.
The half-wraith turned with a serene smile. “It’s ready, just as you asked.” She replied, lifting the lid to reveal the intricate bowl of dessert inside.
Azriel inspected it carefully, his sharp eyes noting the delicate shapes of the dessert and the subtle glisten of the sweet glaze. It was perfect. Exactly as Elain had described from the book she’d read—tāngyuán, small, glutinous rice balls filled with sesame paste, a traditional Solstice treat from the far-off land of Southern Xian.
“Thank you.” He said sincerely, his voice filled with quiet gratitude.
Cerridwen glanced over from where she was arranging a platter of fruit. “She’s going to love it.” She said with a knowing smile.
Azriel allowed himself a small smile in return. “She’s been wondering about it for weeks. It seemed fitting to surprise her today.”
Nuala nodded, her gaze soft as she watched Azriel carefully cover the dessert once more. “You’re a good husband to her, Azriel.”
Azriel didn’t reply, but the faint flush of his ears spoke volumes. He carried the steamer carefully back to the sitting room, where the fire crackled warmly and laughter echoed softly.
Elain looked up as he entered, her face lighting up in a way that made his chest tighten. He set the dessert on the table beside her, lifting the lid to reveal the bowl of tāngyuán.
Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with delight. “Azriel, you didn’t…”
“I did,” he said simply, kneeling beside her so he was at eye level. “You wanted to know what it tasted like. Now you can.”
Tears glistened in her eyes, but her smile was radiant as she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Azriel pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers. “Anything for you.”
Elain brought the porcelain spoon to her rosy lips and took her first bite. Her delighted hum filled the room, drawing the attention of everyone around them. Nyx immediately clambered into her lap, demanding a taste, while Feyre leaned over with curiosity. Nesta watched silently, a rare, soft smile gracing her lips.
And for Azriel, watching his wife surrounded by warmth, love, and the family they’d built together, the moment felt like the very essence of Solstice magic.
Azriel had journeyed to Xian with quiet determination, slipping into the vibrant, sun-dappled cities and mist-laden valleys of the southern regions. The faes of Xian, with their flowing silks and melodic accents, had watched him with a mixture of curiosity and caution—until he spoke of his pregnant wife and his quest.
His shadows had guided him to an elderly fae female tending a small, humble stall nestled beneath a canopy of crimson fabric. Her face was lined with the marks of time, her silver hair pinned in an intricate twist that bespoke a life lived with care and purpose. She had been kneading dough when Azriel approached, her movements slow but precise, and when he bowed respectfully and explained his request, her amber eyes had softened.
Touched by his devotion to his pregnant wife, the elderly fae had shared her family’s recipe, passed down for generations. But the recipe was only the beginning. The female had given him instructions for finding the finest ingredients: glutinous rice harvested under the first full moon of spring, black sesame seeds roasted to perfection, honey infused with jasmine. Each component had to be exact, each step of the process deliberate.
And so, Azriel had travelled across Xian, his shadows swirling around him as he moved through bustling cities, quiet villages and mystical valleys. He bartered for the rice at a coastal port where the grains shimmered like pearls, sought out the sesame seeds from a remote hillside farm where the air smelled of sun-warmed earth, and waited patiently as a beekeeper in a flower-draped glade collected the precious jasmine honey.
Every ingredient he carried back to Velaris was a token of his love, a tangible reminder of his promise. He had memorized the instructions, carefully guided Nuala and Cerridwen as they practiced kneading the dough until it was silky and smooth, tested the fillings until the balance of sweetness and richness was perfect.
It was not just a delicacy he was recreating—it was a piece of Elain’s imagination and desire brought to life, a way to give her a taste of a world she had yet to see. And as Azriel watched her savour the taste of tāngyuán, the way her eyes closed in bliss and her lips curved into a smile, he knew that every mile he had travelled and every moment he had spent perfecting the dish had been worth it.
For Elain, Azriel would have crossed a thousand more miles and mastered a thousand more recipes, because her joy was worth everything to him.