Chapter Text
Death has become a normal thing in your everyday life. You were forced to look it in the eyes at a young age, watching as blood dripped down your mother's head, staining your white dress and stealing your innocence.
And as you grew older, death only followed you more, hurting the ones you loved and trying to get you in its tight grasp.
Until you turned around and started to chase it.
You had seen the lack of justice in your father, who faced no consequences for killing your mother, and in the young boy brutally killed in the streets. You had seen so much blood that one day your mind was tainted red, and you knew you had to take things into your own hands.
And so you did, killing an Illyrian male after he ordered the clippings of three young females, barely over the age of fourteen. You had been so scared of yourself, of the blood on your hands and the lack of remorse you had felt staring at his lifeless face. But no one else was going to clear the streets of the cruel faes, undeserving of another day free.
You’re reminded of your first kill as you hide in the same tree you did back then, almost ninety-seven years later. You had been hired by a young girl around the age of sixteen. Her wings had been brutally clipped by a male a week ago, stripping her of her dignity- her identity. She had drowned in pits of agony and pain until you found her.
Offering up what little she had, she pleaded for you to kill him. “I’d finally feel brave enough to go out again,” she had cried, her voice as broken as her appearance, her eyes penetrating your soul with such raw emotion only a young girl could express. You didn't hesitate to take the job.
Up in the tree, your skilful and observant eyes track the walking male as he enters the pit of the woods. He was big, with broad shoulders and wings almost bigger than your entire body. Despite his large form, your confidence didn’t waver; you trusted in your skills, with the skilful swipe of a blade as easy as breathing.
The male continued to walk through the isolated woods with an arrogance that shone bright with every step and ruffle of his wings. The sight had you looking away for a fleeting moment, not wanting to get blinded by his enormous ego.
He remained unaware of your presence, walking closer to his impending death with a joyful whistle on his lips. You playfully bounce your shiny blade from hand to hand, braid spilling out from under your black hood.
He gets closer, and you rise, taking in the smell of old trees and fresh rain, allowing it to guide you into pure calm. He takes another step, leaves crunching under his heavy boots, and you’re not afraid to pounce.
Unsuspecting of an attack, he lets out a pained grunt when the heels of your boots kick him in the head, sending him flying to the ground. Despite his initial shock, he gets back on his feet quickly, charging towards you with the rage of a bull.
You swiftly avoid his attack, wrapping your strong arms around the back of his neck and bringing your blade against his throat. A forceful kick to his groin has him collapsing on his knees, pathetic whimpers escaping through heavy breaths.
He tries to pull you over his shoulder with sharp nails, tearing the threads of your cloak and causing your jaw to clench in annoyance. “Are you kidding? I’m going to have to fix that now.”
“You pathetic bitch-”
His words become a whine as your blade slices down the thin membrane of his sensitive wings like the sun slices the sky each morning. He sobs out cries of pain that have your lips tilting into a smile. “Now you know what it feels like,” you whisper, anger still coursing through your veins and tainting your sight with shades of red.
You don’t waste another second in twisting your knife into his back, feeling him go limp in your hold. You throw him to the dirty floor without a glance in his way. Quickly sheathing your blade, you send one kick to the male's stomach before hurrying away, twisting between tree trunks and ensuring you’re quick in your haste; There’s a shadowsinger after you, and he could be anywhere.
Azriel’s POV
“She’s killed again,” Rhysand states, eyebrows furrowed in anger, lips downturned in annoyance. Azriel can’t help but slump in his seat, though he knew the conversation would be about you when Rhysand called him up to his office. “Who was it this time?” He asks, annoyance coating his voice.
“Lemuel.” Rhysand leans forward, elbows resting on his oak desk. The High Lord looked tired: whether it was Nyx keeping him up or the month-long hunt for a killer, Azriel wasn’t sure.
“Lemuel,” Azriel whispered, the name feeling familiar on his tongue. “He was…” He trails off in thought, his mind having reached full capacity of names and important information. “The male Cassian was taking care of. He’s clipped three females in the last two years.” Rhysand scoffs unpleasantly, “She needs to stop taking things into her own hands. We have it under control.”
“She doesn’t seem to understand that,” Azriel looks down at his scarred hands, wings twitching behind him in irritation. He stands up and attempts to shake the frustration off him. “One of those females Lemiel clipped probably hired her. I’ll go to the camps today and talk to them.”
“Thank you, brother. Stay safe.”
Azriel nods in acknowledgement, leaving Rhysands’ office and taking flight for the camps. His mind instinctively travels back to you, the female who’s taken over his mind, and absorbed his thoughts. He’s usually good at separating his missions from his personal life. After hundreds of years, he’s had to find a way to separate the evil from the good; it’s the only way he’s survived this long. But you stay stuck in his head long after the day is finished. Alone at night, in the confines of his room, his mind strays to you. You’ve forced yourself into his mind, and he can’t wait to kick you out of it.
Dust scatters away as he lands with a large flap of his wings and gentle steps of his feet. Schooling his features to hide any emotions reflected on his face, he puts on the mask of the High Lord’s Spymaster.
A cool shadow twirls around his ear, whispering secrets and knowledge. Azriel acts on the whispered information, knocking on the door of the third cabin to his left. A young girl answers the door, eyes slumped, mouth twitching downwards. She seemed to carry too much for such a young fae.
She doesn’t seem surprised at his presence, a small and mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “She told me you would show up,” The fae states with confidence. Azriel could feel his annoyance crawling back, attempting to control it with a rough tug on his emotions. “And who might this ‘she’ be?”
He’s not sure why he asked; he already knew the answer.
“The Scarlet Demise. The woman I hired to kill that man.” The young fae didn’t shy away from his intense eyes or her honest statement. She portrayed no ounce of regret, and Azriel couldn’t blame her; that man took away her freedom, cut away parts of her being like it was nothing.
But he was still part of the Night Court, and he had rules he needed to uphold. “You know it’s illegal to hire assassins, right?” The girl’s smile grows. “She also said you’d say that.” Leaning against the door frame, she shrugs. “She told me to tell you that you need to pull that stick out of your ass…Maybe that will help you find her.” She goes to shut the door, ready to end the conversation, but Azriel catches it with his hand, the wood cracking under his tight grip.
“You can’t kill everyone that hurts you-”
“-Oh, that male did a lot more than hurt me, Spymaster,” She spits out his name like it was an insult, eyes flaring with emotion. “My wings are gone. And you guys were doing nothing about it. I know how these things work; he was a powerful male and would have gotten away with it.”
She points a finger at his chest, and Azriel doesn’t flinch, ready to take the brunt of her words because, as much as he hates to admit it, she’s right. Even Rhysand can’t control the justice system; he can’t punish such a successful man without consequences. A lone tear traces the curve of her cheek, but she doesn’t shy away from his gaze. “How was I supposed to continue and act like everything was normal when I knew he was still out there? Still hurting others? The Scarlet Demise found me, and I couldn’t be more thankful.”
She goes to slam the door, and Azriel doesn’t argue, the old wood barely missing his face. He stands there for a second, wings restless behind him as they bristle in discomfort. He awkwardly scratches at his eyebrow while his shadows swirl around him.
Does he knock again? To what? apologise? Tell her off-
“-Well, that was a hard watch.” A gentle, warm voice sounds behind him, and Azriel is quick to turn around, wings tensed and eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?” His voice is gruff, annoyed, and frankly a little embarrassed.
“Forgive me for eavesdropping, but the girl has a point.”
He scoffs. “That conversation was Night Court business; nothing that concerns you.”
You look to the ground shyly, pink dusting already rosy cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on Night Court business.” One of your gentle smiles thrown his way, and a shy look into his eyes made him soft, his annoyance melting like butter. “You’re okay.” Smiling ever-so-slightly, a shift of the basket in such seemingly gentle hands pulls his attention to its contents.
Bright flowers lay in the woven basket, resting beside pieces of fruit, and…was that? “Those berries are poisonous,” He stresses, voice hurried though calm and sure. You look from him to the basket with wide eyes, dropping it like you were about to catch fire, its contents spilling out onto the cobbled floor, berries mushed into the floor. “What?”
“One berry and you could be dead in minutes.” You squeeze your eyes shut, laughing awkwardly. “I guess that’s the first and last time I go searching for food in the woods. Would have been one heck of a pie, I guess.” Azriel can’t help but laugh at your obvious embarrassment, bending down to pick up your fallen basket, fingers close to touching as he hands it back to you. “The woods are no place for a lady.”
Your eyes flash, a hint of mischief swirling in the golden rays of your irises. “If I listened to every male that told me where I did and didn’t belong, I’d be constrained to the kitchen.” You begin to walk away, stopping a few feet away and looking at him over your shoulder, your voice tinged with amusement. “Last I checked, your High Lady spent most of her life in the woods.”
His eyes widen when he realises how his comment sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that-” But you were already gone, faster than the cold breeze of the wind. He would’ve thought he made the whole moment up if it weren’t for the berries and flowers at his feet.
⋆༺ 𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻ ⋆
Azriel’s face was a mask of composure despite the pounding of his heart. His shadows creep around the corners of the room, inspecting the secrets his eyes couldn’t catch.
He crouches as Rhysands’ voice creeps into his head; How are things?
Azriel's glare towards the cold body would’ve killed the female again if she were alive. She was poisoned. Her son confessed to poisoning her, but he says he got the berries from… her.
Of course, Rhysand mutters. Get as much information as you can, and I’ll see you for family dinner tonight.
He does as instructed, talking to the son, who says nothing except that she deserved what happened. “She had been abusive,” The boy had said, “The Scarlet Demise didn’t put the thoughts of violence in my head, just gave me the berries to do something about it.”
Despite himself, he couldn’t help but think back to a week ago when he met you. You were gorgeous, like sun rays that pierce the morning sky, bright moonlight in a black ocean. Though your beauty was captivating, he thought of the berries in your basket.
But you didn’t know what they were. You dropped the basket faster than a pouncing snake when you knew of the pain those berries could inflict. He thought of your smile, your flowing hair, your pretty dress, and, though Azriel wasn’t one to believe in coincidences, he knew this instance was one.
So he dropped the thought, thinking only of your dazzling smile as he glared at the boy once more and set off for the sky, leaving the body to be dealt with by the son.
He was almost at the House of Wind, the warmth of the sun warming his wings in a comforting and familiar heat. The warmth was enough to make him want to stay outside for a little longer. Spotting the markets on the main street of Velaris, he finds it the perfect excuse to bathe in the sun and smoothly lands on the cobblestone streets.
His steps are silent, wings tucked in as he scours the market. Despite his attempts to look less intimidating, his broad shoulders, tattoos and cold face had people looking away, careful not to get in his way. It was isolating, being so feared, so he tried even harder to look more inviting, painting an unnatural smile on his face.
He went from stall to stall, looking at jewellery, soap, blades, and more, but nothing caught his interest. The sun was also beginning to fade, hiding in the clouds and leaving his wings cold. His reason to be out was gone, and he was about to leave until he found another reason to stay by the flower stall, clad in a flowy dress, hair in a braid: you.
He wouldn’t be surprised if his thoughts had spawned you; he had been thinking about you all day.
As if the sight of you had bewitched him, your siren call influenced him to walk your way, a sickening and unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest.
You were smelling the flowers, a sunflower as pretty as you pressed to your nose. The sight of your smile had him entranced, tongue going weak, stumbling over his words. “Hi-Hey.” You look up from the flower in your hands, eyes widening at the sight of the male in front of you before a gentle smile paints your goddess-like features.
“Well, this is a surprise.” Your eyes sparkle, and he flushes. “I saw you and I thought I’d say hi,” He explains dumbly, boots shuffling on the stone floor. “Oh good, I thought you were following me,” You laugh, though no humour seems to shine in your eyes.
Azriel’s breath is snatched from his lungs at the melody of your laughter. He can’t help himself as he blurts the words, ‘Dinner?’ Inspecting the golden flecks in your eyes, they shone like the diamond stars of Velaris, Azriel immediately growing infatuated.
Warmth paints your cheeks and your nose scrunches. “Excuse me?” You’re still playing with the flower in your hand, twirling it between your fingertips while your eyes cautiously size Azriel up. “Dinner,” He tries again with more confidence, “Tomorrow night. With me.” You’re silent. “Please.”
You laugh quietly, stepping closer and gripping his wrist. He dumbly watches as you place the flower in his hand, moving his fingers so they’re clasping the flower. “Make that lunch,” You mutter, looking up at him through your lashes, the look in your eyes promising nothing but playfulness. “Twelve o’clock. Meet me by the Sidra.” You wink, turning around and walking away.
Azriel watches you leave, hand tightly gripping the flower in his hand. The shopkeeper enters his vision and snaps him out of his trance. “You need to pay for that!”
“Right,” He coughs. “Of course. Sorry.”