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Gwyn knew she should not have come. That realization followed her all the way up the marble staircase to the River House ballroom, tightening heavier in her chest with every step. The tonic she had taken earlier was beginning to fade already.
Her limbs felt strange... too light and too heavy all at once. Her head throbbed behind her eyes. Even breathing seemed to take more effort than usual, the fever curling hot beneath her skin despite the cool evening air drifting through the open archways. Still, she straightened her shoulders before entering the ballroom. Just get through dinner. Smile when required. Do not embarrass yourself.
The doors opened. Music and conversation washed over her instantly. Chandeliers glittered overhead like captured starlight, illuminating noble families and foreign emissaries dressed in shimmering silks and jewels. Beautiful people. Powerful people. People who belonged here effortlessly.
Gwyn resisted the sudden urge to turn around and flee back to the library. But almost instantly a familiar pulse of shadow brushed against her wrist. Azriel. Her breath caught before she even found him.
Across the ballroom, the Spymaster of the Night Court looked up sharply from a conversation with Rhysand. And stilled completely. The room continued moving around him, courtiers laughing softly, servants carrying crystal goblets between guests, but Azriel went motionless the instant he saw her.
His first thought was devastatingly simple. Beautiful. The word hit him with enough force to hollow his chest. Gwyn wore deep midnight blue tonight, the gown soft and flowing against her figure, silver embroidery tracing the sleeves like moonlight over water. Her pale hair fell loose around her shoulders in gentle waves. Beautiful. His mate.
Then his shadows reached her first. And everything inside him sharpened instantly. Something was wrong. She was too warm, unsteady breathing, her whole body sang of exhaustion. Azriel’s expression changed immediately. The awe vanished beneath sudden alarm as his shadows returned restless and agitated around his shoulders.
Sick. She was sick and had not called for him. He crossed the ballroom before Rhys could finish his sentence. Gwyn barely had time to steady herself before he appeared in front of her. Up close, it was worse. Cauldron. Her skin was too pale beneath the candlelight. Faint shadows lingered beneath her eyes. And though she smiled softly when she saw him, there was strain beneath it.
Azriel’s stomach tightened. “You came.” His voice sounded weird, even to himself. Brilliant. Idiot. That was what he chose to say?
Something flickered across Gwyn’s face. “Obviously.” There was enough dry humor in the response to tell him immediately she was irritated with him. Fair. He had been gone for seven days. Seven long days handling escalating tensions near the continent, sleeping in military camps and interrogating traitors while some restless part of him remained fixed here. With her.
Azriel had thought about Gwyn constantly. But seeing her now... seeing how tired she looked, guilt slid sharp beneath his ribs.
“You’re ill.” Straight to the point. Always.
Gwyn sighed softly, already looking exasperated. “Hello to you too.”
Azriel ignored the comment entirely, gaze scanning her face. “How long?”
“Azriel...”
“How long have you been sick?”
“A few days.” His shadows recoiled violently. A few days. And he hadn’t known.
“Why didn’t you send for me?”
Gwyn blinked, startled by the genuine distress in his voice. “You were working.”
“I would’ve come back.” The immediate certainty of the response made something in her chest ache. But exhaustion and fever made her sharper than usual.
“You’re the Spymaster of the Night Court, Az. I wasn’t going to drag you home because I caught a cold.”
His jaw tightened. “You can barely stand.”
“I’m standing perfectly fine.” Right as she swayed slightly. Azriel’s hand shot to her waist instantly. She was warm. Far too warm. The fever radiating through her nearly made him curse aloud. His shadows curled anxiously around her wrists and shoulders, almost frantic now that they’d confirmed what he sensed.
Gwyn looked down at them tiredly. “Your spies are dramatic.”
“They’re worried.” Azriel studied her silently, thumb unconsciously brushing against the fabric at her waist. Gods, he had missed her. Missed the sound of her voice. The sight of her. The way she tilted subtly toward his warmth without realizing it. Even now, as she was upset, her hand flickered in his direction. But beneath all of that longing was rising panic in his chest. Something was wrong.
“How much medicine did you take before coming here?” he asked suddenly. Gwyn froze for half a heartbeat too long. Azriel’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Gwyn.”
“Just enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To get through dinner.” The words hit him like a physical blow. Get through dinner. Not enjoy. Not attend. Survive. His gaze swept across the ballroom sharply then back to her face.
“You should be in bed.” He couldn't focus on anything around them.
“And miss the political event of the season? Your mate should be here.”
“I do not care about this dinner. I care about you.”
“But everyone else does.” There it was. The real wound beneath the argument. Gwyn looked away, suddenly self-conscious beneath the glittering crowd around them. “I know these events matter,” she said quietly. “Your peers are here. Other courts are here. I’m trying not to look completely out of place.” Azriel stared at her. Actually stared. As though he couldn’t comprehend what she’d just said.
“Out of place?” Gwyn shrugged weakly, immediately regretting the motion when dizziness curled through her stomach. Before she could steady herself, Azriel’s hands were on her again, one at her elbow and one against her back. Gentle. Protective. Terrified.
“You should’ve stayed home,” he murmured. Something in his voice cracked her irritation slightly. Because beneath the sternness was fear, real fear. But then Rhys called his name from across the room, and Azriel went tense with frustration. Duty. Always duty. His shadows hissed irritably. Azriel looked between Rhys and Gwyn like he physically hated the distance required between those choices.
"I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he said quietly. Gwyn nodded, though disappointment still settled heavy in her chest as he stepped away. He kept looking back at her every few seconds. Every single time she lifted a goblet instead of eating. Every time she pressed subtle fingers to her temple. Every time her breathing changed. Azriel barely heard half the conversations directed at him. His focus remained locked entirely on Gwyn.
By the second course, he knew the medicine had worn off. He saw it happen in real time. The stiffness in her posture, the faint unfocused look in her eyes, the way her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her water. Azriel was already halfway standing before she pushed back her chair.
“I just need air,” she murmured. No, his instincts screamed immediately.
“Wait.” Too late. Gwyn stood, and the world seemed to tilt beneath her. Azriel saw the exact second her knees gave out. Terror detonated inside him. He moved before anyone else even realized what was happening. One heartbeat Gwyn was collapsing, the next she was caught tightly against Azriel’s chest.
“Gwyn.” His voice sounded wrong. Sharp, panicked. She blinked weakly up at him, utterly dazed. Her skin burned against his hands. Fear clawed violently through him.
“Look at me.” The ballroom had gone silent. Someone was speaking. Rhys maybe? Azriel heard none of it. All he could focus on was the frightening heaviness of Gwyn’s body against his arms.
“Az…” she whispered faintly. His heart nearly stopped. Shadows exploded around them instantly. Darkness swallowed the room. Then icy wind tore past as Azriel launched into the night sky with Gwyn cradled against his chest.
Madja forced him out of the room twenty minutes later. Azriel almost argued, almost ignored her entirely. But Gwyn looked exhausted and barely conscious by the time the healer settled her into bed, so he forced himself into the hallway instead. And unraveled quietly there. He paced relentlessly, hands flexing, shadows lashing against the walls with barely contained panic.
How had he missed this? How had he spent an entire week away while she suffered alone?
Azriel replayed every moment from tonight viciously in his head. The way she swayed entering the ballroom, how warm her skin felt, how exhausted her eyes looked. And still she had smiled at him. Still tried to reassure him. Self-loathing twisted brutally in his chest. If she had collapsed a few seconds later... If he hadn’t caught her... Azriel shut his eyes hard. No. He couldn’t think about that.
The door finally opened and Azriel moved instantly. Madja sighed.
“She’s going to recover.” The relief that hit him was so sharp it almost hurt. But the healer continued sternly, “Severe exhaustion. Fever. Dehydration. And whatever tonic she took likely pushed her body past its limits.” Azriel looked physically ill. “She’s been sick for days.”
“I know,” he said quietly. Madja’s expression softened slightly.
“She needs rest. And someone to ensure she actually takes care of herself.” Azriel looked toward the bedroom immediately.
“I’ll handle it.”
“I imagine you will.”
Gwyn woke sometime later to the sound of quiet movement. The room was dim now, firelight flickering softly across the walls. Azriel sat beside the bed still in formal clothes, still awake, watching her. Relief flooded his face so quickly when her eyes opened that it almost hurt to see.
“There you are.” His voice was low and rough, like he hadn’t spoken in a while. Gwyn tried to sit up, but Azriel was immediately there. “No.”
One hand slid carefully behind her shoulders while the other adjusted pillows before she could even fully move. Anticipating, always anticipating. “You need water first.” A glass appeared in his hand instantly.
Gwyn blinked at him tiredly. “Did you just have that waiting?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been sitting there this whole time?”
“Yes.” The single word carried quiet intensity beneath it. Azriel helped her drink slowly, one hand steady against the glass while shadows hovered anxiously nearby. When she finished, he brushed a strand of hair back from her damp forehead. Still too warm. Though not as frighteningly hot as before. “You scared me,” he admitted softly. The honesty in his voice made her chest ache.
Gwyn looked down guiltily. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.” But he still looked wrecked. Azriel adjusted the blankets around her carefully, ensuring none of the cool air touched her before settling back beside the bed.
“You should sleep,” she murmured.
“I’m not leaving.”
“You need rest too.”
“I’ll survive.”
Gwyn smiled faintly. “You're being dramatic.”
His expression didn’t change. “You collapsed in my arms.” Oh. Right. The memory returned hazily. Azriel scrubbed a hand down his face. “I should’ve noticed sooner how bad-”
“Az—”
“I should’ve been there.” The words came out harsher this time. Angry at himself. “You were sick and alone for days.”
“You were working.” She countered.
“That doesn’t matter.” His gaze snapped to hers immediately. “There is no mission more important than this.” Than you. The words hung unspoken between them. Emotion tightened Gwyn’s throat. Azriel leaned forward slowly until his forehead rested carefully against hers.
“When my shadows told me something was wrong tonight…” He exhaled shakily. “I thought my heart stopped.”
Gwyn’s eyes burned unexpectedly. “I’m okay.”
“I know.” But his hand still trembled slightly where it held hers. As though some part of him was still back in that ballroom watching her collapse all over again. Gwyn squeezed his fingers gently.
“You came for me.” Azriel looked almost offended.
“Always.” The certainty in his voice settled somewhere deep inside her. And when exhaustion finally dragged her back toward sleep, Azriel remained exactly where he was.One hand wrapped around hers. The other resting lightly against her pulse. Keeping watch.