A Court of Scars and Shadows

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41887938.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Category: F/M
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Relationship: Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Feyre
Archeron/Rhysand, Emerie/Morrigan (A Court of Thorns and Roses)
Additional Tags: Gwynriel Appreciation Week 2022 | Tumblr: gwynrielweek2022, Azriel
is Bad at Feelings (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Azriel has no idea
that his mate is Gwyn, Gwyn knows that her mate is Azriel, Post-
Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Childhood Trauma, Mates, Azriel
needs a therapist, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Sex Positive,
Overcoming Trauma, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Eventual Smut,
Friends to Lovers, Spies & Secret Agents, Blow Jobs, Healing Sex,
Smut, Therapy, Dreams and Nightmares, Wing Kink, Angst, Sexual
Discovery, Mating Bond, Slow Burn, Gwynriel, House of Wind is a
Gwynriel shipper, The shadows love gwyn, Lightsinger theory, Minor
siren theory, The Autumn Court (A Court of Thorns and Roses), The
Summer Court (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Gwyn gets a pegasus,
Eris vanserra is a lovable rake
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-09-24 Updated: 2023-02-20 Chapters: 43/44 Words:
230887

A Court of Scars and Shadows

by BeauMaisMortel

Summary

"In her mind, she knew those very hands could be capable of wielding gentle pleasure, just
as they wielded the sharp edge of a blade. Masterful and to a rare skill of something
altogether Godly."

Gwyn was spiralling.

So fast and hard she barely could keep her grip on the world she had clawed up Ramiel for.

Azriel was burning.

So fierce and wild, he couldn’t help the long-forged walls that he had built going ablaze.

Some scars, no matter how different, look the same in the dark.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, both spinning and
flaming to the depths of the past? What happens when hidden scars are revealed, and we
step into the shadows of our hearts?

Set post ACOSF, a Gwynriel story.

Notes

Mentions of sexual assault and trauma-related language please do not read if you are easily
triggered.
 Summary

A Court of Scars and Shadows by BeauMaisMortel

"And just for a moment, Azriel let her annihilate him, body and soul - as that devotion crept
through every crevice of his dark, twisted mind and kissed the most filthy, vile parts of it as if it
were divine. Her love was as sharp as a dagger, piercing through the harsh flesh and bone of his
ribcage and severing his heart from the confines of his chest. His love was a song, laced with both
the insatiable depths of hel's wrath and the euphoric harmony of heaven's gates. Maybe they were
not the heroes with kind hearts and noble causes they desperately wanted to be. Maybe they were
always going to be broken. But somehow, that didn't matter, because in that moment, their scars
glinted with the silver of stars and the bond hummed to a symphony deep to their bones. And that
darkness they swallowed from each other's souls, tasted perfect on their tongues."

Excerpt from Chapter 37: 'The Redemption of Souls'

Summary

Gwyn was spiralling.

So fast and hard she barely could keep her grip on the world she had clawed up Ramiel for.

Azriel was burning.

So fierce and wild, he couldn’t help the long-forged walls that he had built going ablaze.

Some scars, no matter how different, look the same in the dark. What happens when an
unstoppable force meets an immovable object, both spinning and flaming to the depths of the past?
What happens when hidden scars are revealed, and we step into the shadows of our hearts?

Extended Summary

Set immediately after ACOSF, A Court of Scars and Shadows follows Gwyneth Berdara,
Carynthian and new member of the Night Court's inner circle, as she navigates her newfound
reality of being a Priestess and a Valkyrie, while dealing with being mated to a male dealing with
his own trauma, who doesn't yet know about the bond.

Playlist

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Cy3gxduGdVLpptLYOkRBj?si=96a5047ddfad4089

Schedule

I post a chapter every week. Some chapters take a day or so longer if they are particularly
important to the story or I'm having difficulty writing them.

Warnings

Please note this fic is intended for mature audiences and is rated explicit. Mature content and
graphic scenes which might be disturbing to some (violence, references to rape, gore, sex) and so it
is rated 18+ only.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to the wonderfully talented and endlessly supportive @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for
Beta reading and editing each chapter.

Credit

All characters and the ACOTAR world belongs to Sarah J Maas. This is a work of fan fiction that
respects the author of which the original content came.

ACOSAS Fan Art

 I have been extremely lucky that some amazing artists have used their talent and skill to create
some Gwynriel art inspired by ACOSAS, you can find them here:

'The Night and His Star' by @kri_stasss_ (NSFW)

'A Court of Scars and Shadows' by @witchlingsandwyverns

'Safe House' by Ene

'They Got Me You' by @witchlingsandwyverns

'Chapter 42' by @witchlingsandwyverns

Binding and Printing

Binding of ACOSAS can be done only for personal use, please message me on Ao3 for permission
before you bind.

Only print/bind according to strict legal requirements ie. DIY at home or through a not-for-profit
binder.

All copies must be made without profit and for personal use only. If you need any clarification on
this please message me.

Follow

Follow me on Tik Tok @venusandvirtue and Tumblr @beaumaismortel

 Aftermath
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

“You are a church of broken glass and hallelujahs. You are haunted like every other holy thing.
What tried to destroy you didn't have the strength. Still, you stand. Sturdy and smelling of smoke.”

- Clementine von Radics

Part I

Rapture

Gwyn was spiralling.

So fast and hard she barely could keep her grip on the world she had clawed up Ramiel for - and no
one seemed to notice.

She preferred it that way though, preferred to suffer in silence and let the joys of the world shine
through the dark clouds that her head was buried within. They deserved that.

“Are you okay?” Emerie’s honey-toned voice whispered into her ear as the ceremony began.

Okay, maybe someone had actually noticed the restlessness that seized her body and warred in her
mind. She turned to the lovely Illyrian, that same mask of irreverent joy she had mastered over the
years firmly sliding into place as she reassured her, “I’m fine... Just so happy for them.”

The winged female looked neither convinced nor gave the impression that this conservation was
over, but the distraction of the celebration was enough to prolong the inevitable barrage until at
least later on.

The mating ceremony was beautiful, she told herself.

There was no need to fear, she assured herself.

They were not going to take her again, she hoped.

Still, her sweaty hands clenched into fists and her eyes swept to the temple doors. It had been a
while since she was out in the real world and the last time didn’t exactly end well. Before the
ceremony even began, before Nesta even approached the aisle, Gwyn had counted the exists and
taken stock of the guests. Amongst the lavishly decorated temple, there were Illyrians, no one from
the Blood Rite... but still.

A pang shot through her leg, as though her body was reminded of the injury she sustained from the
foot of Ramiel. There was a still a scar where the arrow had struck true. That was the worst part
about violence, even if you recovered from experiencing the trauma, you were still forced to carry
the evidence of it for the rest of your life.

Not all scars were visible through. Some cut through the heart, others, the mind, and they were
perhaps the worst ones. Damage to those tender places served the sharpest reminders.

“May the mother bless us, may she have blessed us with a heart capable of love, a body capable of
sustenance, and a mind capable of wisdom.” The twin voices echoed across the temple, their heart-
warming vows filling the air.

Gwyn took a deep breath in. She didn’t miss the side long glance from Emerie.

Her gaze flickered to the groomsman behind Cassian. Rhysand and Azriel had forsaken their usual
leather armour for tailored tuxedos, the only evidence of their warrior forms was in the breadth of
muscle that the fine suiting covered and the beautiful wings politely contracted behind them. The
High Lord’s eyes had long been flushed with violet tears. While his other more quiet brother, had
spent the entire ceremony with this discerning gaze either locked onto the mates in front of him, or,
every so often, turning his attention to the pretty middle Archeron, clasping white hydrangeas with
saucer wide eyes across the altar. Gwyn didn’t fail to notice how Elain’s own gaze swept onto the
third brother fleetingly. How it painted a pretty shade of pink on her cheeks when she was caught
by those longing hazel eyes.

They were a pretty coupling, it would be foolish not to admit it - and Azriel deserved the best.

Gwyn felt the pang of that reality draw through her like a sharp knife that new the place of every
tender organ. Elain Archeron was beautiful and kind. Everyone knew that, and so did she. It was
not her place, she reminded herself, to feel mournful for such things as misplaced affection.

She had read and reread every single book in the library about mates and there was no denying that
sometimes, the bond just wasn't as strong as trauma was. The mind can mask many things, and
many long nights in the acolyte dormitories were spent convincing herself that it wasn't a bad thing
that the bond likely would never snap for her mate.

It did bother her though, on a rational level, that the bond had snapped instantly for her and not
him, even in the chaotic violence of that fateful night in Sangravah, she had felt it. That sudden
glimmer of warmth in the chaos that made her hold on. Instead, she was resigned to be his friend
and she reminded herself that he didn't owe her anything, not after he saved her life and helped put
a dagger into her hand and fierceness in her combat.

She replayed the words of her therapist in her head, as she redirected her glazed attention back to
the couple kneeling at the altar. A saviour identity, she had called it.

Are you sure that he really is your mate? Perhaps you feel this way for this male simply because he
was the one to intervene in your traumatic episode. He was, after all, the first male to touch you
consensually, was he not? And when he did, he did so with respect and honour – something so
different to how you had been wired by your trauma to see males. I have read many accounts of
survivors of abuse projecting a saviour identity on their emergency responders…it is common.

She felt silly romanticising Azriel all these years from the far distance of the library. Felt like a
stupid little girl that had never recovered from their childish whims and fantastical dreams. But, it
felt like a safe escape, to think of those beautifully scarred hands and the heavy weight of his cloak
around her bare, shivering shoulders. In the long nights that those nightmares plagued her mind and
robbed her of sleep, she would remind herself of his face. The way his hands felt around her
trembling body. The way his strong wings sounded battering against the wind as he flew her away
from danger. And maybe her therapist was right, but she couldn't help indulging in seeing every
inch of him as something Godly, like a fallen angel that was hellbent on retribution.

“ Don’t worry… You’re safe now. You’re safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

She held onto the memory of those words like a long-lost prayer to the mother, something about
them…about his presence had uprooted something warm and vibrant that was buried within the
marrow of her bones. It was like a strong silk ribbon had unfurled in her chest and was reaching
and reaching for him. But he never reached back.

And maybe that was for the best. Maybe.

Gwyn had never expected that she would actually have to work with Azriel, nor share a group of
friends that bound them to social occasions such as these. That's part of the reason why she had
refused Nesta's kind invitation to move to the lush quarters of the House of Wind. She couldn't be
so close to him, that would be a different type of torture altogether.

“I vow to honour these blessings by loving, honouring, and growing with you wholeheartedly and
unconditionally.”

Her gaze anchored onto Nesta’s lovely form, her chosen sister. Those long limbs clad in delicate
white lace, outstretched to grasp the thick muscled hands of her weeping mate as they made their
vows before the mother. It was nothing short of heavenly. The tasteful yet abundant flowers, the
sweet harmony from the orchestra and the fae lights that cast the temple in the gilded ceiling of
stars above.

Nesta and Cassian’s hands were bound by the High Priestess in a proud, unyielding knot as they
leaned in to meet each other’s lips. The crowd erupted into a symphony of joyful cheering as the
famed General dipped her low to the ground and took her mouth the way he would a victory on the
battlefield. She tried not to flinch at the sudden sound, tried to focus on the happiness in the
decibels.

No threat, she reminded herself.

Gwyn felt herself smile as she clapped for them, her heart thrumming in joy for the couple she had
become so close with. Nesta had earnt this happy ending, every glimmering inch of it. She was
strong and unbelievably kind and Cassian was nothing short of a prize himself. They were well
suited and she could already see the lovely life that lay before them. A big home, safe and stacked
with books and maybe even their own battalion of little winged babes.

She swallowed down that ugly bout of envy, not for Nesta or Cassian, but for that life.

Safety.

A family.

Her spine went rigid of its own accord. Something in the way Cassian gripped his mate at the waist
made her still and then, the way the crowded room roared to life with elation, their pitches loud and
screeching in her ears - finally pushed her to the edge of which she had been dangling. And just like
that, her mind drifted else ware. Down and down to places she swore she had buried deep. Drifting
to a place so dark and haunted that not even shadows would dare follow.

All of a sudden, she was back in the Illyrian forest, suddenly woken and groggy from the drugs still
pumping in her bloodstream. Her heart pounded as she realised the presence of a male dragging her
by the waist across the forest floor, the fabric of her nightgown hitching in the sharp strands of
sticks and pinecones. Her fist found his groin faster than he could react and the sound of his grunt
propelled her further into the past.

This time, she was face down on a kitchen table, she felt the foul sensation of her lashes scraping
against the carved wood, the bones of her hips cutting against the ledge of the table and a
disgusting sound of flesh hitting flesh ringing in her ears…

“Gwyn…” Emerie’s voice hauled her from the nightmare, and she let out a breathy laugh in
embarrassment as her consciousness seemed to rebirth.

It was altogether too stifling suddenly. Too crowded in this beautiful, hellish room. Her lung
seemed to be starved of air.

“Sorry…” She rubbed her face, makeup that Mor had generously applied, coming off with it. “I
think I just need… A moment.”

She didn’t give her friend the time to respond, dashing from the temple and pushing through the
jovial guests, and past even the mated couple themselves, as she meandered with desperate
footsteps across the plush grass to the edge of the river that the large estate backed upon. Her
heeled feet sunk into the ground unevenly as she made her way to the stone ledge that carved the
grounds of the River House to the lip of the Sidra.

She counted down from thirty. She focused on every beautiful colour that glinted in the reflection
of the water. Her hands clenched tightly into fists, the feeling of her nails biting into the tender
skin, distracting her from her warring mind. And when that didn't work, she thought of the old folk
song that Catrin and her would sing while they played in the willow tree woods in Sangravah.

She couldn't stay in the library forever, but the world just seemed so big and the past seemed to
swallow her every time she had the bravery to try.

Gwyn so longed to be the female she had become before the Blood Rite. Heart fierce and body
strong. Her mind had always been quick and powerful, but even that had started to crack and
fracture. She fought off the strange urge to jump into the crystal waters of the river, to rid herself of
the earthly constraints of propriety and reason and lean into her beastly form that the quarter water
nymph in her blood yearned for.

“I am the rock in which the surf crashes… I am the…” It was like a sacred hymn she needed to
repeat, in order for the air to flood her lungs and her heart to beat evenly.

Something cold yet oddly calm, whispered across her hand and travelled along the shaking portion
of her arm to her neck. It felt like that dark corner of the library she often fled to in these bouts of
insanity had found her. Clenching her eyes shut still, she leaned into that phantom wind, enjoying
the way it caressed her lightly sweaty tender flesh, as if it were kissing her jugular, surveying the
plundering beat of her pulse.

She truly was going mad.

Gwyn scented him before he made himself known. Something akin to the mist of a divine wintered
night, yet warmly undertoned, like kisses of cedar and spice. It reminded her of Yule, the only time
of the year the Priestesses indulged in feasts and made odd trinkets for gifts. It was Catrin's
favourite holiday, and now it had become hers. That was the very smell of the cloak he had
wrapped around her ruined body, the scent that covered the overwhelming one of fear and hatred
that seemed to linger on her skin after she had been taken on the table. Perhaps that very scent was
the only thing that kept her from entirely shattering that night in Sangravah, it was the start of that
warmth that birthed the bond.

Her mind quieted as a large form came down to sit upon the ledge with her, he made his footsteps
known before doing so, even though she knew he could be as silent as a ghost. Legs outstretched
over the lip of the stone ledge and dangling to the river like hers. The ghost of a feather-light wing
brushed against her back. A silence hummed between them, one full of secrets, lies and fated truths
that seemed to get lost and twisted in the misfortunes of their pasts and the celebrations of the day.

“I can take you home if you want,” he finally said, that delicious velvet tone caressing her frayed
nerves and severed mind. His voice was trained into that calm baritone that she had come to listen
for, like a song from a rare bird.

Gwyn forced herself to open her eyes and shake her head, willing that same mask she used before,
back onto her freckled features. “I’m fine…” she gave a breathy laugh, as if his offer was made
under undue pretences. “Just enjoying the sunshine is all… I'm not out much at the moment,
Merrill is on quite the tirade with her new research.”

Azriel had the decency not to mention it was overcast, and had been so, for an hour. Instead, he
leaned back on his arms, as if the sun were blazing in his face and said, “Offer still stands.”

She turned to him with a mocking eye roll, “You should be looking for a dance partner, not any
excuse to run away from the mating reception of your best friend.”

“I’d come back.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She gave an irreverent laugh, breaking through her panic, “You’d drop me off
and then you would go and spar until you were soaked and bloody in the ring.”

Gwyn had always seen right through him, no matter the shadows of mystery he chose to shroud
himself in. She somehow saw every inch, like all his long-honed defences were a simple pane of
crystal-clear glass to her brilliant azure eyes. Azriel was a male who found comfort in the fine art
of controlling chaos. An eye in a storm. Naturally, those people tend to be found in war, even
amongst the most convincing veils of peace. He couldn’t help but lean into chaos, to the macabre,
if only to control it, master it as his.

Some people just felt more comfortable in the dark. After all, Gwyn knew that what lies in the light
can be just as terrifying. She understood, even if she didn’t really know him that well. There was a
comfort in the darkness, a cool calm. Like the ebbing obsidian of the night sky that would soon
reign above the city, or the light-robbed corner of a library... In those places, the soft caress of a
shadow could be felt.

Maybe that’s what drew Gwyn to Azriel, they had the same hiding place, even if he didn’t know it.

“Bold of you to assume, Berdara.”

“I don’t assume, Shadowsinger,” she corrected with a painfully knowing tone and an ever-
widening grin, “I simply know.” Her finger played with the sneaky shadow that had taken to
roaming over her palm and she hoped it didn't notice the little crescent moons of blood carved
there.

He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed from the twitching of his lips, “Perhaps I should recruit
you as a spy, seeing as you’re so sure of yourself.”

“Or perhaps, you could simply fetch me a champagne and promise not to find an excuse to bail for
the rest of the night instead.”

He eyed her, the way Azriel eyed a threat in battle, or a component in the dark field of secrets.

But this threat was Gwyneth Berdara, a beautiful female with hair like burnished copper and a
smile that even the sun bowed to. A threat he was entirely outnumbered and under-guarded for. A
threat that despite his five hundred years of battle forged, blade-carved skills, he had come up
entirely empty against.

And perhaps that made him curious, if not a little unsettled.

"Is that an order, Valkyrie?"

Her chaste Priestess robes were replaced with a gown of cobalt blue, its off-the-shoulder neckline
highlighting her creamy décolletage, splotched with a spray of rusted freckles. He knew she was
lovely, but like this?

She was Goddess.

Azriel found himself tracing those speckles of dots with his gaze, as though he were making
constellations of her skin. He quickly reverted his eyes back to the lake, not wanting to make his
appreciation known. She didn't deserve to be leered at, especially by him. An Illyrian male.
Instinctually, he leaned a little further away, giving her distance.

She paused for a long moment, eyes distant and lip momentarily pulled between her teeth, he saw
the challenge glint in her crystalline eyes, as it did during training. "Do you not like taking orders,
Shadowsinger?"

"I prefer not to..." He almost told her that preference ended where her lips began, but he refrained.
What on earth was wrong with him?

She rose a brow, "Then why don't you ask me nicely instead?"

A long symphony of silence followed as he met her stare, their heartbeats the only sound in the air.
The thrums, like distant war drums.

“I’ll stay if you stay.” He murmured in a low voice, and the weight of the promise sounded more
like a vow that was made in the very temple beyond.

Gwyn looked up to Azriel, who had outstretched one of his scarred hands towards her. Strong
capable hands that not even fire could destroy. She loved those hands from the moment they
reached for her in Sangravah. When he came for her.

Her saviour.

Her friend.

Her mate.

That word and the impossibility it bore shot a pang of sorrow deep to her gut. The thread that
seemed to pull her to him never had pulled back and though she chastised herself for it, the
rejection hurt nonetheless. It was times like this she was sure of the bond, despite it being severed
or broken somehow.

She didn’t let the flood of trepidation and restlessness show as she took his hand. In that moment,
 he was offering her friendship and she would take it. The uneven rivulets of his skin felt like
touching a warm, rippled sea. And perhaps she liked it enough to let herself drown in him for just a
singular moment.

"Deal."

Even if she knew he had no idea he was her mate. Even if he so obviously loved another, more
beautiful, more lovely, female. Even if she knew he had demons of his own to rival those that
infested her warred mind.

She followed him, back into the thrall of the party.

Towards the future.

Chapter End Notes

Our first chapter opens at a critical time for both Az and Gwyn in the context of their
degraded mental health.

It's very intentional that they both find themselves in a position where everyone else
around them is seemingly happy and they feel they have to face their traumas and
misplaced affections silently as their friends flourish.

This story is about two people who are lost, battered and broken and I must warn you
that although some fics stray from leaning into the reality of each character's history,
this is not one of them. They are not perfect and they have a lot of contending issues
that lay the groundwork for a difficult road to both self-acceptance and love.

If I haven't scared you away! Welcome to ACOSAS, I am writing this fic because I'm
currently procrastinating editing my novel and doing uni work and ontop of that, I'm a
hoe for Gwynriel.

Follow me on tiktok @venusandvirtue and tumblr @beaumaismortel x

 The Price of Failure
Chapter Notes

Mentions of sexual assault and trauma-related language please do not read if you are
easily triggered.

I'd just like to mention, that in this fic Gwyn and Azriel are not clean-cut versions of
themselves. They are messy because they have a lot of trauma to unpack and work
through. This is an important foundation of the fic that will be fleshed out later on.

I also don't agree with hating Elain for the sake of loving Gwyn and Azriel together. I
actually believe that Gwyn and Elain would be good friends and this fic will not
indulge in the sexist undertones that are commonly delved into when framing the
necklace debacle. This doesn't mean to say I don't think Elain can be evil or have
ulterior motives, I just don't think she should be villainised for the sake of a ship.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

"What a lovely necklace that is, Gwyn," Elain said a little breathlessly, her lips contorted into a
tight smile.

Gwyn’s perceptive eyes noted the discomfort the middle Archeron was desperately trying to hide
as she glanced down to hide the unusual turn her sweet features had taken.

Instinctually, her fingers arose to play with the pretty pendant a curious stranger had left for her.
Gwyn had assumed it was the High Lord and Lady that had sent her the lovely gift during Winter
Solstice, thinking they were too humble and kind to sign off on the obviously expensive piece.

Their misplaced guilt for what happened in the Blood Rite had not dissipated, even weeks after
they had returned. Rhysand had been the most extravagant with his guilt. He had offered her a
multitude of official positions in his court, given her a ridiculous sum of money under the pretence
of 'a wage' and even offered her a fully staffed house.

She declined all these things and left that money to sit in the bank account that had been opened for
her untouched. It didn't feel right to be the subject of such generosity. Not when that guilt was a
reminder of what she had to go through in Illyria. Ignoring that terrifying experience had become a
sport that Gwyn had mastered. She buried herself in her work, didn't take any time off like she was
told to and even set to reading a book a day to chase away the night.

"Thank you, it was a gift actually, though I don't know who from, curiously." She gave a half-
hearted laugh, hoping to settle whatever it was that made Elain so quiet and contemplative.

The lovely sister gave her a bright smile that reminded Gwyn of sun-drenched meadows, "Yes, it
suits you very much...” Her eyes darted somewhere behind Gwyn’s shoulder, as she murmured,
“Excuse me..."
Gwyn frowned, turning to watch as Elain retreated to the large doors of the River House. As she
did, she noted that a winged male shrouded in shadows followed a subtle moment later.

He deserved to be happy, she reminded herself.

Azriel had earnt that.

Her lips found her third glass of champagne as she glanced away, focusing on the joyful dancing
that was unfolding on the open air dancefloor in the plush gardens of the estate. She had never
been to a mating ceremony, but she was sure this one would never be beaten. In fact, the sheer
splendour of it; the decadent food, the huge orchestra, the lovely cutlery and candles - screamed
that Rhysand and Feyre's plentiful guilt had paid for it.

It was something of dreams, of a fairytale that Gwyn would have read hundreds of times when she
was younger.

"You know Gwynnie..." Cassian's voice had come from nowhere as he sat down at the rounded
table next to her, something like his twentieth drink clutched in his hand. The top buttons of his
shirt were undone and his hair had fallen into the lovely shoulder-length mess that it usually was.
"Clotho's gone and it's not a crime to dance..."

She sent him a wry grin, "I'm fine here, thank you... You should be dancing with your mate, not
talking to me."

"I'm taking a break... I need to save some of my energy for tonight, otherwise, Nesta will not be
happy."

They both let out a laugh, it was always easy between them. Cassian was every bit as kind as he
was a force of nature. He never made her feel uncomfortable or treated her like some damaged
doll.

"It means a lot you know, to us both, that you came today."

"Of course, I would come," she playfully hit his muscular bicep, "wouldn't miss seeing you,
wrangled in a tuxedo and Nesta having to politely converse with strangers for the whole world." As
she said it, they both laughed as Nesta was pulled into a conversation with a sea of high fae that she
surely despised.

A long pause, and then Cassian said in a more quiet, sombre tone, "It took me months... After the
Blood Rite. Months and months to recover."

She felt like she had been shot in the chest with an arrow. "I'm fine." She lied.

"It's okay not to be... as long as you talk about it."

"There's nothing to talk about," she snapped and he rose a brow, unaffected at the foreign coldness
in her voice.

He stood, a savage grin taking over his features as he held out a calloused hand to her, "Then let's
not talk and dance instead. Come on Berdara, I've seen you fight and your footwork screams a good
tango."

She returned the smile, downing the rest of her drink with a quick whip of her head. Taking his
hand, he led her onto the dancefloor.
Yes, tonight Gwyneth Berdara was going to be normal. She would drink and dance and cavort like
everyone else. She would not focus on the past, nor would she quietly grieve her unrequited
feelings for a man who had very obviously gone to bed a beautiful female that he was very
obviously, in love with. She would prove to herself and to those watching, that there was absolutely
nothing wrong.

That she was fine.

Because she was, at least, pretending to be and she was good at pretending.

Azriel

Azriel was burning.

So fierce and wild, he couldn’t help the long-forged walls that he had built, going ablaze.

In just a few weeks, he had failed immensely at everything.

He had just stood by like a useless idiot and watched his High Lady, his best friend and their child
die in a pool of crimson, that somehow, despite his job, had managed to churn his hardened
stomach into uncurable nausea. And although he had watched them be resurrected by the strange,
dark powers of his brother's mate, that scene still replayed in his mind.

He had failed Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie in allowing them to be stolen in the night and plunged into
the Blood Rite. His associate spies, whom he had spent centuries cultivating as a web of untapped
knowledge, were not well connected enough for him to know that the Illyrians were out for
retribution. That was his job, after all, to know the plans and plots of people who might harm those
he cared for.

He had failed and he saw it everywhere he looked, everywhere his shadows crept.

He saw it in his brother's eyes when he held his son a little too close to his chest. He saw it in the
way Feyre never stopped asking if her mate was okay. He saw it in the scars on Nesta's arms from
her unfair fights in the Illyrian forest. He saw it in Gwyn's trembling hands. Her glazed-over eyes.
The way her laugh, like delicate faerie bells, no longer rang to the symphony it once was.

He watched Elain as she spoke to Gwyn from across the garden. Watched as those lovely brown
eyes dipped to the necklace that sat so perfectly below Gwyn's collarbones. And he realised that he
had failed, again.

They hadn't spoken since that night on Winter Solstice, the night he almost quit his position in the
Night Court just to taste the forbidden fruit that was the Middle Archeron sister he had come to
admire from afar. He couldn't hold it against Rhys, not after he watched him and his family almost
die. But now, at the mating reception, as he watched Rhys throw Nyx into the air as Feyre laughed
beside them and Nesta and Cassian as they hungrily fed each other dense chocolate cake in
acceptance of the bond - he gave into the envy that swirled in him.

After a few moments of wait, securing some shadows to watch Lucien Vanserra and make sure he
remained oblivious, he followed Elain into the home.

The seer is in the kitchen. His shadows whispered, adding with a hint of amusement, she is angry.
He should've known that giving Gwyn the gift was a bad idea, but Azriel, despite his many skills
for perception seemed to be somewhat blind in the area of navigating female relationships.

Elain had taken to a menial task of cleaning dishes, something Nuala and Cerridwen would swat
her away for later, no doubt.

"Please, just leave me be, Nesta..." She said in a sigh as she turned with an exasperated expression,
only for her features to twist into trepidation when she saw Azriel instead. "Oh, hello," she greeted,
her eyes scanning some invisible interest on the bench instead of meeting his own. His shadows hid
from her, like they always did.

"I came to explain..." He began, knowing full well that it was best to get to the point, but she
uncharacteristically cut him off.

"Explain what?" Elain asked, brow risen. "That you haven't spoken to me since you tried to kiss me
and then bolted, because it was a mistake? Or that you won't stop looking at me because you know
it wasn't?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Azriel had come to terms with the fact that it was
indeed a mistake to kiss her. But there was something lingering between them that needed to be
severed.

"Or perhaps... You're here to explain how easy it was to regift the necklace you gave me to another
female after you left me in the corridor like a coward."

He nodded, fully accepting every single word as the truth. Azriel was a coward. "You're right-"

"I know you're well-meaning, Azriel. But this has to stop..." She tucked a rogue strand of golden
hair behind her ear. "Either you care for me, or you don't."

"I do care for you, Elain."

She gave him a long look that said she didn't believe him, "You know in what matter I mean... I
think I've made my feelings for you quite clear..." Elain took a step forward, but her eyes remained
weary. "I don't care about the mating bond with Lucien and I never have..."

He clenched his jaw, "You should." It was all he ever wanted, a mating bond, and he couldn't help
but find distaste in how easily she had discarded its value.

"Well, I don't... I think it's all rubbish and I think we should have a choice in who we love." Elain
approached him, closing the distance so they breathed each other's air. "Don't you?"

"I like you Elain..." He began, and he pleaded to Mother to help him for what was to come.

Something like pain flickered over her doe features, "But you don't... love me?"

"No..." He may as well have struck her with his backhand, the word landed its blow with a heavy
hit.

This was his punishment, he thought, for chasing her, not for the depth of their surface-level
connection, or for the spirit of her soul- but purely, because he had romanticised how easy it would
be. Because he had spent far too many years pining after Morrigan and then, had met this sweet
angelic female, who was...there. And not just there but she... fit. Elain was the third sister, he was
the third brother. And perhaps he romanticised a version of her that didn't actually exist outside of
that cruel categorical way he saw her. He had spent many nights with his cock in his hand thinking
about her luscious lips and her full breasts. About how she would moan his name and give him
anything he wanted, although he never expected her to be interested in the outlandish sexual
desires he held deep down. Couldn't picture her willingly blindfolded or bound. In fact, other than
those nightly ventures of his mind, he had never spent time thinking about a mating ceremony with
her, or the children they might have.

There were tears pooling in her eyes as she took a step away from him, "Look, I don't mind that you
gave the necklace to Gwyn..."

"That's not what that means, I just..."

"Just, don't lead her on, Azriel. It's not fair and it hurts." Elain dismissed him with a mournful smile
and went out to enjoy the splendour of the party once more.

And there Azriel was, alone in the grand kitchen that his brother had built his mate at the mating
reception of his other brother, burning aflame in his own mess of failures.

Gwyn

At some point, the substantial amount of alcohol she had managed to consume had begun to numb
every part of her warring mind and for a single moment, Gwyn felt utterly free.

She loved to dance, she loved music and most of all, she loved the way her body was relaxed and
not rigid with that weight she hauled around every day. An indelicate laugh left her lips as Mor and
Emerie swung her around, their hips swaying to the music and eyes glazed with the absence of
sobriety.

Gwyn was normal tonight. She had pushed down her distaste for the closeness of the guests, had
ignored the way their sweaty bodies brushed up against hers, had hidden her flinch when Cassian
or Rhys had touched her waist, all be it, incredibly delicately. Because normal people do not care
about these things and she was leaning into the way the champagne had given her some sort of
shield against feeling all that.

In a bout of laughter, she had lost her footing and fell back into a muscular form. Hands caught her
around the waist, wings curled around her shoulders. When she turned, the smile on her face fell
slightly, when she beheld the boyish grin of a male she did not know. He must have been some
Illyrian friend of Cassian's, although, Gwyn could tell he was younger than them.

"You right, darling?" There was something charming about him, if not slightly cheeky. And
perhaps it was refreshing to be seen for a moment as a normal female. This male had no idea that if
sober, she would likely be plunged into her memories at the sight of his warrior form and foreign
face, so similar to those she had fought off in the Blood Rite.

She gave him a breathy laugh and took his hand, dragging him closer into her, inviting him to
dance. He accepted eagerly and introduced himself as Balthazaar. Gwyn immediately knew that
name from Nesta's recount of her own experience in the Blood Rite. And in her haze of champagne
lightness, she kissed his cheek and thanked him for his kindness towards her best friend.

Across the dance floor, Nesta practically held back Cassian by his shirt as he said, "No he fucking
doesn't."

Nesta's careful, steely gaze surveyed Balthazaar and the way he innocently was dancing with the
Priestess that was more her sister than anything. Her eyes roamed to Gwyn's beaming smile,
something she hadn't seen for a long, long while. "They're just dancing Cassian, she's allowed to
have fun, you know."

"I don't like the way he's looking at her." Balthazaar's boyish grin, showed nothing but excitement
as he twirled her copper-haired friend around in a fast circle. The silk train of her cobalt gown
whirled in the air as she laughed in joy.

"She's beautiful, it's a natural reaction." Nesta rolled her eyes, "Besides, Azriel looks at her like
that, and you don't have a problem with that at all, do you?"

He let out a huff of breath as his shoulders relaxed and Nesta leaned in to kiss her mate indecently,
"Put those wings away and stop being so nosy...We both know if anyone's going to slap the shit out
of someone that makes a wrong move on her, it'll be me."

The night flittered on just like the shooting stars above the candle-lit garden. Balthazaar and her
had engaged in a drinking game, where every time Cassian leaned down to whisper something
dirty into Nesta's ear, they drank. Needless to say, there was no shortage of sips. He was fine, she
supposed, if stimulating conversation wasn't a priority -and she didn't need that tonight. She needed
a distraction and this charming male with good intentions would do the trick just fine.

The more Gwyn danced, the less time she had to overthink. The more Gwyn drank, the less her
mind seemed to scream.

Normal Gwyn was having fun, she told herself. Normal Gwyn liked this attention, she reminded
herself.

Balthazaar was looking at her as one might eye a decadent dessert and she didn't miss how his gaze
trailed over her lips and down her curved form. She pretended that gaze belonged to someone else,
someone with lovely hazel eyes and pretty patterned hands. She was good at pretending, even if she
felt like the last drink was one too much and she was on the cusp of losing consciousness
altogether.

He leaned into her ear and she ignored the way his hot breath felt irksome on her neck. "Do you
wanna go home with me? I have a hotel room in the Rainbow district..."

She didn't give herself time to contemplate the consequences of her answer. "Sure..."

Normal people weren't afraid of having sex. They didn't worry about the memories it would
uproot, or the imbalance of control the act could so easily lead to. In fact, most found it
empowering and Gwyn wanted so badly to be one of those females. To feel safe enough to seek her
pleasure in a safe space. Azriel certainly wasn't afraid of sex, and she had no doubt in her mind that
he was currently between the lovely Elain's legs. So why not indulge in someone else, as he had?
Why not capitalise on that absence of fear the night had given her fully? It seemed an opportune
moment, to get something she had been worrying about for years on end, done and dusted.

Balthazar looked like he had won the lottery and began to snake his arm around her waist to lead
her to somewhere quiet they could fly off.

Before they could take one step, Balthazar's grip had been severed from her waist and he had been
unceremoniously pushed many feet away, landing on his arse. Luckily, the other dancers were so
intoxicated themselves, they seemed to disregard it as a moment of drunken revelry. She peered up
to the interruption with narrowed eyes and swaying legs. Azriel looked as if perhaps he was
fighting off the instinct to lay waste to the entire crowd a murderous glint cracking through his
usual collected facade.

"We're going." He proclaimed with a clipped tone.

Gwyn crossed her arms, "Says who?"

"Says me." He clenched his jaw, hands balling into fists at his side. Balthazar was smart enough to
take the glare he was dealt as a warning laced in the promise of a very cold, very dark torture
chamber in the bottom of the Hewn City. He retreated, stumbling back into the throes of the crowd
without so much as a goodbye.

"You scared him off..." She whined, taking a moment to ignore the fact that he stood so close to her
she could scent him even amongst all the contending bodies on the dancefloor.

"Be thankful that's all I did, Berdara." He said behind her as she stropped off the dancefloor
towards the side of the house. She hated that he was right. Hated that relief had flooded into her as
soon as he intervened.

That God's damned, winged, handsome bastard.

Azriel seemed to slightly relax as his wings began to outstretch behind him, readying for flight.
The satisfaction in his eyes seemed to light a fire somewhere within her pride as she crossed her
arms again and petulantly planted herself on the ground.

"May I?" He asked with a softer voice, his hands outstretched to her in offering.

With a huff, she nodded, and he picked her up just as he did all those years ago in Sangravah and
they propelled into the crisp night sky. Irritation itched at her as she refused to look at him. There
was an innate safety to his embrace that she desperately wanted to ignore. Gwyn despised that her
body relaxed instantly to his touch, to his scent. He was the only male she didn't seem to revile the
idea of touching her and whether that was the stupid, broken bond or the 'saviour identity' she had
thrust upon him, she wasn't sure.

She swallowed down the rising vomit in her throat as they soared, all be it extremely gently, up to
the mountain. He seemed perfectly content with remaining in silence.

He held her hair back as she hurled the contents of her stomach over the balcony railing, in
between amusingly creative curses to the mother that Azriel didn't know she was capable of.

Her face was closed in her hands as they stayed on the balcony for what seemed like long minutes,
Azriel brought her water and rubbed circled on her back. A touch she would remember in the dark
lonely nights for months.

"I am allowed to have sex, you know." She bit out when her mind steadied and the aching
subsided. "I'm not a child."

He lifted a brow, "I would never presume to tell you what to do with your body, Gwyneth."

Deep down she knew it was the truth, she knew Azriel respected her enough to never lay claim to
speak on her behalf. But perhaps she was drunk and embarrassed and a million other emotions she
had no capacity of processing. "No of course not," she rolled her eyes, that glimmer of perfect
irreverence returning to her blanched features.

"You were about to pass out..." Azriel explained in a mistakingly hard tone, "He was not sober
enough to gauge consent... Forgive me if I overstepped the mark, but there was no way I was going
to let you fly off with him and if anyone else was paying attention, they wouldn't either."

"Are you really lecturing me about consent, Shadowsinger?" She hid the pain the words carried
with a mockingly cruel glare.

The words hit their mark and he paused, "Listen, I'm sorry if my actions went against your wishes,
but I..."

He couldn't fail again. Not after this month. One more mistake and he wouldn't know how to live
with himself.

His shadows danced around them, some tendrils of the smoke-like night whispering around her
hands and neck. She gave a deep exhale, swallowing her pride and accepting that he was in the
right. No matter how much she wished he wasn't.

"No... you're right... I just..." She turned to look at him, letting her mask fall from her features, "I
wanted to be normal. I wanted to know what that was like."

He reached forward with a scarred hand and tucked a strand of shiny copper hair behind her ear.
"You are normal, nobody thinks otherwise." Perhaps he felt her pain on some fundamental level
because he looked at her like he understood. "You have nothing to prove."

The bond went taut like a bowstring and she felt herself clutch at every ounce of self-control she
had left in her bloodstream. Closed her eyes to stop the tug that screamed at her to close the
distance between them with her lips. It was cruel that way, the Mother must have some wicked
sense of humour because it felt like she was a magnet constantly pulled into his orbit and he, was
entirely unaware. Completely apathetic. Maybe it was all in her head after all.

Gwyn took a careful step towards the doors, her hands balled in fists, that searing pain of her nails
meeting the flesh distracting her from the pull of the bond he didn't feel.

"Night, Shadowsinger... Count me out for training tomorrow morning, I think my head might be in
the toilet for the next century."

Follow our valkyrie, walk her to her room. Ask her if she needs anything... A bath... A kiss,
perhaps.

Are you fucking insane? He replied back, head aching from the last few hours and quite frankly,
the last month.

We are as insane as you are blind and she is as patient as she is kind.

Mother save him, his shadows were as mad as he was beginning to become. Elain's mournful
warning rang through him like a death knell, ''Just, don't lead her on, Azriel. It's not fair and it
hurts.'

He would not fail another person again and would definitely not let that person be Gwyn.

She deserved better than him. Better than someone who had no idea what he was doing. Better
than someone who couldn't arrive fast enough to Sangravah or, do his job well enough to prevent
the Blood Rite. Elain was right, Azriel was cursed. He would not push his urges onto her, not when
she had been through so much at his hands.

So instead, he watched the beautiful faerie pad along the tiles to descend the stairs that led to the
library she called home. He pushed down whatever strange pull had come over him and flushed
 away the urges that crept up with it. His shadows sighed in resignation.

Gwyn deserved better and Azriel would ensure it.

Chapter End Notes

I'm a big believer that although Azriel has no idea about the mating bond, he
instinctually acts in accordance with it. As we saw in Sangravah when he got there
first before anyone, found Gwyn and then literally ripped the Hybern soldiers apart.
Or, when he had a physical reaction to the girls being stolen for the Blood Rite.
No matter how fucked up he is from the things he views as his 'mistakes' and his
consequential trauma, I think the bond like some sort of fundamental, physiological
baseline for him.
The hilarious thing is though its so natural and he's so disconnected from himself that
he doesn't even see it.
Idk, that's my philosophy and how I'll be framing the story thus far. Let me know what
you think!
 The Beautiful and the Damned
Chapter Notes

Follow me on tiktok @venusandvirtue and tumblr @beaumaismortel x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Strike, bullseye.

Gwyn's focus was firmly on the targets that lay at the other end of the training ring and her dagger
had found the marks every time for the past ten minutes.

Strike, bullseye.

It didn't matter that she hadn't slept for days on end. It didn't matter that Merill was on her back
about finding a transcript that didn't seem to exist in any of the records. It didn't matter that she was
sure she had managed to sprain her ankle during grappling. It didn't matter that she felt the
discerning gaze of a certain Spymaster from the far corner.

Strike, bullseye.

Nesta and Cassian were still away on their 'honeymoon' somewhere in the mountains. A
'honeymoon', Gwyn had once read, was a polite name for an extended period of time where mates
fucked each other's brains out and gave into the frenzy. The idea of a frenzy, where the bond
became so potent that the mates were stripped of all reasoning and rationality and were driven
solely by primal desire and the need to procreate, was nothing short of terrifying to her. There was
some mercy in having a mate completely uninterested in you, she had thought. Even someone as
respectful and honourable as Azriel probably wouldn't be able to withstand that kind of magic that
the bond summoned. And what about her? Would her traumas be overridden by such urges?

She didn't want to think about it.

Strike, miss.

The failure got to her more than it should have as she narrowed her eyes at where the dagger had
wedged itself into the third ring from the centre.

Gwyneth Berdara did not take lightly to failure. In fact, she had sworn the whole concept off very
early in her life. She sang until she was the best in the services of Sangravah. She studied
religiously until her reading, writing and literacy levels were exceptional. She trained an extra two
hours every night, just to stay in peak form.

And yet, here she was. Unable to finish her winning streak at dagger throwing, unable sleep,
unable to find a stupid manuscript and unable to shake off a certain male she had sworn to forget.
At least, as much she could forget, when they saw each other every morning and, when he
occasionally happened to want to train in the ring at night when she was there. Though they were
always obvious to her, Gwyn tried not to notice that his shadows had been watching and no doubt
tattling to their master about all her blessed failures.

Each...

Strike, bullseye.

Fucking...

Strike, bullseye.

One.

Strike, miss.

She seethed at the target she had assaulted with her pent-up rage, as it finally gave out and fell into
sliced pieces. And perhaps it felt good to watch something else other than herself fall apart for a
change. Maybe it was satisfying to destroy something that was once whole.

"You're distracted today, Berdara." A velvet soft tone observed from behind her.

She didn't look at him, couldn't bare the disappointment that would surely be in his eyes. "I'm
fine." Such an easy lie those two words had become. They were almost second nature now, an
automatic response she expertly spat when asked after. "Just busy with things is all..." Her tone was
trained into that light, song Gwyn had long been known for. But deep to that sound, the song had
turned into less a cheery symphony and more a sombre ballad. Somewhere, in a dark part of her
mind, she wondered if she would ever sound like herself again.

Walking over to collect the many blades she had thrown, she tried not to show the injury
blossoming in her ankle. The one that screamed for a healer and had told her to sit down at least an
hour ago. But pain, could too be a helpful distraction, she had found.

As if reading her mind, Azriel said, "What happened to your foot?"

"Oh, it's nothing...Just twisted the wrong way for a moment, maybe it's more the new boots than
anything." Rhysand had outfitted her, Nesta and Emerie with a whole new suite of leathers, boots
and fancy other garb, for fighting in different climates. She wondered if that signalled they may be
called upon to missions soon, or perhaps it was just another bout of the High Lord's guilt-ridden
generosity.

Before she could bend over, Azriel was in front of her, picking up the fallen daggers she had been
walking towards. She let out a long exhale, finally looking around the ring and noting that all the
other girls had left.

Had she really been that distracted that she had missed the end of training? How long exactly had
she been here, just destroying things?

Mother, this was bad.

"Sit down and take off your boot." He instructed, his voice trained into a careful nonchalance, but
she knew by now how to read him. Azriel was as well trained in the art of masquerade as he was in
the art of war, but his eyes never lied - not to Gwyn anyway. And even from that distance, she saw
the twinge of concern in them, the hazel turning to a dark, forested colour. The colour of the
beautiful dark woods that skirted Sangravah. She did as she was told and found the floor, tugging
off her boot and depressing the groan that the pain of it demanded. The skin was already bruised
but surely would heal soon enough.

Healer's clinics were somewhat of a trigger for Gwyn, and she had tried to avoid them at all costs
since her comprehensive stay in the infirmary after Sangravah. She couldn't stand the scent of the
overly clean surfaces, nor that of the medicinal substances that were used as salves and ointments.
Didn't like the alabaster whiteness of it all, nor the bland furniture and uncomfortable sheets they
wrapped you too tight in. The food was foul and the healers were kind but somehow not spirited to
conversation the way she needed them to be.

Gwyn watched Azriel carefully as he came down to sit opposite her, and handed over a glass of
water he had thoughtfully brought with him. Her eyes settled on his hands, and she wondered if he
too, didn't like healers' clinics. The way he had been given those scars had never been disclosed to
her and she supposed it didn't matter, not if he didn't want to share it. It must be hard, she thought,
to wear your trauma so overtly in place all could see. A constant reminder of the dark days
embedded on the flesh. Priestess robes were a lot like that, a beacon that told your sad story before
you could tell it yourself.

Except, Azriel couldn't take the evidence of his trauma off... She took a long-needed sip of water to
drown that sorrow.

"May I?" He asked, nodding to the swelled, purplish foot in front of him.

She nodded, though honestly, him touching her like this was not a good idea. Not because it made
her uncomfortable, or uneasy. Quite the opposite actually. When he touched her, it felt like every
frayed nerve in her body temporarily healed over, like every muscle that had become rigid with
worry, went lax. It was the pleasure of it that she couldn't stand, the harsh reminder of the bond he
had unknowingly forsaken for another.

At least, she hoped it was unknowing. Gwyn couldn't bare thinking he had known all along and
chosen to reject her so silently.

He took her foot gently in his lovely, scarred hands. Those hands that saved her. Those hands that
delivered her from the gates of hell. Those hands...that she dreamed of. On her neck, her bare chest
and exploring further down her body, sinking into the place that seemed to call for him. She
quickly shook those ridiculous thoughts that her filthy mind had been swimming in from focus.
She really needed to stop reading those damn romance novels Nesta lent her.

Gwyn peered up to the Shadowsinger through her lashes, hoping he couldn't scent where her mind
had exactly been wondering. He didn't seem to notice though, his attention was on her ankle,
inspecting the damage with a feather-light touch. The shadows danced and skittered around the
bruise like an anxious mother hen. The tips of her lips twitched up at the sight of it, there was a
time, before the Blood Rite she would have swung her head back and laughed something
symphonic at the sweet gesture of the cheeky shadows. She likened them to a pack of friendly cats,
their silken soft touch, caressing and their ever-watchful gaze, as clever as it was cunning.

But now, on her mouth, just the ghost of a smile bloomed.

"You've been quiet lately..." Azriel began, his hands softly moving the joint of her ankle to ensure
it wasn't fractured or broken. He did it so gently, she hardly felt any pain from the movement.
Perhaps the male that was the so-called expert of torture in the Nigh Court knew both sides of the
spectrum in the art of touch. Maybe, he understood pleasure as much as he understood pain. She
didn't let her mind contemplate that further.

Instead, Gwyn gave him one of her favourite masks, a wry, irreverent grin and said back, "I believe
there's a turn of phrase about a pot and a kettle that I could say in return, Shadowsinger."

"I've always been quiet, you haven't..." His gaze lifted to meet hers and it was like she was pinned
to that spot on the floor. For those moments, she felt as if he saw right through her.

"People change..." It was a weak response, but it was all she could muster.

He gave her a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes, "There was a time you never stopped talking, no
matter what exercise Cassian and I threw at you, and now I barely hear you breathe. What's wrong
Berdara?"

If only she could tell him, truly just tell him everything. She settled on a half-truth, knowing full
well he could detect lies like they were a second language he had mastered. "I don't know where I
fit in anymore... I think I've outgrown the library but..." Her gaze dipped to the ground, "But I'm
not sure I'm ready for the world yet. I feel like I'm lost somewhere in between and I'm not sure
how to find my way again." Maybe she would never find that place she belonged.

Azriel paused, absorbing the words for the heavy weight they were, before asking, "Is this about
Rhys offering you your own property?"

Ah, so the news had spread. The pretty house Rhysand had offered her, was painted a periwinkle
blue and was situated in an upmarket, yet quiet quarter on the outskirts of Velaris.

He was good. A true interrogator. And for that reason, another truth came easily from her mouth.
"I don't know if I'll ever be able to live alone... Not after... What happened." They had never
explicitly spoken about Sangravah, but she saw it in his eyes. At times, Gwyn even wondered if
that night haunted him just as it had haunted her. "I like the work, it keeps me busy and I love
reading. But Merill is... a beast I don't know I can ever tame and I don't think I want to be locked in
the dark forever only coming up for the sun when I'm training..." She sighed, there was something
freeing about voicing it out loud. "I feel cramped in the dorms... Like sometimes, I don't have
enough of my own air to breathe... "

He nodded, and she noticed he was lightly massaging her foot, Gwyn resisted the urge to roll her
eyes back into her head and let out a moan. No one had ever touched her like that and yet, he did.

"Nesta offered you a room in the House, didn't she?"

Ah, the other issue. The one she couldn't bare to tell him about. "Oh, I don't want to impose."

It wasn't technically a lie, but it definitely wasn't the whole truth - that she didn't know if she could
bare being so close to him, knowing he wasn't hers. That despite the bond, she would have to watch
him pine after someone. Perhaps Elain would come to dinner. Perhaps in the morning, she would
be at the breakfast table in one of his shirts. She liked Elain, but the hold that the bond had over
her, made her think that seeing Azriel with Elain in a domestic sense, may be a step too far for her
heart to bare. I was selfish, she knew that, but that was the truth.

"You can't honestly think that we wouldn't want you to live with us, do you?" The question was
made in genuine confusion, as if he couldn't wrap his head around the absurdity of it.

She gave him that same ghost of a smile, "It's a very generous offer... But..." Her voice trailed off
as she turned to look at something in the distance.

As if knowing Gwyn was a female of facts and logic, Azriel began uncharacteristically rambling,
"The house is so large you would hardly see us apart from meal times. We respect each other's
privacy. And I'm away a lot anyway..." She almost laughed at the way he said it, as if she might
grow sick of him. Gosh, he was a sweet fool.

His features grew grave and serious as if he were reporting some reconnaissance to the High Lord,
"...No one can winnow into the House, not even Rhys or Feyre. The Illyrians don't know of its
whereabouts and the whole city of Velaris is protected and warded within an inch of its life. In fact,
if someone were to want to access the house, they would have to find the hidden entrance at the
base of the mountain, climb three thousand steps and then have a key to a six-inch thick door..."

Azriel knew, somehow, that the fear of home invasion was rooted deep inside her. Perhaps his
shadows told him about the seven locks on her dormitory door, or maybe Nesta accidentally
mentioned that there was a bell she installed on the hinge. He couldn't know she had swiped a
blade from the kitchens and kept it sheathed under her pillow, though. Could he?

Something awful was indeed reborn in her fear-ridden mind the night she had been captured for the
Blood Rite. Just as she thought she had finally felt safe leaving the library and sleeping in a room
that she didn't know the exact details of, that confidence had been ripped from underneath her.

And all of a sudden, she was back to where she started, a shivering ghost of a girl, from Sangravah.

She hated that girl.

"And then of course," He went on, "they'd have to find your room, which we would make the
furthest from that entrance and not to mention, they would have to walk past both Cassian and
Nesta's suite and my own to even get even remotely near you... And if by some stretch of an
impossible miracle, that they did that, I have no doubt in my mind that you would gut them clean."

Gwyn didn't realise it but for the first time in a very long while, she was smiling, a genuine smile.
Not a mask. Not pretending. Genuine and full of amused joy. A silence fell over them as she
watched him stare at her, as if he might be seeing her for the first time. The darkness in his eyes
cleared and they returned to that wonderful hazel. A beautiful portrait of olive green, rich caramel
and spun gold.

"The house does love me..." She sighed, actually thinking it over.

"I don't doubt that, Berdara." He murmured softly, finishing the massage and placing her foot back
down softly to the ground.

The bruising had completely dissipated, and her eyes went wide as she noted it. She slipped her
foot back into the leather boot, it was still a little sore, but nothing like before.

Gwyn walked to the stairs, giving Azriel a small nod in farewell, but just as she hit the first step,
she heard him call out to her once more. He appeared at the entrance moments later, rubbing the
back of his neck, shadows dancing excitedly.

"If you decide to move into the House and need any assistance with moving, please let me know."

His face was slightly flushed, as if a light blush had tinted his sun-kissed tanned skin and she held
onto that beautiful sight and thought of it all the way back to the library, and for the rest of her long
day.

Perhaps it was time to swallow her fears and be brave. No matter the cost, Gwyneth Berdara was
always brave.

No matter the price, Gwyneth Berdara would not fail again.

Chapter End Notes

Although tragic, I am a big champion of the theory that Gwyn has known about the
mating bond with Azriel since she met him.

Something I hope shines through the story is how despite not knowing the details of it,
Gwyn sees Azriel's trauma so thoroughly that she would never presume to take away
his freedom of choice when it comes to a lover/partner - especially since she knows he
has a history with Elain.
Her apprehension to both tell him about the bond and accept the bond herself is in
tandem her own brand of self-harm as well as the manifestation of her SA trauma.
I have tried to write her character as duplicitous in this way, by both being driven by
the undeniable pull of the bond and being starkly afraid of it. I think this is why she is
so haunted, she is literally being pulled in two different directions.
 Secrets and Lies
Chapter Notes

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Gwyn

Gwyn sighed into the lick of hot sun as Mor, Nesta and Emerie landed on the soft manicured grass
of the River House beside her.

She tried not to fidget as they drew closer to the enormous threshold that hosted the wide oak
doors, already open and welcoming. She had no sooner woken up after just getting to sleep when
Nesta, only back from her honeymoon the night before, had told her they had been summoned by
the High Lord.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought Gwyneth Berdara would be casually strolling
through the decadent halls of the home of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Her bright
eyes drank in the sheer magnificence of the home as they entered, Gwyn had only been to the River
House twice before but every time she saw a new section of it that made her gape a little wider.
The Morrigan led them with casual grace down the wide corridor flanked with columns and
beautiful pieces of art, to something she referred to as the business wing. It was almost humorous,
Gwyn supposed, that they referred to this place as a house when it was every inch, a palace.

"You have a lot to fill us in on..." Emerie whispered to Nesta with a cheeky grin and Nesta gave
them a smile to rival that of a victorious wolf.

The eldest Archeron leaned into them, quickly eyeing Morrigan before replying, "All I'll say for
now, is that I'm surprised I can walk..."

Gwyn couldn't help it, she and the others erupted into a symphony of snorts and girlish giggles and
for a brief moment, it was like how they used to be. In the training ring every morning, laughing
and trading secrets and embarrassing stories. Easy and unbothered.

Before the Blood Rite.

It bothered her on some fundamental level that Nesta and Emerie didn't seem all that affected by
their time in the Illyrian Mountains. It was as if they had taken all that fear and trauma and forged
it into a new plate of armour and yet... Gwyn couldn't seem to do the same. She couldn't see it as an
experience to be proud of, couldn't smile whenever someone called her a Carynthian, no matter the
high honour that the title bore. It was as if she had hidden that title, like she did her invoking stone,
in the back of her bedside drawer.

Rhysand's office was tastefully decorated in lush fabrics and draped in the deep hues of a night sky.
Feyre had outdone herself, decorating the large space in the blues, golds and blacks effortlessly
blended and paired as if it were one of her many paintings. Morrigan politely excused herself, and
Gwyn pretended not to notice that the beautiful blonde shared a secret look with her winged sister
before she left. It seems Emerie was doing more than fine then.

The girls greeted the High Lord and Lady that sat proudly behind the large mahogany desk and
they returned the favour with the warmth and casual generosity that seemed to be so unfit to their
positions as rulers of this Court.

"Thank you so much for coming," Feyre smiled, her eyes twinkling with something like pride as
she took the leather-clad Valkyrie in. They hadn't bothered to dress up for the meeting, their
leathers were needed for the training session they were now late for on account of this
engagement.

"How was your little getaway, sister?" Rhysand purred to Nesta and Gwyn got the impression that
Nesta had strictly forbidden the High Lord from using that name. "Is my brother still in one piece?"

But she levelled a wicked grin at him, their past frostiness dissipated entirely, "As much as can be
expected, but I can't say the same for the cabin's bedframe or the kitchen wall... They may need
replacing."

Emerie shook her head as she bit her lip. Gwyn stifled a snort, looking down at her fingers. Nesta
never backed away from a challenge and was never scared to give someone a taste of their own
medicine.

Rhysand cleared his throat, drawing attention back to more official matters, "It's come to my
attention that the talents you three possess may be due for another challenge. One that is controlled
and highly planned, nothing like the Blood Rite..."

His mate continued with a smile, "We want to offer you the opportunity to have a real position in
the Night Court, not as soldiers in training or emissaries but as Valkyrie... True peace bringers."

"You want us to work as Cassian and Azriel do? As protectors of the Night Court?" Gwyn asked,
eyes wide.

Nesta arched a brow, "With missions and assignments?"

Rhysand nodded, "Missions that are suited to your individual skills and knowledge... Designed not
only to alleviate some of our current concerns but also to hone your skills in the field, get a taste for
the work and see if you like it."

"I have a job," Emerie said quietly.

Feyre leaned forward, her understanding eyes meeting those of the winged female, "We would
station you in Illyria as an ambassador for the Night Court so you could continue with your shop.
We would like you to be a representative that would investigate some of the issues Rhys and I are
personally tending to there. We think having an Illyrian, who is both a Carynthian in her own right
and understands the culture may be the solution we need."

Emerie seemed to consider it with a thoughtful nod.

The youngest Archeron turned to Nesta, whose face was shrouded in a mask of imperceptible
discernment, cold and calculating. Nesta would only accept the most dangerous mission, if not for
the challenge, for the fact that she didn't want Gwyn or Emerie anywhere near that degree of threat.
She was a true General in her own right. “We want to send you and Cassian to the mortal lands.
Azriel's spy network has revealed there may be some trouble brewing there. Recent reports have
whispered that Koschei may be strengthening his hold on Vassa through the curse..."
Nesta nodded as if saving every bit of that information into a ready compartment of her fortress of
a mind.

Gwyn came to attention as every pair of eyes seemed to settle on her. She steeled herself as
Rhysand gave her that easy smile, one which masked a careful, all knowing assessment he ran over
her form. She hoped he didn't see the evidence of the long nights spent robbed of sleep in the bags
of her eyes nor the way she clenched her fists under the table in anticipation.

"Gwyn, we thought you might be interested in taking an assignment in the Autumn Court. With the
outside of Prythian being so fragile, we need to keep an eye on our internal concerns. For the Night
Court, that seems to be Autumn, Beron's lust for power and talent to insert himself into chaos, as
well as Eris' propensity for being a risky ally..."

The thought of a mission should have startled her, should have sent her into a fit of
hyperventilation and fear. But... she felt oddly calm about it.

Gwyn knew couldn't leave the blessed mountain without at least edging towards spiralling these
days and she was self-aware enough to know that while training seemed to drown out those
inclinations, a mission was very different sort of beast. However, she couldn't help but think that
this was what she needed to finally get out of the chasm of which she had fallen into.

Perhaps a purpose would be the cure.

A reason to fight and an opportunity to prove herself worthy. A chance to breathe air and live out
her days without seeing her unrequited mate. To build a life and a career that left behind the need
for kitchen knives under pillows, locks on doors and hiding in the library.

To be better, to be free.

"It's more reconnaissance and espionage than anything..." Rhysand said and the silent context of
his words rang loudly throughout the room, we know you're still recovering from the Blood Rite
and we don't want to give you anything too combat-focused. "And we wouldn't put you out there
alone, of course..."

She stilled, spine going straight as she eyed the High Lord, "It's not a solo mission like Emerie's?"

Oh no. Not this. She prayed to the Mother that the conclusion her quick mind had come to was
wrong.

"Feyre and I will be working closely with Emerie in Illyria, Cassian will be with Nesta and..." The
faintest hint of amusement twinkled in the violet stars of his eyes as he leaned forward slightly,
"Since your mission is more attuned to espionage than combat, Azriel will accompany you. But
you will not be out of your depth, we want you to complete specialised training with him before we
send you anywhere."

The mother indeed had a sense of cruel humour and she couldn't help but contemplate that the
High Lord, somehow knew more than he was letting on.

"Why him?" She asked indecorously before thinking better of it. The room went oddly silent and
she instantly wanted to kick herself.

Rhysand raised a brow tilting his head, the edges of his lips twitching slightly, "Do you harbour
any issue with Azriel that I should be aware of?"

Nesta and Emerie arched their heads to point confused glances at her, as she stumbled for
reasoning that could get her out of this. "No...No, of course not, I have nothing but the highest
respect for the Shadowsinger..." She looked pleadingly to Feyre, "I only thought perhaps I could go
alone to really test myself and hone my skills."

It was the High Lady's turn to speak, cool and collected, "We will never expect you to put yourself
in danger under our orders without the proper training or assistance, Gwyn... These skills take
years and years to hone. Azriel has a wealth of knowledge and instincts from his years of
experience that you must learn from if you hope to be successful... "

Gwyn resisted the urge to inform them she was alone for a lot of the Blood Rite and managed just
fine. Well, fine enough not to die, at least.

"We really think you could be a great spy master one day, Gwyn..." Rhysand offered with a gentle,
encouraging tone. "But as always, you have a choice. If you're not ready..."

She was backed into a corner and had no choice than to either tell them all her pitiful truth of being
brokenly mated or, to act the coward and refuse the one job she's ever actually wanted. A chance to
do something that matters. An opportunity to be something to be proud of.

To not be a failure.

"No... No, I'm ready."

Resigning to her fate, she simply gave a nod and sat back in the plush upholstery of her chair. "I'll
do it," adding softly with a small smile, "thank you for the opportunity."

She was so fucked.

Azriel

"No." He had rarely refused Rhysand, but this was something not even the blessed Mother and her
cauldron could budge him on.

His brother raised a brow, taking a moment to survey Azriel like a cat would its prey. "She's perfect
for espionage. Gwyn has an unnatural skill for long-range assault weapons, she's faster than any
other female I've met, extremely light on her feet and from what I've gathered, she's one of the most
well-read fae on Prythian history and politics in this court and has clear talents in research."

"You think I don't know that?" Azriel hissed.

Rhysand let out a long sigh, arching his brow, "Then why rob her of the opportunity to become
something she was born for?"

A muscle quivered in Azriel's jaw and he clenched his fists to rid the sudden sensation of
numbness set in them, "She's not ready, it's too dangerous."

"Dangerous like the rigorous training you subject her to every damn morning? Or, dangerous like
Blood Rite that she won?"

He glared at his brother, finger pointed, "I don't want her anywhere near the Autumn Court."
The High Lord, leaned on his desk, hands perched in his pockets casually as if he wasn't being
threatened by the infamous torture master of his court, "If my memory serves correctly, her
grandfather was from the Autumn Court. Would you deny her entry to her ancestral land?"

Rhysand was being a gods damned, arrogant bastard today and Azriel hadn't slept enough to
conjure the self-control needed for his jeers. There was an odd glint in his eye, as if he had he upper
hand in some unknown joke that was playing out. Azriel might have considered slapping that glint,
clean off his face.

"I would if it were a danger to her - and it is."

His shadows seemed to hiss the same sentiments to him, defending Gwyn and her right to work the
field he had for so many years. They were right for not underestimating her, but he was not about
to do this to Gwyn. Azriel ignored every one of their attempts to assuage him entirely.

Brother Rhysand is amused at your refusal, he thinks you to be acting like a mother of a
chicken, his shadows whispered into his ear.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. You mean 'mother hen'.

They seemed to nod in a smoky undulation, He watches closely, you are blind where he is not.

Your riddles are not welcome today.

"Well that's a shame, I thought you two would make a rather good team..." Rhysand took a sip of
his whiskey with a feigned, forlorn frown, "I suppose, she'll be fine with someone else."

"There will be no one else, Rhys." It came out barely above the decibel of a warning growl, "I
mean it on this one."

Rhysand, eyes sparkling with cruel enjoyment, nodded to him with a commiserating smile
continuously unbothered. "I'm afraid, she's already accepted the mission... So this decision is out of
your jurisdiction."

"What?" Azriel spat, stilling completely, even his shadows seemed to freeze in their motions. "I am
the spymaster, I will decide who is conducting espionage and where."

"If you would like to tell Gwyn you have deemed her unworthy of conducting a mission in the very
court she hails from, because you don't think she is strong enough-"

"That's not what I said..." Azriel bit out, turning to face the wall he had been lurking next to, to
gather his quickly boiling temper. "And you know it."

His brother returned to sit behind the grand, mahogany desk, "Well, it's up to you, Az..." He
sighed, finding interest in some piece of paperwork in front of him. "Either you train her so she's
ready for the threats that are apparently too much for her to currently handle and you accompany
her on the mission... Or, she goes with someone else."

Azriel's jaw was clamped shut so hard he might have cracked a molar. He had no doubt that
Gwyneth Berdara was entirely capable of defending herself.

That was not the problem.

Espionage was dangerous work, more dangerous than a battlefield and more precarious than hand-
to-hand combat. He had witnessed what horrors had befallen members of his spy network when
 they made mistakes, or when they were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He'd seen long-time colleagues skinned, flayed and burnt for simply being associated with him and
the thought of Gwyn being hunted like that made him want to raze the whole continent to the
ground and leave nothing in its wake but ashes.

There is no one else in Prythian that Gwyn could possibly go with other than him, that could offer
her both the training and knowledge she would need, and the right amount of protection she might
require to fall back on if all goes to shit.

He gritted his teeth as he glared at the High Lord who innocently read through his paperwork as if
Azriel wasn't even there anymore.

"Fine, " he spat the word like venom, "but we need time, I'm not rushing this, not with her."

His brother's answering, brilliant smile seemed to edge him further into the pit of fury he had been
silently burning in. "Good. Get to work then...and see to it that when she moves into the House,
she's looked after, she looks almost as tightly wound as you do, poor thing... Bring her down for
dinner one night if she likes, I've grown quite partial to her, she's quite lovely, wouldn't you say?"

Yes, he would say, but he didn't.

Azriel winnowed away before he could tear apart the office and punch his best friend in the face.

He was so fucked.

Chapter End Notes

I have mixed feelings about Rhysand as a character that have been recently born from
reading ACOSF and his failure to give Feyre bodily autonomy and Nesta the
appropriate empathy and compassion I think she deserved.

However, I choose to think that the Azriel bonus chapter where Rhysand pulled harsh
rank on Azriel to break up whatever was going on with him and Elain was for a bigger
reason than he let on.
I have a theory that he is attuned to sensing mating bonds and that he has always
known Gwyn and Azriel were mated. This may not be canon but it gives a lot of
context to the weird behaviour he displayed in that chapter.

I also saw a post on tumblr comparing the fact that Rhysands trauma and Gwyns is
very similar. Both SA survivors and both had their mother and sister slaughtered, both
new about the mating bond before their mates... etc. I think this makes for an
interesting dynamic I want to explore more thoroughly later on. It also gives credence
to why Rhysand wants to push Gwyn to get better, because he has been in a very
similar situation before.
 Feasts of Fortune
Chapter Notes

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See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Gwyn had successfully avoided a certain Shadowsinger for five days now.

She resisted indulging in the midnight training that seemed to gift her mind more clarity during the
long hours between dusk and dawn. In the mornings, she was uncharacteristically the last to arrive
and first to leave, on the grounds that she needed to finish an important transcription for Merrill
before her last day in the library.

She also denied Nesta's invitations to have dinner in the House before moving in, something which
had set the perceptive Archeron eyeing her a little more closely.

But now, it was moving day and she found herself coming to terms with the fact evading Azriel
was going to be a whole lot more difficult than before.

With a reluctant sigh, she sat upon the stripped mattress of her old, squeaky twin bed in the small
room she had called home for far too long.

There was a chip carved into the alabaster paint of the far wall where she had accidentally laid
siege to the plaster with her fist whilst practising in her room during the first weeks of training. Her
gaze travelled to the bare walls above the simple bedframe where she had hung the measly copies
of famous fae artwork and published poetry she found in the free, weekly acolyte newspaper.

Then, her attention went to that little blue door and its seven locks, each one more of a monstrous
contraption than the last. One for every time she had gotten so bad, that she ended up in the healer's
clinic for evaluation.

She filled her small leather trunk with her limited effects; a gown Nesta had gifted her to wear to
the mating ceremony, three pairs of brand-new leathers, military-grade combat boots, an invoking
stone she couldn't bear to part with and a thin strip of white ribbon with a triumphant slash down
the middle.

It was rather sad, she thought, that her entire belongings were limited to such a small case.

She couldn't help but wonder if she had been a normal female that had grown up in a house and not
a convent, what kind of lovely dresses and things she might have owned. Perhaps she might have
collected antiques that harkened back to the forgotten eras she had researched in her work. Maybe,
she might even have her own collection of favourite books on a long array of shelves.

But now in this life, all she had to her name was in that little trunk, and for the first time she
actually contemplated withdrawing some of that money Rhysand had given her, just so she would
have something normal to wear.

Normal clothes for normal Gwyn.

Her gaze fell down to the delicate mass of powder blue fabric that flowed to the floor. Clotho
hadn't said anything when she only returned six of her seven robes, and what a lovely mall mercy
that was, because she owned nothing else remotely appropriate.

Without another word, she collected her trunk and stepped out of the small space, the space where
she had made a refuge for all those years…and left the library.

There was no fussing to be heard as she closed the heavy door, Gwyn had strategically left at the
time the Priestesses had gathered in the temple for the dusk service. And though she was invited to
come and sing whenever she pleased, it felt all too much to do so tonight. The last thing she needed
was tears shed or any fleeting excuse to stay.

The stairs that ascended to the House seemed longer than they ever had before, and it wasn't
because she hadn't been exercising her lower limb. It would've been nice, she supposed, if she had
taken Azriel up on his offer to help her move. But maybe she was embarrassed, not of the limited
nature of her personal things but more of the locks he may see and the evidence of her fears those
shadows might discerningly find.

It was best to do this alone. After all, she was Gwyneth Berdara and she was now a working
member of the Night Court and lived in an official royal residence. Two things that made her above
such things as petty anxieties. Or so she thought.

Nesta was waiting for her at the top of the stairs, the evidence of her excitement shining in her
brilliant, grey eyes. As they walked through the private corridor of the east wing, her friend chatted
easily about all the dinners, sleepovers and reading clubs they would host when she was settled in
and ready. These were things Gwyn would have adored before, cherished to have and would have
absolutely squealed in the delight of.

And as they walked, she couldn’t help but feel like perhaps she would delight in them, one day
again.

Soon.

She pointed to a grand mahogany door carved with intricate waving flames, that Gwyn instantly
recognised. "This Cassian and I's suite... But of course, you already know that..."

They then trudged up a small set of three stairs, when Nesta waved a hand at another imposing
door. This one was carved with soft shadows that looked like dancing ribbons and an ornately
etched blade. "Azriel's suite..." She gave a smirk, "Although to be fair, I would call it more of an
armoury than anything. If you ever are in need of a weapon I'd just knock on his door."

She didn’t miss the innuendo that Nesta slipped so deftly through the suggestion. A weapon of a
cock, that’s what her friend had once described Cassian’s endowment to be, right before she had
told Gwyn about the wingspan correlation theory - of which she was equally horrified and
intrigued to find out Azriel had the winning measurement.

Oh Mother above.

Gwyn nodded with a bashful smile shaking off the assertion, and despite herself, saving that
information. Knowing full well she would never be doing anything as foolish as knocking on
Azriel's bedroom door, even if a small part of her brain ached to see what the Spymaster's room
looked like.

It was intimate, she supposed, to see how someone lived. To see what sheets they slept in, how
they kept their clothes, what they displayed in decoration.

They landed at the foot of the door furthest down the corridor, a dead end flanking its side, "And
this is yours!"

Her lips twitched up in a ghost of a smile and she wondered if Azriel had mentioned their
conversation to Nesta when deciding where she would stay. It was indeed, the room furthest from
the entrance and an intruder did indeed have to get past Cassian and Nesta's suite as well as Azriel's
to even get close.

Protected yet private.

The taut muscles in her back relaxed somewhat, the tendons loosening at her spine as that
realisation sunk in.

As Nesta opened the door, Gwyn couldn't help but gape. They had spared no expense in the
furnishings, which judging from the calming colour palette of delicate blues, sweet-toned ivories
and gold, had been entirely designed for her.

"Mother's mercy..."

Her feet carried her on fast footsteps to the edge of the enormous four-poster bed, the frame draped
in the softest cream gauze and the sheets, the plushest of linens. Then, she found herself running a
careful fingertip over the generously sized desk, complete with a massive bookshelf for her to fill.

Even in the fading sunset, the room was so light and airy compared to her small one in the library
dormitories. There were no windows in that little, cramped room but here…The entire north wall
was made of glass, and it looked out to a peaceful, snow-capped mountain range. And perhaps it
was nice to feel as if she was outside in the beauty of nature while still protected by the heavily
warded house.

"Do you like it? I actually asked the house for most of the things myself, but if there's anything you
would like to change I'm sure you need only ask and it will happily oblige..."

As if in answer, the large fireplace roared to life, happily welcoming Gwyn with warmth and gilded
light.

She didn't realise she was crying until she stared awestruck at the incredibly large bath in the
equally giant bathroom. This was all...hers. Never in her life had she had a bathroom to herself.

The concept was so strange, so utterly outlandish. It was as if she had fallen into one of the plots of
her romance novels.

No timetabled baths, no shared sinks or scratchy towels.

Just hers.

She blinked back the tears turning to Nesta with one of those rare, genuine smiles, "This is more
than I ever could have hoped..." She gave out a breathy laugh, shaking her head in disbelief,
"Thank you, Nesta. For everything."

The eldest Archeron nodded, silver lining her eyes too, as she fought back the emotion that crawled
into her. "You deserve it, Gwyn. All of it."

They were the exact same words Gwyn had told her best friend at their mating ceremony weeks
ago.

There was a slight pause, before Nesta cleared her throat and summoned some of her usual steely
grace. "Take an hour or two to relax and then, when you're ready, come to the dining room for
dinner. I’m afraid the house has made quite the fuss and has set the table for a Queen's banquet...
Hope you’re hungry."

Gwyn's eyes widened.

Hungry.

She hadn’t eaten properly in weeks, and it seemed the House was well aware of that fact. She
farewelled Nesta with a grin and was then left alone.

In her room.

Despite the splendour, it didn't take her long to get down to business. Gwyn surveyed every inch of
the walls, took note of every exit and entrance and searched the closet for any hidden monsters that
may wish to plunge this perfect dream into a perilous nightmare.

"Seven locks, please House... Deadlocks, if you will."

Just as they were downstairs in the library dorm, an identical set of locks appeared bolted into her
door. "Thank you," she said, relaxing even further, knowing she would know exactly how to turn
and click them into place.

By the time she was finished, there was at least one lock on every door and the House had even
made the hinges of the thick mahogany wood of her entry creak when opened. Better than a bell,
she supposed.

She took her time in the bath, luxuriating in the expensive soaps and beautiful view of the sunset
cresting over the mountains while she soaked.

Then, she took to changing into the dark teal gown embroidered with fine silver thread that the
house had hung on the door for her. It was beautiful, a little less conservative than the Priestess
robes, sure, but its long bell sleeves were an elegant, fine chiffon and the neckline dipped to show
just the right amount of her bust before cinching in nicely to her toned waist and flaring out again.

Maybe with the house's generosity, she wouldn't have to go shopping after all…

As if in answer to her very thoughts, three more gowns appeared on the door. Each one more
lovelier than the last.

“Oh come on, you’re spoiling me now.”

Gwyn slipped on the silver silk slippers that had been tastefully paired with the gown and was
about to walk out of the door to venture to the dining room, when she stopped dead in her tracks.
Her burnished copper her fell to the front of her face as she turned to stare at the appearance of a
curious door that had just materialised next to the fireplace.

A secret door.
Her heart began to thud unevenly, but her curiosity fuelled by years of reading books with secret
doors and passages won out in the end.

She turned the gold knob, and a soft phantom breeze blew her through the threshold before she
could hesitate.

“Mother above and hell below…”

Her eyes widened as a second, smaller fireplace roared to life to illuminate a cosy sitting room.

The lovely parlour was embellished in warm wintered tones and seemed to be perfectly designed
for late-night relaxing. Especially, given the large brown leather sofa that sat proudly in the middle
of the room and was draped in soft furs and knit throws. She had to stop herself from flinging on it
right then and there.

The room smelled of rich leather, cedared spice and carried a hint of sweet flowers, as she breathed
in the aromatic scent greedily.

Her hand flew up to stifle a laugh as she glanced at the elegant glass cabinets that flanked the
walls. They were stocked with every one of Gwyn's favourite novels, as well as some unknown
ones, chocolates and various bottles of dark amber liquid that glowed in the firelight.

She could already picture how she would use this room, coming home after a long day in the field
and indulging in a deliciously smutty book by the candlelight and roaring fire until the early hours
of the morning.

It was an absolute dream. Something she profusely thanked the house for.

In silent answer, a large bouquet of snow-white lilies appeared on the coffee table.

"You're really making it hard for me to want to leave, you know..." She laughed softly, drinking in
the sight of her little cosy space.

It was perfect. Small and not too grand, yet plentiful and lush all the same.

And then, before she could forsake dinner and throw herself on the sofa for the rest of the evening,
she heard a knock at the front door. It was politely loud and not hurried, as if that person knew the
sound could set her heart racing in uneven beats.

“One moment!”

She flittered from the sitting room, closing the little door quickly, as if wanting to keep that little
moment of perfection a secret and then, went to answer the knock.

Gwyn tried not to cringe as she unbolted each of the seven locks, their cogs clicking loud enough
that there was no way it wasn’t heard from the other side of the door. Finally, with a flick of the
last dead bolt, she opened the door.

Hazel eyes met her own bright turquoise ones and an excited shadow crept onto her arm, slithering
up her collarbone and caressing her neck. Another one danced around the door, flittering over the
locks as if counting them and then darting to the floor beyond.

“Oh, hello Shadowsinger…”

She felt the cool whisp glide around the tender flesh that sat over her jugular. Gwyn glanced down
to the mysteriously cheeky shadow as it seemed to dance down the exposed flesh of her
décolletage, almost singing a compliment to her in the process.

A blush painted her cheeks as she smiled and ignored the way his gaze swept with the shadow to
take in her lovely gown.

“Ah…” His tanned cheeks slightly pinked as he, looked to the floor, rubbing his neck, “Sorry
about that… that one seems to like you.” He sent a glare to it, as if the shadow was more an
irritating pet than anything ominous.

She let out a bashful laugh, actually enjoying the sensation as she stroked its cool smoky form. It
leaned into her and curled around her fingers as if purring back. “No, no it’s fine… It actually feels
rather nice.”

What an incredibly stupid thing to say.

His eyes went wide as it went silent between them. Gwyn tried to gather her imaginative mind,
pulling the reigns just as it began to ponder what else those shadows could do to her. At what they
would look like around her neck, her wrists… at what they would feel like on her tender, shaking
flesh.

Maybe, she would think more about that later, when she was alone in those soft sheets.

"Sorry! Am I late for dinner? I was just unpacking..." Lie. She had very easily unpacked her three
leathers and one dress an hour ago. But he didn’t have to know that.

He shook his head, wings casting a lovely shadow over his dark features with the movement, "No,
no, I just wanted to see if you needed any assistance with the move..."

"Nope," she said, not able to hide her excited grin, "I managed all on my own, believe it or not..."

“Of course…” Azriel nodded as if embarrassed he even suggested she wouldn’t be capable of such
a thing, before pulling something from his pocket, a glint of silver shining as he did.
"I hope you don't mind, but Nesta told me you were moving today, and I went down to your dorm
to see if you were there or if there were any left-over things to carry upstairs..."

A hot whip of gut-wrenching mortification struck Gwyn.

Her stomach dropped as he held up the serrated kitchen knife she had forgotten was hidden
beneath her pillow. It was dwarfed in the wake of his large, capable hands and looked more pitiful
than ever because of it. As if that stupid thing would ever actually stop a male.

"And Clotho said you left this behind..."

"Oh," she let out an uneasy laugh, eye gaze dashing anywhere but his face. "How silly, I don't even
know where that came from."

Azriel eyed her, shadows swirling and dancing like they were reporting her lie as she spoke. She
wanted to kick herself. Or perhaps just fling herself off that pretty private balcony that her room
opened up to instead.

"Well..." He offered her a small smile, one that put her at ease straight away. "How about you just
hang onto it, just in case…"

Mother above. This male was going to be the death of her. She nodded, biting her lip as she took it.
“Thanks…” Gwyn took the knife and placed it on her bedside table as Azriel continued watching
her from the threshold of the door.

It was something so small, but the fact he wouldn’t come into the room without an explicit
invitation meant something significant to her.

His eyes scanned the lush suite that the House and Nesta had prepared for her as if sweeping the
premises for any threats on a mission.

She couldn’t resist the grin that found her features as she noted it.

The words seemed to leave his lips before he could manage otherwise, “Is everything to your
satisfaction?”

Gwyn’s eyes darted around the room as she gestured wildly to the space fit for a Queen, “Are you
serious? This is…” Her voice went quiet as she shook her head, “More than anything I’ve ever had
in my entire life.”

Something glinted in the lovely golden flecks of his hazel eyes, as if he too, knew what that feeling
was like. As if, wherever he had grown up was the antithesis of this palace too, and he knew the
weight that the overwhelming luxury held, even after five hundred long years.

“You get used to it,” Azriel assured, more softly now, “the sheer scale of everything. It takes time
but eventually…” His words trailed off as he looked around, his shadows darting around the large
suite, as if satisfied with her newfound splendour.

“Walk me to the dining room?”

He nodded, scanning the room one final time before they left, his gaze faltering on the little door
next to the fireplace, before leaving.

“Looks like you’re not the house's favourite anymore, Nes.” Cassian cooed with a grin.

Nesta wasn’t exaggerating, the house had truly set the table for something of a royal occasion. The
dining room glittered with the gilded hue of floating candles which illuminated the decadent place
settings and expensive linens.

Her eyes widened as she took in the feast that ran through the centre of the table. It was a curious
selection of food for an early spring meal. A delicious array of steaming fish, garnished with sprigs
of fresh dill, parsley and lemon. A tower of glistening oysters, and various buttered asparagus and
other greens topped with nuts and seeds. Then, at the end of the full table, rich chocolate cake, figs
dripping in honey and pomegranates.

Gwyn raised a teasing brow, “Sorry Nesta… But I’ll be enjoying it while it lasts... Who knows, I
might get a proper-sized Pegasus out of it this time.” They all laughed softly in return.

She eyed the food once more before turning her attention to Nesta and Cassian as she sat down in
the place opposite them, Azriel then taking a seat next to her.

That was also something Gwyn noticed. Azriel was ever the gentleman, always sat last. She
 silently wondered who taught him such manners.

Generously poured glasses of rich red wine materialised next to their place settings, as if the house
was celebrating with them.

Cassian held up the glass, grin as wide as his appetite, as he said, “To our Gwynnie, finally moving
in... May she never leave, always put up with us…and know how to wear earplugs at night.” They
all clinked their glasses together with laughter and drank.

The frenzy, it seemed, was not over for them.

As Nesta began recounting their day of babysitting Nyx, who apparently was every bit as cheeky as
he was intelligent, her attention swayed back to the food.

Red wine, oysters, asparagus, chocolate, figs and pomegranates… She had read enough dietary and
nutrition texts in the library to know that almost every meal on this table was an…aphrodisiac.

Gwyn tried to hide her blush as she took another large sip of her wine. Perhaps the house knew
something about Nesta and Cassian that she didn’t? They were doing a lot of babysitting lately
after all…

But she had seen Nesta take her contraception tonic just the other week…

She glanced sidelong to Azriel as he ate oyster after oyster, then, helped himself to a mountain of
buttered asparagus. The house eventually began just piling the food on his plate for him and he ate
and ate.

Oh fuck.

It seemed this house was on a mission, a mission she was not ready for.

“When does your training begin, Gwyn?” Cassian asked, breaking through her revelation. His gaze
bounced between Azriel and her and it may have been a figure of her imagination, but Azriel
seemed to stiffen slightly at the question.

She swallowed down the wine she hadn’t realised she reached for again as she gathered herself,
“Oh I’m not sure, we haven’t had a chance to discuss that yet… I’ve been busy.”

“It begins at dawn.” Azriel proclaimed, now seeking his own glass of wine.

She rose a brow, “Tomorrow?”

Finally, Azriel turned his attention onto her, eyes flickering with some emotion he was too quick to
hide.

“Tomorrow.”

They simply looked at each other for a long moment and from across the table, Nesta arched a
brow…and smirked.

Chapter End Notes

All hail the House of Wind for being the most committed Gwynriel shipper.
I've always viewed the House of Wind as a Sanctuary that must have deep healing
properties embedded int he mountain. It holds the library which gives refuge to
victims of SA and has given Cassian and Azriel a home to call their own - something
they never had before.
Reading ACOSF and watching how the House acted as a 'friend' to Nesta made me
think about how it might act as a 'sister' to Gwyn - addressing her repressed feelings
associated with losing her twin on the night so much of her trauma was forged.
Let me know what you think!
 Haunted
Chapter Notes

Follow me on tiktok @venusandvirtue and tumblr @beaumaismortel x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

The temple bells were ringing in a clang of hellish symphony and her heart seemed to race with
them.

“Shhh…” Gwyn cooed, patting the soft hair of the restless toddler nestled into her neck. She had all
the children from the western dormitory hidden in the side corridor, but she had the gut-wrenching
feeling that location would not suffice.

“Gwyn,” The little girl that clutched her nightgown like a blanket whispered with a trembling lip,
“Gwyn what’s wrong?”

She knelt down to the squeaky voice, adjusting the weight of the toddler on her hip so she could
see her. The distressed face of the young girl named Poppy became illuminated in the moonlight,
“We’re playing a game Poppy, like we do in the garden. A game I want to win. And so, I need you
to be very quiet for me so we can win the prize…okay?”

This seemed to console the girl as she grinned up at Gwyn, the blonde curls framing her face
almost silver in the light of the moon. She needed to get them to the kitchen. That’s where they
could hide. The cellar was big enough for all of them - if there was enough time.

A male shout sounded from outside the window and she tried not to flinch at the gruff sound, they
needed to move.

Now.

The children may believe that this was all a game for the moment, but it would end abruptly if
violence were to ensue. She steadied her mind, trying to calm it as the scent of smoke filled the air.
Being around these children she called her sisters, she knew the sound of their whimpering was far
too loud to conceal if that threat moved inside the convent walls and came too close.

She led them with urgency, all draped in their long cotton nightdresses, on silent feet down the
forgotten southern corridor of the convent. Hiding every so often at the sound of smashing or
screaming, they stilled in the shadow-cast walls and Gwyn tried to mask her shaking form.

Suddenly, light flooded into the end of the long corridor and she froze, blood going cold and eyes
wide.

“Gwyn?” A shiny slick of onyx hair glinted in the doorway as Catrin's moonish eyes peeked out.

She loosed a breath, her hand flying to her heart as she gestured for her to come over with a quick
flip of her hand. Catrin engulfed her and the toddler in a desperate hug, panting from wherever she
had run from.

“What’s going on out there?” She asked in a low whisper so the children couldn’t hear.

Catrin wiped the tears from her lovely round eyes, “It’s mayhem, some soldiers are out there
sacking the temple. Mother Marjorie told me to go and find you and the children and to hide.

“I’m taking them to the cellar…”

Her sister looked at the crowd of wide-eyed children, scanning. “What about the others from the
eastern dorms?”

“I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t have time to check…” Gwyn explained, running a hand through
her loose hair in stress,

“I…I can go back for them once you are all in the cellar.”

“No…” Catrin shook her head, I’m faster, I’ll go…” She was indeed faster. Her sister had been
blessed with some of the anatomical advantages of the water nymphs, long limbs and slender yet
muscular form. Gwyn knew she would be putting them all at risk if she went instead, so
reluctantly, she gave a nod.

The toddler in her arms began to fuss, and another ear-splitting scream sounded from outside.

“Go now! I’ll come back for you!” Once the children were safely in the cellar she would race back
to the corridor and help bring more in.

Catrin nodded, tightening her grip on Gwyn’s hand. She felt the familiar caress of her lovely
webbed fingers against her shaking ones. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

The sound of her scream struck her awake and the foreign, soft sheets that she was wrapped
inordinately in were coated in hot sweat. Her wild gaze, bloodshot and weary, scanned the expanse
of the luxurious room.

For a moment, she had no idea where she was and instinctively, her hand was reaching for the
kitchen knife under the silk pillow. Slowly, the windows opened of their own accord, allowing a
crisp bout of mountain air to flood the stale room. A glass of water appeared on her nightstand and
soft candlelight flourished to illuminate the absence of threats lying in wake.

Gwyn thanked the house, but couldn't escape the feeling that she was haunted - and always would
be - by that night.

Any hint of lightness that Azriel had last night at the dinner table - those easy laughs, cheeky
smiles and bouts of dry wit - had seemingly been cast away by the coming of dawn. He stood with
a clenched jaw waiting for her in the training ring, his tanned skin licked by the golden first hint of
sunrise, with a pile of equipment next to him.

Gwyn didn’t back down, not even when he asked her with careful eyes if she was sure she wanted
to do this.

She simply gave him a wry grin, as if in teasing, but this time, he didn't return it. He paused in deep
thought, a silent war waging in his fortress of a mind before eventually accepting her wishes.

Azriel was all business today - and perhaps that was for the best - because her fragile state
probably couldn't handle his secret softness and gentle friendship after last night.

She needed to forget.

To distract herself with logic and reason - like she always had done before.

“This mission will involve a mixture of terrain, operating in both the forest lands and the built-up
village areas at night… We need to be prepared for all manner of environments and it won't always
be comfortable.”

She nodded, eyeing the selection of equipment by his side, a baldric of knives, a heavy pack, and a
variety of shields. Gwyn resisted the urge to tell him she had in fact, never had a comfortable night
of sleep, so this wasn't a problem.

“My contacts have informed me Beron may be raising his forces in war camps to prepare for some
sort of attack… And there’s been some strange activity in Summer on the radar that we may have
to be prepared for - since the lands border each other.”

Gwyn frowned, “I thought Summer was an allied Court?”

“Tarquin seems trustworthy, yes. But there’s many in his Court that wouldn’t hesitate in staging a
coup, trust me.”

“You think someone from the Summer Court is working with Beron?”

Azriel gave a curt nod, “It’s likely. With Koschei and the Queens still a volatile and influential
enemy outside of Prythian, we will need to gauge Eris and see what he knows and then review the
authenticity of his allyship while also assessing the fact he may not be aware of the war camps that
may be on the border…”

She nodded, saving all those pieces of information away for later. She made a mental note to
research the Summer Court and its ruling family to see if any power-hungry personalities stood out.
Of the things she knew about the young High Lord of Summer, many publications revered him as a
level-headed diplomat with a tendency towards progressive politics. Perhaps that's why he had
become such a contestable force.

“…In terms of our training…" Azriel's low voice had turned into that of the Spymaster, no trace of
his delicate nature or inner emotions to be found behind that imperceptible mask - except for his
eyes. That lovely hazel she always found peace in, usually clear and sage in the early mornings had
clouded over with a dark hue. Was he...concerned for her?

"...We need to work on our overall strategy for the mission, lay some ground rules and then hone
your skills in stealth, surveillance, evasion, hiding and light coercion.”

She raised a brow, her usual irreverence making a rare appearance as she took in for the first time
the enormity of skills she would need to hone and master.

A challenge rose between them, and she met it with an easy grin.

She would not fail again.

They worked for the first few hours on simply stealth. How to walk without making a sound and
moving with the current of the wind. How to navigate silently in extreme darkness or with low
vision. Though it was more difficult than it looked, Gwyn’s propensity to be light-footed and
nimble due to her heritage made the concepts easier to grasp.

Azriel was a patient teacher and had a knack of explaining things in a way that was easy to follow.
As always, when he went to reach for her, to adjust her stance or the way she held her limbs, he
asked first and his touch was as conservative as it was light. And perhaps that was for the best too,
because she knew the bond put her in a precarious position. One that craved a touch she had never
wanted from another. A precarious position that had her with her fingers between her thighs in the
middle of the night thinking about exactly what that touch may be like.

But she could tell there was something off about him today. About the way he religiously eyed her
technique, searching for any error or opportunity to improve. And even though the bond was
useless because it hadn’t snapped for him. She swore she could feel his anxiety tremble beneath
that stone-hard demeanour he had adopted.

Though his concern for her training was born out of duty, she couldn't help but wonder if the very
fabric of the bond that ghosted between them was responsible for that heightened urgency. Or
perhaps, that was just Azriel, Gwyn didn't want to think on it any further.

After finishing with their introduction on stealth, they had taken a much-needed break at the water
fountain as Azriel continued his dutiful instruction.“Every night I want you to practice your mind
stilling. You have to be composed and centred, you show too much emotion on your face."

As if in answer, her brows knitted together in offence and for the first time in the whole morning,
the trace of a smile found his lips as she proved his assessment right.

"...We’re partners now and if everything goes to shit and we have to confront someone, combat
alone won’t save us. This is equally a game of words as it is a game of strength and cunning. You
have to be steady and prepared for the adversary to say whatever they can to offset you, to make
you vulnerable, so they can strike.”

Gwyn stilled her features, her mouth dropping into a dead, unforgiving line - an imitation of his
own Spymaster expression she had come to know well. “Okay, I can do that.” Seems easy enough.

Azriel crossed his arms and cocked a brow, “Really?”

It was the suggestion that she couldn’t in his tone that made her finally say, “Why don’t you just
cut to the chase and tell me that you don’t want me on the mission Azriel.”

Her easily found anger had proven him correct yet again and he seemed to lean into it. “Do you
seriously think you’re ready to go to Autumn? Like this?”

The blow hit her hard, her delicate pride quivering, “Yes, I do think I’m ready for something more
than just training in a ring. If the Blood Rite proved anything it was that.”

He stiffened, "Though admirable, you three made many mistakes in the Blood Rite that left you
vulnerable. Mistakes you couldn't afford to make in the field. We still have a lot of training to do."
It was like his honesty - which she knew herself to be true - had poured salt in the gaping wound of
her pride.

"And I will be here every morning to ensure I am good enough." She bit back, not at all afraid of
the male in front of her that usually left people shaking in their boots.
He rose a brow and his voice went whisper soft, "When was the last time you slept?"

Gwyn pursed her lips, eyes darting to floor. So this was going to happen now? Fine. She wouldn't
answer, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of it.

"When was the last time you ate your fill for a day?”

“Don’t…” She warned dangerously on the sharp edge of that anger.

But he didn’t stop with his brutal assessment, his gentle words cutting like knives into her pride,
“Okay then, when was the last time you have been in a crowd and felt fine?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Why?” His voice turned hard, almost angry.

“Because I can pretend!” Like she always had. It came out more aggressive than it should, and he
simply gave her a condescending arch of his brow. Deep down she knew that she should have kept
her composure, but something had begun to snap. Something about being seen in such a raw light
had wiped away that ability to be composed to keep up that facade she had adopted all these years.

“And how’s that going for you, Berdara?"

She clenched her jaw, "I'm fine."

"We need to work on those things, Gwyn..." His eyes softened as he took a step forward, "I need
you to be more than fine.”

Her mind flipped to the defence faster than her heart was thundering, “Okay fine. You seem to
know so much about me, but what about you, Azriel? Huh?”

Gwyn watched him go slightly tense as she gestured to him, “As you said, you’re going to be my
partner in the field, let’s make this fair, when was the last time you slept well?”

Something flickered over his features as she stood closer, glaring up at him. “You don't need to be
concerned about that.”

She gave out a bitter laugh in disbelief, “Okay, tell me then, when was the last time you did
anything for yourself?”

He shook his head, dismissing her entirely, “This isn’t about me.”

“No, you don’t get to do that, not to me.” Gwyn stood her ground, levelling his intensity straight
back at him. “Is that what you tell yourself every day when you’re out cleaning up other people’s
mess and doing the dirty work that no one else wants to do? All the while they just sit and ignore
what that must do to you? That, it isn’t about you…”

He only stared at her in brutal, cold silence and she wondered if anyone had ever been so bold with
him before. His walls were high and thick, forged for centuries but right then and there she knew…
she knew that she was right.

The realisation hit her so hard, she almost faltered. That was it… That’s why in every story she
heard, Azriel was the first one in and the last one out. That’s why he never talked about anything.
It’s not because he’s keeping court secrets or even that he’s probably one of the most loyal males to
ever exist… No…It was because he’s afraid that he is not enough.
Azriel was so afraid that those people that loved him might not when they find out what hell they
have forced him to bear. And he would pay the price every time, because he didn’t think he was
worthy.

It severed something vital in her. Gwyn saw that same fury crash like storm-laden waves in his
darkened eyes. The eyes that never lied to her and yet, he steeled himself against it. “Are you
done?” The words were so full of dismissal, she almost wanted to slap him as he turned away from
her.

“For now.” It was a promise, a promise that one day she would make him feel worthy. Even if he
loved another. Even he never believed her, she wouldn’t stop trying. And maybe this was what this
all about.

“Good. This is not the battlefield. There are no enemy lines and no rules or morals to abide by.”
Azriel turned to her again, his eyes narrowing as they swept over her features and down her form -
like they hadn’t just had a disagreement a moment ago.“If we’re going to work together, I need to
know and understand your weaknesses, those vulnerable places of your mind that make you
defensive. That way, we can work on shielding them together and turning them into strengths.”

Unfortunately, he had a point and perhaps she had been childish to be defensive like that…but it
didn’t change that she felt like he was hiding.

Her gaze tore from his and sharpened as she looked to floor, “Well I think my weakness is rather
obvious.” Instantly, her mind flashed back to her final night in Sangravah.

The kitchen table.

The feeling of her face pressed into the wood.

And that thundering heavy weight behind her that accompanied a sickening squelching noise she
would never forget.

By the look of Azriel’s eyes, darkened and distant, he seemed to be remembering that very same
scene too.

She resisted the urge to reach out for him, to touch him the way he had consoled her with his
capable hands that night.

“We’ll work on any physical barriers later down the track,” he said softly and Gwyn let out a small
sigh in relief, she was not ready to talk about that today, “for now, I think we should discuss the
other things that might hold you back in the field. But if you don’t feel comfortable I
understand…”

No, Gwyn would not cower. Would not hide.

“No, I understand. I… I can do that.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you too far today, it can be quite personal…” He was worried
it seemed, what her little outburst had screamed so loudly. That she was volatile.

“I’m sure Shadowsinger.”

He gave her an assessing stare and then nodded, handing her a set of daggers sheathed in a baldric
and reaching out his hand for her to take. “Good, we’ll start with a field exercise then, and you can
tell me as we go...Are you okay with a change of scenery? The woods just below?"
She nodded.

Moments later, they winnowed into a grassed clearing in the woods encircled by tall trees that
pointed to the clear sky. A dagger target in Azriel’s other hand, she eyed it and then the knives that
had been placed around her shoulder.

Without a word, he winnowed away, leaving her in the clearing. She pivoted in her place, listening
to the sounds around her. Adjusted her ears to attune to the finest sound, the crunch of a leaf, the
sweep of wind or fall of a branch. She had the small dagger gripped to strike in her hand.

And then, Azriel appeared, ten meters away with the target held at his chest. She went to move but
hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want to hit you…”

He gave a small, reassuring smile, “If by some miracle I don’t move fast enough, my shadows
would intercept it. But for now, that’s a fail I’m afraid.”

Her eyes widened, “What?” A fail?

“First rule: never hesitate when you’re targeting your opponent. In espionage, things can go wrong
in seconds. People can betray your trust, maybe they are followed, and your identity is
compromised. In those situations, you never hesitate to strike. A quick death is better than a messy
execution.”

He disappeared again, and she ground her teeth, pivoting, waiting.

Then, a rustle of stirred wind from close behind her and she spun, her waist twisting as she threw
the dagger straight for him. He was longer in range this time, but it met its mark, barely.

“Is this the part where you tell me all my flaws, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn tried to keep her voice light
as he disappeared again.

“You’re a perfectionist…” She threw another dagger and it landed square in the centre of the
target, proving him correct yet again.

She gave him a smug grin, “Is that meant to be a bad thing?”

He appeared again, closer this time, “Just before, I told you that you failed and it knocked you from
your focus, your readiness to strike…” Gwyn through the dagger, harder this time. It missed.

Fuck.

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t try and do my best then? That's an odd philosophy. ” She tried not to
prove him right by looking so visibly angry at the missed shot.

“I’m saying…” She spun and executed another throw, and the dagger landed, but only just, due to
the distance, “That you clearly are affected by momentary defeat… Why?”

He disappeared again, and she panted, feeling the pulse rise in her veins as the words he said struck
her over and over. She heard him and this time didn’t hesitate. But the dagger missed.

The challenge gritted down on her, the failure in it sawing at her mind. Her teeth ground together,
as she began to realise he was deliberately riling her up to distract her from the target, to make a
point of the dangerously arbitrary nature of the job she had so willingly signed up for.

“I don’t know,” she lied, and spectacularly missed again. Her blood began to boil as her fingers
itched.

He raised a knowing brow, “Failing at even telling a good lie, I see...”

Gwyn was going to throw this God's damned dagger at his perfectly handsome face. Her knuckles
went white in the grip as he appeared closer, and this time, he was merciless.

She would not fail.

She would not give in.

For every second she ignored his question, he became faster. So fast, that he began to appear before
she could withdraw her blade from the rapidly depleting baldric. As she whipped around to strike,
her vision was a whirl of dark greens and soft earthy browns as if she were swimming in the pools
of hazel in his eyes.

Her last words to Catrin began to sound like heavy bells in her echoing mind.

“Go now! I’ll come back for you!”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Her footing became compromised by the dizziness that set in, but she wouldn’t give up.

Not after he taunted her, not when she could see Catrin's decapitated body so clearly in her mind.

By some foreign magic, the baldric of knives replenished itself as she continued with her assault on
the targets, she was getting better, her shots becoming more precise. But just as she was beginning
to gain some footing, the cruel game continued at a nauseatingly faster pace, and he was getting
more creative with his locations, even perching in trees just to set her aim off.

Her arms began to strain as he appeared not inches away from her and with a grunt, she hurled the
dagger into the target as if she were stabbing him in the abdomen. He wore a victorious smirk that
finally pushed her over the edge.

“In Sangravah, I failed…” She screamed almost half-mad. Azriel’s smirk fell into clouded concern,
as she continued, “I failed to protect her.”

And just like that, a dam that Gwyn had spent her entire life building, burst. The wave hit her so
hard, every muscle and tendon in her body felt at its mercy and the pressure just kept coming.

And coming.

“Catrin…” She let out a choked sob, still holding the dagger wedged in the target within her
fingers, “…and then in the Blood Rite, almost…almost…Nesta.”

There it was. She had spent her whole time in the library drenched in guilt for Catrin’s death and
then, just as she was regaining her footing and recovering, another female that had become
something of a sister to her had almost died, for her.

Nausea churned in her stomach and acid-laced the back of her throat.

Azriel dropped the target to the woodland floor. He looked like he too, had been struck with the
heavy force of her admission. The mask of imperceptibility fell off his face as he took in the utterly
broken female before him. And although he knew their pasts were different, he was quite sure that
if they carved out their hearts, they would be just as scarred as each other.

Because he knew exactly how deep that failure cut.

“And I can’t…” She began shaking her head, blinking back the tears. “I can’t fail like that again.
Can’t not succeed. I can’t afford to lose anymore because... because I’m spent, Azriel.” Her voice
faded into a quiet, sorrowful admission, “And I’m just really fucking tired of getting back up - to
only get pushed back down.”

With agonising slowness, a silent ask for permission hanging in the air, he rose a hand to cup her
face, a thumb wiping the rogue tear that fell there. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but lean into
that touch her body craved so much. Her eyes clenched shut, the rivulets of hard and soft scar
tissue felt like home.

“I want you to look at me Gwyn…” His voice was low and hoarse yet somehow still soft, she
didn’t open her eyes. “Look at me, Gwyn.”

She obliged him, if only to be distracted from the confession she had just made that spun
nightmares in her mind. Her silvered, turquoise eyes met his and he looked at her with such,
unbound reassurance. There was no condescending pity to be found there, but just steadfast and
true honesty.

Safety.

“You are not a failure…” Azriel said, and the words sounded like the finest absolution, “You
never failed your sister, or anyone else."

She began to protest but he cut her off, “No, stop. I need you to hear something…What those
Hybern soldiers did to you, to your sister and to every other Priestess in Sangravah will never be
your fault. The fault lies at the feet of the monster who dispatched them,” something dark and
morose fell over his features, “and those who failed to see the threat coming.”

Gwyn saw the admission for what it was. Everything in her mind temporarily blanked at it. Did
Azriel think himself responsible for Sangravah?

“You can’t honestly think that-”

He cut her off again, still holding her chin to attention, “The same goes for the Blood Rite. What
Nesta faced was never, ever at your hand – do you understand me, Gwyneth?”

Her eyes fell from his, not able to stand the conviction in them and the tears began free flowing as
all that pent-up rage and guilt poured from her. Gwyn fell to the floor, Azriel coming down beside
her.

She told him the story of that night in Sangravah, those moments that led up to him finding her in
that damned kitchen. Not the exact details of her rape or the soldiers that burst in. That was for
another time.

But she told him of everything except that, the very scene that plagued her nightmares. Of her only
having time to shove the last toddler in the cellar before pushing the table over it to hide the
evidence… Of her broken promise to Catrin and having to watch her beautiful head fall from her
body as a consequence.

Azriel didn’t let go of her hand, and she was glad, because like in Sangravah, his touch was the one
 thing that kept her from shattering into pieces - pieces that she could never hope to put together
again.

Chapter End Notes

I think it's necessary to her character to address the fact that Gwyn is at her core a huge
perfectionist that hates failure and where that trait is rooted in, is a place of extreme
pain.

All throughout the last third of ACOSF I was just thinking, this girl has been so strong
for so long, but it doesn't seem like she has had the emotional support to address the
crux of her issues.
And so, here it is.
She needed an outlet to let that pain out instead of using training and her library work
to keep in - a coping mechanism I can relate to very much on a personal level. I knew
that had to happen in front of someone that Gwyn knew wouldn't make her feel
vulnerable and perhaps Azriel is the only one that could be, because despite her trust
issues, the bond makes her inherently trust him.

I also think she needed to be shown that someone cares enough to see through the
facade she has carefully constructed - and I hope the parallels between Azriel and her
were highlighted there. I hope this didn't come cross as too dramatised, but I honestly
think she had to fall apart to put her pieces back together. She was always going to be
the one to heal before Azriel did.

Let me know what you think!

 Hands of Fate
Chapter Notes

Content warning, a portion of this chapter is considered NSFW. All usual warnings
stated at the start of this fic apply.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Azriel had come to understand pain well, come to know the exact parameters of the intensity of it,
the depths that awful beast of an emotion could be summoned in – he was, after all, the torture
master of the Night Court. But something about seeing her like this was a different brand of torture,
one so utterly repugnant and ferociously violent that not even he, could stomach it.

It was on the surface level a simple exercise, one that meant to both test the limits of the trainee’s
mental strength in the face of barraging psychological questioning and reveal exactly what it would
take to push them over the edge.

In all the years he had trained those employed for espionage, he had never felt guilty about doing
it, not even once. He told himself it would make them stronger, told himself that strengthening
them would inherently strengthen the position and safety of the Night Court, of everyone he loved.

But now, as Gwyn sobbed on the woodland floor, her hand clutched in his like she was afraid he
would disappear as she battled her buried grief, he felt more like a monster than he ever had before.

More a monster even, than the one he became in the depths of the Hewn City dungeons, where his
private ‘coercion cells’ lay, appropriately above a pit of equally foul beasts.

And despite her fractured state, she had passed that first test. The test that determined if one was
more a spy than a soldier. Not because she managed to hit more targets than any of his trainees
ever had before, no. Not even because she refused to turn her defensiveness into unrequited
violence. But because despite Azriel prying into her past and making her vulnerable – she stayed.

Gwyn could have walked away, could have quit at any time and yet here she was.

He listened to every horrific word that fell from her lips. The recount of her final hours before he
had found her in that kitchen.

Azriel couldn’t quite remember exactly the immediate moments of their meeting, he had been so
overcome with white-hot rage that he was temporarily blinded. In fact, he was surprised Gwyn
could even bare to look at him given the savagery of the retribution he struck those inhuman brutes
with.

He had been feeling uneasy all day, something restless in his nerves and even his shadows quieted
and rustled in discomfort. Somehow, Hybern’s attack on Sangravah had long been known to his
senses before even the local messengers caught word of it. And when he winnowed there, faster
than he ever had before, his siphons flickered and crackled with power, filling him with undiluted
adrenaline, with this overwhelming need.

There had always been a twisted darkness in him, one that he figured he had been born with.
Perhaps it was even the blood of his disgusting father that ran through his veins, but it was always
there. And every so often, the bloodlust of that beast took over and turned him into a monster to
rival any other creature of the night - and it was born from his very bones.

That very same monstrous need took over that night, like some sort of warfare-honed drug and
tugged him, as if his chest were tied to a rope, into the large kitchen of the convent.

He saw her hair first. The most beautiful shade of burnished copper he had ever seen, a colour that
put every other to shame, and then…

From the report that was later written about Sangravah, the Hybernian soldiers in the kitchen
appeared to have been ‘ripped apart by some kind of wild beast.’ Their spines had been torn from
their backs, innards wrenched out and their limbs, pulled from the sockets - as if they were not
bound with pounds of unyielding tendon and muscle.

Good.

It was the first and last time that monster was actually put to satisfying use and he supposed, quite
oddly, that it was the only moment that monster was born in full force. He was glad for every
moment he spent disembowelling and ravaging them.

He also, somewhat selfishly, found himself glad that in all her gut-wrenching trauma, Gwyn didn’t
seem to mind the violence he had exposed her to, or at least, she didn’t say she did.

His gaze found her hand - so delicate and pale, splattered with sweet constellations of rusted
freckles – clutching his own, marred, ugly one. Azriel fought the urge to rip it from her grasp, not
thinking she deserved the sure feeling of the disgusting burnt flesh on her perfectly soft skin.

But, to his profound surprise, she held it with such tentative need, such undeniable revering, that he
couldn’t bear to take it away. Maybe it was selfish of him in that single moment, to think about
how she didn’t seem to mind it.

And it was, because he was, distorted, selfish and cruel – and she was something altogether lovely.
A secret thing of strength and kindness that shouldn’t be tainted by him.

The monster of the Night Court.

Gwyn

“So…” Cassian pried, a plentiful plate of heaped dinner materialising in front of him, “How did
training go today?”

There it was, Gwyn had been expecting as much.

She contemplated what exactly to tell the General that sat before her with excitement brimming in
his eyes. Despite the question being levelled at both of them, Azriel remained characteristically
silent.
Though the same couldn’t be said for his shadows. Those wispy tendrils of smoke reached from
his muscled arm over to her shoulder and swept over the skin, in cool waves of calming mist,
forming some kind of shadowed bridge between them.

He didn’t even seem to notice the gesture, being so caught up in his own thoughts.

Did she tell Cassian that today Azriel had given her the lightest of tests on her state of mind - and
she failed miserably?

Did she tell him that she had spent the next hour, sobbing on the woodland floor, her face between
her tucked knees as she regurgitated the story that had long haunted her, to the Spymaster of the
Night Court?

Or, did she tell him that when they finally arrived back to the house, Azriel had apologised for
pushing her too far, while looking as if he may fly himself into a cyclone, and ran her a bath, all
the while telling her to take the rest of the afternoon off?

Gwyn was done lying, so she settled on a vague, half-truth. “I have a lot to learn it seems…”

Nesta’s eyes flew from Gwyn’s glazed ones to Azriel, who had taken a keen interest in his plate of
roast lamb and then, to the shadows that hummed between them. “I’m sure you were wonderful,
Gwyn…Better than I would have been anyway.”

Silence engulfed the air around her as Gwyn began to snort while shaking her head. But her
humoured defences were cut off suddenly.

“She was perfect…” Azriel’s low baritone reverberated straight through the cavern of her aching
chest. “The first session is always the hardest… most people walk out before its done. Gwyn
stayed.” She knew it was pathetic, but that dose of validation went straight into her veins, and she
felt herself smile.

Cassian raised a brow at his brother, a silent conversation passing between them before the
General turned with a heavy grin towards her again. It was something she had come to appreciate
the male for, his ability to cut through tension with the blade of his cheeky humour and casual
jokes.

“Well, if Az ever gets too bossy, I’m sure you’ll put him in his place, Gwyn…” He pointed his
fork at her, winking, “Remember those knee-to-groin kicks I taught you?”

She let out a laugh, not entirely full and euphonic the way it used to be, but the notes of it were still
there. Her teasing gaze landed on the Shadowsinger, “Oh…Does he have a reputation for being
demanding?” Gwyn hadn’t heard about Azriel’s training techniques before, but apparently, that
may have been for the better.

Cassian grinned like a feral wolf, eyes glittering with delight, “Oh you have no idea.”

“Cassian…” Azriel warned in a low tone.

Nesta arched a brow, ignoring Azriel’s thinly veiled threat as she looked at her mate, her lips
twitching slightly in jest as she said, “If you two do ever get into it, do me a favour and let me
know, so I can wager my money on Gwyn…”

Gwyn felt the urge to kick Nesta under the table and only prayed Azriel was as woefully unaware
as he always had been when it came to females, to see the words for the double meaning they were.
Nesta’s silent sisterly teasing laced through them deftly, effortlessly pushing her apparent agenda
to see Gwyn and Azriel come together.

An agenda, that had been her chosen sister’s constant cause, since the Shadowsinger had begun
training with them.

Cassian tipped his cup in salute, “Me as well… Sorry brother, you’d be flat on your back in no
time.”

Gwyn ground her teeth, sipping her wine as if it were something vital, to hide her crimson blush
and murderous glare.

But true to form, Azriel showed no sign he was remotely aware of the innuendo.

“I have no doubt I would be thoroughly destroyed,” He murmured into his wine before taking a sip
- and so overcome with shock and amusement, Gwyn choked on her own.

Mother save her.

Nesta looked as if she had just won a battle and Cassian – apparently in on this little secret ambush
as well – just eagerly nodded, that wide grin carving lost dimples in his tanned cheeks. “That you
would be, brother. Ruined for life.”

Gwyn sent the General a glower in sharp warning, that was only answered with an innocent smile
and a casual chuckle.

That war-waging bastard.

All throughout dinner, she couldn’t help but notice the lightness that pervaded her mind. As if that
episode in the woods had somehow purged her of a weight she had been hauling on her back for
years on end. The pain was still carved there, of course, but since giving voice to it, she felt the
breadth of that agony a little less. Like she had left a bit of it behind, to be discarded in the soft
winds of the leafy brush.

As that darkness cleared just a tad, it made room for something that she had long repressed.
Something, she didn’t realise she missed so much until that very moment.

Her appetite.

Gwyn ate two whole plates of food that night. Roasted lamb with a plentiful splash of gravy, a
mountain of steamed vegetables coated in butter and at least a whole plate of roast potatoes,
crunchy and salted, just the way she liked them.

It was only when she looked at her decimated plate and felt the fullness of her stomach, she
realised how much her hunger had truly withered in the past weeks.

She would not allow that to happen again.

Ever.

The shadows seemed particularly pleased and entertained by this turn of events, as while she ate,
they darted about her hands. Their tendrils pointing towards the food remaining, as if telling her to
eat more and more. When she finished her plate, they scattered upwards, whirling around her neck
in silent congratulation.

Luckily, Azriel and Cassian didn’t seem to notice, as they had fallen into conversation about the
exact semantics of teaching Nyx how to fly. But her chosen sister’s ever-watchful eyes saw
everything, and as Gwyn glanced up at her sheepishly, she knew that the wolf knew too much.

As she always had.

“Come and have tea with me in the library…” Nesta cooed, taking her arm and pulling her up once
they finished their dessert. “There’s a new novel I have to show you.”

Cassian murmured something artfully colourful about smut-obsessed females as she took a long
inhale, nodding quietly as she excused herself. This way, at least, there would be less of a chance of
Azriel coming to check on her after dinner. But Gwyn was no fool, she saw that look in Nesta’s
stormy eyes as they left.

She was in for it.

Gwyn bit her lip and looked out the large paned window into the darkened mountainscape as Nesta
closed the door to the library.

“House, silence the library please…” Nesta purred, and even without turning to face her, she could
already tell exactly what knowing expression lay on her best friend’s face.

She clenched her eyes closed, before deciding to just rip off the band-aid and save Nesta the
satisfaction of the correct theory she had so clearly put together…“Before you say anything, I need
you to know that he cannot find out…Ever.”

Nesta’s arms were crossed as she surveyed Gwyn, stepping closer. “How long have you known?
When did it snap into place for you?”

“The moment we met…” She admitted with a half groan, plummeting into the depths of the soft
sofa and burying her face in her hands.

Here we go.

She felt Nesta come down to sit with her, a hand lightly rubbing circles on her back, “In…In
Sangravah?”

There was a long pause as Gwyn collected her thoughts before she nodded. “I don’t think I realised
what it actually was until weeks after, but all I remember is feeling something in that kitchen. Like
I was tied to a piece of ribbon and there was something else drawing closer on the other end. I
remember him wrapping a cloak around me that smelled like something I had never scented
before. Something so utterly calming and addictive… And then, in a voice that sounded… like
some kind of hymn I needed to hear…he told me I was safe and asked if he could pick me up…”
Her voice trailed off as she revisited the memory.

“Right then and there?” Nesta breathed.

She nodded, “As soon as his hands touched me… It snapped.”

“Holy mother of fuck…”

“I had no idea what had happened. Maybe I thought it was some calming, healers magic that he had
used. I was still in shock, half delirious and there was so much blood and pain…” She began to
nod, her eyes glazed over in memory, “…But I knew, there was something that happened in that
moment, something that told me to hold on, to grip that ribbon with dear life. That one day… I was
going to be okay. It was like I was lost in this cold dark place and all a sudden, that darkness
became soft and heavenly and full, like the night sky…Or like…”

“Shadows...” Nesta finished for her, and Gwyn just nodded in confirmation.

“As he flew me, all I could see was his hands… I couldn’t, I couldn’t lift my head or move my
body then. And I knew, despite all the horror, agony and depravity of that night…those were the
most beautiful things I had ever seen. That I was safe. Because of those hands, because of that
male…”

In the weeks after leaving Sangravah, she tried to draw them on a sketchpad, if only to keep the
memory alive. Over and over again she drew until the pages had run out and her pencils were all
but stubs. Gwyn could never get the sheer wonder of them right.

It wasn’t the same as feeling them.

“Why haven’t you told him?” Her eyes softened, “Is it… is it the frenzy, you’re worried about?”

Gwyn cast a side-long glance at her, “For so many reasons I haven’t told him… The frenzy being
one of them, of course...” A shiver raced down her spine and goosebumps pricked her skin.

She nodded again, with an understanding smile. “And why else, Gwyn?”

“I’ve had a long time to think about this, Nesta… Part of me thinks the bond was a mistake…” The
confession slipped from her lips before she could think better of it, “That maybe, whatever was
happening at the temple and with the cauldron that night, might have released some of the
Mother’s magic when it shouldn’t have…I don’t know…”

The eldest Archeron frowned in absolution, shaking her head, “No, Gwyn. It’s never a mistake.
That magic is too old and ancient to be anything but fated.”

For not the first time today, tears welled in Gwyn’s tired eyes, “Look, I don’t know his story and I
don’t know if he will ever tell me, but…” She blinked away the burning sensation in her gaze, “…
He has been through so much, Nesta. I see it. I feel it. He deserves to be happy, he deserves the
ability to make a choice for himself. I owe him that.”

After everything that he had done for her. She owed him that one small thing.

“Is this about Mor?”

Gwyn tried to hide the fact that her heart may have cracked a little, as she said, “Mor?” She
thought about the tension she had noticed slowly gathering between Emerie and Morrigan with
confusion. What on earth did Mor have to do with this?

“Well, I don’t know the full story, but apparently, he was hung up on her for a while… But not
anymore, at least I don’t think…”

“Oh…” She took a deep breath, choosing for the sake of her mental health not to ponder that he
had, in fact, been in love with not one ridiculously beautiful female, but two.

She was about to mention Elain, but something told Gwyn that she shouldn’t insert herself into
Nesta’s family’s business, not after everything that they went through recently. “All I’m saying is,
he deserves to fall in love without any meddling. I want that for him. And if it’s someone else, I’ll
be okay…”

Nesta gave her a look that all but screamed that if she knew anything about the bond, Gwyn would
in fact, not be okay.

“And if the mother truly makes no mistakes and he happens to fall in love with me, I want him to
choose me, Nesta… I want him to make the decision without the coercion of the bond…He
deserves that choice…and so do I.”

Understanding flooded her eyes as she pressed herself into Gwyn’s side, giving her a tight hug.
“I’m sorry if you think I’m prying… I just, I didn’t realise…”

“No…” Gwyn let out a sad laugh, “No, I’m actually glad I could tell someone… It’s been hard to
keep it bottled up.”

Maybe that’s what today was, a day for finally airing out the dusty skeletons in her increasingly
crowded closet. She only hoped that the lightness she felt after leaving the woods would flourish
even more after this conversation.

A pot of tea and a plate of butter biscuits appeared on the small table in front of the sofa, the
House’s silent offering of comfort. Nesta and Gwyn spent the remainder of the evening huddled up
together, reading romance novels and finding peace in their quiet company. Something she needed
more than she would like to admit.

Just as the clock strike the tenth hour, Gwyn said with a small voice, “What is it like?”

“What is what like?”

She shifted, laying her book on her stomach and sitting up slightly, “Sex… with someone you
love.”

It was a question she always wanted to know, a question she had ploughed through the pages of
many romance novels and annotated many paragraphs profusely, to answer. But how could she
know if those perfect stories were truths or mere fallacies of wanting written by hopeful authors?

A small smile met Nesta’s lips as she too, sat up, curling towards Gwyn. “It’s many things all at
once. I think when you have sex, especially when it’s with your mate, it almost gives you exactly
what your soul craves. Sometimes it’s validating, sometimes it’s sheer, unadulterated pleasure and
sometimes, it’s like…medicine. And if you’re lucky, it’s all three.”

“Medicine?”

She gave a nod, her gaze sweeping to the roaring fireplace, “I used to have casual sex every
weekend with males I didn’t even know the name of… And don’t get me wrong, that’s not a bad
thing, by any means, but I wasn’t doing it for my pleasure. I was harming myself, Gwyn. I was
trying to fix something in myself that only I could fix. No one else. And when I finally did start to
heal myself, and I found Cassian…Well when I let Cassian in…”

Her voice trailed off as she seemed to be dragged back to that time in her life, “It was like for the
first time in my life, a male had actually seen and understood me - because I understood me. When
we had sex, I had learnt to properly love my body and to prioritise my own pleasure. I could be
both vulnerable and strong, exposed and claiming…Sex can be healing, Gwyn, just as it can be
pleasurable.”

Gwyn had never thought about intimacy like that before. She wanted that feeling, desperately.
Wanted to be empowered and healed by touch, just as Nesta had described. Wanted to be desired
and to desire – without the shackles of her past.
“If I can give you any advice, Gwyn…” Nesta said, her thin hand landing on Gwyn’s own, “If this
is something you want, in the end, if you like him, it doesn’t matter who it is, but…Find someone
patient and understanding. Someone that you can be vulnerable with.”

She nodded, contemplating those words carefully.

That evening, the lightness of her state of mind settled over her like a shimmering veil of cool,
calming shadows. For once, her gaze didn’t flick to the door embellished with seven locks, nor did
it monitor the window that was impossibly high for anyone to reach.

Something like relaxation wrapped around her form and kissed her mind.

As she lay in her bed, replaying Nesta’s words and compiling them with her own thoughts and
needs, her hand slipped between the soft fabric of her silk nightgown and trailed up the gentle skin
of her thigh.

She allowed herself, just for a moment, to pretend once more.

As her fingers dipped into the thin cotton of her undergarments, she found that bud of nerves that
ached for attention.

Her mind travelled to the hands she had come to revere like something holy. In her mind, she knew
those very hands could be capable of wielding gentle pleasure, just as they wielded the sharp edge
of a knife. Masterful and to a rare skill of something altogether Godly.

And all a sudden, in that plush bedroom in which she was locked away and safe, it was Azriel’s
masterful touch that replaced her own. The lovely rivulets she imagined of coarse and soft flesh
that draped his skin, felt heavenly on her clit, on her peaked nipple. They masterfully glided and
flicked, caressed and roamed. He was as devoutly committed to her pleasure as he was to her
training.

And with that quiet enthusiasm, those hands edged her towards a precipice that she had found only
a few times before.

When his thick fingers entered her tight, wetness, she arched her back into the touch. She imagined
the way his breath might feel on the tender flesh of her neck, the kisses he might trail across her
collarbones and then, she thought of the soft words he might coo to her in his deeply symphonic
baritone.

“You’re safe with me…” He once vowed to her and Gwyn imagined him saying those same holy
words to her again, but this time, with hooded eyes and a velvet-kissed tone.

She plummeted over the edge and found the peak of her pleasure. Stars grazed her eyes as her toes
curled in keen euphoria. The pleasure struck hard and coaxed a slight whimper to leave her lips and
maybe, just maybe, Gwyn muttered his name breathlessly like a prayer as she came undone as she
had never done before.

She fell into a deep sleep almost instantly after her breathing had retreated from its pleasured pants
and her heart settled, her mind still lingering on those hands and the male that they belonged to.
 From a distance, a curling shadow crept around her bedpost, as if summoned by the sound of their
master’s voice falling from her lips. But even the most devious of shadows knew, that some secrets
should be kept, that fate should be allowed to breathe its divine timing.

And so, after scanning the room for threats and monitoring the pitter patter of her heartbeat, it left,
not bothering to report its findings to its frustratingly blind master.

Chapter End Notes

Sexual liberation and discovering the healing nature of touch is something that I
believe is rooted deeply in Gwyn's journey and is something I was excited to write
about.

As an advocate for removing the taboo on sex and promoting sexual education, I really
loved writing the open and honest sisterly conversation that Gwyn and Nesta shared
here. I love Nesta for so many reasons and one of them is that I believe - through the
learnings of her own journey - there would be no conversation she would not have
with someone she loved, to ensure they were validated, safe and reassured in
themselves.
I wanted Gwyn to feel comfortable seeking her own pleasure at the hand of herself
before she ever found it elsewhere.

I also found a lot of joy in writing about the beauty of Azriel's hands, which I believe
is a concept rooted in my love for writing from the 'female gaze'. This will be a
common theme throughout the fic, and I wanted to point out that despite Azriel's
obvious physical beauty, Gwyn seems to find attraction in the places he would see as
his flaws and in places, no other would regard with affection.

His hands, his shadows, his work... She loves all of it, every dark part of him.

Any constructive feedback would be appreciated on this chapter, as I know this is a

contentious topic given the nature of Gwyn being an SA survivor.

Lou x
 Taigh Sàbhailte
Chapter Notes

Follow me on tumblr @beaumaismortel and tiktok @venusandvirtue x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

At precisely fifteen minutes passed five o’clock and exactly ten minutes before she had to leave to
meet Azriel on the rooftop for training, Gwyn was ready.

She had her new, tightly fitting yet comfortable training leathers on - all the straps and buttons
fixed into place - and her hair twisted into a long, elegant braid down her side.

The remnants of her light breakfast were left neatly on the desk by the window and her boots with
their viscously time-consuming laces had just been tied into place, when a knock sounded at her
door.

Politely loud and unhurried - she knew instantly who was darkening her doorstep.

The sound of the seven clicks of the locks was deafening in the silent morning air as she opened it
to reveal Azriel… dressed not in his leathers, but in more casual attire instead.

Odd.

She rose a brow in warning, “You’re not cancelling on me, are you Shadowsinger?” Gwyn
desperately hoped her little breakdown yesterday didn't scare him half to death, and that he had
come to release her from the bounds of her mission and check her into the loony bin.

Instead, he just shook his head, no doubt of her skill showing in that lovely face of his as he said,
“No not at all…”

She sighed in relief, “Good, you have no idea how long it takes me to take this hellish contraption
off…” Gesturing down to her laced and buckled leathers, she earned a chuckle from him.

Her mind was clearly still in the gutter she left it in the night previous, as it wondered how long
exactly it might take him, to remove these pesky leathers.

Perhaps he’d just take Truth Teller and slice them right down the middle...

Mother help her.

“That’s the bad news…” He began, all be it, with a little sympathy, “Our training requires civilian
clothes today, you’re going to need to change into something a little less… frightening to the
public.” That ghost of a smile waded on his lips, and she let out an easy laugh infused with a groan.

“And what if I like being frightening to the public?”

Gwyn tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing in her mind at the mention of being in public. Which
only meant one thing, Velaris city centre.
“I have no doubt the people of Velaris will be shaking in their boots if you wear a gown,
Gwyneth.”

The remark struck her like a bolt of fresh lightning, and she swore the broken bond sang a light
melody and pulled at her lonesome ribcage, threatening to tug her forward, into him.

The shadows seemed to have the same wicked idea, as they darted playfully around her boots, as if
wanting to trip her forth into their master’s chest.

But, embarrassment rose in her for an entirely different reason and her cheeks flushed with crimson
as she looked down to mask it, “I… I don’t really have much to wear…”

She felt pathetic admitting that, but before she could cringe or hear Azriel’s response, something
soft and smooth fell from seemingly nowhere in the ceiling, sliding off her head and into her
nimble grip.

A lovely white dress - of conservative length and yet, cinched in at the waist to emphasise the
curvature of a female's form. The bodice was crafted in wonderfully beautiful detail and was
complete with sheer blouson sleeves for the light weather.

It was something, entirely too pretty for a training session.

And it seemed the aphrodisiac dinner was not the end of this apparent crusade. Gwyn couldn’t help
but conclude that the House once again, was up to its old tricks. Which were, completely
inappropriate and entirely unhelpful.

Azriel’s eyes were wide as he remarked quietly, “It really does seem to like you more than
Nesta…”

“Oh, you have no idea…” She shook her head, making to close the door, “Give me an hour to take
these bloody leathers off and I’ll be out…”

Gwyn didn’t bother to lock the door behind her, not when a 6’5 Illyrian warrior with a martyr
complex was lingering at a surely gentlemanly distance just outside.

Mother above.

Gwyn felt utterly ridiculous.

The dress was more something that a sister would lend for a first date and less something to
exercise drills in espionage in – but, with the House’s generosity ending where that dress began and
no other options appearing when she politely asked for something ‘more plain’ - she had little
choice in the matter.

Sighing in resignation, she slipped on the silver slippers that she had been gifted the night before
and strode out of the door, not even bothering to look the Shadowsinger in the eye as she walked
past him.

They silently made their way up to the rooftop as Gwyn’s nervousness began to rattle in her chest
and twitch in her fidgeting fingers, “So…Velaris then?”

He gave a stifled nod as she turned around to see him drenched in the morning light.

“We’re going to ease into crowds today and do some surveillance training if that’s okay with you?”
There was something altogether strange about seeing him dressed this way. A cotton black shirt
and matching trousers. He still wore boots, but not the heavy combat ones that she was used to
seeing on him. As if he were a normal male and not a soldier capable of razing a whole town to the
ground.

She agreed to the plan somewhat distractedly and perhaps that was for the best.

The intricate pattern of his Illyrian tattoos peaked from under the neckline of his shirt, and she let
herself ponder just for a moment, what they looked like in full form. Before, ever so quickly,
turning away to hide the curiosity that likely bloomed pink on her face.

“We’ll have to fly, unfortunately… because of the ward that prevents winnowing…”

Gwyn considered being so close to him for a long moment of hesitation and Azriel must have
construed that pause as apprehension for an entirely different reason. One that involved the very
topic of their woodland floor discussion yesterday.

“Or…” He offered with a carefully easy, casual tone, “We can take the steps, which is always a
good bit of cardio…”

Gwyn let out a scoff and turned to him, then gestured to her attire, “You just made me change into
a dress and slippers, I’m not walking down three thousand steps – and walking back up in these
measly things.” It was true, the blisters alone would be horrendous. “Let’s fly.”

His wings expanded as he took a few tentative steps towards her, and she steadied her mind,
readying for the onslaught of his delicious scent, of the frankly indecent way his body felt as it
cradled hers.

The Mother had a particularly cruel sense of humour today and Gwyn wasn’t laughing.

“May I?” He asked, as always, giving her the opportunity to make the choice of whether he was
allowed to touch her body. And though it was practically commonplace for him to do so, her heart
seemed to compound a little at the gesture.

“Yes…” She breathed, cowardly averting her stare to somewhere in the distance.

He lifted her with tender gentleness, despite the brute strength forged in the sheer muscle peeking
through that God's damned shirt.

How on earth did he make a shirt appear obscene? It was a crime.

Gwyn tried not to register that the hardness of his chest was pressed into her side and those lovely,
capable hands were wrapped securely under her knees and at her ribs. There was nothing salacious
about the touch, of that he was always extremely mindful, but the feeling was just the same.

They took off and her mind flickered to the last time she had been in this very position…

As if thinking the same, he said quietly, “Are you okay?”

She nodded before saying, “I can’t actually believe I let you watch me vomit…”

A grin crackled through his concentrated expression as they began to soar over the brilliant city
soaked in the first light of dawn. A city which, she had never properly been in.

The River House was situated in a more quiet, pocket of the city, not encumbered by the hustle and
bustle of the valleyed metropolis below.

She focused on the feeling of Azriel’s heartbeat and the mountains in the distance to distract her
from the anxiety those thoughts and worries manifested into.

“If there’s one thing I have seen, it is far worse from far drunker and less respectable faeries,
Gwyn…”

Somehow, knowing Cassian, she believed it.

Her mind, as if committed to distracting her, went to Balthazaar and she removed her hands which
had found their way to his broad shoulders to palm her face. “I can’t believe I was actually going to
go home with him… That boy.”

She heard Azriel chuckle in a low reverberating hum and Gwyn could have sworn he ever-so-
slightly tightened his grip around her, “You’re the same age…”

“Really?” She shook her head in bewildered amusement, before turning to glance up at him. It was
a distance far too close for her heart's liking, but despite herself, she stayed. “How do you know
that…”

Those telling hazel eyes darted away from hers and she knew that she had caught him in some sort
of trap.

“I may have gathered intel on him…After the mating ceremony.”

Her mouth fell open in a wide gape as she stared up at him in shock, “You can’t be serious?” A
wild giggle loosed from her lips as she felt the slow descension, “You used your Night Court spies
to check up on some poor boy who tried his luck with me?”

Azriel wasn’t sharing her humoured disposition, “I was curious… and he was entirely too drunk to
be asking that of you.” The disproval mixed with the lack of apology rang through his tone.

“Oh, come on, he’s actually quite nice. Nesta adores him … And you know, he asked very
politely, there was no assumption in it…”

Azriel did not appear the least bit convinced about her assessment of Balthazaar’s character -
which made her grin with barely composed amusement even more.

“Your standard for males should be higher than some ambitious Artosian with a modest degree – at
best - of respect for females and social propriety, Gwyneth…”

They landed with the softest thud to the cobblestone floor in a quiet alleyway, and she quickly leapt
from his arms, desperately severing herself from him.

“Well then, let me know when your spy network finds someone worth my time… Perhaps you
could sneak into their dental records too and assure me they have all their teeth…”

Gwyn had quickly found a delicious new sport in the form of teasing him. Such a protective sneak
of a busybody this male was.

“Very funny, Gwyneth…” He chided her back, quickly darting his gaze about the alleyway to
observe where the shadows had skittered off to – ensuring their safety probably.

The sudden realisation that she was in the city – one that always seemed so far away from the
mountain she had lived - hit her and almost had her grasping for the brick wall that she had been
standing next to.

Her mind was set upon with the sounds of the street beyond, the caws of the birds and the high
walls that encased around her. Something began spinning, either the world or her head, Gwyn
didn’t know. Suddenly, she clenched her eyes shut, just for a moment to centre everything again.

The familiar sensation of a wisp of coolness crept up her arm and nuzzled into the crook of her
neck and she knew, right then and there, that he was near and watching her.

“Sorry…” She murmured, shaking her head, “Just…Just need a moment…”

“Don’t apologise…”

Gwyn took a few large inhales of breath and then, steeled herself, looking up and finding the eyes
that always seemed to calm her from the wildest of raging storms in her mind.

“I’m good…”

Azriel ran a discerning gaze down her features - looking for a trace of a lie, no doubt - and slowly
nodded in reply.

“There’re a few places we can go, the Palace of Thread and Jewels is just a few streets over if
you’re feeling adventurous, but, it is inside and it does get busy sometimes, especially in the
mornings. There’s a park I can fly us to that would be quiet so early in the day… Or, we’re not too
far from a little open-air café by the river…”

The choice, he was giving her the choice of just how far she wanted to push her limits. And
although it was something so small, something in her chest flipped over itself.

“Food and the Sidra sound pretty good right now…” she mused trying not to look too
overwhelmed, “I’ll take the café.”

He gave a quick nod, and they ventured forth down the slowly busying street, Azriel staying close
beside her to assure she wasn’t alone - but not close enough to compromise the personal space that
she desperately needed. Somehow, he always knew.

One brilliant thing that Gwyn had quickly discovered about walking around the city of Velaris was
that upon seeing Azriel, even with his wings contracted politely and casual attire, most fae either
blanched in terror and crossed the street or simply averted their gaze and gave them a wide birth.

And although it was absolutely wonderful for her nerves, she did wonder if that ever bothered him.
That people saw him as the infamously cruel Illyrian Spymaster for the High Lord first and not just
the male he was. Although, by the impression she was given from his cold expression and the
shadows’ equally menacing tendrils that lifted about his shoulders and spine as if they were vipers
ready to strike, perhaps he didn’t mind the absence of their welcoming ease.

He could never be such a devil to her though, not when Gwyn had seen true darkness and hate -
and lived to tell the tale. Not when his hands looked like salvation and his voice was some sort of
dark hymn. As in the stories of old, those that appeared to be the villains were often too busy
picking up the hero's slack to bother with such things as painted glory.

But she had long learnt to read between the lines carefully and so, she saw Azriel for what he was.

Gwyn was every bit as wonderfully captivated by the city as she was supremely terrified and more
than once did she find herself instinctually reaching to grip Azriel’s hand as they made their way
down to the riverbank that flowed at the end of the street. Luckily for her, she had found her
common sense before actually doing so.

Azriel pulled out the chair for her at the quaint café called 'Aislinn's' that peeked out from the river
boardwalk. Around twelve little tables and chairs littered the outdoor space, with more inside. Her
eyes lit up as the polite, green-skinned female gave her a smile and a menu - which was full of the
most decadent-sounding tarts, pastries and cakes. They all had fancy names, the recipes for such
things only found in the expert culinary section of the library.

A section she had frequented once or twice when feeling bold enough to try baking for the other
Priestesses, something which she had found a frustratingly difficult artform to master.

“Anything catch your eye?” Azriel asked, too casually.

She bit her lip, her gaze finding the menu again, there were so many options. And truthfully, she
wanted everything.

So instead, she decided to do a little of her own reconnaissance, using the opportunity to find what
more she could about the male opposite her. “Why don’t you order for us and I can order next
time…”

He rose his brows and nodded, and she internally cringed at the assertion she had made that he
would be taking her for a next time.

But, glancing down at the menu again, and then surveying the array of fae who were happily
lounging at the café with their friends and lovers, that embarrassment quickly subsided. If this was
how she was going to become better at dealing with crowds and noises, perhaps it wasn’t so bad.

One day, Gwyn thought, she could even be one of the females with her friends sipping tea and
laughing, like the ones in the corner.

Normal.

Azriel ordered a surprisingly long list of treats each one sounding more enticing than the last and
even ordered them a pot of tea called ‘Velaris Breakfast’.

Soon enough, the assortment of pretty-looking sweets landed on their table and her eyes greedily
noted the beautiful way they were crafted. The cream icing had been swirled like sugary petals on
the orange cake and the shiny glaze had been coated with finesse on the decadent fruit tart.

“If you don’t like anything, we can order more…” Azriel’s voice cut through her appreciative stare
as her head whipped up to meet it.

“The only thing I’m wondering is how I’m going to manage to share these with you…” Gwyn
laughed, taking a small fork and prodding at the custard tart closest to her. It was almost a shame
to ruin such a thing of perfect beauty - but her hunger won over quickly.

The scent of the tea found her nose before it was placed down next to her plate, a delicate aroma of
pretty petals with notes of fruit, bergamot and something stronger that she couldn’t place made her
sigh with keen delight. The library only served green and peppermint tea to the Priestesses and
Gwyn wondered if she may be able to buy some to gift to Roslyn and Deidre to try.

Azriel seemed content to observe her as she discovered all these things he probably deemed as
normal and run-of-the-mill.
But to Gwyn, all of it was… luxury.

Somehow, the tea tasted better than it smelled. “This is wonderful…”

“Rhys’s mother used to drink this tea all the time…” He said, stirring milk into his cup with
practised ease – and for a moment, it was an effort not to smile at how his large stealthy hands
looked as they held such fine bone china. “It’s not something found in Illyria, but she would make
it for us before we went to bed every evening.”

“If I could, I would drink this or the rest of my life…”

Suddenly, the sound of shattering, broken crockery cut through the beauty of the moment and
Gwyn’s spine stiffened as she froze. A few tables over, the waitress had accidentally dropped a
teacup and saucer, the small pieces of china smashing to the ground and scattering around.

Reality began to fall to the wayside. Her blood chilled and the hair on the back of her neck went
ramrod straight as she desperately tried to not recall the way that awful sound mirrored how the
convent plates smashed to the floor of the kitchen, as the Hybernian soldier had gripped her hair
and pushed her into the open crockery cabinet.

It was a cutting symphony, of ear-shattering and lip-splitting pain.

Azriel’s voice seemed to be closer, like he had moved to crouch down next to her at the table,
“Let’s go, I’m taking you home.”

Her hands balled into fists as she closed her eyes, counting down from thirty as her nails cut in
those familiar, crescent-shaped spaces. “No… I just…”

She could do this. She was the rock against which the sea crashes.

“Come on… We can fly off right here.”

Gwyn shook her head, focusing on the lovely rich tone of his voice, the scent of him. Night chilled
mist and cedar flooded her lungs and the contorted her muscles in her back seemed to relax. All of
her senses had clutched onto him like a lifeline, and it wasn’t until Gwyn carefully opened her eyes
that she realised her hand was over his – that she had reached for him.

Azriel’s attention was glued to her. His wings were slightly outstretched as if ready to take flight at
any moment and his shadows had fallen around them in a thinly veiled curtain, as if to shield her
from some invisible force.

Gwyn looked to where he had crouched next to her, summoning resolution in her voice as she said,
“No, I want to stay…” When he didn’t appear to be remotely convinced, she added, “Please.”

An internal war waged in the irises of his eyes, until he finally nodded and sat back down. Though
the same couldn’t be said for his shadows, which stayed completely with her - as if dismissing their
master entirely.

She gave out a nervous laugh as she felt more of herself seep through and dilute the panic. “Don’t
fuss…” Flicking one of them playfully with her finger, Gwyn gave them a warning glare, though
her smile still remained.

And perhaps if she were to be honest, the feeling of their cool touch was as reassuring as it was
soothing.
Azriel pushed four plates in front of her with a look that only meant, ‘you better eat,’ and she
obliged him, happily.

“Okay…” He exhaled once she had eaten more than her stomach could handle as if he had been
holding his breath for all that time. “Time for our first lesson…”

With a keen nod, she put down the fork and took a quick sip of her tea, before turning her attention
onto the male in front of her. Her heart still beat a little rapidly and her fingers shook in the cup
ever so softly, but Gwyn was intent to see this through.

She was stronger than the current that pushed against her and she knew it.

“Picture something that you find unthreatening…”

“Okay…”

Glistening shades of pristine, rippling azure fell over her eyelids. The bustle of the café was
muffled by the sound of softly moving water waving through the scene before her. The sun shone
like a gilded light above, and the shade of the ocean tapered down brilliantly from turquoise to teal
and then, to a lovely cobalt before descending into the darkness of a mysterious trench.

“May I ask what you’re picturing?”

Gwyn tried not to smirk as she said the words, “You, holding truth teller…”

She didn’t have to open her eyes to know that Azriel had that same mix of shock and amusement
plastered on his stupidly handsome face. And perhaps her mind lingered there for a moment too
long…

“Berdara…” He warned, although there was no threat laced in the delicate way he said her
surname.

She had always hated her surname. Out of all the ones in the world, she was lumped with Berdara.
It was something as plain as it was unremarkable to behold – but coming from his lips in that
velvet soft baritone, perhaps Gwyn thought, she might learn to like it yet.

“The sea…” Gwyn amended the trace of a smile from her joke still lingering on her lips.

A small pause and then, “Have you ever been to the seaside?” Though it was nigh undetectable,
she could hear the glimmer of surprise in his tone.

“I do read, Shadowsinger,” her irreverent tone shone through the words masterfully.

She imagined him raising a brow at the arrogant remark, perhaps he also tilted his head in the way
he did when he was asking the girls to refocus during training – it was, she had discovered, Azriel’s
own display of amused exasperation.

“I do hope so,” he remarked in reply, the tone of his dry wit soaking the words, “otherwise
Merrill’s foul disposition might actually make some sense after all.”

Gwyn let out an indelicate snort, and she bit her lip to suppress the beaming smile that wanted so
badly to form on her lips. Quickly, she began to recover, willing her face into that mask of
Spymaster indifference that she had been practising.

“Are you looking upon the sea or are you under it?”
“Under it, floating beneath, I mean…”

A few heartbeats passed, and she could tell he was nodding, “Okay, now slowly picture the sea
becoming gradually more populated…”

She did as he said, and small schools of fish swam past her and into the scene.

Some were a lovely silver with flaming red spots. They were the fast ones, yet their stroke was
effortlessly graceful. Swimming in from the other direction were ones of delicate purple and gold
stripes, these were slower, with lovely wide fins for joyful gliding.

“Keep going until the entire sea is full… and then, picture yourself swimming through them…”
Azriel’s low voice was trained into calm instruction and it almost complemented the sounds of the
crashing waves she imagined brewing above her.

Eventually, the entirety of her sea was full of fantastical creatures, big and small. Though, unlike
the findings in ‘Herron’s Guide To The Aquatic Life of the Summer Court’ - a book she had read at
some point in her time in the library, none of them posed any risk to one another.

They all just floated and glided around the lovely sapphire expanse of bliss.

Even the midnight black sharks, dark like the depths they had risen from, had merely swam by the
school of fish as if they were nothing but casual friends passing each other in the street.

Her gaze found the shark hovering above the busy scene, apart from all the others. Its lovely fins
were stretched wide like shields and its discerning gaze, shrewd yet soft, was watching the
happenings that unfolded carefully below.

Protecting, she had realised.

And with that in mind, Gwyn began to swim, her hands reaching out like her own flippers. They
were long and webbed like her sister’s had been, and they propelled her forward into the thrall of
life she had envisioned for herself.

It was nothing short of divine.

“This place is where you need to go, if you ever feel like you’re in that state where it gets too
much…”

She nodded, still lost in the euphoric fantasy of it.

“Now, when you’re ready, open your eyes…”

Gwyn didn’t want to, she wanted to stay in the abyss of serene calm forever.

Eventually though, she did as she was told and her eyes met familiar ones of lovely hazel as she
came back into the world - into the reality of the café. Her pulse had slowed, her mind had stilled
and there was something…peaceful about it…Like Azriel had just bottled tranquillity and had
poured it into her tea.

“Where did you learn that?”

He frowned, looking away for a moment as if debating whether to tell her or not. Quietly, he
murmured, “My mother.”

Gwyn didn’t ask the one thousand questions that came to the tip of her tongue. She didn’t even
know that his mother was alive. After learning that Rhysand and Cassian’s were both dead, she had
just…assumed his mother had met the same sad fate. She had never come up in conversation
before.

“It’s…” She searched for the words, somehow losing her usual ability to form and spew them at
lightning speed, “I don’t feel anxious anymore…”

He gave her a soft smile, the gilded midday sun glinting off his tanned skin, painting him a deep
gold. “It’s called ‘taigh sàbhailte’…Would you practice it with your mind stilling exercises?”

Gwyn gave an eagerly committal nod, eyes brimming with curiosity at the concept she had never
read about.

“Taigh sàbhailte…” She sounded out the foreign lilt of the syllables as if tasting them on her
tongue like one of the pretty desserts before them, “…is that old Illyrian?”

Azriel took a sip of his own tea, before nodding, “Yes, it means ‘safe house’…”

Gwyn wondered what his safe house looked like… But she wouldn’t ask, not unless he chose to tell
her. It seemed personal and the way he reacted to the mention of his mother was enough for her to
proceed with caution.

They sat at that lovely riverside café for an hour and Azriel, ever the shrewd observer, ordered
more ‘Velaris Breakfast’ tea when her eyes travelled down with sorrow to the empty teapot that she
had readily drained.

He had wonderful taste in tea and sweets, a trait which both amused and intrigued her.

Never in her wildest dreams, would Gwyn have thought the infamously feared, undoubtedly tough
Spymaster of the Night Court would take a liking to such wonderfully superfluous things as tea and
cake.

It was a secret she would keep under lock and key - and perhaps, would remember for his
birthday… If she ever learnt when that was, of course.

As Gwyn indulged in cake after cake, Azriel slowly talked her through the art of surveillance. An
artform of discrete observation that called for both the ability to be attentive to small details yet
remain inconspicuous to those around.

The sum of surveillance, he had informed her, was recognising what was absent more than what
was present.

“If the person next to you is dressed in fine clothes but wears comfortable boots instead of dress
shoes… you can assume that perhaps they may be dressed to run at any moment and not for the
finery their attire might suggest…”

It was like discovering a whole new genre of literature she wanted to plough through. Gwyn had
read mysteries before, of course, they were one of her favourite types of books. But this was like
mystery, intrigue and secrecy rolled into one incredibly difficult skill she just had to master.

A skill, she would master.

“Similarly, if someone appears to be dressed like a tourist…” He rose his chin to gesture to the fae
walking by on the river boardwalk, a map in their hands, and dressed in slightly odd clothing for
the midmorning temperature of a Velaris spring… “But they are walking as if they know exactly
where they are going, that is instantly suspicious…”

She nodded, taking another bite of the decadent piece of éclair on her fork as she watched those
that passed by, the perspective illuminating some game for her to silently play.

And in a way, it steadied her mind, gave her something to think about instead of fear and worry.

Their gazes steadied on a well-dressed female just past marrying age, she pushed an expensive-
looking pram and to her left, a well-behaved toddler was clutched at her hand. “Tell me what you
see…”

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed as she took a moment to survey the female, her clothes, her posture and
then, the children.

“She’s not the mother…” Gwyn surmised, taking another sip of her tea and then, looking back to
Azriel.

Something danced in his eyes and a small smile twitched at his lips, “Why do you think that?”

She gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head, “I was raised in a convent full of children and there
came a time where my sister and I were the eldest and all the rest were significantly younger…”
Her eyes flicked back to the child with a nostalgic grin, they had almost cleared from their line of
sight. “The older Priestesses that looked after us were kind but not necessarily loving and so I
suppose, they saw Catrin and I, who played with them and read to them, more as mother figures
than the matronly females that presided over our care. They were always so well behaved with
those Priestesses - shoes always shined, never complained or scrapped with one another…They
saved all that business for us."

"Why do think that is?"

She shrugged, "Because they felt more comfortable with us, I suppose... It's natural, I guess, we're
often the least perfect version of ourselves when we're around those we trust the most.”

Azriel considered that philosophy with interest, “Did you mind it? That responsibility?”

She didn’t let the shock of the personal question which flowed so easily from his lips show on her
features. “No… If anything, it gave me purpose, something to care for and keep my mind
occupied…”

It fell silent between them as he seemed to be deep in thought. She broke it moments later, “So to
answer your question Shadowsinger, that is most definitely a nanny… New to the post, I would
assume, given the unfamiliarity the toddler had with her - normally they chat and chat and chat…”
Gwyn made a snapping gesture with her thumb and fingers.

He gave her a wide smile of approval, one she had rarely seen before and perhaps it was the most
wonderful thing she had ever seen. “I’ll keep that in mind for when Nyx gets older…Knowing his
father, we’ll all need earplugs.”

Gwyn let out a laugh, something like faerie bells and siren songs.

Slowly, a challenging glint found Azriel’s gaze and he leaned forward, “What about an aunt? Or
a… distant mother?”

Gwyn shook her head in resolute decision, “No… An aunt would be more playful, often more so
than an actual mother, and the children would definitely be more spoiled looking…And a distant
mother…” Her chin tilted, gaze turning distant in thought, “A distant mother of that social class, if
their nice clothing and expensive effects account for wealth that is, would most likely not be taking
her children on a leisurely walk by the Sidra on a Thursday…I imagine there are much more posh
places to go around here for the fancy sort…”

Sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, he slowly nodded, gaze hinting with pride, “Nice
work, Berdara. That’s a pass.”

“I think you’ll find that’s actually a high distinction, Shadowsinger…” She corrected him with that
lovely, irreverent grin.

Azriel let out a breathy laugh accepting the correction while shaking his head, "You're
observant..."

Gwyn let out a soft sigh, "The Priestesses are trained in the Mother's way of mind healing, because
of the kind of girls that come to the library, I suppose... You learn patience, to look for things
hidden on people's faces without asking outright how they feel. You end up learning how to react
to them or find what they might need that way..."

He nodded and surveying their empty plates and cups, readied for them to leave. "Would you like
to walk a little, or fly straight home?"

She looked around, her gaze finding the beautiful azure of the glistening Sidra, the pretty city laden
with shops and other curious buildings that looked older than time itself and then replied, "Let's
walk..."

He nodded and started for the street they originally had come from. Gwyn followed suit, this time,
with a detail-honed, shrewd gaze, as they meandered back into the city centre.

Somehow, between the newfound hobby of observing those around them and the calm of feeling
centred, Gwyn couldn't help but find the city of starlight beautiful.
Chapter End Notes

Ahhhh some fluffy goodness to fill your cup this morning - it can't be dark and angsty
all the time.

This chapter is really dedicated to the fact that Gwyn is resilient and strong enough to
push past the boundaries that are holding her back and is bravely keen to try new
things, despite everything. Probably one of my favourite things about her.
I tend to worry that illuminating her perspective of processing her trauma tends to cast
her in more of a vulnerable light and I think it's necessary to say that I in no way intend
to frame her as weak. I imagine the way her friends see her while she is going through
this is still 'beautifully irreverent and cheery' Gwyn and I think that is what makes this
perspective so important to tell.

It's often those that seem as if they have it all together who are silently struggling the
most.

Something I really love writing is the way Azriel is slowly opening up to her, I truly
think under that steely exterior he's funnier and incredibly more interesting than he
may overtly seem. From ACOSF, it's clear that Gwyn tends to naturally put him at
ease and open that side of him up to the world - whether he realises it or not. Just by
being together, it seems they subconsciously help heal each other's wounds, which is
so cute to me.
By the way! 'Taigh Sàbhailte' is Gaelic and I opted to use that language as Illyrian
because of the way the Prythian map resembles that of the UK.

Let me know what you think on this one...

Lou x
 Cakes and Candles
Chapter Notes

Follow me on tiktok @venusandvirtue and tumblr on @beaumaismortel

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Azriel knew three things for absolute certain:

One, that he should not be in a pleasure house on his birthday.

Two, that he was drunk out of his mind.

And three, that he absolutely should stop thinking about Gwyneth Berdara, especially considering,
that he was currently fucking a redhead.

The female wasn’t his usual escort, the beautiful blonde Vaela, with who he had a long time
understanding and trust with.

No, tonight, he uncharacteristically asked for another. Vaela simply raised a brow with a smirk and
offered up some of her other girls around the crimson velvet-draped parlour, the ones that were
accustomed to his tastes and consenting to proclivities such as his.

His shadows hissed at him the entire time, telling him that he should go home.

What you are seeking you will not find here…

Quiet. Azriel let out a quiet huff as surveyed the next girl who shuffled a deck of cards at the table
with a wink.

Shadows know master better than himself…Shadows see what Master is blind to.

His patience was running thin with their riddles, Perhaps they should see then that I am not after
their unqualified opinion. Now leave, survey the perimeter or something.

Shadows has done that. Thrice now. Little shadow has been sent to keep watch.

There, perched on the stool at the gold and marble-clad cocktail bar. Azriel had been successfully
diverted from his shadow's incessant whining.

Finally, a distraction, the only gift he needs today.

It’s not that he was trying to think about Gwyn to propel a moment of heated mental fantasy in
order to make coming a possibility.

No.
In fact, it was entirely the opposite. Azriel was trying to not think about his friend who, to be very
clear, he respected and cherished – and who recently, he had come to regard with care.

But for some reason, she just kept floating there in the warring tides of his mind as he tried to do
anything he could to escape drowning.

He knew how sick it was for him to even mistakenly see her in that way. Knew it wasn’t his place
to note how her curves were those of some long-told myth of beautiful goddesses, or that her hair
was more rich and gleaming than a sirens. Or those eyes…

Fuck.

His lingering shadows undulated in mocking laughter at him.

Bastards.

Azriel really was a disgusting piece of shit.

He pounded deeper to assuage those indelicate and entirely inappropriate thoughts.

Her hair was more deep merlot than burnished copper, Azriel noted, as he grabbed a fistful of it at
the nape of her neck to disguise his hand from his own line of sight – the other wrapped loosely
around the girl’s neck. Something, he didn’t normally do unless the girl asked and this one, asked
in the first minute he was buried inside her.

He drowned out the sounds of her moans as he thrust into her. Every movement desperate for the
distraction he was trying to cling to.

The female's face, although sweet, bordered on plain. It was not that she was ugly, no. No one of
poor features was ever employed at this upmarket establishment. It’s just that she was…lacking
certain things.

With no spray of rusted freckles dusted over the bridge of her nose or luminescent sheen to her pale
skin...she appeared prosaic, somehow.

But that wasn’t a matter tonight, because Azriel had her strategically bent over the crimson silk
draped bed with her bony ass pointed in the air. And perhaps he was converting her to a more
religiously inclined life, because the prayers falling from her mouth said just as much.

The position, although pleasurable, was for an entirely different reason though.

It was something about the female’s eyes, a mossy green that had him flipping her around onto her
too-thin stomach.

The eyes had him a tad deterred. Too green, Azriel thought, like a murky pond found in The
Middle one wouldn’t want to wade through.

Somehow, not right. Not even just for a simple distraction.

Azriel had become well acquainted with the art of distraction. It had many deliciously effective
forms. Training, spying, flying and up until recently…fucking.

But for some reason, a trip to his usual haunt had him entirely too aware of everything in his mind.

Even when the sweet thing, who had become aware of his apparent absence of mind, handed him a
pair of silk ties for her hands. He felt oddly unsatisfied.
The entirely strange feeling blooming in his gut that this was somehow wrong.

An old Illyrian saying that his war camp commander lorded over them to perfect their skill was,
‘the devil is in the details’. And tonight, everywhere he glanced, the devil seemed to laugh at him.

And so, in all his efforts, and despite the dripping female and her heavy scent of arousal, he just…
couldn’t.

Mother help him what on earth was wrong with him?

He didn’t feel so bad leaving without being satisfied though. Azriel always paid double the going
rate, a small consolation for dealing with his shadows and hands. The latter of which, this girl
seemed to recoil from, despite being very good at disguising it.

And, he did make the girl come at least seven times before he had put his trousers back on and
picked up what was left of his broken pride somewhere in the alleyway that the pleasure house
backed onto.

It was the alcohol, Azriel thought.

Nothing else, he assured himself with a hazy nod.

Malt amber liquor was surely the major constituent of his bloodstream by now, as he, Cassian and
Rhysand had drained the River House reserves a few hours earlier.

Azriel had hated his birthday for as long as he could remember, it marked the day his mother’s life
was ruined by his birth and that sorry event had ensured she was chained to his prick of a father
forever.

Every birthday he spent in that dingy little cell when he was a boy, was always the worst day of the
year. His stepmother, a female as wicked as she was cunning, just happened to throw a huge
celebration in honour of herself every year on that very day. Although there were no windows in
his cell, he still could hear the distant sounds of music, laughter and the heavenly scent of freshly
baked cakes and sweets wafting down to the lower levels of the keep.

Being locked up in the cold and dark had sometimes felt normal, but on his birthday, he was
reminded of just how much he was missing, of just how different life could be.

His brothers knew his sentiments about this day well, and the low-key celebration that always
involved drinking and flying was somewhat of a tradition for the males - especially since Rhys had
returned from under the mountain.

Except, something felt different this year. When they were younger, they were unspoken for and
terribly wild and often the night would end in a colourful array of debauchery for all of them. But
Rhys was tired, his eyes permanently bloodshot from Nyx’s apparent distaste for sleep and Cassian
was newly mated, which meant he wouldn’t bare to be apart from Nesta for more than a few hours.
It seemed as if in the last few years, the earth had shifted so violently beneath their feet that their
lives had changed irrevocably in the process.

So there Azriel was, at the ripe age of five hundred and forty-one, his brothers occupied with their
new lives, as he, unmated with no children, snuck out of a pleasure house in the night district of
Velaris, alone.

Gwyn
Cauldron boil and fry her, Gwyneth Berdara was aflame. The novel that Nesta had lent her, a
steamy romance between a faerie of Spring and a demon from the underworld, had her pressing her
thighs together as her stomach flipped over.

She and the eldest Archeron had enjoyed a girl's night in, indulging in only the most decadent of
cake for dinner and a subsequent readathon, where they had exchanged books they were desperate
to talk to someone about with.

Cassian had drunkenly flown home, to some great miracle not damaging any buildings or
becoming lost in the sweeping winds to the sea and charged into the sitting room, demanding
Nesta’s company in bed and Gwyn’s sense to put on some earplugs. She had only laughed them off
and asked the house to silence the room for the sake of her own sanity, as her attention was buried
in the book once more.

It was a book as filthy as it was deliciously intriguing, the lady of Spring had made a deal with the
demon of the underworld, exchanging her hand in marriage for the price of helping to avenge her
mysteriously murdered sister.

Her toes curled under the thick knitted blanket as they had been forced into a bed chamber to
consummate their marriage. The demon did something to her that had long been on Gwyn’s mental
list of one-day sexual exploits, which involved his tongue and her opening her legs wide for him to
dine on her wet flesh.

Hades’ eyes found Persephone’s as his head dipped low and she couldn’t help but let out a
mewling cry as she felt his hot tongue glide over her centre.

“Just as I thought…” The dark demon smirked, his tongue licking the trace of her left on his lips,
“Sweet like spring honey…”

Suddenly, she heard the distant flapping of wings from outside on the balcony and the following
silence told her that someone on silent footsteps was about to walk through the doors that bisected
the dining room to the adjacent expansive sitting room she had been lounging in.

Azriel was fast on his feet, despite the fact he reeked of honeyed whiskey spun with night chilled
mist and warm cedar.

Gwyn thought about letting him get away with it, but between her lovely evening and newfound
pleasure in teasing him, as he desperately reached for the door, jaw clenched and tense to the long
corridor beyond, she found herself saying, “And where have you been, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of her voice as if she had scared the shit out of him.
A seemingly impossible task, or so she had thought.

His head tilted towards the equally hazy shadows in a glare as if they had done something wrong,
and then he turned with lethal slowness to face her.

She rose an assessing brow at his flushed disposition, the light rose to his cheeks, ruffle in his hair
from the strong winds and a lack of control in his gaze that usually was found there.

“You were out with Cassian, weren’t you?” She snorted, shaking her head, “Surely there’s some
law here about flying while inebriated…”

His eyes narrowed in amusement and Azriel’s tone was all velvet night as he replied, “Are you
telling me the great know-it-all, Gwyneth Berdara,” Azriel said her name slow and soft like a
midnight prayer, “Doesn’t have the ‘Velaris Book of Laws’ memorised and categorised neatly in
her brain?”

She didn’t quite know what had happened in the short duration of time in which he had spoken to
her, but suddenly, every inch of her flesh went red hot. Like fire and flood were competing in her
body.

Mother damn her.

But Gwyn found herself just grinning back at him irreverently, loving the sweet challenge laced
through their stares. “No more than great know-it-all Shadowsinger seemingly can’t detect
threats…”

Azriel’s gaze clouded in confusion as, even in his drunken state, he leapt to attention. The shadows
lazily glided along the floor, slugging like snails to her on the sofa, as if knowing themselves the
joke she was about to make.

She pointed to the door with a long sigh, “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you…”

He glanced with a brow raised in the direction she gestured to, inching ever so slightly forward and
wings slightly wider, “And why is that?”

“Because an hour ago, Cassian came home from wherever it is you have been and practically
dragged Nesta away - and something tells me they may not have made it to their bedroom…” It
wasn’t the first time, Gwyn had learnt, that Nesta and Cassian had enjoyed indulging their desires
in public spaces and she doubted it would be the last.

Gwyn smiled as she gestured to the walls haphazardly, “The house did me the favour of silencing
the room off…”

Keen delight flourished within her as Azriel’s eyes widened before he relaxed and gave a knowing
huff. The movement all but told her that he had dealt with this situation many times before.

On slow footsteps that almost sounded like a question if he could join her, he walked closer. Gwyn
gave him no reason to think he wasn’t welcome, and she simply watched, as he took a seat in the
armchair across from her that was furthest from the roaring fire.

Azriel glanced at her in a way that sent her tumbling straight to the depths of hell. There was
something about seeing him slightly unbound by his usual cold control that had her heart thumping
rigorously. “How long were you gonna give them?”

Gwyn kept her voice trained into casual conversation, “Well, I’ve heard conflicting reports, so, I
wasn’t sure…”

The edges of his lips twitched up as he relaxed into the back of the armchair, “And what is the
basis for these conflicting theories, Berdara?”

“I was under the assumption that alcohol negatively affected male virility and yet…” Her chin
tilted as she suppressed a small smile at the expense of Nesta and Cassian, “Something tells me the
mating bond might override that anatomical reaction.”

Amusement danced like shadowed stars in his eyes, “So we could theoretically be here for hours
before they stop debasing the corridor walls then?”
She gave him an easy laugh and nodded, turning back to her book to distract herself from him as
she said, “Please, feel free to go and break them up… Although, they say that the mating bond can
make for savagely territorial males, so perhaps get some siphons on you before you do.”

“It wouldn’t be Cassian I would be scared of…” He remarked with a dry smirk, “Nesta would
likely rip my wings from their bones before he could even lunge for me.”

Gwyn hummed in amused agreement, eyes once again darting from the pages of her book to Azriel,
“Are you hungry? Would you like some cake?”

There was a strange pause before his response, something like shock and then defensiveness
flickering in his gaze, “Cassian told you then?”

Her brow arched, “Told me what?”

She looked at him as he shook his head, seemingly dismissing the question with his own silence.
Gwyn gave out a huff of great annoyance and called to the House for a slice of the cake she and
Nesta had eaten for dinner.

The bat could use a meal before he went to bed with all that liquor. And perhaps Gwyn thought it
was some menial semblance of repayment for the way he had looked after her the night she had
overindulged.

A fat piece of rich cheesecake topped with plump berries practically fell on his lap, the spoon
landing somewhat deliberately on his head a moment later. A gesture from the House Gwyn did not
miss for a moment.

Azriel eyed the cake, finding some deep internal conversation with himself as he did.

Gwyn, somewhat confused, turned back to her book, although it was difficult to read about the
demon and the Lady of Spring cavorting so explicitly, with Azriel right there. Mother help her if he
dared ask what the book was about.

He poked and prodded at the cake with the silver spoon, and she found herself distracted once
again from the pages.

“Do you not like berry cheesecake?”

“No…” Hazel eyes met her own slightly irritated ones as he shook his head, before glancing back
down again and mumbling, “It’s actually my favourite.”

Little did Gwyn know, that for the first time in his five hundred and forty-one years, Azriel had
been given a birthday cake. And perhaps, it was the loveliest thing he ever tasted.

Something about the gesture made that gap he had been trying so hard to fill all evening with drink
and meaningless release, feel a little more full.
Chapter End Notes

Oh Azriel, well we all knew this was coming.

I know some people may find this chapter a somewhat unflattering depiction of his
character, but I honestly believe this to be true to form.
Its important to me that this fic highlights how broken and lonely they both are and
this chapters purpose was to highlight how Azriel deals with that. I think he resorts to
paying for pleasure for the same reasons he avoids relationships with available
females. There is a deep-rooted self-hatred that he, unfortunately, struggles with, and
deep down, I don't think he feels worthy of genuine love or affection - so he resorts to
paying for it or seeking it from people he know won’t give it back to him.
Please let me know your thoughts, I'd love to hear them!
Also if anyone is confused I kind of see the shadows as referring to themselves in third
person for some reason, I think its a tad endearing, I don't know.

Lou x
 The Art of Taking
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Gwyn

The sun beat down in a lovely spray of spring warmth and Gwyn welcomed the sensation with a
sigh as the rays cut through the chilly wind whirling around her. Velaris was busy today, especially
in the square they now found themselves in.

Over the last few days, Azriel had brought her into the city centre to practice various surveillance
skills and with every passing day, she grew slightly less rigid about being so exposed to the
bustling culture that she was immersed in.

Their days would usually start with specified physical training in the woodland. Training designed
to mirror what strength she might need to assuage threats that may lurk in the Autumn Court, such
as stealth running, dagger throwing and tree climbing, all of which had kept her lean body strong
and muscular. Then, they would go back to the house, eat a quick lunch and change into civilian
attire to train in the city centre in the afternoon.

Although demanding, it was a schedule that Gwyn had come to like, the unique variance of it
replacing her old days of Cassian’s training and library work fittingly.

Her eyes stayed focused on Azriel’s back and though he wore a black shirt, she could practically
trace the sheer muscular form that lay beneath. It really was obscene to be that attractive even from
behind.

'Undetected following' was her lesson for today and she had been trailing him for over an hour now
as he walked aimlessly through the streets which were crowded with afternoon fare.

It seemed at first an easy task, but she soon realised what level of difficulty lay in simply remaining
undiscovered, while hunting someone in the thrall of a busy street. The trick was, he had told her,
to adjust the distance between yourself and the target in fluctuating intervals. This way, if the target
were to turn around twice it was likely they would not see you more than once and your identity
was not regarded as suspicious.

As always, the task became gradually more difficult as the hour went on and Gwyn was practically
panting by the time he had finally stopped by the Palace of Thread and Jewels because his pace
had increased to just shy of a run.

“Well? How did I do?”

He turned, the afternoon sun licking his tanned features to paint them in a golden glow, “You did
well, your footwork was light and your distances were varied enough to be unassuming…”
Crossing his arms and leaning on the stone building behind him he added, “Although, you need to
work on corners, they’re the most dangerous time that you can be discovered because the target has
you in their line of sight…”

A crease appeared between Gwyn’s eyes as she nodded, filing the point of feedback away for
later.
“… and in the field, you can’t just keep your attention on the target the entire time, you have to act
as if you’re meandering. Perhaps next time stop briefly to look at a shop window or, pretend to
deliberate which way to go at a crossing…”

“What if I lose them in that time?”

Azriel’s answer was quick, “It’s unlikely you’ll lose them if they don’t suspect they’re being
followed, creatures are very predictable things…But if you do lose them, you can always track
them, which will be our next lesson.”

Gwyn wondered how the bond might be advantageous to her ability to track him and she silently
hoped she never had to actually put that theory to use in the field.

“That’s all for today, good job.” As always, a gentle smile of reassurance graced his features as he
said the words.

She nodded, glancing across the market square to the little shop they had wandered past before,
“Would you mind if I just had a look somewhere first? It’s okay if you don’t have the time but…”

Amusement and something warm glinted in his eyes at the request, as Azriel answered quietly,
“We can go wherever you like, Berdara.”

Smiling back at him she began to wander over to the shop, the large sign hanging above the door
reading Rosetta Books. Perhaps it was silly, but Gwyn had never once been to a bookshop before
and despite spending the previous years of her life in a library, there was something intriguing
about the concept.

Owning books, not just borrowing them.

Gwyn owned only three books, all of which were gifted to her - if you don’t count the ones the
House had graciously placed in her little parlour of course. Two were Sellyn Drake romance
novels, Winter Solstice gifts from Nesta and Emerie and the other, was a text on the Valkyrie,
which Cassian had bought every one of his trainees as a form of congratulation for their strides in
achievement once they finished the Blood Rite qualifier.

Perhaps it seemed a menial thing, but Gwyn treasured those books dearly. Loved that they were
hers and hers only. Liked that there was no expectation to give them back, so she could read at
whatever pace she pleased and then, could read them again whenever she liked. In an act that
would have her scrubbing the stairs for months if she did it in the library, she even took to
underlining her favourite passages in ink and occasionally writing notes in the margins of the pages
that spoke to the meaning of the text.

The shop was charmingly ancient. The front was painted a beautiful shade of deep blue and had
flower pots hanging from the white windows that flanked the door. A delicate bell jingled as she
pushed open the wooden door carved intricately with illustrations of stacked, heavy tomes.

And Mother above, it was one of the most lovely things she had ever seen.

The shop had high ceilings, which was convenient, because the heavily stocked shelves stretched
right up to meet them, making the walls appear as if they were simply made of books and not wood
or stone.

Books, everywhere, both antiquarian and new. Unlike the library, it was bright and airy, the space
illuminated ethereally by the glass ceiling that acted as a skylight. It wasn’t particularly large, and
the thin rows of organised shelves which were neatly labelled, made it look even more quaint. But
still, there was something majestic about it.

And that smell. The smell of parchment and ink pressed into one and bound in soft buttery leather.
She breathed it in greedily.

A black cat purred from the counter, the only sign of anyone else in the shop.

“Rosetta’s is the oldest bookshop in the Night Court… I should have guessed you would’ve liked
it.” Azriel said softly as he politely left her to her gawking and strolled down the 'history' aisle.

By the time she was finished trawling every aisle, no genre going unvisited, the sun was setting
through the glass ceiling above them in a magnificent gleam of tangerine and gold. Gwyn didn’t
have enough hands for all the things she wanted to buy, but, she kept everything she wanted on the
shelves on which they lived. She had no idea how to access her bank account, never even thought
to ask when Rhysand had been so generous with her. Perhaps, she would go to the bank the next
time she came to the city to rectify that, but now, she simply mentally listed all the things she
wanted on her own bookshelf one day.

Her own books.

Azriel appeared in the 'mystery' section next to her, as her eyes greedily drank in the blurb of a
book called Seven Seas of Secrets, an intriguing pirate mystery she desperately needed to stay up all
night to read.

Her cheeks went warm as she glanced up to him, realising he was there and waiting for her, “Sorry,
I got a little sidetracked, there’s just so much here… Books I’ve never even seen in the library...”

His lips twitched to evidence the hint of a smile, as his gaze fell to her empty hands. “You’re not
getting anything?”

Gwyn didn’t want to admit that she had no money with her, so she simply said, “I don’t want to
make any brash decisions. I’ll think on it and maybe come back another time.”

Something told her the shadow that caressed his ear had ratted her out for the liar she was because
he only sighed deeply and took the book from her hand, adding it on top of the one he had found
for himself.

She frowned as he said nothing, walking past her and towards the counter. “Oh, you don’t have to
do that…”

But he was already placing coins on the counter next to the shrewdly staring cat. A cat, which
Azriel had later told her was the Rosetta, and turned into a terrifying creature with horns and fangs
if someone attempted to commit theft.

He turned, both of the books suddenly wrapped in brown paper, and handed them to her with an
expression that told her he did not want to be argued with, though the ghost of a smile in his lips
and glinting in his eyes was clear. “Consider it a reward, you’ve worked hard this week.”

A gift. Books to call her own and scribble in.

She couldn’t hide the smile that flourished on her face, before curiously glancing down at the large
parcel, “Both of them?”

And if she wasn’t mistaken, the Shadowsinger may have blushed…His hand reaching up to rub the
back of his neck as he said, “I thought you might like a book on espionage, there are some good
first-person recounts in this one I thought you’d find interesting.”

“Oh,” she could barely contain her satisfaction at his bashfulness, “Well thank you, I’ll be sure to
give you a thorough review.”

“I never doubted for a second you wouldn’t,” Azriel replied in a voice that sounded like velvet and
honey. “And if you like that one…I can give you some others I have... If you want.”

“Are you telling me the great, frightening Shadowsinger of the Night Court likes to read?”

His face cracked into a wonderful, amused grin. A rare expression she loved the sight of. “Don’t
tell anyone, it might ruin my reputation.”

Gwyn snorted, shaking her head. Her mind turned contemplative as they wandered back to the
alley they flew to and from. “I suppose there’s nothing more scary than someone well-read,
really…”

“And why is that?”

“Because knowledge is power and power is the currency of fear.” The philosophy left her lips so
casually, as if she was entirely unaware of the gravity of the meaning behind it. But it was true, she
had learnt that very lesson in the Blood Rite when she tracked and baited the mountain beasts to
attack the Illyrian soldiers plotting to kill her. Gwyn only knew how to bait those things because of
something she had read in a book called Murderous Mountain Beasts: A Guide to the wildlife of the
peaks.

He nodded, smirking, “That’s why you’re so frightening then?”

She let out a laugh, genuine and true, “You’d be surprised Shadowsinger, I think I can be pretty
scary when I want to be.”

A chuckle left his lips, “Oh, I have no doubt you can…Should I be worried about my job?”

“Here’s the deal, I’ll let you keep your job, if you keep lending me books…”

Azriel ginned, his face becoming less disguised by the mystery he so expertly shrouded himself in,
“Deal.”

Dinner that evening was a lush culinary affair. Over the past week, the House had taken every
opportunity to be as generous as it was meddling and tonight was no different. Glazed roasted
meats, stewed vegetables and thick sourdough bread covered the expanse of the table as if they
were at a mating celebration, and on the end, another large berry cheesecake. It seemed the house
was a keen eavesdropper too.

“They both look awful…” Nesta commented with no effort to be polite about her High Lord and
Lady's appearance. Apparently, their child had taken to sleeping for twenty minutes of every hour
during the night and between those small moments, woke the poor parents up for company.

“You should have seen Rhys the other night…” Cassian chuckled, “He actually fell asleep at the
table…”
Azriel gave a small smile nodding along.

Nesta shook her head with a wolfish grin, “You’re kidding…”

“No really, and he’s normally the last one standing when we drink on Az’s birthday…”

A hush fell over the room as Gwyn glanced over with a pointed stare to Azriel, who looked as if he
might just lunge over the table and pummel his brother permanently into the lovely stone floor.
Cassian just appeared wide-eyed, as if he had spilled some incremental Night Court secret to an
enemy.

“It was your birthday this week?” She didn’t bother to hide the mix of shock and irritation tuning
her voice, though it came out quieter and softer than she would have liked.

“When was it?” Nesta snapped, arms crossed.

He exhaled, picking up his glass of wine, “I don’t care for my birthday.”

Nesta was quick and relentless, “Why? Because you’re so old?”

Azriel just sent a withering, bitter smile to her joke in response.

“You should have told us, we would have done something for you…” Gwyn’s mind raced. She
would have bought him a present, would have maybe made him a cake. Did he honestly spend an
entire day training with her on his birthday?

Nesta nodded in agreeance with an irritated brow raised.

Gods damned insufferable bat.

“I don’t need anything.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes, “It’s not about need, it’s about the sentiment.”

“Oh…I wouldn’t bother Gwynnie…” Cassian sighed dramatically as he pointed his fork to his
brother in accusation, “He barely lets us celebrate… Wouldn’t even let Rhys’ lovely mother bake
him a cake when we were boys.”

“Mother's sake Az, it’s not like we would have strapped you in a party hat and blown-up
balloons…” Nesta gestured widely with her hands in exasperation.

Gwyn tried not to giggle at the mental image of Azriel in a pink glittered party hat. Perhaps
matching ones for the sharp talons on his wings and party blowers for the shadows.

He only dismissed them with a curt shake of his head, turning his attention back to his food in
silence.

She bristled next to him, spending the rest of the dinner in deep thought of how she could make it
special for him.

Azriel was suspicious as soon as she insisted that they skip lunch at the house the next day and go
into Velaris early. Perhaps though, that suspicion was punctuated by the small cloth bag she had
hanging from her shoulder or the excited glint in her eyes.

When she suggested they take a walk so she could ‘gain her bearings’ for the tracking exercises
about to ensue, he became even more sceptical but followed her lead nonetheless.

She had memorised the way to the little café called ‘Aislinn’s’, but made a show of looking a little
contemplative in which direction she took them in. When they finally arrived at the entrance that
skirted off the river boardwalk, she spun around to him, resolve and determination shining through
the stare she levelled at the narrowed-eyed Shadowsinger.

Azriel took one look at the café, then back at her, and then down to the cloth bag.

“What are we doing here Berdara?”

“I’m taking you to lunch for your birthday, obviously.”

He rose a brow, “That’s…That’s really not necessary.”

Gwyn wholeheartedly ignored him, striding past and taking a seat at the same table they originally
sat at the morning he first took her to Velaris.

When he just stood there in silence, she gave him a pointed glare, “Sit down please, Azriel.”

He gave out a large exhale and then, with slight trepidation came to join her.

She leaned in so no one else could hear, “I share a birthday with my twin sister who was brutally
tortured and murdered in front of me, Azriel, I do understand what it is to not be particularly fond
of celebrating…”

She tried not to realise the way he almost imperceptibly flinched at her words.

“Gwyn I…”

"No, please just listen..." She shook her head not letting him finish his protests, “If you never let
anyone care, how do you expect them to always accept it from you? It’s not fair to give and not
take.”

He looked at her, a silent war waging in the hazel battlefield of his eyes. His shadows, on the other
hand, danced as if they had been overcome with glee and she was half regretful she hadn't bought
them party blowers after all. It was difficult not to smile at the broody Shadowsinger with his
elatedly contrarian shadows.

Before he could refuse any more, the green-skinned waitress approached their table to take their
order and with a triumphant grin, Gwyn said, “We will have a fruit tart, a slice of orange and
almond cake and the lemon pie, please…” The waitress gave a sweet nodding smile, “Oh! And
some Velaris Breakfast tea as well please, with milk.”

The waitress left them as he stared at her, voice suddenly quietly soft as he said, “Thank you.”

They may have been just two words, but they carried so much weight in them that it almost
knocked her over.

“Don’t say thank you yet…” Gwyn bit the smile from her lip as she finally took out what was
hidden in that bag of hers.
A present, wrapped in fine blue paper and white ribbon.

His eyes widened as she handed it to him, “Happy birthday, Shadowsinger.”

“You bought me a gift?” Pure shock underpinned the words as she grinned at him, her eyes
dancing with encouragement. He slowly reached up for the present with unsure hands and a
somewhat confused expression.

“Consider it a reward…” She repeated the words he had said to her yesterday with a teasing glint in
her eye, “…For living for another year.”

Azriel let out a surprised, breath of laughter, the sound like a soft symphony to her ears.

He delicately opened the gift, untying the white ribbon and carefully slicing off the tape with a
scarred finger, as if he were afraid to rip the paper.

The book looked so small in his large hands. She thanked the house profusely last night when it
had given her that copy of the novel she so loved in her secret parlour.

But now…she was nervous.

Gwyn gnawed on her lower lip, becoming more and more anxious as he looked upon the gift with
an unreadable expression.

Perhaps he didn’t like it,

Maybe he thought it too strange.

Too intimate.

“It’s one of my favourites, it’s a mystery about a murder at a funeral…” Gwyn began rambling as
he continued to stare at it, “…Quite dark in some bits, but I’d figure you wouldn’t mind that. You
mentioned you liked reading and I… I thought you might enjoy how complex the plot is, the
characters are all quite odd and have these strange stories that make for intriguing motives-”

Azriel cut her off before she could continue with her barrage of reasoning, looking up to meet her
eyes that were clouded with concern, as if the seas within them had turned with a storm, “Gwyn…”

She paused as he said, “It’s wonderful…Thank you.”

She let out a little shriek of excitement that had him smiling back at her as if she were the sun. “I
expect you’ll work out the murderer too early, but you have to read it till the end anyway, that’s
truly the best part.”

“I will.”

The plates of treats landed on their table moments later. Gwyn, almost licking her lips with hunger
glanced up to note that same unreadable expression on his face. She could tell he was turning
something over in his conflicting mind, debating and deciding.

But she simply waited for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, busying herself with
pouring them tea and carving equal portions of the treats down the middle so they could share, just
as he had done before.

“I’m not…” He began, swallowing down whatever discomfort was holding him back, “I don’t
know how to take.”
‘It’s not fair to give and not take’ Gwyn had said to him. A crease formed in her brow as she
nodded slowly, allowing him the time to speak his mind. She knew the value of this candour, the
fact that his vulnerability was as rare as his smiles seemed to punctuate that.

“And…” A deep exhale, “And there are certain things about me that I don’t think anyone would
necessarily want to take.” There was a flicker of painful acceptance in his eyes as he made the
confession like he expected her to get up and leave if she truly knew him.

“Have you ever given someone the opportunity to decide that for themselves?” Gwyn’s answering
question was soft yet not flourished with pity.

Had this male ever received an ounce back for what he gave? Was his self-worth really that
withered and dry that he didn’t see he deserved to have people care for him?

The answer shot like an arrow through her heart.

Azriel glanced down nodding, “It’s easier this way… For what I do…For who I am.”

Gwyn didn’t exactly know what all the things were that he did for the Night Court. But surely, to
not feel worthy of such a thing as his friends caring for him…

“Well…” She sighed, taking a sip of her tea, “If ever you find it's not – easier - that is…it’s not too
late to learn, Shadowsinger…”

He seemed to mull over the words for a long moment, his brows scrunched into a frown and eyes
heavy as he considered them for the invitation they were.

“Alright…”

Then, she smiled at him, before looking pointedly down at the cake with a silent demand to eat -
something that made him smile back.
Chapter End Notes

This is really the chapter where I see Gwyn and Azriel fully forge the foundations for
their trust and companionship.

Something I really adore about them as a pairing is that despite being symbolically
opposites (Temple priestess/Angel of death, Lightsinger/Shadowsinger,
Peacemaker/Warbringer, Light/Dark) they are similar in some very sweet core ways
which make my heart melt. I personally believe Azriel is at his core a bookish nerd
and I think that Gwyn being the same, brings that out in him perfectly.

This chapters highlighted quote refers to Gwyn’s ability to intellectualise her struggles.
From her experience in Sangravah, I really do think that she sees power as the
currency of fear - as she was horrifyingly overpowered that night against her will. This
philosophy of reading/intelligence giving you your own brand of power to wield like a
weapon is something I believe has become a coping mechanism born from her trauma.

A lovely commenter yesterday pointed out that the beauty of how Gwyn loves is that
she does it with such undying enthusiasm and I couldn't agree more. Gwyn reached out
her hand and didn't give him a choice before she took his in her grip, she cares the
same way she fights, with undying commitment.

Azriel needs someone that will choose him, and fight for him and I think that's
punctuated by his brotherly relationship with Rhys and Cassian.
Apart from those two males though, from his abusive father to his fractured
relationship with Illyria, he's spent his whole life not being fought for or claimed as
their own - and Gwyn is having none of it.

Let me know what you think!

Lou x
 The Paradox of Scars
Chapter Notes

Warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and themes surrounding being triggered by SA

trauma.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Part II

Salvation

“Dinner…” Gwyn clarified, eyes wide with shock, “At the…River House?” She had almost tripped
over a boulder when Azriel had told her of the invitation extended to the Valkyrie for something he
referred to casually as ‘Sunday night family dinner’ as if it were some long-honed tradition between
them all.

“You don’t have to say yes…” He quickly added, “They’re not exactly people of…decorum.”

Gwyn snorted a brilliant laugh, “Oh, and I am?”

His lips twitched with a hint of a smile, “More so than them, yes.”

"Bold of you to assume, Shadowsinger..." It was the same words he had said to her the day of
Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony and today, they tasted sweet on her tongue as she said them
back to him.

"Believe it or not, Berdara, that was a compliment."

She bit down on her lip, her mind debating the offer carefully.For two weeks now, she had been
forging a new brand of confidence for herself and though her demons still lurked, she had learnt to
leash them. Learnt to at least look them in the eye again instead of shoving them in some dark
corner of her mind.

Walking around Velaris city centre had become something of an art form that she had mastered.
And though her Shadowsinger was always a few paces away, the sounds that were jarring, the
crowded bustle of the busy market squares, the proximity to other males... it no longer sent her
gripping for calm, tumbling into a disarray of frayed nerves. Even the woodland they were
trudging through felt less overbearing.

“I would love to go… Besides, I haven’t seen Emerie in quite a long time.”

This would be good for her, she supposed. Though she had absolutely no idea why in the hell the
Lord and Lady of the Night Court would invite a random Priestess employed to their defence ranks
into their home for a family dinner.
He nodded, features imperceptible as he said, “Good, I’ll fly you - if you like.”

She rose a brow with a smirk, “Perhaps the House will finally give me a life-sized Pegasus and I’ll
fly you.”

That wonderful chuckle left his lips as a grin cracked through his features, one that was becoming
less of a rarity these days.

“What would you call it?”

Gwyn hummed in deep thought, a bright smile curving her lips like a crescent moon. She thought
of all the wonderful stories she had read, of all the things she wanted to become and aspired to be.
It needed to be something strong, something that told those watching her soar in the sky that she
was Gwyn's and like her rider, she was not afraid. A particular tale that had been steeped in the
mythology of many millennia ago rose to her mind. “Medusa.”

“Medusa…” He mused, eyes glinting with approval, “I like it.”

“Well, I must say, it’s a little more creative than Truth Teller…”

Another laugh rumbled from his throat as he shook his head, “That it is, Berdara. That it is.”

They made it to the woodland clearing that had silently become their new training ring. Despite the
spring air carrying the promise of meadow flowers and shards of gilded sun, it remained brisk in
the shadows of the tall trees, a reminder of the ever-present winter that lingered around the
mountains.

Today was dedicated to tracking and then, fighting and disarming an opponent without weapons. It
was something that had kept her up all evening and well into the early hours of the morning,
evidenced by her slightly bloodshot eyes and heavy mind. But Gwyn knew she had to push past the
fear of being alone in forests that resembled the Illyrian mountains she had been thrown into two
months ago. She understood that overcoming such fears was the key to her success, not just in the
mission that lay before her, but in life itself.

She would remember what it is to feel brave, even if she had to throw herself into the fire for the
muscle memory to return.

And this time, Gwyn would hold on and she would not let the troubles of old burn her new, thick
skin.

Without a word, she watched Azriel unstrap the sheath that held Truth Teller from his buckled
thigh. He took a few tentative steps towards her, those hazel eyes, as usual, looking for any sign of
her discomfort.

“May I?”

She rose a questioning brow at the gesture but nodded in response anyway. Curious and something
else...

In one swift movement, he was on his knees in front of her.

By the Cauldron...

Gwyn tried to hide her visible bewilderment as he carefully tapped her ankle, a silent request for
her to extend out her leg for him.
Her eyes took in the sight of him kneeling before her with a thundering heart and she prayed he
couldn’t hear it. And God's damn her, Azriel’s feather-light touch on her thigh as he tightened the
straps was a sensation that had her thinking about an array of unpleasant things just to ward off the
arousal that bloomed in its wake.

He was far too close to scent the exact place that warmth swelled for her to indulge in it. So her
mind shuttered closed and turned to all those hateful things.

Injustice.

People who fold the corners of book pages.

Hybern.

Flavourless food.

The toll of temple warning bells.

She focused on all of it, until he had risen to survey her and cleared his throat.

“I thought you said no weapons?” The question was a distraction from the air that felt hot and
thick.

Azriel nodded, his gaze drifting down to where he had entrusted Truth Teller again, “None for the
grappling and disarming portion of the exercise...It’s just a safety measure if you come across an
animal or need something on your way.”

She tried not to submit to the thoughts that flew through her mind, those very thoughts that
regarded the gesture of him lending her Truth Teller. A weapon, for which he was known to never
be without.

He was being kind and considerate, that was all.

“I’ll look after it…” And then she added with a smile, “...Unless someone in the woods offers me a
good price, that is.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a smile that flashed a row of straight teeth as he shook his head at her,
“Wait fifteen minutes and then you can start. If at any point you get lost…” He gestured to the
mountain that towered above them in distance, “Walk towards the base of that mountain and find
the creek that wraps around it. I’ll easily be able to find you from there.”

Gwyn nodded, taking in a deep breath as she assessed the distance to the base.

“You have an hour to track, find and disarm me…”

She saw the question he was begging to ask glint furiously in his eyes, it was as clear as the
cloudless May sky above. It said, Are you sure you want to do this?

As if to answer him, Gwyn gave him a resolute nod and a confident grin found her features as she
steeled her spine. She was ready.

“Good… Remember to practice silent footwork without leaving your own trail and look to the…”

“Look to the upper vegetation as well as the disturbed floor, I know, I know…Go on
Shadowsinger, I’m in the mood to win.”
Azriel rolled his eyes with a playful sigh, and she closed her eyes, giving him the signal to leave.
Even without the advantage of sight, she felt his presence slip away with a current of the chilly
wind.

The trees rustled, small birds chirped, and her breath was steady. And there she was, alone in the
woods.

A serene hymn fell from her lips as she waited those fifteen long minutes to pass by. A song she
loved to sing at the dusk service in the temple, about finding the Mother in the deepest of seas and
the strongest of storms. About turning the depths of those seas into a rare opportunity to discover,
and taking those storms and turning them into lakes for all to drink from. It was a philosophy she
had clung to, that in everything dire and troublesome thing there lay something godly, something
of hidden beauty.

Despite the wind, she followed the lingering scent of chill mist and cedar towards the northwestern
aspect of the woods. Azriel had trained her well and with his teachings and the book on the art of
tracking he had lent to her, she saw the small evidence of his presence scattered throughout the
quiet woodland.

“If they are experienced, people will hide their tracks, or make them look like animal markings…”
Azriel had said to her a few days ago, “But the truth is, most people’s efforts get sloppy over time
due to tiredness or hunger and if they’re on the run, they’re more likely to make mistakes…”

She eyed the upturned earth on the leafy floor, and saw even the side impression of the heel of his
boot in the dirt. The footprint was directed left and the disturbed rocks that lay in that direction
confirmed his path.

“Every person will leave individual signs of their presence… Some may drag a foot every third
step, some may pull the bark from a tree every time they stop to pause for breath. Their ‘path’ can
be distinguished from other signs of life you may find on the way…”

She knew Azriel was deliberately not covering his tracks for her, there was no doubt in her mind he
could traverse this entire continent without so much as a fingerprint if he needed to. The shape of
the tracks were those made by something fast and told her he had taken to running at least part of
the way.

When she cleared a crest of tall pine to reveal a dried gully that once was a stream, her gaze zeroed
in on a carcass nestled in the ditch. A partially skeletonised fawn, the meaty portions of its muscles
and organs seemingly scavenged already by the predator. But the smell of the rotting flesh masked
the one she had been following and for the first time, Gwyn had to pause to reassess her strategy.

“Half of tracking is remaining the hunter and not the prey… If you see any signs of creatures steer
clear, they’ll like send you off your path by forcing you to run and if you have to fight them, you
risk an injury. A blood trail will be scented for miles and if you don’t die of infection you’ll
probably be eaten before nightfall.”

Her gaze scanned the depths of the gully for any sign of the path Azriel had left. But all she saw
for a few long moments was the scurry of the animals that had attacked the fawn and the wind did
nothing to dispel the foul rot in the air. But then, her eyes narrowed onto the other side of the dry
bank and Gwyn noted the way the leafy floor had been displaced by a large streak of earth.

He had actually jumped over the gully. She rose her brow, impressed he made such a distance,
especially when the fall meant he would dive into the fly-ridden innards of some beast’s dinner.
With slow care, she descended into the rock bed below, using her muscular arms and strong core to
hoist herself up into the other side of the gully. And there, as she stood downwind to the carcass,
his scent returned. She took it in with greedy lungs.

As she wound through the woods on committed footsteps, eyes darting constantly through the
thicket for signs, Gwyn realised how far she had actually come in the past year.

It was only last March - before she had met Nesta, before training and the Blood Rite - that Clotho
had found her staring down the long flight of stairs in the dead of night. Not just staring, but
wondering how many it would take to tumble down in order to fracture her skull in the right place
or snap her spine irreversibly.

Some of the nights she had been viscerally plagued with remembering Sangravah felt almost worse
than the night itself. For some reason that she will never comprehend, twice in her life the Mother
had sent Gwyn a lifeline - and the second came in the form of Nesta and the training she had been
invited to.

That lifeline could now be found in every carved muscle of her stomach, the packed punch in her
fists and the battle honed strategies in the fissures of her mind.

Gwyn was a warrior and she had made it out of the blackest of nights and something like warm
pride spread throughout her chest as she fell upon that realisation.

The growing strength of Azriel’s scent tore her from her thoughts as she came back into reality, and
she found herself by a fallen log covered in dewy moss. The semblance of a footprint could be seen
between two flat rocks, an odd spray of chipped bark covering the grey-hued stone. She pivoted to
the left and then right, but the scent seemed to remain somewhere there.

It was like he had vanished from that exact spot like he had…

With a sudden crash, a body fell down to the earth from a tree not two meters away from her,
branches and leaves falling with him. And then with no hesitation, he lunged.

Instinctually, she adjusted her stance and rolled away from the offence, just clearing in time to miss
him. Gwyn panted, easing herself on her feet, ready to pounce as he adjusted the hilt of the small
dagger in his hand. It looked pitiful in comparison to the one strapped to her thigh, a mockery of
his capability for violence even.

"What's my timing?" She couldn't help but ask with a deep pant set in her breath, not entirely sure
if the hour had slipped past her so easily.

Azriel was fast, taking the opportunity to jolt forward with the blade aimed straight for her stomach
and she was pleased that he didn’t seem to be cutting her any slack. The memory entrenched in her
muscles kicked in and she skidded out of his way, dirt flying in the air, as her arm reached to clutch
down on the wrist that wielded the dagger.

"Early as always, Berdara..." He said the words so casually as if they weren't fighting each other in
the woods, with no shortness of breath spared.

An elbow came back into her stomach, but she quickly used that opportunity of his distraction in
footing to throw his form backwards, using her own weight to propel him with the assistance of
gravity. With a sharp turn, she landed on top of him in an instant, straddling his hips as they warred
against each other's strength.

It was a position she had found herself imagining many times, yet this variation of it had more
clothes and much fewer kisses.

"Forty-three minutes and counting..."

His strength was doubling down as she attempted to execute the disarming movement Cassian had
taught her so many times, but he was far too strong. Gwyn noted that sweeping dirt into his face
would help decrease his line of vision, but quickly decided against the dishonourable move, as he
used his other hand to push her off him with a force that sent her flying to the ground. Although, it
was clear from the lack of hard landing that he had executed the move gently.

And then they were grappling and her vision blurred.

Gwyn’s breathing turned into pants as they rolled and scuffed, her distracted gaze searching for his
hands instead of focusing on determining his next move. A weight pressed into her form and
something gripped her hip for a moment in a way that had her falling down and down into a
spiralling pit of memory. It wasn't that she hadn't grappled a hundred times before in the training
ring. No. She had done so many times with Cassian, Azriel and many of the girls. But somewhere
between the foreign location and being unarmed against someone that was, sent her tumbling into
the past.

The tolls of temple bells, heavy booted footsteps breaking through doors and the sensation of
sweaty hands rose in her like tidal waves. Each blow seemed to pull her further from the shores of
reality and sweep her into a current of Sangravah-spun nightmares.

“No…” She shrieked, voice ragged as she began kicking and punching, no longer in the woodland
of Velaris but in that kitchen in the convent of Sangravah.

‘What a pretty little Priestess,’ That voice...the one that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard,
screeched through her mind. ‘Stay still…’

“No! Please!”

Her body reacted automatically as if it were a weapon that could be wielded on instinct alone. And
though whatever physical weight that had been pressed into her lifted, she was too entrenched into
the visceral reminiscence to even realise the absence. Protests and refusals fell from her mouth as
the voices that haunted her nights kept tolling like heavy bells in her mind and the floor suddenly
felt a lot like the solid edge of the kitchen table.

She would do anything, anything to…

“Gwyn.” The sound of her name pulled her from the trenches of her warring mind and slowly, she
blinked back into reality.

Shock struck her like an arrow.

Not quite believing the scene before her, she simply stared in horror as Azriel came into view. He
was flat on his back beneath her, dagger discarded next to his hands, which were held in
outstretched yielding… And to her profound terror…Truth Teller was pointed at his throat.

Glancing down, past her chest - which was rising and falling as rapidly as her heart raced – Gwyn
noted the way she had pinned him mercilessly to the floor. His shadows had tentatively ghosted
around her as if desperately wanting to reach with their tendrils of night.

“Gwyn you’re safe…you’re safe with me…” Those words in that voice, so comforting and calm,
they uprooted something pacifying within her and she threw Truth Teller to the floor with a choked
sob. The left side of her chest panged with how utterly concerned he looked...not for himself but
for her. Azriel didn't even appear the slightest bit perturbed that she had broken a fundamental rule
of training - to never actually threaten your opponent's life.

Scrambling off his waist, she found the leafy ground with shaky hands and a thud, her eyes wide as
she gasped out, “I…I’m sorry…”

Azriel sat up and her eyes flashed down to his palms once again. She needed to see them, almost as
if looking for proof that she was safe. Proof that it was him. “No…” His tone was thick with
remorse as he shook his head, “No I’m sorry, I… I can’t believe I did that…”

Gwyn’s head snapped up to meet his hazel gaze, pricked with some vicious brand of
disappointment…not for her but for him.

"I almost killed you!"

"No, I should have-"

“You have nothing to do with this…” She shook her head firmly as she swallowed down the fear
and hate that had risen like sour bile in her throat, “Azriel, there are some parts of me that have
been slow to heal…” Wounds that she was unsure would ever fully scar over.

His jaw clenched as those discerning eyes dipped to where she held her knees into her chest.

“I need to ask a favour…” Her voice had regained its absolution as she steeled herself against
everything that threatened to tear her down from the new heights she had reached. She was so close
to falling back down to those depths and the only thing that stood in her way was the last
remaining threads of her determination. But those bare threads were strong, forged by the last two
weeks of hard work - and she was never going to let them snap.

Azriel nodded, nothing but grave commitment in his stare as he replied, “Anything you want.”

“I think our training needs to include more physical touch…” Gwyn didn’t let her gaze stray from
his as the honesty poured from her lips, “Some exercises that involve contact to assuage the fear,
maybe. I need to know that won’t happen again to me…because if it wasn’t you that I was with…I
have no idea what could have happened.”

If she hadn't heard the voice of her mate... If it were someone else, Cassian or Nesta she had been
grappling with, would she have been able to stop?

He swallowed the lump in his throat and rubbed his forehead, “I’ll get Cassian to…”

“No, Azriel…” Gwyn cut him off, voice steady and clear, “…it needs to be you, you’re my trainer
for this mission and I trust you the most.”

Confusion found his eyes as she said the words, like he couldn’t comprehend why she would ever
trust him enough with her body. Slowly, he bit out, “I would never forgive myself if I did that to
you again, Gwyn… I don’t know if I can…”

Perhaps if she wasn't still so on edge she would have laughed at him for thinking he was to blame.
Azriel had truly done nothing out of the ordinary to trigger her and she needed him to know that.
“You would never intentionally hurt me, I know that. It wasn't you, it was me..." She gave a nod,
as if agreeing with herself while she added, "But we can work through it, all of it, together.”

Azriel paused and shook his head in heavy dismissal, his voice sullen and hollow as he said “I’m
not the person you think I am…”

Hurt scratched at her heart, “And who is that?”

“A good person… I’m not…” He paused searching for the words, “You shouldn’t place your trust
in someone like me.”

Gwyn frowned, her heart sinking with every word from his mouth, “I am not afraid of you,
Shadowsinger…”

“Well, you should be, because I have done things that would make you run for the hills. I am not
like the others… I can’t be harmless and peaceful...I can’t be that for you.”

Gwyn picked up Truth Teller from the dirt, cleaning the earth from the blade with her leathers,
“You may not be harmless, but you are peaceful Azriel and there is a difference between being
harmless and being peaceful.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone that is peaceful is capable of fighting for that peace and walking out of the battle
victorious, a harmless person is lost in the fight…” Gwyn’s eyes bored into his, the colour of the
sunned aquamarine sea, “I do not want someone who is harmless, and I will not be harmless ever
again either. Do you understand me, Azriel? I have learnt that sometimes violence is the only way
through the dark and that does not scare me.”

She handed him the clean blade, a silent offering.

It had never escaped her that his violence was the only reason she was alive, that his fight for peace
against Hybern had prevented a manner of things far more dark and horrific from unfolding that
night. He hated himself for that propensity, that much was clear, but she couldn't help but see it for
what it was. A skill wielded to protect, not to inflict evil.

Her heart beat wildly as he absorbed the absolving words and yet, he shook his head again. “I am
not peaceful, Gwyn…” The confession carried a force that she was sure tied the noose around his
self-worth, “I am a killer…”

“We are all killers Azriel,” she cut him off before he could continue, “…we all kill to survive at
some point. Whether that be parts of ourselves or the things that threaten the people we love…We
all have blood on our hands in some way or another.”

As if to show him that they were the same, her hand rose to take his in its grip. With tender
softness, she knotted their fingers together loosely.

His eyes flittered shut as she gently rubbed her calloused thumb against the uneven scar tissue of
his palm. It was another paradox, she supposed, that some people’s scars were other people’s
salvation.

“You said we would work on physical barriers, I don’t see how this is any different to that… If
we’re going to be fighting, I can’t be triggered by male touch.”

“Okay…” Azriel breathed after a long moment of heavy heartbeats, “But there will be rules and
you have to promise me that you will tell me if you get overwhelmed.”

She nodded, knowing he was the only one that she could bare this weight with. That despite his
crusade of personal defamation, she knew Azriel was the only male that would never ever
 physically hurt her. And perhaps the bond was irrelevant in that realisation, because even if she
didn’t know, even if they were just Gwyn and Azriel, he had saved her life. He had shown her
kindness when no one else did.

He was a male worth equally every ounce of redemption as he was the blood he shed to damn
himself for others.

Chapter End Notes

I'm not particularly confident writing fighting scenes so please don't scrap me in the
comments. It is something I am working on and I'm sorry if it wasn't up to scratch.

For those who don't know the story of Medusa, she is an 'apotropaic symbol used to
protect and ward off the negative, representing a dangerous threat meant to deter other
dangerous threats (specifically of men), an image of evil to repel evil'.
But in more modern interpretations of her mythology, she has become a symbol of SA
survival and female rage.

This chapter intended to highlight the fact that Gwyn is a logical, pragmatist at heart.
She realises the cost of peace and she is prepared to pay it, even if it is by way of
violence. I think her story of survival robs her of notions of extreme pacifism, she sees
the priceless value in self-defence and knows enough of the evils of the world to
recognise that some enemies simply must be met with war - as we saw in the Blood
Rite.

I've said this before but I see her in the wider context of archetypes as the 'Peace
bringer' and I think a common misconception about these characters is that they are
essentially harmless advocates for utopias, but I see them as warriors in their own
right. These people are those that have seen the darkness and will do whatever they
must so it doesn't land upon anyone else's doorstep again. They are often self-
sacrificial and committed heavily to the cause.

This is where I think Azriel and her are bound thematically, as they represent two
sides of this archetypal coin, being both light/dark, peace bringers/angels.

The end scene highlights that where Gwyn has trauma rooted in physical touch from
males, Azriel (at least imo) has trauma rooted in the possibility of hurting someone he
cares for - which is punctuated by his martyr complex and the nature of his profession
causing him to have the ability to be extremely violent. My goal here was for both of
them to be triggered and then have to lean on each other and be vulnerable together.

Let me know what you think!

 Lullabies of the Heart
Chapter Notes

Publishing Schedule Note: I will be publishing a new chapter every two days from
now on as I'm back at med school and my busy schedule won't allow for daily
uploads, sorry! I'm hoping though that this will increase the quality of the writing I can
give you because I'll have a little more time to edit and adjust the chapters instead of
rushing them to get them out every 24 hours.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite tiredness pricking at her eyes and a heaviness set in her aching muscles, Gwyn found
herself excited to venture to the River House for dinner.

By Sunday, they had finished with stealth, surveillance, tracking and disarming, and their lessons
integrating physical touch would soon begin tomorrow. The past week had been as demanding as it
was fulfilling, and it felt as if something had shifted from that moment of shared vulnerability in
the woodland. Slowly, she began to coax that adamant fortress Azriel had constructed around
himself to wane and she supposed it was just as validating to see herself help him learn and
overcome his barriers, as he was doing for her.

Gwyn bit her lip as she surveyed the figure staring back in the mirror. The House was nothing
short of doting tonight with its gifts. A long, flowing gown the colour of fine-traded lapis lazuli
cinched into her waist and then, fell down her muscular form in gentle ripples to the floor. Every
delicate wisp of the chiffon, expertly tailored in just the right places to accentuate her curvature. It
was a gown an elegant female from one of her favourite novels might wear.

Not a girl nor a Priestess.

A female, who knew the secrets of her body and loved to whisper hints of them in the folds and
cinches of lush fabric.

And perhaps Gwyn liked that. Liked that her body had become something she could admire and be
content with. After Sangravah, she had spent far too many of her days avoiding reflective surfaces
and changing in the dark just so she couldn’t see her flesh. Flesh that for a long while she had
struggled to see as still hers.

And yet here she was.

Every inch of skin was hers and it was beautiful.

Not as beautiful as Catrin once was, but that had always been the case. Her sister was something
altogether otherworldly in her doe-like beauty, pale with dark locks, like a glorious full moon
reigning over a cloudless obsidian sky. Gwyn, with her copper hair and aquamarine glinting eyes,
knew she could never be a moon, but perhaps, one day she could be the sun.

The sisters of the sky, a harmony of light and dark. That’s what they were.

She was bright and luminescent in a different way, a way that called for summered warmth, sweet
breezes of salted lily and glittering seas of azure.

Her décolletage was subtly crowned with her favourite and only necklace, the pretty rose that
glinted the glassy colours of spring when it shone in the sunlight. It was a curious gift she had been
given, and truthfully, she often thought it never quite suited her complexion.

But it was hers.

And living for twenty-six years without the means for such pretty luxuries meant she couldn’t care
less if it were entirely unsuitable. Because it wasn’t even about the pendant. No, not really, it was
about the sentiment behind it. The fact that someone had thought of her. Gwyneth Berdara was a
female that had been gifted jewellery, not something religious from the temple, a hand-me-down
from the donation sweeps or even something handcrafted from the children, but something just for
her.

She took a final sip of her tea before darting out of her room, sure to fix the seven locks on her way
out.

When she found him waiting, Azriel was perched on the edge of the balcony, wings outstretched
and plunged deep into thought. Nesta and Cassian were late, as was routine now that they were
mated. His shadows danced over to her and snaked up the throes of fabric that spun her dress into a
sea of remarkable azure, to greet her. He turned to greet her approach with a warm smile. Those
hazel eyes dipped for a moment to the necklace she wore and then retreated back to the vista
beyond, his gaze shuttering with the movement.

“No Pegasus then?”

She let out a feigned disgruntled huff, “Perhaps the House is waiting for my birthday…”

He chuckled, “When is your birthday?”

“January 6th…” She sighed, leaning forward onto the railing he was sitting upon, “So I’m afraid
I’ll be ‘pegasusless’ for a while…”

His tone turned softer, more contemplative as he asked, “Where would go? If you could fly?”

She thought for a moment, as if he were actually offering, and then admitted, “I once read about
the Coves of Seraphina, they’re meant to be one of the most beautiful places in Prythian. They say
the water there is enchanted with spells that make you so happy you never want to leave and the
silver sand is all that's left of a dying star that crashed into the earth…” She tilted her head to gaze
at him, eyes glittering like those very waters she spoke of in the starlight, “What about you, where
do you go when you want to fly away?”

A small crease found his expression as he contemplated the question, “To see my mother.”

“Does she live in Illyria?”

His features were overcome by a rare scrunch of his nose as he shook his head, “No… she lives in
an estate further south near the Day Court border… The land backs onto the Cliffs of Sabai, they
meet the Western Sea. It's much more peaceful there than Illyria.”

“That sounds lovely…” Gwyn couldn’t help but smile, as she imagined Azriel perched onto grand
cliffs next to an older female who had his lovely eyes. The picture stirred something warm deep in
her heart.
The sound of the balcony door opening drew them from their conversation as Nesta emerged,
every bit the uncrowned Queen she was, draped in deep violet and an ever knowing smirk on her
sharp features.

“Mor’s going to get Emerie and she’s bringing her straight to the River House…” She explained as
Cassian arrived behind her, face flushed surely from the very activity that had made them late.

Soon enough they were off, and Gwyn breathed in the chill wind that was soaked with the nightly
mist that swam through the expanse of clear air. She dipped her head back slightly, not caring that
it may disturb her hair as she felt the breeze caress her face.

Azriel simply stayed quiet, eyes unfocused on the journey ahead.

Feyre greeted them at the door, her sweet son cheerfully bouncing on her hip as she waved them in
with a large grin. Gwyn watched from behind as Cassian went straight for Nyx, throwing the babe
into the air impossibly high and then catching him, much to his mother's behest. The sound of the
infant’s laughter echoed across the walls and found its way into her ribcage to kiss her heart. She
missed that wonderful sound. The sound of children being happy, their small untainted minds so
welcoming to every opportunity for happiness.

Draped over a burly shoulder, the child’s brilliantly violet eyes found those of his other uncle and
in response, he outstretched his hands and clutched at them, as if already giving orders to the
members of his court.

“Yeah yeah…” Cassian sighed, handing Nyx over, “He may be your favourite uncle now, but you
just wait until I teach you to fight and pick up girls…”

"Don't you have to have 'picked up a girl', to teach the art of it, Cassian?" His mate crooned.

Tentative, scarred hands took the baby and she watched as Azriel held Nyx like one would a
priceless glass vase. As they walked down the long corridor, she tried not to stare at the obscenely
adorable sight of his shadows playfully wisping through the babe’s fingers, giggles falling from his
fat lips when he made an impossible game of trying to grasp them.

“Daydreaming?” Nesta’s taunting whisper sent her falling from the heights of the thought. Thank
the Mother it was spoken too low for anyone to hear.

Gwyn spun around, rolling her eyes as she said, “Last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime to look at a
cute baby…”

Nesta’s smile was wolfish as she linked an arm of hers in one of her own, “There’s nothing wrong
with a little fantasising, Gwyn…”

She shook her head with a flushed grin, “What about you? Are you going to be making me an aunt
any time soon?”

Her chosen sister snorted, “Have you been talking to Cassian?”

Living with Nesta and Cassian had made her aware of how much he openly spoke about their
future family. Even just the other day, Cassian had made a comment about how he had already
begun collecting weapons forged by renowned blacksmiths all over the continent, for his future
sons and daughters to wield one day.

“No…” She continued, eyes set on her mate's back as they entered the lavish dining balcony, the
cool Sidra breeze welcoming them in a sweep of aromatic jasmine and salt. “Not yet…Not while
all this nonsense with Koschei remains brewing and I have an army of Valkyrie to form…”

Gwyn nodded, before finding Emerie’s lovely mahogany eyes and dimpled grin as they pulled each
other into a shrieking, three-way hug. The balcony was crowded with the inner circle, though
notably, one Archeron sister remained missing from the splendour.

“Oh, I’ve missed you two…” Emerie sighed, her delicate green and gold gown swirling as she
pulled away from the hug. “Promise me you’ll come and visit in Illyria when you can…”

They took their seats at the long table, decorated in soft linens and flowers, the very same ones that
had sprinkled through the sprawling grounds in neat garden patches.

“Of course, we will!” Gwyn beamed, ignoring the creeping memory of the last time she had been
in the mountainous territory of the north.

“Maybe Balthazaar might try his luck with you again…” Nesta snorted, taking a sip of her wine.

Emerie giggled and Gwyn’s cheeks flushed with warmth as she laughed along with them,
groaning, “Oh no…” Although, she did wonder if maybe a date might be - in the very least - good
practice. And he was, after all, an honourable male.

“Oh! That reminds me…” Emerie perked up, leaning into Gwyn with a mischievous glint in her
eyes, “He came into the shop a week after the mating ceremony – and he asked about you!”

“What?” Gwyn’s eyes went wide as she noted the table's attention had turned on their
conversation. Cassian and Azriel, who sat opposite them had also turned in to listen.

But it was Cassian who said, “Tell that Artosian prick he’s dreaming…” His brother - and
apparently, his equally busybody shadows - gave a nod in curt agreement.

“Oh, shut up Cassian…” Mor sighed from next to Azriel, “You do whatever you like Gwyn... I
think he's handsome.”

She liked Morrigan very much and at this moment, Gwyn liked her even more.

Nesta arched a brow, “May I remind you…that, that Artosian prick helped me in the Blood Rite…”

Her mate only grumbled something noncommittal about 'ambitious political pricks' back, bristling
into his already empty glass of wine.

“You could come for a whole day! There’s a little festival in June called buain uaine we could go
to…”

Gwyn nodded despite every crevice of her mind screaming not to. But, she would not be deterred
by the past. Those Illyrian savages would not prevent her from seeing her friend nor would they
assuage her wonder for all things curiously unknown and fun.

“Oh, I’d pay good money to see Nesta and Gwyn at buain uaine,” Rhysand cooed from the end of
the table with a wicked grin, “The drink alone would have them either dancing or fighting - or
perhaps if we're lucky - both.”

His mate perked up, “What is buain uaine? I’ve never heard of it…”

“It’s a debauched festival for village drunks…” Azriel murmured in response.

Emerie gasped in feigned horror at the answer, quickly moving to correct him, “It’s an important
day in Illyrian culture where they celebrate the turn of spring to summer, it marks the start of the
great harvest…” She explained with a wide, nostalgic smile on her lips, “And yes, some do take
that opportunity to drink, but it can be fun…There’s dancing and singing and…”

“The Torrach…” Rhys finished for her with a taunting tone seemingly aimed just at Azriel.

Gwyn asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s a plant they grow in the spring and then brew with wine, forest spices and berries…” Cassian
said, equally as enthusiastic as Emerie about the celebration, “It’s meant to make the females fertile
and the males virile…”

“It’s the crude reason why half of the Illyrians are born in late March…” Rhysand added with a
smirk.

"Oh how surprising..." cooed Mor, "A nation full of Aries'"

“Oh…” Gwyn said, eyes wide and cheeks flushed again as her attention found the cutlery below
before she plucked up the courage to say, “Well…I’d like to go…” Nesta gave an agreeing nod,
and Gwyn knew that if it weren’t for the promise of spending time with her friends and dancing to
music, she would have flatly refused.

Emerie beamed and ignored the disapproving stare levelled at her from across the table. “Good!
When you’re back from your missions, we’ll make the arrangements…Maybe someone would be
kind enough to winnow you?”

Silence from a certain Shadowsinger, but Morrigan quickly said, “I will, I normally detest Illyria,
but I must admit it is growing on me lately…” Her family made no effort to disguise their
incredulous looks. “What? It’s nice when you have good company…”

There was a brief exchange of smiles that carried many secrets between her and the winged female
next to Gwyn as Cassian laughed, "Oh, and we haven't been good enough company for you then in
the last five hundred years?"

"No, not particularly..."

“Well, I’m glad… Perhaps the Illyrian people seeing you more often there might dispel the
conceptions that we don’t like to associate with them…” Feyre added thoughtfully, before waving
to the food that had materialised on the table with a flourished hand and saying, “Now enough
politics, let’s eat!”

It was surprisingly simple despite the grandeur they were surrounded in, wonderfully cooked fish
in lemon butter sauce and plentiful salads - definitely less ostentatious than what the House had
been serving up for its residents of late.

Gwyn ate every bite, enjoying the way the conversation seemed to flow with ease and finding
curious amusement in watching how they all interacted behind closed doors. Azriel was his usual
self, reserving moments to speak only when he had something of sharp, dry wit to add. But, she
could tell he was genuinely comfortable around these people as if they really were some kind of
family to him.

“Where’s Elain?” Nesta asked when the decadent dessert of apple pie and milk custard had been
cleared and everyone was all sufficiently stuffed to the brim.

The High Lady answered, “Oh, she’s not feeling well…” Something about the quick answer
seemed like the words were steeped in the absence of truth.

Gwyn snuck a glance to the opposite side of the table where a shadow had curled around the shell
of Azriel’s ear, he listened to its whisperings with a careful mask of indifference placed on his
features. She thought back to the girl’s odd behaviour at the mating ceremony and then, how
Azriel had followed after her. If she wasn’t mistaken, Elain was avoiding him.

To help lacquer the poor lie, her mate deftly added, “I’m not surprised, she’s in the garden all the
damn time these days…The long days in the sun get to her…”.

“Well…” Gwyn gestured to the beautiful spray of round hydrangeas on the table, “She’s done a
wonderful job, I’ve never seen flowers quite like these before…”

“Why don’t you take some home, Gwyn?” Feyre offered, thankful for the change of subject, “We
have no shortage of them, and I know how stark the House of Wind can be without having
gardens…”

Gwyn bit her lip, repressing the beaming grin that threatened to tear from it. She had never been
given flowers before and even now, she was picturing them in a little vase next to her bed. “Thank
you, that’s very kind…”

After dinner, they enjoyed tea and hot chocolate by the fireplace that stretched the entire far wall
of the ornate family room. To no one’s surprise, Gwyn had quickly become Nyx’s favourite new
person, as soon as she opted to play games and sing to him on the floor. Consequentially, she had
also become his parent's favourite new person, as for a small moment, they received some peace
alone together.

His little obsidian wings, although not yet functional to fly, would expand and contract with
undiluted glee as he chuckled and wiggled through her soft tickles.

“Now I know how you feel…” Nesta grumbled half-heartedly to Cassian from the couch, “He
never laughs like that with me…”

The cosy room was filled with the sweet symphony of the baby’s happiness against the crackle of
the roaring fire and the gentle hum of chatter. But this was a sound Gwyn had not heard before, it
was the sound of a family.

And it was lovely.

Gwyn didn’t miss the way the High Lady glanced down at her son, as if he were the most precious
thing in the world. She had heard their story and as a result, harboured endless respect and
sympathy for the mother that had almost lost it all in such a vile way.

Shadows danced at her form as Azriel approached, coming down to join her and his nephew on the
floor. Over the past few weeks, she had come to know the stare he currently wore was one of
subtle assessment as if checking to see if she was okay. But this time, it was complimented by a
faint smile, his eyes burning like scorched cedar in the flickering firelight.

She grinned at him, “Here, I’ll show you something…”

Soon enough, Nyx was lying in the cradle of his tentative arms, droopy-eyed and calmed, as she
softly sang the babe an old lullaby. Gwyn had shown him how to rock the child smoothly while
tenderly rubbing small circles on his chubby thigh. The words of her song were something of a folk
tale about a lost rabbit in the woods, a particular favourite of the youngest children in Sangravah
and apparently now, young heirs to the Night Court as well. The aged melody was gentle and
sweet, her lovely voice curling through the delicate notes and soaring through the pitches. The
shadows that swirled around them seemed to be equally mesmerised, swaying like entranced cobras
and she was sure if they could sleep, they would be dreaming.

By the time the tune was over, the boys’ eyes were closed and all that could be heard was the
pitter-patter of his little heart and the sweep of his slumbering breaths, a tiny symphony in itself.

“How in the Cauldron did you do that?” Feyre whispered in delighted shock as she surveyed her
son, still gently rocked in the safety of Azriel’s arms.

Gwyn gave an embarrassed laugh at the room which had turned silently bewildered, “Oh, it’s
nothing really, just a lullaby I used to sing at the temple…” The High Lord, despite his wide grin,
was regarding her with shrewd eyes, occasionally darting to the shadows and then, to Azriel.

Feyre opened her mouth to say something else, but instead, all gazes were distracted by something
stirring in the doorway, Elain. Beautiful and radiant, yet almost sorrowful, she stared at the scene
before her. It was at this moment Gwyn realised she was a little too close to Azriel on the floor and
not so subtly, scooted away. The last thing she wanted was to make the female uncomfortable, but
it appeared that had already been achieved.

Elain shook from her daze, but something like hurt flickered in the deep chocolate pools of her
eyes, “I just came down….” As if she was searching and failing for some valid excuse, her voice
was slow and quiet, “I..uh…I just came down to say goodnight…I’m sorry I couldn’t join you all
tonight, I’ve not been well.”

The middle Archeron left as quickly as she came, a chant of goodnights following after her fast
footsteps as Nesta rose with a frown and followed. Gwyn couldn’t help but glance over to Azriel,
but he was simply looking down at the slumbering child he held, once again lost in deep thought.

The flight back was lethally quiet until Gwyn practically burst with the question that had been on
her lips longer than she would like to admit. “What’s going on with you and Elain?”

As with everything that fell from Gwyneth Berdara’s lips, Azriel found himself slightly shocked
and a little terrified.

“Nothing…”

“Oh come on…” Gwyn snorted, playfully hitting his muscular chest with the hand not occupied by
a frightfully large bouquet of powder blue hydrangeas, “Are you really gonna lie to me right now?”

There was a long moment of silence and she watched patiently as those hazel eyes slowly cleared
and he seemingly exhaled his trepidation, “I think last year we both thought there was something
between us…but I realised, perhaps too late, there wasn’t and she hasn’t quite come to that
conclusion herself yet.”

“So, you led her on?”

He cast a sideways glance at her, “No… I mean, I didn’t mean to…” She simply rose her brow
expectantly for him to continue, “I think she may only be interested in me because she wants to
reject her mate...”

Gwyn’s eyes widened as she contemplated the words, "I don't know...Perhaps, she's more rejecting
the core notions of the fae life she's been unfairly bound to..."
"Yeah..." He nodded eyes widening at the wisdom pouring from her pink lips.

"And you, what's your excuse?”

“Uh…” He let out a short laugh disguising his lack of preparedness for the bold question,
“Relationships aren’t particularly my strong front…”

“You don’t say…”

His lips twitched in amusement at her sarcasm, and then a confession fell from them a moment
later, “Honestly, I thought I was in love with another female for many, many years…”

He meant the dangerously beautiful and infamously powerful Morrigan, Gwyn knew that, but she
wouldn’t admit she had pried into his business.

“But...she never returned the sentiment and then, when I met Elain, she was sort of just…
convenient.”

"You mean you wanted to take her to bed?" No judgement in her tone, just pure factual questioning
served in that delightful voice.

"I..."

Gwyn beamed proudly as he fell speechless, “Was she really convenient though if she had a mate,
Shadowsinger?” She didn’t bother to hide the brash nature of her questioning.

“I suppose not.”

“And this other female… I’m guessing there was something about her that wasn’t entirely tangible
either?”

A defeatist pause, “I suppose, the situation was complicated with many things...”

"Like what?"

"I believe she may have other preferences that don't include males..."

“Sounds to me like you’ve been attaching yourself to complicated things your entire life…"

“And what makes you posit that grand hypothesis, Berdara?” The humour in his tone was clear and
the sparkling stars that danced in his eyes punctuated it.

“Well, I suppose it’s easier, isn’t it? To love the unattainable…” Gwyn tilted her head as she mused
into the brisk air, “… it's much safer to invest your feelings in someone you know you can’t have,
than face the fact that if you actually found someone one day that you could genuinely be with, you
may have to relinquish some of that safety the position gives you and simply trust that the loss of
control is worth it.”

What is it about love that makes you feel so unsafe? The question danced dangerously on the tip of
her tongue, but in a rare moment of restraint, she held it back. Not yet.

Azriel absorbed the assessment carefully, before nodding, “I guess...that makes sense.”

"It must have been hard..."

"What?"
"To grow up thinking that you had to protect yourself from everything..." She watched him
swallow deeply as she said the words that rang like gospel, "...even something as natural as your
own heart."

"Control is... something I need." He admitted, so quietly it was almost lost with the wind.

“Unfortunately for you, from what I’ve gathered, loss of control seems entirely the point of love.”

“Oh really?”

She nodded, “It’s the risk of the high stakes that makes it so thrilling. You’re literally handing your
heart to someone else and asking them not to break it. The most vital organ.”

That wonderful smile carved his mouth, “And you’ve gathered this profound theory from…
books?”

“Not just books…” She corrected him with a soft laugh, “You yourself said I was observant.”

“That I did.” He nodded with a grin as if loving the fact she was so very good at using his own
words against him. “So, is that your diagnosis then Dr. Berdara? Permanently detached for control
and safety?”

She didn’t hesitate, as she continued with her reading, “Well…then there’s your crippling self-
esteem issues which, quite frankly, we need to work on…”

He let out a loud laugh, one that could delight the very thunder that brewed in the air above, “Oh
okay…Here we go…”

“Tell me Azriel, if you found the love of your life tomorrow, would you even let yourself love her?
Or would you let all that deprecation get in the way like you have so many times before?”

Another long, contemplative pause, “Is that even possible? To not allow yourself the mating
bond?”

The question stabbed somewhere deep to her chest, right through the very organ that had been the
subject of their conversation. Her voice was quiet as she asked, “You don’t think that love exists
outside the bond?”

“I’m sure it does for some…” He expertly evaded her question as he asked, “What about you?”

Gwyn’s eyes fell, but she kept her tone casual as she said, “Well, call me crazy, but I should like to
think there was some choice in the matter. That some things go beyond magic and destiny.”

He snorted, “Well, I’m not surprised Gwyneth Berdara would deny the Mother and her fates if they
dared to intervene in her plans…”

There was something romantic about it she supposed, to oppose destiny for love. To rattle the very
stars for one’s own heart. And she was sure if Azriel knew who his mate was, he would agree with
her wholeheartedly.

“Well, I’m surprised the great, terrifying Shadowsinger is so scared of such a thing.”

He rose a brow, “You really are opinionated, aren’t you?”

“It’s not a crime to be opinionated when you’re correct, Azriel.”

 “No…” He sighed, eyes heavy but that ghost of a smile remained, “I suppose it isn’t, Gwyneth.”

It was only then that she realised he had flown an extra circuit of the city during their conversation,
before they turned to head back home.

Chapter End Notes

Someone sedate me, I love the fluff!

Fun fact! January 6th is Joan of Arcs birthday. I knew SJM had mentioned Gwyn's
birthday was in January but she never specified when, so I took some liberties there
and chose one myself. I guess I like the symbolism because both are female warriors
who had gone through trauma and were deeply associated with religious connotations.
So there you go.
I also made up the festival of buain uaine because I didn't want to appropriate any
pagan or Celtic practices when I wasn't entirely aware of them in full.

This chapter really was written to highlight that Gwyn is not going to let Azriel get
away with hiding anymore. One of my favourite things about her is that she seems to
be the only one that will give it to him straight and not be worried about tip toeing
around his feelings like all the others do. This is something I think Azriel needs to
finally open up and face the many unhealthy coping mechanisms he has adopted over
the years.

Another aim of this chapter was to begin to integrate Emerie and Gwyn into the IC. I
hope to do more of this because I think they fit into the dynamic nicely and I like the
idea that Nesta’s chosen family make her feel more comfortable amongst Cassian’s
and Feyre’s.

I really wanted Gwyn to find solace in the environment of family because I think
despite her having many forms of sisterhood her whole life (catrin, the priestesses, the
Valkyrie) she’s never really experienced what is beyond that and I think that’s
important for her growth too.
 Blessed to Drown
Chapter Notes

Follow me on Tik Tok @venusandvirtue , I post my poetry and snippets of my other

writing there.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Cauldron boil him, Gwyneth Berdara was a better torturer than he could ever hope to become.

The ice-cold bath water had done nothing to assuage his heated desire. Nor did the hour he spent
prior to that in the training ring, hands bloody and knuckles broken by the end of his assault on the
punching bag.

This was utter madness, and he knew it. The simple act of thinking about her that way crossed so
many lines, that his morality was now as torn to shreds as his hands.

And yet here he was lying in bed, cock throbbing and mind racing.

Hair like hellfire, skin like the pale moon and eyes, a blue so divine that he would be blessed to
drown in them… He would take his time with her. Would worship every inch…

Azriel was fucked.

Or perhaps more appropriately, he desperately needed to be…

Pleasure houses will not meet your desire anymore…

Yes, thank you I think you forget I was the one to experience that misfortune firsthand.

Perhaps you could go and talk to our Valkyrie…

No.

Shadows misses her.

He rolled his eyes. You check on her every hour.

Because Master does not, so we must instead.

Why do you think I put her suite next to mine? If she so much as spoke loudly in fear, I’d hear it.
There is a thing called privacy you know... You can’t just go around stalking Gwyn in her own
room. It’s…creepy.

The shadows undulated in cruel laughter. Creepy? As opposed to thinking about what she would
taste like if you bound her to the bed and made her your own personal three-course dessert…

Out. Now.

The shadows mockingly bowed and swept out of the room. Probably to watch Gwyn sleep.

Mother damn him.

She didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve her friend panting after her like some sort of rabid dog
caught on a delicious scent. It was objectification of the lowest kind, a treacherous betrayal through
reducing her to one of his agonisingly salacious fantasies.

Well…perhaps more than one.

But Azriel knew above all it was wrong, that she deserved better.

And yet here he was, cock in his hand and willingly bound for the depths of hell.

Once they had arrived home from their flight, he all but ran to the training ring, offering her little
by the way of a polite goodnight as he went. Luckily, she seemed to think his abrupt leave was on
account of his unfurled emotions that had been so deftly laid bare by her easy questions during
their flight home.

Not so calmly, he had thrown the shirt that had been soaked in her scent on the floor of the rooftop
and set upon that punching bag as if it were his father, resurrected and in the flesh.

That scent.

Azriel had always thought she smelled familiar somehow, and perhaps the memory of her delicate
scent had stained his nose from the night he had found her in that fucking awful kitchen but
whatever it was…It was intoxicating especially once he finally remembered what it reminded him
of…

As soon as Azriel was telling Gwyn about the Cliffs of Sabai and his comforts at Rosehall Estate,
it clicked.

Lily of the valley and bluebells the colour of sapphire, just like the flowers of the seaside meadow
his mother’s home sat upon. And then something else, tart and fresh, like the windswept shore that
flowed in and out below the cliffs.

Gwyneth Berdara smelled like the closest thing he had to a home and Azriel had no idea what to
do with that terrifying revelation.

His wild thoughts and ravaging arousal were interrupted by a brash knock at the door.

Sister Nesta will knock down the door if you do not open it…

What does she want?

Shadows does not know… Violence by the looks of it. Perhaps a little screaming and maiming…

Fuck.
Shadows will hide the scent of your depravity…

He rolled his eyes…Thanks.

“Azriel, I can hear you.” His body was smart enough to shiver slightly at the promise of retribution
in Nesta’s cold tone. “Open the door. Now.”

He threw on a pair of sweats, not bothering with a shirt – thinking it would be more believable that
he was actually sleeping and not thinking about his best friend splayed in front of him, soaked and
whimpering if he didn’t. With a pace that spoke of woken lousiness, he opened the door.

Seeing her brother’s mate like this made Azriel wonder if she truly had given up her powers as
Lady of Death, or if it had all been a terrifically executed rouse.

“We need to have a little talk…” She pushed straight past him and before he could turn on a light,
the House set the fireplace in his bedroom aflame. The House, it seemed, was angry with him as
well – as it very deftly hid the sound of Nesta’s footsteps as she approached his door. He tried not
to flinch at the sudden scorch of molten heat that flickered and flamed before him as he closed the
door in resignation.

Rubbing his eyes and giving a feigned yawn, he simply stated, “I was sleeping…”

Nesta rose a brow, arms crossed as her shrewd gaze flew to the crumpled-up sheets on the bed to
his surely flushed face and then…down to his trousers.

Fuck.

He was still hard.

“I thought you were meant to be the one that was good at deception…”

At the very least, Azriel knew that if she kept insulting him, the blood in his cock might finally
redirect to his brain and give him some much-needed sense. He crossed his arms as well,
mirroring the demeanour of his intruder and waiting for whatever she had to say. His shadows had
gone radio silent, as if they, cowered in Lady Deaths wake as well.

Nesta took a step forward eyes like blades, “How could you regift a fucking necklace you gave to
Elain to Gwyn? Are you insane?”

Whatever he thought she was going to say, it was not that.

Shadows told Master he would come to regret this, but of course, why listen to shadows? When is
shadows ever right, except always...

Now is not the time.

“Elain gave it back and I-”

She didn’t let him finish, only took another war-declaring step forward and said, “Does Gwyn
know she’s been wearing a necklace you intended for another?” The anger aflame in her silver
stormed eyes glinted with that flicker of hurt. Not for her, but for her friend. It was as good as a
solid punch to Azriel’s gut.

He loosed a deep breath laced with regret and clenched his eyes shut while pinching the bridge of
his nose. “No…”

“Which one are you interested in then? And mark my words Shadowsinger, if you say you don’t
know…”

“Neither!” The lie fell so easily from his lips, but it tasted sour on his tongue and burnt all the way
down his throat.

Nesta didn’t seem remotely convinced, “Then why did you give jewellery to Gwyn for Winter
Solstice?”

“It was just a gesture of kindness… I also gave you a gift, if you don’t remember…”

The eldest Archeron just glared at him like some kind of criminal at a pre-ordained trial, “Do you
really think I’m as stupid as the rest of them, Azriel?”

Sister Nesta has a point… Most are stupidly ignorant.

Shut up.

Ask her for advice… She will help you understand.

A long pause churned the thickened air between them. Finally, Azriel retreated from his defence
and murmured, “Tell me what to do…”

“You will be honest and tell her that while you were desperately trying to corral my sister into
fucking you in the hallway of the River House…”

Azriel resisted the urge to tell her that it was in fact Elain who had made that decisive move. She
was the one that invited his touch…Elain was the one that lingered when he had committed to
leaving…

“…you gave her the necklace as a gift – that you picked out for her… And then, you will tell her
that after Elain was honest with you about her feelings and you bolted… That you saw fit to regift
that necklace to the next pretty girl on your apparently exhaustive list of females that you don’t
deserve.”

“That’s not what…Wait what?” Elain never told him anything about how she felt…

Nesta levelled an incredulous scoff at him, “What the fuck are you doing with my sister, Azriel?”
It was every bit a warning as it was a threat and at that moment, he knew that she was referring to
Gwyn and not her actual sister.

“I…” He thought of the way she looked the day he had bought her that damn book from Rosetta’s.
Thought of the symphony of laughs that fell from her pink, plump lips. The easy way conversation
seemed to flow between them. The warmth that sparked in his chest whenever she managed to coax
him from even the most steeled focus with one of her irreverently humorous questions…
Mother’s mercy.

He really was fucked.

“If you fuck with her like you did Elain…” Nesta pointed a finger at him and he contemplated the
fate of all those who had received the same gesture from her before. “Not even that pretty dagger
or those big wings of yours will save you from the hell I will bring you.”

“I would never harm Gwyn…” If he had ever meant anything in his entire life it was that.

She looked at him, little silver embers glinting in her eyes as she surely tried to decipher the
feelings that soaked through the words. Azriel always knew she had seen far too much. Watched
too closely.

Without a farewell, she moved with brisk steps to his door, every bit the warring General that her
mate was. But as her hand turned the nob, she glanced over her shoulder and said, voice slightly
softened, “Get her something else… Something just for her.” And then, with a whisp of cold
breeze, she was gone.

Something just for her.

He could do that.

Gwyn

“What are you doing, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn’s eyes glinted with humoured curiosity the next
morning as Azriel began to inspect her room for what he claimed was a ‘routine threat inspection’.
Something that, up until ten to seven this morning, Gwyn had been entirely unaware of being
standard practice in the House of Wind.

His discerning gaze flickered about the sun-drenched room as the enthusiastic shadows scattered
about her suite, their obsidian forms floating into her closet and sliding on top of her bed.

“As I said… Who knows what Koschei is up to, routine inspections of the whole house are
necessary to detect any dark magic that may be lurking...”

She rose a brow as his gaze swept over the bookshelf next to her desk, noting the two books he had
given her there with a satisfied twitch of his lips. Through the open closet doors, she could see the
assiduous shadows were currently sweeping through her nearly empty drawers and over her gowns,
“You think a feared death god is hiding in my underwear drawer?”

Azriel cocked his head to glare at the shadows in the closet, who quickly flittered out
unapologetically and began their inspection on her bedside table, weaving through the powder blue
petals of the proudly displayed hydrangeas and into the little drawer below.

Her question went unanswered.

“Okay…” He sighed, clasping his hands together as the shadows finally retreated back to his form,
“Done…”

“Thank the Mother for that…” Gwyn mocked in a dry tone, “I was shaking in my boots every time
I went in for new nickers…”
Azriel just clenched his jaw and just gave her a withering smile.

“Now… Where are we going today?”

Today was the day that she was to be trained on physical touch. Gwyn had attempted to wrench her
filthy mind from the gutter at that prospect, but last night she found herself giving in to some of the
many ideas she had for how he could have his hands on her.

She could see the apprehension raise in his eyes before he could hide it, “I had an idea…but
now…”

“Tell me, Azriel…” Gwyn bit the smile from her lips, she loved it when he was flustered.

He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, “Well it’s a little odd…”

Gwyn rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh, “I’ve asked you to push the boundaries of my
triggers and touch me…I think we’re well past the odd part, don’t you?”

He cleared his throat, seemingly regaining composure as he nodded. Azriel’s voice adopted its
usual frequency of low calm, “I hope you don’t mind, but I consulted the Court healer, Madja, for
her advice… She’s a specialist in female trauma and I thought she may have some ideas…”

Gwyn had visited Madja many times before. The times she had been admitted to the infirmary after
a particularly bad day or night. Her stomach churned with nausea, it wasn’t that the female was
unkind but…

Azriel must have seen the reluctant dread rise within her because he quickly explained, “We’re not
going to see her…I just went to get her opinion on our approach…”

The contracted muscles in her shoulders relaxed and she loosed a breath she didn’t even know she
was holding as she realised the lengths he had gone to, just for her. Someone with scars like that
must have hated visiting the infirmary as much as she had, and yet, he had gone to speak with the
healer.

Just for her.

Gwyn ignored the way that temporarily stopped something vital in her chest.

“I’ll explain when we get there…”

There was no hesitation in her amused features that pricked with curiosity as she took his hand and
they winnowed away to the unknown location.

The dark curtain of smoked shadow crept apart as they appeared in a grand yet decidedly empty
room. Well, it wasn’t so much a room as it was an ornate space lost to the throes of time and
underuse.

The wainscoted walls were a dark wood that stretched high to a ceiling crowned in three unlit
chandeliers. Small cobwebs laced between the lights as if they hadn’t shone in decades. Only a few
pieces of furniture were littered around the room, some draped in white sheets, others a few chairs,
neatly flush against the wall.

There was something altogether ethereal yet entirely ghostly about it, like she had fallen through a
page of one of her novels and into another world. Her curious footsteps took her to the wide
windows that skirted the far wall, surprisingly not glazed with age like everything else had been.

Gwyn’s gaze grew wide as she took in the view beyond. A blue and white spotted lawn and then…
suddenly as if it were carved right there through the grass, the ocean. As azure as it was expansive,
she almost gawked in wonder.

In all her life, she had never seen the ocean in the flesh.

“Are we…” Gwyn began the question, but her voice trailed off as she turned her head and the
greyed decadence of the room distracted her once again. He simply watched patiently, the trace of
a smile on his lips as her mind ticked over.

Rosehall, Azriel’s family estate.

She didn’t expect it to be quite as grand as this, for some reason, she pictured a cobblestone cottage
with a little flower bed at the window…but this. This was stately.

“Madja suggested many ways to integrate touch into our regime…” He began slowly, voice weary.

Gwyn’s brows creased as she waited for him to continue.

“This seemed like the most appropriate choice…”

“Will you be telling me anytime this century Shadowsinger?” She gestured irreverently to the
upholstered chair, “Or should I make myself comfortable in your fancy house?”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, “I thought dancing might be a good introduction to
male touch…”

Gwyn’s mind cleared as Azriel began to ramble, “Apparently, it helps survivors condition their
bodies to the sensation of respectful touch, being both tactile and consensual, it can help alleviate
any trauma associated with regions such as the hips and waist…while also being a challenging and
enjoyable skill to learn…”

She cracked a wry grin, heart skipping over itself as it beat into a flurry. He had never spoken so
many words to her at once. There was no helping it, Gwyn laughed, “It’s perfect…I’ve actually
always wanted to learn.”

The visceral relief in his eyes made her beam even more as he asked, “They didn’t teach you at the
temple?”

“God’s no…” she shook her head with a laugh, “Priestesses aren’t normally invited to balls…”

“Well, that is about to change…” A feminine voice tuned with wisdom-soaked age echoed through
the expanse of the room. Gwyn whipped her head to the source that lay at the doors that carved the
far end of the little ballroom, eyes wide.

Familiar hazel eyes glinting with amusement met hers. They were the first things she saw, even
from that considerable distance away. The female belonging to that stare was elegantly beautiful,
her features timelessly lovely, despite the fine wrinkles etched into her skin and the silver grey of
her lovely, braided hair.

“Gwyn, this is my mother, she was once a dancer herself…” Azriel explained, something softening
in his voice as she neared them on light feet, “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought she could teach
you… “
 Gwyn gave a nod in silent enthusiasm.

He turned to his mother as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders in gentle greeting, before
gesturing to Gwyn, “…Mother, this is Gwyneth Berdara, my friend.”

A discerning gaze that looked far too much like her sons landed on Gwyn and even through all that
delicate beauty, she knew she was being assessed to an inch of her teeth. Seeing the female up
close made her realise where Azriel had inherited his finest physical qualities, the perfect slope of
his nose, carved cheekbones and thick lashes. Averting her curious gaze, Gwyn tried not to linger
her attention on the scarred and ripped wings tucked delicately behind the female.

Emerie had explained wing clipping to her but what had happened to Azriel’s mother for her to
have great gashes in the velvet soft flesh of her wings between the bones? It seemed just like her
son, the female had weathered many storms in her life. Just as Gwyn had.

She held the weight of keen judgement well as Gwyn finally said with a deferential bow of her
head, “Pleased to meet you…Mam…” It was only when she went to call his mother Mrs…when it
struck Gwyn that she didn’t actually know Azriel’s surname. The female didn’t seem to mind the
title though.

“Please, call me Maia…”

Chapter End Notes

I thought a lot about Gwyn's scent and it is based upon a few things:

Lily of the Valley: Symbolises Gwyn herself - two sides of one coin of peace bringing
- the Priestess/the Valkyrie. The flower is a symbol of rebirth and humility. It can be
used to symbolize chastity, purity, sweetness, and motherhood, too. BUT it is also very
poisonous and so it is as dangerous as it is lovely - much like our Gwyn.

Bluebells: Symbolises her love with Azriel - Obviously both in the colour symbolism
of his siphons and her invoking stone but also there are wives tales that say that if you
turn a bluebell flower inside-out without tearing it - you will win the one you love...
This to me means no matter the trauma they have faced they do not break because of
the strength of their love. And some old myths say if you wear a wreath of bluebells,
you will only be able to speak the truth - ie. Truth Teller.

Salt: Symbolises this wider story - Like the sea whence it came, it is full of secrets and
magic and can be as peaceful as it is chaotic. The duality of the sea is what gives it its
power. The best stories are those that both bring tears and the broadest of smiles.

There's a fragrance from Jo Malone called 'Wild Bluebell' which began my inspiration.

It was also my explicit intention that Azriel place Gwyn within her mother's care
because they are two females who have suffered physical cruelty from a man and so,
my thoughts were that Gwyn would inherently be understood by his mother and she
would have the right amount of patience. Also fun fact! Maia means, Mother; One
who has unconditional love like a mother.
 The Little Bird
Chapter Notes

Warning: Brief description of SA that may be triggering

This chapter was inspired by the Clementine Von Radics quote: "God I want you in
some primal, wild way animals want each other. Untamed and full of teeth. God I
want you, In some chaste, Victorian way. A glimpse of your ankle just kills me." I just
think of Gwynriel whenever I read that piece of poetry.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Physical touch indeed.

Whatever Gwyn had thought dancing with Azriel was going to be like, she never expected the
warm sensation that arose from deep within her, as their hands met tentatively by the wayside. She
couldn't help the way her heart raced at the feel of him and prayed to the Mother that if he heard it,
he chalked it down to nerves and not whatever else was brewing inside her. Azriel seemed calm
and collected, but as always, those hazel eyes didn't lie. Gwyn saw the conflict in them instantly
when her hand met his, saw his jaw tighten ever so slightly and eyes darken to molten flecks.

Maia placed the other of her sons’ capable hands upon Gwyn’s waist and surprisingly, she didn’t
recoil from the touch. Didn’t even flinch as his fingers found the tender crook of skin across from
her navel and she felt every inch of that touch despite the leathers they wore. But truthfully, her
eyes still fell to glance down at that lovely hand there. To make sure it was him and no one else.
To check the scars that sketched like a map through his flesh as if alluding to places she
desperately wanted to go.

“Is this okay?” Azriel murmured, voice thick with something foreign.

“You’ve already asked me that three times, Shadowsinger…” Gwyn loosed a light-hearted breath
of a laugh as her eyes came up to meet his own, cautious ones. But he only raised a brow, as if still
needing the answer.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he saw her that night. Saw the dark horrors that had plagued
her mind and body ever since. Perhaps he knew then, what she was thinking, what the significance
of that touch was.

The Hybern soldier had pressed his meaty fingers into the space underneath her ribs as he held her
over that damn table and pressed her down into the unforgiving wood. Gripped at her hipbones
with iron forged strength when she writhed and wrangled and left bruises of the most violent purple
and black in the tender flesh of her sides. She crossed her arms tightly over her waist, crossed even
when he picked her up and fly her away. Even when she knew on some baseline physiological
level that he would never harm her.
But this didn’t feel like that same touch. No. This touch felt wanted and warm. Like a hearth
burning in the midst of winter, or a steaming bath after a day of training.

“Yes, it’s okay…” She gave him a small smile to ease his worries as she admitted, “To tell you the
truth, I’m just a little horrified I won’t be very good at this.” It was true, there was no secret that
she harboured a propensity somewhere between obsession and brazen commitment to master any
art that her mind had seen as a challenge.

And this was no different.

As in everything, Gwyn wanted to be the best and though Azriel had warned her off such
perfectionistic notions before, he seemed to derive enjoyment from this particular ambition.

Azriel grinned at her and he was so close she could feel his warm breath dance on her skin as he
said, “I don’t doubt you’ll be an expert in a matter of days, Berdara.”

Maia was skirting around them, eyes focused on every detail of their stance. She silently fixed the
angle of Gwyn’s bent elbow and adjusted the height in which they held their hands together.
“Nobody becomes an expert in dance overnight, little bird…” His mother sighed, using the
nickname she had quickly earnt herself. Although, she didn’t quite know if it was gained in
lighthearted jest or critical assessment.

She had let out a large symphony of laughter when Maia had recalled to her that for half an hour
every day, she would force Azriel to practice dancing when he was younger. The mother retold the
tale with a fondness glittering in her hazel eyes, adding that when she visited him, he would be
made to show the evidence of his practice. When Gwyn burst into a fit of laughter, the female had
said she sounded like one the songbirds of the Illyrian mountains and hence, little bird became her
name.

She rather liked it. Gwyn had never had a nickname before, except for when Cassian occasionally
called her Gwynnie, of course. Which was decidedly worse than Little Bird.

“Now…” The female stepped back, hands on her hips and gaze as hard as any commander as she
said, “Stance is where you draw your strength, a dancer and their partner is only as good as the
straightness of their spine and the proud point of their chin…”

In answer, Gwyn locked her vertebrae into place and rose her chin as she nodded. However, the
stance seemed somewhat more natural to her partner - who given his early days of learning - clearly
had encompassed it in muscle memory. And she couldn't help but think there was something
graceful about him that way. He would always be a warrior, honed by battle and blood, but she saw
those moments of masculine elegance too. Saw the tenderness in his eyes when he looked upon his
mother, the softness of his voice when he spoke to Nyx and the gentleness in his touch when he
took her waist.

Gwyn saw him, in all his contending beauty. Dark and light.

“We’ll start with an Amanté I think…” Her eyes glimmered with something like hidden humour as
they swept upwards to her son's and a silent conversation seemed to travel between them for a few
heartbeats.

Gwyn frowned, “I’ve not heard of the Amanté, is it an Illyrian dance?” By now, she had read many
fae romance novels that detailed particularly sultry dance scenes, often involving long-heated
stares across the dancefloor and desire-sparking touches of fingertips that led to steamy moments in
broom closets and gardens. But she had never heard of this particular one before.
Azriel’s mother smiled with a nod, “It is…and it’s a rather important one, so best master the one
you may need to know first, I think.”

“Don’t you think something a little more…basic…might be appropriate?” Azriel’s tone was
punctuated by the seriousness set in his brow.

But Gwyn answered before his mother could, not accepting his attempt at watering down the
challenge levelled at them, “No, no, I’m happy to learn whatever your mother recommends…”

A triumphant gleam met his mother’s eyes as she dismissed Azriel’s comment and began to show
them the first steps of the dance. She pointed a finger and directed them apart, so they stood a few
metres across the room from one another.

A symphonia set upon the singular mahogany table in the cobwebbed corner, began to play a
melody of sweeping sound that seemed to lick her flesh leaving goosebumps in its wake and sink to
her bones, echoing in the hollows. A folk tune that harmonised a series of high and low waves of
sound, wrapping the abandoned ballroom in a song of euphony.

Two contending fiddles fighting a battle of harmony and then, the pitter patter of drums like with
every note, they were truly signalling war. But the song didn't seem aggressive or violent, instead
passionate and she didn't know if she wanted more to dance or fight to the music.

But what Gwyn did know, was that she felt the urge to sing to it. Like some lost part of her had
heard the melody before and wished to greet it with her own.

Her cheeks flushed with crimson blush as he came behind her and took her waist. Nothing but a
phantom inch between his front and her behind. The dance was more intimate than those she had
read about before.

She supposed that it was indicative of the Illyrian culture from which it had been born, a more
brutal and tactile people than the high fae. Out of interest, Gwyn had read countless books in the
library about the Illyrians, and she knew they were as famed for their pursuits in the bedroom as
they were on the battlefield.

A true nation of people with hot blood and a thirst for all things exhaustive - this dance seemed to
punctuate that.

Despite her lovely features, inset with a timeless beauty that surely won her many suitors when she
was younger, Maia was every bit the gentle lady that her soldier of a son was. She had a sharp
mind and an even finer wit about her, and over the next four hours, Gwyn became very well
acquainted with her brisk, no-nonsense nature. Though, like her son, the female was secretly
patient and gentle when it was needed.

Gwyn had to bite the smile from forming on her lips as she snapped at Azriel again in the way only
a mother could, “Tuck your wings in when your turning, boy, this isn’t a war camp. ”

But she couldn’t help the giggle escape as she watched his wings contract quickly behind his back,
while he murmured with pink cheeks, “Yes mother…”

“And you,” She levelled a brow at Gwyn, “… stop giggling and concentrate, your footwork is off.”

She clamped down her amusement and straightened, “Yes Maia…”

Dancing, Gwyn discovered, was like very much like being in the training in the ring.
You had to know your opponent and trust them with your body as you worked in tandem to test
limits and meet milestones. You had to predict their movements and react in time with them. There
was an art to the footsteps like there was with swordplay and equally, there was an inherent
strength needed to propel yourself forward into the music and keep to the warring beat of time.

The dance was steeped in cultural tradition and symbolism that Gwyn, being an outsider, found as
fascinating as it was challenging. There was a story woven through the steps, Gwyn and Azriel
started off apart and gradually through a series of mirrored movements, came closer and closer
together before they wrapped and touched in a battle of hands. The footwork was something of a
beast in its own right, but between the music and the freeing sensation of actually enjoying being
touched, she didn’t mind.

Being of Illyrian significance, Azriel’s wings were every bit a vital limb as his feet and the dance
involved many instances of them flexing out to graze her back as they stepped in time together.
Seeing his wings flexed in such a space made her realise actually quite how large they were, and
her filthy yet curious mind recalled that 'wingspan correlation theory' Nesta had so enthusiastically
told her about.

Another blush met her cheeks as, with no small amount of strength, he propelled her into the air by
the waist and spun her around. Gwyn flushed the arousal that rose in her quickly, knowing it wasn't
the time for him to scent such a thing when his face was close to the source of it and his mother
was keenly observing.

But Mother above, was he touching her.

Azriel’s hands, though decisively light in their contact, had met almost every inch of her waist,
arms, shoulders and hips by the end of the first lesson. And in truth, Madja’s advice had rung true,
she felt safe in that room with him. There was rules and a context that didn’t denote danger, but
still promoted touch and intimacy. And perhaps if she did continue with her lessons, there would be
a time soon when they could practice grappling again to ensure she had become more comfortable.

Panting from the surprising workout the dancing demanded, Gwyn thanked his mother with a
bright smile as she gave them each a wrapped sandwich for lunch and sent them outside, claiming
she was in desperate need of a nap and for them to come back tomorrow for another lesson.

The brisk ocean breeze was a cure for their sweaty forms and she revelled in the opportunity to
breathe air that wasn't shared with him. Azriel led her out of the fine home to the meadow beyond,
where he knew by the way she glanced in wonder out the window before, Gwyn would desperately
like to explore. She picked the wild bluebells and lily of the valley as they strolled towards the
cliffs that carved the Prythian border with the western sea.

She liked the way the home was completely isolated yet never quiet. The sounds of waves crashing
and bay birds squawking above, filled her ears in a delicate symphony that set her heart at ease.
Rosehall, as Azriel referred to it, was a wonder of solitude and natural beauty and she understood
why someone like his mother would find refuge there.

Hair ruffled by the salted wind as they ate, they sat on the edge of the black stone cliffs, legs
dangling freely off the ledge. And in front of them, the sea. It was unlike anything she had ever
seen before. Such wild, untamed beauty that stretched for miles and miles before them in hues of
rippling navy and deep cobalt. The cliffs were every bit as heavenly as they were terrifyingly high.
When she dared to glance, they plummeted down in sharp, blackened shards to a rocky shore that
was licked by the sea in waves.

In a soft voice, she admitted, "You know, I never expected it to sound like this..." Her eyes
fluttered closed as she flooded her lungs with the scent of salt and meadow flowers and heard the
crash of waves.

He nodded in thoughtful agreement, "This is where I come... When I need time."

She gave a deep hum in approval, eyes still closed as she said, "I'm sorry I stepped on your toes so
much today..."

"You were perfect."

Gwyn cracked a wide grin, turning to him, "I had fun today... You're a very good partner, although
I must admit I am jealous that you know the steps and I don't."

A low chuckle met her ears, "I'm sure you'll surpass me in no time, Gwyneth."

"Well if I'm going to go to buain uaine with the girls, I don't want to look like a fool..."

He rose a brow and the shadows around him seemed to tense too, "There is no way you're going to
buain uaine."

"And why not, Shadowsinger? She cocked her head and pitched a brow back in levelled challenge,
"What if I want to go drinking and dancing and dallying?"

Azriel's jaw clenched, "I don't think you understand, buain uaine is basically an Illyrian
Calanmai..."

"And what? You don't think I'm entitled to sexual exploration?"

That silenced him, and she watched as his gaze dipped for a moment to her lips and then back again
to the stubbornness in her eyes. "No, I simply don't think you deserve the degrading attention the
backward Illyrians will give you."

"I actually recently read that degradation is a kink for some people."

She watched in no shortage of triumph as Azriel looked somewhere between bewildered,

overwhelmed and amused and he swallowed down deeply before saying, "Did you now..."

Gwyn shot him a wry grin, "Yes, reading has been very enlightening on that front..." Her gaze
turned to the sea as she admitted quietly, "When I left the library I promised myself I would try
new things... I don't want to be held back by fear anymore, I want to live."

"There's no need to rush..."

She cut him off, tone measured despite the dark turn of the conversation, "The night you found me
in Sangravah, I almost died..." She didn't miss the way he stiffened and as if needing the air, she
paused to inhale deeply. "...And I only realised when I met Nesta and started training, that I was
going to die that night not knowing anything of the world. And maybe if I had stayed in the library
with Clotho and Merrill it would've stayed that way. But I want to experience things, because if the
Blood Rite taught me anything, it's that I could leave this earth at any time and not feel like I've
done remotely enough..."

He gave a sombre nod, tone almost strained as he said, "Okay...just, I need you to be careful. That
kind of thing is about trust."

Gwyn nodded, agreeing to his ridiculous request.

After a moment of pause, she asked the question that had been on her mind for the whole morning,
“Why did your mother move here from Illyria?”

Azriel's eyes were shrouded with darkness, all clarity gone as his hands tensed and balled into fists
by his side. The shadows seemed to lap at his ear whispering while he took a moment of pause
before finally answering, “She wasn’t treated well there.”

Gwyn thought back to the females’ shredded wings, the large gashes that ripped through the fine,
membranous skin of them. It was only when they had finished their lesson that she had noticed that
damage seemed to affect her spine, her feet occasionally struggling to make the next step, or
faltering altogether.

And then, her gaze drifted from the beautiful sea down to his hands. The question fell from her lips
before she could think better of it, “Were you?” Another question she had desperately wanted
answering.

He clenched his jaw and slowly shook his head, eyes glued to the horizon in front of them. “What
they did to you in the Blood Rite…” he began, voice low and full of distaste, “…that is how they
treat their females. They see them as nothing but vessels for breeding and if those females are
strong and idealistic enough to reject that life…the Illyrians have a way of making those females’
life a living hell.”

Gwyn swallowed the acidic taste that washed into her throat and burnt the back of her tongue.
“And there’s nothing the Night Court can do to change that?”

Azriel turned her, those hazel eyes a brilliant shade of gold flecked with dark mahogany in the
azure light, “They’re more likely to rebel and commit their forces to regicide than ever change
enough to see their precious patriarchy fall…We’ve tried…” He let out a deep sigh, one full of
years and years of disdain for his own, “When Rhys banned wing clipping, there was a century of
civil unrest. The retaliation ended up being more cruel and violent than the act we had been trying
to ban.”

Gwyn shook her head in frustration, her voice turning quiet as she asked, “Who did that to your
mother’s wings?”

She saw every ounce of hatred boil over in the burning hazel of his eyes, “My father…”

Gwyn felt nausea churn through her, silencing every other question on the tip of her tongue. A
shadow skittered down Azriel’s arm and leapt onto her shoulder as if in comfort.

“Your…Your father did that?” She didn’t attempt to hide the raw repugnance that soaked her tone.

His gaze retreated to the horizon, “The Illyrians are a savage people, it is not in their nature to have
morality or kindness, Gwyn…” Azriel swallowed hard, “The males are nothing but vile beasts.
And my father was one of the worst.”

And there it was.

The final piece of a puzzle Gwyn had been trying to solve this whole time clicked into place and
revealed an ugly picture. She never quite understood the self-hatred that brewed so abundantly
within him. Didn’t see the roots for what they were until this very moment. Through all the
violence that war had called for and the sure use his infamous blade had been put to, was Azriel
scared of becoming his father?

A violent, empty, loathsome thing.

Perhaps, in all his life, he had looked in the mirror and not seen his lovely mother, as she had, but
the other half of him. Maybe that’s why he shrouded himself in the shadows, not so much to hide
but to disguise what he saw on his face.

The face of a man that hurt his mother.

A vile beast as he had said himself.

She moved to place a hand on top of his and watched as he glanced down to observe the gesture
with heavy eyes.

“I’m sorry…” Her thumb began tracing the side of his palm gently as if exploring the rivulets of
roughened skin with soft caresses.

When his gaze finally rose to meet hers, she had the sudden thought that perhaps no one had ever
said those absolving words to him before. That perhaps in his five hundred and forty years, this
may be a rare conversation for him to have.

Confusion etched into his brow and his voice was thick as he said, “For… For what?

She turned further into him, her delicate fingers now sliding up and down his wrist, the powerful
muscles of his forearm and then back down to his hand in gentle, long strokes. “That you had to
watch your mother go through that… It must have been awful for you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered back down to the touch, as if suddenly numbed by her words, holding on by
engrossing himself in the sight of someone willingly touching his hands. Maybe even completely
unused to simply being stroked like that.

There was a long pause as he watched her pale hand glide over his, the evidence of goosebumps
rising in a ghostly trail behind her fingers, before he answered, “Why… why would you apologise
for that?”

“Because…” Something heavy sat in her throat as she glanced up to gain control of her burning
eyes. Her hand still in his, she fell back into the gentle rhythm of stroking his palm with her thumb
and she heard the ragged breath loose from his lips in its wake.

Because even though it’s not the same, she wished someone had said those words to her when she
needed them. Because she knew what it was to be at the mercy of another’s cruelty and be forced to
carry the memory. Because she had watched the most important person to her be tortured as well.

For some reason, she couldn’t say all that, so she settled on, “Because sometimes life’s not fair and
I don’t think someone should ever believe they don’t deserve an apology for having to live with
that reality.”

His next actions took her by surprise. Slowly, he lifted his hand and wrapped hers in its warm
embrace, their fingers lacing together, palms meeting in a spark of warmth that shot to her chest
like a lick of hot adrenaline.

The touch said a million things in one and as she leaned her head on his shoulder, nestling into his
warmth, she saw the faint evidence of tears fall onto the leathers of his lap. She merely drew her
other lonely hand into the ones that were already clasped together and continued her massage of
absolving strokes. Every touch, steeped in the heavy words left unsaid between them.

There were a million questions racing through her mind, but they all seemed to be carried off with
the winds that danced around them, a comfortable silence encompassing instead. The bond felt
especially taunting in that moment, harsh in its strength as it unfurled its ribbon and reached from
her ribcage - yet it was cruel in its unrequited journey.

But, she savoured that small time they spent holding each other anyway and if that was all she ever
was given... If that was all he could afford to give her, she would keep that memory locked
somewhere safe in her mind forever. Would memorise the sensation of his chin resting on top of
her hair, the feel of the hard muscle of his bicep against her temple and the heavenly sensation of
being joined with him.

She could make this moment a little forever to keep.

With tender light softness, she felt the ghost of a kiss on the crown of her head, “Thank you,
Gwyn…”

After a while of just sitting there, she finally murmured, “I like her, by the way… Your mother.”

A grin met his lips as he let out a choked laugh, “Yes, I thought you would. Believe it or not, she
likes you too…”

And perhaps that cliff wasn’t just something physical they sat upon but instead, a precipice of
something they were about to venture down, because they stayed there for another hour, holding
each other and just talking.

Azriel spoke more than he ever had before, he spoke about his mother and her life of being a
dancer in Illyria, he told her of all the viciously complicated dancing steps she had made him
practice, he told her of the songs she sang to him. And when Gwyn asked him to sing one for her,
he did. A little folk song about songbirds in the high mountains.

She had never heard such a delightful voice before, and she was sure that no matter what was to
come, she would always remember how his deep, low voice curled around those notes as if he
were tuned perfectly to sing them. A dark hymn that would put anyone on their knees. His shadows
danced like wisps of entranced obsidian cobras like they themselves were praying to the sound.

Later that night, she lay in bed thinking of hazel eyes, scarred hands and the words from the song
he had sung to her. And through replaying that lovely tune in his deliciously decadent voice, she
slept peacefully as she had never done before.

Here comes the songbird

Her coat as pale as snow,

Dallying by the water bank,

Did the hunter see her glow,

He fired an arrow and missed,

And boy did it show,

For that songbird of ours,

Ripped his eyes from their bones.

Here comes the songbird,

 Her coat red with foe,

Never will a male again,

Try to land a blow.

Chapter End Notes

Surprise another update! I kind of left you hanging there, so I felt bad.

The dancing element was something I wanted to introduce for two reasons.
Firstly, it seemed to be a consistent theme in SJM's character arcs that the romantic
couples are associated with music and dance (Feysand at Starfall, Nessian in the Court
of Nightmares etc.) and so I wanted to pay homage to that theme while giving it in the
context of Gwyn and Azriel's needs/story.
Secondly, I've read a huge amount of Gwynriel fics and they all have such incredible
ways of integrating the theme of 'touch' and Gwyn overcoming her tactile anxiety as a
pillar of their relationship and I wanted to do something that I hadn't read in any fic
before. My worry is that it translated a little 'Bridgerton cringe', and I hope this isn't
the case, but please let me know if you have any feedback. I'd love to hear your
thoughts.

On Rosehall, I think sometimes people forget that Azriel is the son of an Illyrian Lord.
And in my mind, when he kills his father and those awful step-brothers, that money
and title would have been transferred to him by birthright. But considering he hates
Illyria and presumably his mother associates it with her own trauma, I figured Azriel
would actually put her in a home as far away from the society that caused all of their
problems as possible. I also thought that between Azriel's guilt of being the source of
his mothers trauma mixed with Rhys' generosity and Azriel's wealth, that he would
purchase his mother something substantial that was her own property to essential rule
over.

I hope you guys liked this chapter! Please leave comments with what you liked, I love
to see them!

Lou x
 Anchor in the Storm
Chapter Notes

Warning: Mild references to memories of sexual assault and trauma

Sorry for the late update! I really wanted to get this chapter right and it took me longer
than expected to get there. Enjoy x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

The stairs were far steeper than she remembered them being and although Gwyn had only been
gone from the library for a month and a half, it felt like she was visiting the grave of her old self
when she walked through the library to the dusk service. Clotho had mentioned to her upon her
leaving that she was always welcome to attend and tonight, she needed it. Now on her way back, a
pep in her step and a lightness flooding through her veins, there was no doubt in her mind that she
had missed singing at the service. And yet, Gwyn found herself pleased to leave the confines of the
space she once called home to return to her room.

Her room, not dorm. With a private bathroom and a hidden parlour. The Mother was as
unpredictable as she was kind.

Her steps were weighed down by the heavy tomes she had borrowed from the library pertaining to
the Summer Court and its ruling family. If there was truly something suspicious occurring in the
Summer lands that may lead to a coup, researching the key players had to be the best way to start.
Gwyn supposed that espionage was like a mystery novel in that way. She would narrow down a
few key characters and then with the aid of Azriel's spy network, dig further to reveal any motives
they may harbour to potentially want to displace Tarquin.

But all that could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she would relax. The service was just as magical
as it had always been. Her days had become so full of music and dancing at Rosehall that it stirred
a lost desire in her to sing. And perhaps she needed to get away from the House for a little while,
away from the male that she had grown close with.

Her mate.

Well at least, half a mate. She wasn’t sure what the correct terminology was for a broken bond, but
half a mate seemed not entirely judicious to the chaos it was causing within her. They had spent
the last week of mornings with Maia and as Azriel had predicted, Gwyn soon knew all the steps of
the Amanté better than he did himself. Then, they would have lunch by the cliffs, sometimes with
his mother, if she was feeling well enough. Sometimes, just the two of them.

And perhaps, it felt easy to be in his company and laugh with his mother.

Too easy.

Gwyn could see it in his eyes sometimes, the flicker of desire or the way his gaze swept down to
her lips when she was teasing him. But it wasn’t enough to know how he really felt, nor to discern
if he would ever act on those feelings if they were substantial enough to elicit something greater.
And if they weren’t touching each other the way they had to for dancing, perhaps she wouldn’t be
going as mad as she was.

But her wanting had been poured in gasoline and set aflame. And those little morsels of hidden
reciprocation he was giving her weren’t helping put out that raging fire - especially when the heat
felt so intoxicating.

In the afternoon, they would train in the ring or the woods. The combat-heavy hours were a
welcome distraction from her tightly wound body. It was a matter of weeks until they were
dispatched to the Autumn court for their mission, and the focus on espionage training had reduced
their time dedicated to physical fitness. He hadn’t suggested they try grappling again, leaving that
decision in her court to decide. And thank the mother for that small mercy, because if she found
herself straddling him again, Gwyn had no idea what kind of embarrassment may ensue.

So perhaps it was for the best she found herself later that evening sprawled across the sofa in her
hidden parlour, drinking tea and devouring the book on espionage Azriel had bought for her.
Gwyn's stomach rumbled with fury as the clock struck eleven. She had stupidly skipped dinner in
favour of a book and a moment for her aching body to relax after the service. But now, a ferocious
hunger churned within her.

Her gaze rose to the ceiling, calling to the House, "I don't suppose I can have some dinner?"

There was no answer.

She let out a huff, "Oh, come on, you're going to starve me?"

The door to her bedroom simply creaked open in answer and she knew in that moment exactly what
the House had been trying to tell her. Gwyn had successfully avoided the kitchen in the House of
Wind for the entirety of her time living there and up until now, the house had lovingly obliged her.
But something told her that the kindness in the face of that lingering fear had run dry.

She exhaled a deep breath, the rising anxiety of the prospect being exiled with it and padded on
soft footsteps to the kitchen to face her fears.

Her hands found the edge of the kitchen bench, fingertips grazing over the marble slab as if she
were attempting to calm a wild beast struck with hunger. It was a different texture to the wooden
table that lay in the centre of the kitchen at Sangravah. There were no roughened whirls of wood
that had seen many centuries of use, and it hadn’t sustained a plethora of chips and dents from the
slip of untrained hands using knives.

No.

This was smooth and unrippled like the placid sea on a summer’s day.

How many times had she thought about that cursed table?

The weight of the rug she had thrown underneath it. The screech of its thick legs against the stone
tiles as she pushed it into place. The very feel of that coarse oak on her soft cheek. Her grief was
horribly discreet like that, hidden in the small details of such a normal thing as a table. Nobody
knew what weight that thing actually bared, what atrocities were etched into the wood. Gwyn had
left a piece of herself somewhere in its roughened grooves and unforgiving edges. And the memory
of that girl lingered like a splinter from that very wood, lodged in her chest.
But she would no longer mourn.

Gwyn would let the wound that was never stitched right, come loose. She would flush it with salt
and bleed the pain. And finally, that wound that had been festering would heal to nothing but a
scar.

And what were scars but reminders of the beasts we had fought and won? What were memories but
fragments of the strength we needed to overcome? What were kitchen tables but the things that we
refused to break upon?

The situation she found herself in was different enough not to send her tumbling into a wild spiral
of her haunted past but similar enough to begin an attempt at desensitisation. For a long while, she
simply took deep breaths, her fingers tracing that hard ledge and then, her hands gripped at the
width as if familiarising herself with every dimension.

Slowly, she bent over it, her hips becoming a strong hinge, those thighs built with hard muscle
anchoring her to the floor.

Her body was stronger now, her heart fiercer and her mind, although battered had come back wise
and sharpened like a battle-honed blade.

Her palms flexed aside the sprawl of burnished copper that fell over her head like a waterfall of
flames.

The instinct to lift her head and check the room itched, but instead, she chose to stay.

The hymn she had adopted as age-old gospel rang like temple bells in her mind.

I am the rock in which the surf crashes.

Her lungs flooded with a deep breath, long drinks of oxygen clearing the anxiety that threatened to
itch at her mind. Cold marble met her cheek and bit at her skin. But it wasn’t harsh wood, and for
that she was thankful. Her lashes fluttered closed to graze her cheeks and she simply stood there,
bent over the bench and counting down from thirty.

I am the sedulous shore that never stops reaching.

Breathe in and out.

Slowly she raised her fingertips from her sides and drifted them past the curves of her thighs, the
sensitive skin feeling raw and tender beneath her touch. Waves of discomfort washed over her, but
she weathered that storm. Held on and let it pass as easily as it had come.

I am the sturdy ship that survives the storm.

Inhale. Exhale

She felt the muscles that flanked her hips threaten to spasm, the tendons pull tight like bowstrings
and the slow churn of acid brew in her stomach. But instead of giving in, she honed her focus on
the cold lick of the marble on her forehead, the contending warmth of the House and the lingering
scent of rich red wine that drenched her airways.

Gwyn was safe.

I refuse to sink into the depths.

Inhale. Exhale

I refuse to break under the current.

Her hands tentatively rose further and swept upwards to her waist, as if she was reintroducing her
body to the touch. Greeting the flesh with light, soft strokes. A vindication in every inch further she
made, soothing the knots of pain that lay lodged in the very fibres of that curvature.

I am Gwyneth Berdara, and I am not afraid.

And in that moment for the first time in what seemed like an age, her body was her own.

And she knew that she had survived the storm.

A slice of warm, chocolate cake and a bottle of wine materialised on the bench in front of her gaze,
a congratulatory gift from the House.

Azriel

It was midnight when he finally landed back at the House of Wind. He flew home from the Hewn
City, needing to clear his head before coming back to the House.

He never liked torturing humans, but admittedly they tended to fold much more quickly than the
fae. But there was something so breakable about them, their pain thresholds were extremely weak
and one wrong move would render them dead and useless in a matter of seconds. Tonight was
proof of that very fact, as he only had to perform some light maiming and a little carpal flaying to
get him to spill all the information he had on Queen Dehlia. One of the three remaining Queens
that had been acting suspicious since Briallyn died. Apparently, she had sent a fleet of spies across
the continent to search the great libraries for information Ridderaks. It was something that surely
would involve a long meeting with Rhys tomorrow, but for now, he needed to unwind.

All was quiet in the House when he strode down the stairs from the rooftop on uncaring, heavy
feet. His shadows had quickly abandoned him to go and check on Gwyn, something which
although creepy, he supposed he didn't mind all that much. They found him moments later, a
barrage of undulating smoke meeting his form in anxious waves.

Our Valkyrie's not in her room.

Library?

No.

Azriel ignored the way his heart beat erratically and his fingers seemed to twitch in apprehension
as he searched the house. He caught her scent in the common corridor and followed its trace all the
way to the kitchen. His shadows danced and sagged in relief when she came into view from where
he stopped in the doorway. Gwyn hummed the sweet folk tune of the Amanté in her lovely voice
as she sat on the kitchen countertop, legs swinging and a book in hand. His gaze surveyed the
sweet picture it painted in the golden-lit room, watching as she reached for a glass of wine that sat
next to an empty plate littered with cake crumbs.

There was something wholesome about the scene, like the relaxation set in her shoulders and the
happy symphony pouring from her lips felt like home.

Who is the creepy one now, watching her from the shadows...

He rolled his eyes. At least I don't watch her sleep.

Shadows only checks on her, not watches.

Since when does 'checking on' mean sitting on her bed and checking her pulse for hours?

Perhaps if you slept in the same room, shadows wouldn't feel obliged to be so vigilant for enemies.

Azriel quickly banished the imagery his shadows had coaxed within his mind and moved into the
light.

“Can’t sleep?”

Her head whipped up from the thick book, eyes wide. Quickly, she glanced around, first at her
place on top of the bench and secondly at the glass of wine beside her. Something like bashful
humour flickered across her pinked features as if registering the odd nature of how he found her.

Our Valkyrie is embarrassed you have found her like this.

Why?

She’s having a party for one…You should join her.

A party?

She is celebrating.

What is she celebrating?

His shadows didn’t answer, leaving him to his own devices while enthusiastically skittering over to
lap at her swinging feet that dangled above the floor.

Traitors.

She shrugged off her embarrassment before closing the book and placing it in her lap, “I’m
desensitising myself to kitchens by attempting to associate positive things with the room instead of
negative memories...”

He leaned on the doorframe with a grin threatening to form on his lips, “And how’s that going for
you?”

There was something about seeing her like this that made him falter just slightly. Her lovely hair
was unbound, falling in a waterfall of copper over her freckled shoulders and her legs were bare,
nothing but a pair of silk white sleep shorts and a camisole covering her moon-glazed skin.

She discarded the book to the side and took a sip of the deep crimson wine before answering, “I’m
happy to report it’s been extremely an effective exercise.” The shadows had slithered up her long
legs and found a place in her lap like an affectionate cat. His eyes tracked the way she bit the smile
from forming on her lips.

“Are you drunk Berdara?

Gwyn rolled her eyes, “I prefer the term celebratorily inebriated…”

“What’s the difference?” He asked, strolling closer to the bench and leaning casually on the
opposite cabinet.

“One doesn’t involve agreeing to go home with, to quote Cassian’s eloquently snobbish
assessment, an ‘ambitious Arktosian bastard’ or, painting the side of this mountain with the
contents of my stomach.”

He raised a brow, “Well I’ll drink to that…” Lips twitching, he reached over to fill her empty glass
and took a sip from it. The taste of her lips still lingered on the rim, she tasted saccharine, like
meadow-spun sugar. Azriel downed the glass, the rich merlot hued perfectly with that pleasant hint
of her.

Gwyn’s cheeks heated as her gaze dipped to his mouth and he wondered if she could tell why he
had licked the remanence of the taste from his lips. Wondered if she knew he liked the taste of her,
even if it were akin to sampling some forbidden fruit.

He reached to the bottle that sat next to her thigh and carefully refilled the glass again, “What are
we celebrating then?”

She gestured below her with a dramatic flourish of hands, “I conquered the table.”

There was a long pause as he put the pieces of her words together. Brows rising in a display of
genuine surprise and respect he said, “A formidable opponent…”

Gwyn nodded, the validation painting something rosed and pretty on her cheeks. He had never
even thought about why he’d never seen her in the kitchen. Why the House sent her breakfast to
her room in the morning or made her tea without her ever having to boil the kettle herself.

Her tone turned decidedly more sobered as she asked, “Where were you tonight?”

Should he tell her he had spent the entire night in the coercion chambers of the Hewn City? Would
that perfect grin be wiped off her sweet lips if she knew he had severed the man’s fingers from
their bones and flayed the skin of his palms from the delicate muscle underneath? Azriel drained
the glass as if swallowing the guilt that rose like bile at the thought of it.

“Fixing an issue in the Human lands…” Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either.

And if she detected the evasion, she didn’t press it any further because instead, Gwyn’s features
twisted to a dramatically feigned show of offence, “You went to the human lands…without me?”

He rose a brow, that acidity that clouded his mind dissipating when he glanced up at her again,
“Do you harbour a particular interest in bland food, human fragility and overt wealth disparity?”
A pretty frown found her brow punctuating the brightness of her azure eyes below, “Well no…”

Mother damn him, she was adorable and Azriel tried and failed to hide that fact as the smile
formed on his lips, “Well then excuse me for not extending the invite… But if it’s any consolation,
I very much doubt you would’ve enjoyed yourself.”

Imagining Gwyneth Berdara in the depraved human lands was almost something comical and
despite his better judgement, he might take her along one day if she ever truly wanted to go. But he
vowed right then and there that she would never peer into the blood-stained walls of the coercion
chambers he worked from in the Court of Nightmares. It would be like a perfect lily found in the
midst of a field of rot. Nothing good was found down in those hellish depths and he couldn’t bare
taint her opinion of him with that knowledge.

She took the glass from his hand with a wry grin and sipped from it in turn. He wondered if she
tasted the longing he left on the rim, “Oh come on, Shadowsinger, they can’t be all that bad.”

He took the glass back, not breaking their eye contact as he took another long sip, “Perhaps not, but
this one was.”

There was something electric crackling between them, like a furious storm brewed in the small
space they shared. And for some reason, Azriel found himself leaning into it. If Gwyn brought a
storm, he would thank the Mother for her rain.

It was her turn to pour another glass and as she did, it became clear they were now playing a game.
As always, Azriel had found himself entirely outnumbered and under-guarded in the wake of her.
And if he knew anything, it was that the tenacious glint in her azure eyes and the wicked twist of
her pink lips meant this was a game he had already lost.

And perhaps, that very look on her perfect face made Azriel happy to lose, just this once.

They were dancing on the tip of a razor's edge, but the wine had quickly dulled his rational sense
and her proximity seemed to drain him of better judgement.

“What made you want to become a spy?” She took a deep sip of the wine before adding, “Were
you always just really sneaky?”

Ah, so it was answers she wanted.

Gwyn was naturally curious, and he could tell she had been holding back for quite some time. But
he knew deep down he owed her some of his hidden truths, even if there were some, she simply
could never be privy to.

He snorted, “I became a spy because Rhys’ father ordered me to front his espionage unit in the
war.”

“And you just…” Gwyn rose a brow an irreverent mockery peppered in her smile, “…Never
stopped fighting in a war that ended more than four hundred years ago?”

Fuck.

This may indeed be the first game Azriel would ever lose. He drained the glass.

It was at this very point, he realised they had run out of wine entirely, so he took the excuse of
looking for another bottle to think about those words. A truth he had never contemplated just
spilling from her lips so easily and almost knocking him to the floor. He found a vintage merlot in
one of the cabinets and was filled with no shortage of satisfaction when her eyes flittered to the
way his hands deftly skewered and popped open the cork with a screw.

Finally, Azriel placed the open bottle on the bench and his hands found the ledge, flanking her
thighs. Leaning in with a cruel challenge in his eyes, he finally gave her an answer, “Do you think
war ever ends when you’re fighting for peace?”

“I think some people spend their whole life fighting that they forget the notion of peace altogether
and end up mistaking it for duty…”

Touché. Smart girl. Too smart.

“And what would you have me do, Berdara?” He levelled her a wicked smirk, “Run a café?”

“No…” Gwyn smirked back, rising to the challenge of their closeness, “…that requires talking to
people, and we both know you would be awful at that.”

He chuckled, a hum of agreement followed the dark sound as something like a dare shone in her
gaze.

A dare to move closer.

She tipped her chin to the side, “Do you want to know what I think?”

Always. He always wanted to know what she thought. But instead of admitting that, he simply
tilted his head, mirroring her own action and waited for what was sure to be an equally damning
and enlightening assessment of his character.

The tip of a soft finger grazed along the knuckles of his right palm and Azriel shivered at the
touch. Her gaze dipped down to the scars she never flinched from, “I think you have spent your
entire life trying to earn the love people give you because you don’t think you deserve it…” She
looked up at him through those thick lashes, those striking eyes pinning him in place like blades of
crystalline forged sea.

“Is that so?” He pretended like the words didn’t eviscerate some fundamental wall he had built
long ago.

“I think you martyr yourself for people because it’s the only way you know how to show them you
love them…”

Azriel felt stripped bare, naked to the soul.

“I think you’ve never dared to ask yourself what you actually want because from the day you were
born you have been told that you don’t deserve the right to ask.”

She’s right you know…

Shut up, not now.

Shadows likes our Valkyrie very much.

Considering you're sitting in her lap like a spoilt kitten, that doesn’t surprise me.

Jealous?
Yes.

He had no idea how to respond to that apt ravaging, so instead, he asked, “And what do you want,
Gwyneth?”

Smell.

What?

Her scent you fool.

It hit him then. A divine scent of summer sunned lilies, blooming bluebells and a spray of the
glistening ocean all wrapped in a heavy musk filled the air.

Cauldron boil him, Gwyn was aroused.

He went lethally still as if that realisation had injected him with some kind of animalistic brand of
adrenaline he was scared to act upon.

She only loosed a breathy laugh in response, as if proud that his words had proven her very point.
And between her teasing and her delicious arousal, it was enough to send him plummeting from
that tip of the razor edge they had been precariously dancing upon.

She had indeed won the game.

But now, considering his own free-flowing arousal was definitely flooding the air in response,
perhaps it had actually been a war all along.

She bit her lip as her nostrils slightly flared. His jaw clenched as she raised a hand to it, thumb
skirting across his stubbled cheek and then downwards, exploring the sharp outline of his mandible
with a feather-light finger.

Mother above and hell below, Gwyneth Berdara was going to be his ruin.

“No…” His eyes threatened to flitter shut as that cruel fingertip ran down the tender column of his
neck and over his Adam's apple, as if she were planning the journey of her lips, “…what do you
want, Azriel?”

You.

The word danced dangerously on the tip of his tongue. He took his bottom lip between his teeth to
keep from admitting it. Her eyes tracked the movement with glittering appreciation before
returning to his surely heavy stare. They were inches from one another now. The storm between
them, thick and charged with something that set their hearts beating like war drums.

If he were a better male, he would pull away. Would tell her goodnight and go and drown his
desire in an ice-cold bath. But he could feel that strange tension go taut between them like a
bowstring. That tension that had been slowly building for a month and a half now. And finally, it
had reached the point of no give.
But he wouldn’t so much as touch her without her permission.

A violent tug in his chest had him leaning further in, guided by her soft palm tracing the sharp
point of his jaw, like a silent demand for him to close the criminal space between them.

Before he even knew it, his lips were moving in belated answer, “I want-”

“I am very interested to know…” They both flinched at the boom of an unmistakably smug voice
sounding from the doorway. Cassian leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed with something akin
to delighted amusement brimming in his features, “…What kind of specialised espionage this little
training session might be on…”

A sudden burst of violent rage coursed through him, as if someone had poured gasoline into his
veins and lit the match. Azriel instantly knew this was payback for his not-so-subtle interruption of
his brother and Nesta’s near debauchery at the dinner table last year.

He exhaled a curt breath as he retreated back. Cassian strode past them, and he was sure his glare
was nothing short of murderous. The only redeeming part of the moment was that Gwyn seemed
equally irritated.

They both watched with sharp eyes as Cassian opened the refrigerator for something he surely
didn’t need. Something hollowed out in his chest like his body had physically needed whatever had
been about to occur and it had drained by the sudden interruption. His brother didn’t seem
remotely phased by the promise of violence brimming in his stare or the way his shadows
threateningly rose on his shoulders like cobras ready to strike.

Gwyn on the other hand, seemed to recover, sliding off the bench with a graceful wisp and landing
silently on her feet, like he had taught her. She turned to Cassian, “Honey trapping.”

He only frowned in response, “What?”

“You asked what kind of espionage we were practising…” She reached back to the bench to pick
up the book that had been forgotten there and held it up in patronising reference, “Chapter sixteen,
‘honey trapping is an investigative practice involving the weaponization of seduction, for gaining
interpersonal or political knowledge for espionage’…”

Azriel could’ve kissed the female right then and there.

No.

He could have ripped off her clothes and worshipped every inch of her flesh until she was moaning
his name enough times for him to like it.

Gwyn then turned to him, something like azure kissed stars dancing in her eyes and a cruel smirk
on her lips as she said in dismissal, “Thanks for the lesson, Shadowsinger…” before strutting out of
the kitchen.

The air had completely been knocked out of his lungs and if he could feel his legs, he would have
run after her. But instead, Azriel just stood there dumbfounded and awestruck.

He had indeed lost a war tonight and he had never been more happy about it.

When he regained his aptitude for thought, he noted the tension in the air had quickly turned from
heat-laden desire to something altogether rage-inducing. There was a long pause until the males
heard Gwyn’s bedroom door close on the level below, and Cassian finally broke the silence
between them.

“Honey trapping, eh?”

“Are you questioning my methods?”

“Are you two in need of a chaperone up here?”

His fingers twitched, desperate to punch him in his fat, smug face. But that didn’t seem to deter
Cassian from his taunting. “I mean you two can lie all you want under the guise of ‘honey
trapping’…” he said the words with a tone thick with mocking, “...but, fucking a Priestess – one
who’s under your personal charge, by the way - in a kitchen? That’s worse than getting head at the
dinner table, I think…”

His voice was taut between his clenched teeth as he said, “That’s not what was happening.”

Cassian took an exaggerated sniff into the air and cocked a brow, “Really? Hm, my nose must be
off then…”

“It’s about to be…”

He simply laughed at Azriel’s threat and patted him on the shoulder, “Oh, brother… You are so
fucked.”

Azriel stood in the kitchen for twenty minutes after Cassian strolled out, completely forgetting the
custard tart he had apparently come in and interrupted them for. His heart was wild and he didn’t
even dare to descend the steps to the floor below.

No.

He practically ran to the balcony and flew as far and hard as he could until the cold bit at his skin
and the blood in his veins cooled. There was no way he could go back there. So, at ten past three,
he landed at the River House - not trusting himself to go back to the House of Wind and not finish
what had been started on that bench.

Knowing full well, that the scent of her sweet musk of arousal would haunt him for a lifetime.
Chapter End Notes

The game has officially begun.

This marks the start of Part II of this fic, where we see a noticeable shift in Gwyn and
Azriel's relationship. Make no mistake, I am still committed to the slow burn, but I
think they needed to get to this point for the blood to start boiling.

This chapter was really difficult for me to write and to be honest, I'm still not entirely
pleased with it, but there you go.

Although Azriel has been helping her alleviate her fears associated with crowds and
male centric physical touch, it was really important to me that she was the one to
overcome the crux of her fears herself. The kitchen bench scene was written to show
exactly how far she had come from the first chapter and how she doesn't need to rely
on anyone but herself and own strength/willpower to overcome the barriers she has to
face.

The main theme here is about reclaiming what is lost and redefining what we fear.

I wanted to highlight the symbolism of her sitting on the kitchen bench, claiming it for
herself, and taking control of the situation and her sexuality when Azriel arrives. It was
very intentional that she was completely in control in that scene and it was important to
me that Azriel adopted that mentality, and followed her lead. I wanted to create a
scene where they were both airing their sexual frustration and communicating their
arousal without him actually touching her - as respect to the context of being in a
kitchen - and I hope that shines through in the chapter.

Let me know what you think,

Lou x
 A Song of Sea and Fire
Chapter Notes

On a personal note, I am publishing my first-ever book of poetry later this month

called 'Venus and Virtue' and it will be available in many online stores including
Amazon! For more information on my work, follow me on tik tok @venusandvirtue x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Something like undiluted victory had sparked in her veins for the entire evening. And even when
she woke the next day, Gwyn couldn’t help the grin itching at her mouth or the gloriously smug
hum from her lips.

She knew she should have been embarrassed that Cassian had walked in on her and Azriel seconds
away from crossing a line that common sense strictly forbade them from.

Gwyn knew she should be apprehensive to see Azriel after the open end that the night had been left
on. That there should be at least a hint of trepidation in knowing that just hours ago, he had leaned
in to steal her air and take her lips between his. Perhaps it was wrong to not feel guilty about the
indulgence in that raw desire, but seeing his own hidden want uprooted had stirred something
within her that left her empty of regret.

And somehow, she just knew when later that night, as her back arched, her toes curled and her
hand was between her thighs, that he too, through that thin wall of red stone, would be attempting
to satisfy the craving that had starved them dry. That between that glass of wine and those
whispered words, they had started something that demanded to be finished.

“Thanks for the lesson, Shadowsinger…”

Her mind couldn’t help but revisit that look on his stupidly handsome face when she had left him
in the kitchen amidst the flames of their mutual desire, still roaring and ravaging. It was a better
picture than any piece of art she had ever seen. And as she plaited her hair into a long braid of
woven burnished copper, she vowed to do whatever she could, to see that look again. He had been
so close to telling her, so close to admitting what she had suspected for some time...

"I want-" He had begun to say, eyes brimming with untapped hunger.

And that scent.

She would have a hard time forgetting what his arousal smelled like. It was nothing she had ever
scented before, as if his usual lovely scent had been set aflame with something heavier and fuller.
A divine musk of smoked cedar, lush spices and mountain mist. It evoked cosy nights in the
middle of Yule tide, snow-laden forests and nutmeg-baked scones.

Somewhere cosy and safe amidst the storm.

It only seemed appropriate, she supposed, that Azriel’s desire was akin to a comforting fire from a
hearth on a cold winter’s night. Hot and inviting but altogether wild; in equal parts beauty and
rage. He was a dangerous thing to dance with, but Gwyn loved to dance.
At exactly ten to seven, the same symphony of knocks fell upon her door. Gwyn bit her lip, waiting
a moment before tending to the locks, of which only four of the seven were bolted shut.

Azriel’s cruel beauty seemed more like a curse this morning, as he offered her that wonderful ghost
of a smile and said, “Here I was thinking your head would be in the toilet after all that wine.”

“And here I was thinking you’d be dressed appropriately.” Gwyn gestured to his fighting leathers
with a hitched brow and a feigned look of disapproval. For the past week, they had opted for more
comfortable, casual wear for their morning classes with Maia. Then, after they had lunch on the
rocky cliffs or in the meadow they would winnow home to change for physical training in the
afternoon.

Her irreverent greeting met his imperceptible stare as they both ignored the sea of flaming tension
that crackled between them. She hoped he wouldn’t scent the desire that seemed to linger in the
wake of the temptation they had almost fallen prey to last night. And she prayed the Mother was
merciful enough that the remanence of her need to quench her midnight arousal wasn’t still
detectable on her sheets.

The undulating shadows leapt onto her as if the past seven hours of being apart were seven too
many, and she gave them her fondest smile. Her finger curled lazily around one, patting its
obsidian smoke form like one would a house pet.

“You should change into your leathers. There's no dancing today, I’m afraid…” Her face fell and
he tracked every inch of the movement with a discerning sweep of his hazel eyes before adding,
with a slightly clenched jaw, “We have business at the River House to attend to.”

The River House?

“But your mother promised she would show me the steps to the ‘Eun na Gaoithe’ today
apparently, they’re very difficult to learn…” They had mastered the Amanté much quicker than
was expected and Gwyn had been keen to learn the Illyrian Spring folk dance his mother spoke so
fondly of. She gave a small gasp as she said, “Oh! And I had a gift to bring her.” Scuttling back
into her room, she ran over to the desk. Taking the Secrets of the Seven Seas, she came back to the
door and handed it to him with a nervous grin, “I just… I thought she might like to read it…she
seems like someone that would enjoy a good mystery.”

Throughout the tours of Rosehall Manor that Maia had given her, she noticed a remarkably large
library that faced the sea. And despite the grandeur of it, she couldn't help but notice the
cobwebbed empty shelves and the dust-laden desk. Gwyn had known the heavy feeling that empty
bookshelves could leave in someone lonely, so she filed that information away and vowed to come
back one day and help her restore it to something usable. Something to enjoy.

He gave her a gentle smile, something unreadable passing through those gilded hazel eyes as his
gaze dipped to survey the book that she had tied neatly in a white, silk ribbon. It wasn’t much of a
gift, Gwyn knew that, but she wanted to give something to the female that had dedicated so much
of her time to her. Before they left for the Autumn Court, she made to convince Azriel to fly her
down to Velaris to purchase a proper gift for Maia. But until then, Gwyn supposed she may like
something small as a token of her gratitude, to fill her quiet afternoons.

“You bought a gift for my mother?”

“Yes, to say thank you… Is that alright?"

"Of course." Azriel’s voice was velvet smooth as he ran a slow finger down the centre of the silk
ribbon. Gwyn’s gaze caught the movement and heat pooled deep within her at the carefully hidden
indecency of the act.

She had the keen feeling that during their nonsense in the kitchen last night, a game had begun
between the two. One that given her competitive nature and his apparent willingness to play, she
would have to win at all costs. A game, that was as dangerous as it was daring.

Gwyn kept her composure, not giving in to her boiling blood. "Do you think she'll like it?"

He nodded, still playing with the soft ribbon between his fingers, she tried not to notice how he
rubbed the silken tail of the bow, as if marvelling at the softness. She tried not to think about those
hands…and what else those wonderfully adept fingers would do to the soft parts of her.

A silent exchange passed between them, one that told her he may be thinking about that very
prospect as well. Her stomach flipped over itself as he slid his tongue over his lips. And then, her
mind began running wild as she imagined that mouth and what it might be like to be tasted by it.
Licked by it.

Cauldron boil her, this game they were playing was cruel. And perhaps she had won the first round
last night, but it seemed as if Azriel wanted the next victory.

“I’m sure she’ll love it…” He finally said, voice hoarse with something rough, “…but for now,
Rhys wants to speak with you.”

A frown carved between her brows, the tension in the air dissipating as she said, “The High Lord of
the Night Court has requested a meeting…with me?”

Gwyn saw it in his eyes then, replacing the hint of desire, was a rare flicker of apprehension…
discomfort even, at the mention of the meeting.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t want to attend, you don’t have to.”

And she knew he meant it. Azriel would deny orders from the most powerful High Lord in
Prythian’s history if she merely wasn’t up to meeting with him. In fact, the indisputable candour in
his words told her he might do far, far worse just to see her comfortable.

And perhaps it was wrong, but there was something altogether comforting about that. Attractive
even, in some twisted, dark way.

By the Mother, how long would this insatiable hunger in her last?

She pushed down those feelings as her rational mind took over and a million questions rose to the
surface. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, “What is this about, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel paused, seemingly battling some internal conflict before deciding to answer. His simple
reply left her entirely bewildered, her body going entirely still.

“It’s about Nyx.”

“Thank you for coming Gwyn…”

She nodded, restless hands fiddling in her lap as her curious gaze fell upon the foreign faerie in the
armchair beside the High Lord. Gwyn had heard about Amren before of course. Many had
whispered about the female who was once some kind of beastly God, but now looking upon her,
she had no doubt Amren was anything but the divine creature she had once been. There was an air
of brutality that surrounded her, like at any moment she could bring down a lightning storm to
strike you with a bolt of thunder as easily as she lifted her teacup.

She pinned Gwyn to that armchair with her silver-bladed gaze. She tried not to balk as Amren’s
lovely features were notably trained into an expression that one might liken to a magpie eyeing a
jewel glinting in the summer sun. And in that moment, Gwyn didn’t know if Amren wanted to talk
to her or eat her like one would a rare artesian delicacy.

And perhaps being eaten might be the safest option, because she had no idea what she could have
done to earn Amren's interest.

Rhysand’s head tilted to the side, the all too familiar easy smile gracing his feline features as he
asked, “Tell me, how’s your training going?”

An easy, disarming question. Probably said in an act of mercy to calm the apprehension Gwyn held
in her stare.

“Training is fine.” Azriel’s voice cut across the room in a clipped tone, silencing Gwyn, whose
mouth was already open to answer. She whipped her head around to face the brooding
Shadowsinger, who had taken to leaning on the far wall of the study with his arms crossed.
Apparently, the nature of this meeting unsettled him enough to be a complete prick to his brother.
Levelling a warning glare at him, she turned back to the High Lord, who was in turn, grinning like
a carnivorous cat at Azriel

“Very well thank you, I’ve learnt a lot despite Azriel’s propensity for poor manners…” She bit out
the final words and hoped he heard the threat in them.

What on earth had gotten into the bat today? As soon as he mentioned the meeting something was
off about him.

Amren answered in silence, her lips parting into a ferociously gleaming grin to match her High
Lords.

“Well, I’m sorry to drag you all the way from the House and interrupt what I’ve heard from
Cassian is a very thorough training regime…” Rhys’ brilliantly teasing violet eyes flicked to the
figure behind her before continuing, “But I had to call you over to the House to thank you…”

“Thank me?” Confusion rang through her as the situation she found herself in grew stranger and
stranger by the minute. "Why would you need to do that?"

“My son, who up until last week, my mate and I were convinced was hellbent on an infancy
dedicated to insomnia and a preternatural skill for parental torture, has slept soundly every night
and even during midday naps, since you last saw him.”

Gwyn just stared, first at the High Lord and then at his second as she tried to put the pieces of his
words together.

“I’m…I’m sorry I don’t quite follow…”

But it was Amren who spoke in answer, her voice contradictorily tinted with age despite the youth
of her face, “You sung to the boy that night you came for dinner. Did you not, girl?”

“Well…yes a lullaby, but-”

“And as Rhysand said, the boy went straight to sleep, did he not?”

“Yes, but I-”

She pressed, “You’ve used this method before I presume?”

“I have at-”

“And how long have you known that you possess the sirenic power of compulsion?”

“That’s enough, Amren.” Azriel snapped, his voice closer now. Gwyn went lethally still as a silent
challenge rose in the air between the Shadowsinger and the old God. A few heartbeats of tension-
thick quiet went by before she simply gave him an indolent smirk. She wanted to smack him for
being so arrogantly bold and she knew that if Amren wanted to, she could rip his wings from his
bones in one graceful movement. Her pulse quickened as a cocktail of confusion and stress crept
into her veins.

Gwyn felt the familiar cool brush of one of his shadows snake along her clavicle and nestle into her
neck in comfort. She didn't miss how Amren tracked the movement of the shadow with razor-sharp
focus, the excitement in her features beaming more violently than before.

“W…What did you say?" Words had entirely failed her as Gwyn’s mind clawed the female’s
accusation for reason.

The sirenic power of compulsion? What in the holy Mother was Amren even claiming?

That she had compelled the heir of the Night Court?

That Gwyn was some kind of sick creature devised by her apparently tainted River Nymph blood?

Her mind flickered to the Night Court Code of Ethical Magical Conduct, a three thousand-page
text that Merrill had made her transcribe and annotate last year.

‘Compulsion or coercion by the means of magic or physical power is forbidden under the
provisions of section 2a of the Conduct. Robbing a member of the Night Court of his, hers or their
autonomy is severe in ethical breach and is thus punishable by the forfeiting of one's life.
Considerations regarding self-defence will be decided upon judicial trial. Any such powers should
be reported to the Nigh Court directly upon recognition.'

Was this a sentencing?

A death sentence?

Her pulse began to race wildly as a light hand came down from behind her to graze the exposed
flesh of her shoulder. Gwyn didn’t have to look to know that it was Azriel who offered the silent
gesture. She took in his scent greedily, forcing away the bout of anxiety that rose within her.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Rhysand quickly said, “You’re not in trouble Gwyn… You will
never be punished in this Court for being powerful when you act with peace…” A smirk graced his
features as he leaned forward, “In fact, I’m inclined to shower you in riches for what you’ve done
for Feyre and I… Anything you want and it’s yours.”

It seemed that Rhysand’s proclivity for generosity matched his tendency for drawing dramatic
conclusions, she almost rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.

Gwyn began shaking her head, “No…No, I’m afraid this is a mistake, all I did was sing a lullaby to
the child. That’s all. I’ve never coerced or compelled someone in my entire life and please believe
me when I say I would never wish to take someone’s autonomy like that.” The thought of making
someone do something against their will turned inside her like a buried blade. Gwyn could never
be the patron of an act that she had once been victim to.

“You’ve never even made something happen accidentally?” Rhysand asked, shrugging his
shoulders indifferently, “Or, noticed other’s behaviour as somewhat off when you sing?”

“I only ever really sang at the temple services… And then, to the children in Sangravah when they
were sad, or when we were trying to get them to bed…”

Rhys nodded encouragingly, “And at these services…What intentions do you emulate when you
sing?”

Her voice remained trained in a hesitant tone, “Well I pray I suppose…Only that we all find peace
and the strength of the Mother to guide us to heal.”

“Like I said, Rhysand...” Amren mused, sitting back in her chair as if entirely unconvinced of
Gwyn’s reasoning, “…Sometimes the most potent powers lie in plain sight.”

Rhysand hummed in agreement as he asked, “Your grandmother, if I’m not mistaken, she was a
River Nymph by the way of Spring that coupled with a High Fae male of Autumn, wasn’t she?”

“Yes…” Gwyn didn’t know much more than that, only the sparingly vague details her mother had
given her when she dared to ask as a child. But her mother, although kind and fair, had been closed
off about disclosing their history to them. And Gwyn had always garnered the impression that
some details were deliberately left unsaid as if her mother might be scared of the truth that dwelled
in them.

Amren’s sharp gaze rose to the crown of her head and then descended, as if studying the intricate
twists of her braid, “And your father?”

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, “He was just…just a fae male the Cauldron chose for my mother on
Calanmai…”

“Did your mother ever speak of him?”

She shook her head, “The only thing she ever said was that he was kind to her.” It was true, and
that small fact had been tattooed into the crevices of her curious mind ever since her mother spoke
it. Gwyn had often spent many days of her childhood imagining him riding up to the gates of
Sangravah and whisking them all away to somewhere they could be a family. But he never came
and when her mother died, so did every other detail about the mysterious man. Sometimes, in the
dead of night, Gwyn still tried to imagine her father's face and dared to wonder if he may be out
there. But it was a useless waste of time, she supposed, to think about someone who clearly didn't
want anything to do with her.

Amren and Rhys fell into silence, and she could tell a muted conversation was passing through the
air before her. She shifted in her seat, her finger finding a piece of bare thread on her sleeve to
fiddle with. And though his touch on her shoulder was soft, the tension radiating from Azriel was
palpable.

Finally, the silver-eyed female broke the silence, “And this singing…” she pressed, eyes alight with
interest, “Who else knows about it?”

“Well, my mother taught Catrin – my sister - and I from when we were small. She gave us both
singing lessons at the temple and taught us the way of prayer through hymn. But now…” Her eyes
dipped to the fiddling fingers in her lap, “Just…Just the Priestesses at the library…and Nesta and
Emerie.”

Something sparked in Rhysand’s gaze as he asked, “Did you happen to sing these prayers at any
time during the Blood Rite?”

“You don’t have to talk about that, Gwyn.” Azriel’s voice was like chips of ice as it cut through
the air from behind her armchair. Gwyn didn’t have to turn to know that Azriel’s gaze held a cold
brand of fury that would be levelled at the High Lord.

Overprotective brooding bat.

She rolled her eyes and focused on the way his fingers were rubbing feather-light circles on the
tender space between her shoulder and neck as she quietly admitted, “Yes…” Adding quickly with
wide eyes, “But never to harm anyone, I swear it.”

Rhysand and Amren looked as if they couldn’t care less if she had razed the whole of Ramiel with
her singing. It was the keen-eyed female who asked, “How?”

“When I woke up and I was alone…they began hunting me,” Azriel’s hand stilled, “I found trees to
hide in so they couldn’t track my scent in the wind. I had a good vantage point of the Illyrians that
were camped just downhill, but also, I thought the height would allow me to see any sign of the
girls. When the wind changed and I knew the camp wouldn’t be able to hear me, I would sing the
temple hymns softly to myself…” Her voice went almost inaudible, “…and I asked the Mother to
keep them safe and lead them to me, so we could get out of there alive.”

Rhysand considered the information carefully before nodding, “I believe you may possess some
unawoken powers Gwyn, one’s that Amren here could help you to train…”

Amren nodded, “The sirens are forged from an old magic. Older than Prythian and its Lords and
the Continent and its Queens. It is the magic of the seas you have within you, girl…The sea, which
was the first element the Mother created from her cauldron…”

“But my grandmother was a river nymph from Spring…” Gwyn began, “…If I’m not mistaken
sirens hail from the Summer Court, it would be highly unlikely, not to mention geographically
impossible for a river nymph from Spring to be associated with the sirens…”

“There is an old tale about the origins of the Sirens…” Rhys mused quietly, “Aila and Eanna. Have
you heard of it?”

Gwyn shook her head.

“…Two sisters hatched from the shells of twin clams at the birth of time, after the Mother had
poured the cauldron and made the world anew. Eanna ruled the deep seas and the creatures that
dwelled there and Aila, ruled the lakes and rivers within Prythian itself. They were said to have
coupled with the creatures of their dominion and in time, became the mothers of the sirens… Those
of Eanna’s line kept their namesake and held Court beneath the sea. But Aila’s line, through the
fae's many legends and the passing of time, became known as Naiads, or…”
“Nymphs…” Gwyn finished in a whisper. “I’ve never heard that story before…”

Rhys grinned, “Some stories that old aren’t even found in libraries, but only passed down through
the generations.”

“So...you think I’m a descendent of Aila then?”

Rhys paused, eyes flickering upwards to Azriel as if asking a silent question. A few heartbeats
later, he continued, “Aila was rumoured to have had a lover… A demon born from the solar eclipse
who could turn night into endless day. From that coupling, she bore something called a
Lightsinger…”

Gwyn’s blood froze over, her face blanching at the mention of the monster that had featured in
many a childhood scary story. She may not have known this specific legend. But she definitely had
read about the fearsome creatures called Lightsingers. They were deceptive beings of great beauty
that used their powers of alluring seduction and ethereal grace to capture innocent prey. But that
beauty was a mask, a mask that hid their true nature beneath. A horror like no other, that turned
even the strongest males into petrified little boys. They would take their time drowning those
victims, not for food but for the pure cruel sport of it.

“You’re mistaken… I’m not a monster. I swear it.” There was a tremble in her words while
shadows began dancing around her, as if wanting to cover her in a cool blanket of darkness.
Protecting her the only way they knew how.

“We know you’re not a monster, Gwyn…” Azriel answered in a carefully calm tone, but when she
turned to him with pleading eyes she saw the agony that had flickered within his own before he
managed to shutter them. He came to kneel down beside her, hand coming down to clasp her own
in his as they had done many times now. The rivulets of his coarse skin fell in warm comfort
around her trembling fingers as Azriel whispered, “I know you Gwyn, and I know that you could
never be anything but good and kind... You are not in trouble and you will never be accused of
anything as untrue as being a monster."

“As you said before…” Rhys interjected, voice steady and reassuring as he looked upon them with
amusement dancing in his gaze, “You’re only a quarter, which by all genetic standards, means you
may have inherited some of the more potent gifts from the line… but given your phenotypic lack
of gills and the absence of a general bloodthirst for killing, I highly doubt you could even pass for
one amongst the full-blooded kind.”

Gwyn wanted to tell them that they were wrong, that there had been some kind of grand mistake
and that it was just sheer dumb luck that put that babe to sleep…But her rational mind took over.
The reasoning, despite being dependent on old wives’ tales, was strong. And perhaps there was
more to her singing. Maybe she had always known that…deep down.

She swallowed every ounce of rising trepidation before saying, “Thank you for your offer. I will
think on it…But for now I really just want to focus on the mission at hand.”

Rhys nodded, seemingly not bothered by the evasion in her words. “When you’re ready, we’ll be
here for you.”

Gwyn went silent, still overwhelmed by the revelation to even begin contemplating the offer at
hand.

“You can say no…” Azriel whispered, squeezing her hand, “You can say no and we can forget all
about it ..." His voice rose a little higher as he glance over to the High Lord, "...and Rhysand can
keep his busybody bastard mouth to himself.”

Rhysand simply gave her one of his easy smiles, “Think about it for me and if you finish this
mission with Azriel and you’re interested in training, let us know. It’s your choice, always.”

She nodded, too lost in her thoughts to even reply and before she could even say one more thing,
Azriel had winnowed them to the lawn, picked her up and shot into the sky.

The flight back from Velaris was a blur, it could've taken ten seconds or ten minutes, she wasn't
sure. But at some point, he placed her lightly down on her numb feet, holding her upright against
the railing as she tried to steady herself. Tried to gather her composure. It took a few minutes for
her to even realise that they stood on the rooftop of the House of Wind, the high sun now shining
down upon them in a warm glow.

"You okay?" His voice was warm and smooth like velvet chocolate. She clung to the sound like
she did his hand.

Gwyn nodded, mind racing and head pounding. "Just... Just give me one second."

"Gwyn?"

It was all too much. She couldn't be such a thing. And even if she was a mere fraction of a monster,
it still felt uneasy, like her very blood was truly tainted with something dark and unholy. Her
breathing grew ragged like her lungs began to be starved of deep breaths and all the worry and
stress flooding her mind began to overwhelm her thoughts. She tried to count down from thirty, but
the clarity was blurred with the sounding alarm and brightness. Too bright. The wind, her pounding
pulse, her thoughts...too loud.

She was a Lightsinger.

A cruel, thing of ungodly horror.

"Gwyn, I'm gonna take you inside okay?"

Before she even recognised what she was doing, she turned to Azriel and wrapped her arms around
his waist, as if she needed him to anchor her to the ground, and pulled herself into his form.

Gwyn's head found a place in his chest as she felt his arms slowly follow suit around her. She
focused on his heartbeat, the way it raced a little faster than it should have. Listened to his slow,
steady breathing, and the constant flux in and out beneath his strong ribcage. Felt the way every
inch of his body was carved and honed by battle-forged muscle beneath his leathers. She breathed
in his scent, focused on the cedar and night-chilled mist as she flooded her lungs with it. The
glaring sun had been somehow dampened and it was only when she unclenched her eyes that she
realised his wings had folded around them, shielding the light. Shielding them from the world. And
beyond that, his shadows shrouded them from the growing heat of the sun beating down. Gwyn
nestled in a little tighter, realising that his body was so much larger than hers and her eyes fluttered
back shut as she felt his hands make slow, comforting circles on her back and his face bury in her
wind-ravaged hair.

And perhaps, for that small moment in time, it felt like home.
Chapter End Notes

Yay! Powers! A little bit of plot in this chaotic, unedited sea of Gwynriel moments for
you. I'm trying really hard to keep a genuine focus on the plot of this fic but sometimes
I do get carried away with just writing Gwyn and Azriel, so sorry about my neglect.
Please stick around! I promise there is an actual story here and I'm not just paving the
road to very steamy smut. (But also...that too).

I really wanted to expand the mythology we are given in the original books to
encompass more of Gwyn's heritage. I had a lot of fun writing about the legend of the
Nymphs and Sirens and I'd love to know your thoughts on the Lightsinger theory. Big
thank you to Silverlinedeyes on Tumblr, whose very comprehensive post about Gwyn
and her high probability of being a Lightsinger I used as a guide to formulate and
inform this chapter.
You can read her part one of their post here:
https://silverlinedeyes.tumblr.com/post/653519336358707200/gwyn-is-a-lightsinger-
part-i-acosf-proper

I also am wondering what the consensus is on who Gwyn's father/grandfather might

be. I've heard really convincing arguments for Eris, Lucien and even Tamlin (who
surprisingly is very probable esp given the op for a redemption arc) but I'd love to
know what you think and why.
In case some people may think Gwyn's reaction was too dramatic, I thought a lot about
what compulsion might actually mean to her given her history of SA and I think that
quite tragically, she would think that having the power to take away someone's bodily
autonomy might even be the most profound form of injustice one could have at their
disposal. I think it may internally trigger a lot of things for her and that was my
justification for her reaction. Luckily though, our Gwynnie is strong and the fact she
didn't have a total breakdown is proof that she has come such a long way.

As you all probably know by now, I'm a sucker for symbolism and so I couldn't resist
naming Gwyn's ancetor Aila. It is a Celtic name that means River; Earthly; Noble;
Light Bearer; From the Stony Place; Bird; Rival. I thought it encompassed Gwyn and
her character really well, especially since Maia calls her Little Bird.

Lou x
 The Flame in the Shadows
Chapter Notes

So sorry for the delay in posting guys! I had a massive pharmacology assignment to do
and no time to do it in. Schedule should be back to normal as of tonight x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

She was acting fine.

Too fine.

Gwyn had been silent as a mouse about the Lightsinger revelation that Rhysand and Amren had so
ungracefully hurled at her during their meeting at the River House. A meeting, which had gone
wrong in no less than one hundred fucking ways. And Azriel might have flown back to that
wretched office and aired his grievances with Rhys in the most violent of manners if Gwyn had let
go of him. But she didn’t and the thought of leaving her when she was like that? He could never
have done such a thing, not to her.

Mother above.

She had looked so utterly beside herself on the rooftop two days ago when she had pulled herself
into him and clung to his body as if it were some kind of lifeboat in a sea of storms.

And in that moment, Azriel had been beset upon with some kind of ravaging emotion he hadn’t
known before, as if her sudden closeness and need for his consolation had welded something of her
and something of him together permanently. He thought about the way her little heart galloped like
a prized steed and he held on to her tightly, until he heard the rhythm fall into a slow, calm canter.
He recalled the way his shadows had wrapped around them in some kind of otherworldly blanket
of night, settling her fevered skin and returning her blanched cheeks to the lively shade he adored.
Thought about how she seemed to need him just as much as he seemed to need her to be okay.

And he knew then and there, that if Gwyn was indeed worried she was monster, then Azriel would
become the worst of them all just to show her how wrong she truly was.

And now here they were, two days later, pretending none of that even happened. This morning she
had opened her door with that same grin, the one he was sure made the sun herself jealous. She
didn't falter in any of the steps of their new dance, despite the difficulty of them being akin to some
brand of unique torture he hadn't yet discovered and collected a bouquet of wild bluebells in the
meadow as they ate their lunch.

And if Azriel had to suffer one more miserable hour of her acting as if she was fine, he may
actually go clinically insane.

His gaze flickered from the barely read, thirty-page report sitting on his desk to Gwyn. He watched
carefully as she diligently filled the lined pages of a notebook he had given her with transcriptions
from a tome thicker than any he had ever seen before. A family tree of the Summer Court and a
map of Prythian lay sprawled between them, as every so often, she used the geography for
reference, drawing points of significance he was all too happy to sit for hours and listen to her
explain.

Having her in his personal study was distracting, but Azriel had quickly discovered that not having
an excuse to be around her was a far, far worse reality for him to bare. So, in lieu of the few hours
they usually spent apart after training and before dinner, he had invited Gwyn to continue her self-
appointed research for the upcoming mission with the aid of his own resources.

Resources which technically he wasn’t permitted to show anyone in Prythian, but if it meant
keeping an eye on her, Azriel would commit that hefty treason tenfold. He almost grinned when
she had knocked on his door, face hidden by the stack of books she had somehow managed to carry
from her room.

Now, the silence between them was grating, and though he usually enjoyed peace and quiet while
he wrote official Night Court correspondence and read his ridiculous pile of reconnaissance reports
from his network of spies that kept him updated, Azriel found himself unable to even read a single
sentence. Instead, he had succumbed to the cruel sport of watching Gwyn study.

Azriel had never thought someone conducting research could be a wildly salacious act. And yet,
here Gwyneth Berdara was, sitting in a chair opposite him, sharing his desk and reading - and he’d
never been more wound tight by desire. In fact, he was overcome with such thoroughly indecent
thoughts that he may have to say a prayer to the Mother herself to atone. Thank the Gods that his
shadows had mercifully hidden his arousal.

But how on earth could he possibly function when she was right there? Doing that?

Azriel had made several observations of the beautiful female that sat opposite him. Gwyn had a
habit of biting her bottom lip when she concentrated, a crimson hue rising to the flesh under the
pressure that he desperately wanted to taste himself. And when she found something of interest, the
azure of her eyes seemed to sparkle like a crystalline sea and a delicate crease formed between her
brows as she transcribed every detail of her discovery. Her writing was fast, probably a habit she
picked up from that slave-driving Priestess, Merrill, who Azriel may or may not have contemplated
ending after Gwyn had complained about her cruelty. And he couldn’t help but notice her script
was even neater than his own - a testament to being taught by the strict temple governesses in
Sangravah, he supposed. All these little pieces of her, etched into the smallest of gestures.

Gwyn was like a painting in a gallery, every inch of the lovely canvas, held a secret he yearned to
know.

“Are the details of your reports written on my face, Shadowsinger?”

Her voice pulled him out of his daze as he returned to the reality of the room.

“What?

Gwyn glanced up from her book, a teasing smile he had come to miss flourishing on her pink lips
and a knowing glint brimming in her eyes, “Is there a reason why you’ve spent the last twenty
minutes staring at me and not reading your top secret spymaster reports….” She said the last
words with such irreverence he had no choice but to crack a smile.

He shook his head in apology, “I was just…thinking…”

Thinking about what she would look like bent over the desk and-

Do not finish that sentence.

Fine, how about when you were thinking about going to your knees before our Valkyrie and tasting
her while you made her read aloud to you?

You’re. Not. Helping.

She rose a brow, her narrowed gaze flickering to the shadows and then back to him with a
blooming curiosity overtaking her expression. “What did they just say to you?”

“What?”

Gwyn gestured to the criminally guilty shadows undulating by his shoulders and neck with the tip
of her ink pen, “One of them whispered to you just now, I saw it…” She tilted her head, “What did
they say?”

Fuck.

In his entire existence, no one had ever asked him what his shadows had said before. Sure, he got
the usual line of questioning from some close friends…But never that.

Gwyneth Berdara saw entirely too much.

And although he found that incredibly attractive, right now that lovely trait of hers had him in deep
shit.

Tell her what shadows said.

You want me to tell her that you were reminding me of how I was picturing her coming undone on
my tongue while she moaned through a reading of ‘The Summer Court: A History of the Sun Sons.’

Our Valkyrie may enjoy your proclivity for indecency.

Not likely.

“There it is again!” She exclaimed, a wicked grin on her pretty mouth. As if in excitement that they
were being acknowledged, the shadows undulated in a wave of joyous obsidian and crept down to
caress her fingers that sat on the pages of the tome before her. Gwyn looked up at him through her
lashes, “Were they…talking about me?”

“No.” The answer was too fast, too sudden to be anything but a lie.

“Oh, Shadowsinger…” She gave out a laugh, shaking her head in mocking disapproval, “You’re
lying to me.”

And perhaps Azriel should have been painted fifty shades of embarrassed and mortified that
Gwyneth Berdara had caught the clear deception for what it was, but fuck, he was just glad to hear
that laugh. Genuine and delightful, like the ringing of delicate faerie bells. “Come on…Just tell
me…”

Azriel just shook his head, trying to disguise his bashful smile by lifting his report higher. “They
only make observations; I doubt you would find their petty musings interesting.”

Gwyn wouldn’t concede to the evasion of the question, turning her attention to the shadow that had
woven its smooth tendrils between her fingers as she said, “Well, it must have been a pretty
interesting observation for you to not tell me.”

Oh, you have no idea.

Between the look she was giving him and the desire running hot through his veins, the Cauldron
was testing him today.

“It wasn’t.”

“Hm…”

A silent pause as he pretended to read the first paragraph that he had been attempting for half an
hour now before Gwyn mused aloud, “I wonder if I’ll get little friends too…”

He dropped the report, brow hitched, “Little…friends?”

“Well you’re the Shadowsinger and you get shadows… If Rhysand and Amren are actually right
and I am a…” She seemed to struggle momentarily with voicing the word, as if it were a curse of
some sort, “A Lightsinger, do you think I get my own little beams of light that whisper secrets to
me?”

He almost chuckled at the sheer adorable innocence of the question. Still, it baffled him that she
called his shadows – the things that normally sent people crossing the street and running for the
hills – ‘little friends’. In fact, when thinking about it, Azriel could not recall a time when Gwyn
had ever been afraid of him, and he could count the people that fit into that category on one scarred
hand. It was no wonder really, that she saw his shadows as harmless things, because the way they
always had doted on her like a spoilt pet had never given her any cause for harm.

Gwyn had never seen what his shadows could truly do. Never saw the monster that he really was
beneath.

A twinge of guilt pricked in his chest as he contemplated that fact and though he would never have
the courage to show her who he truly was, maybe he felt bad for pretending to be what she clearly
thought he was.

A good male.

Someone worthy of her smiles and affection.

“Maybe…” He chose his next words wisely, wanting to tread gently around the tender subject, “…
Would you…want that?”

Her eyes seemed to be locked on the delicate shadows that played with her fingers as she shrugged,
“Is that how it works? Did you get a choice?”

His chest tightened and something heavy dropped into the pit of his stomach as he murmured,
“No.”

“So, they just…came to you?”

“Yes…”

She nodded, seemingly contemplating that bit of information she had so easily pried from his tight
lips. A skill that was equally worrying as it was impressive.

“Did you want them? The company, I mean?”

“I suppose so…” The next confession left his mouth before he could even think about it, “I was
alone a lot as a child…”

“Maybe you called to them without knowing then…” She mused, in a softened tone, “Perhaps the
Mother knew you needed a friend and answered your call.”

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, “Maybe…”

“Did you ever sing when you were young?” He furrowed his brow at the odd question as she
leaned forward and elaborated, “…Like did you ever sing and pray for something? I know this
might sound mad but when I’m at the temple for the dusk service and I’m singing hymns to the
Mother for peace, sometimes I think she shines her sunset a little brighter through the windows in
answer…” Gwyn shrugged, “Maybe she gifts shadows the same way when someone needs them.”

The words hit his chest like a symphony of arrows, all hitting the beating organ that seemed to
squeeze in response. Before becoming a Shadowsinger, his loneliness and desperate solitude would
only be assuaged by the time he spent occupying his mind in that damp, dark cellar. He wasn't
given pencils, nor paper and there wasn't enough light for books and perhaps that's why he loved
them so much now. Instead, Azriel had prayed to the Mother almost every hour of the day,
pleading for a way out. And when the prayers ran dry with his tears, he would sing. Some songs
that his mother had taught him during their short visits, and some he simply drew from his
imagination. Azriel would spend hours upon hours singing in the dark, hoping one day, that
someone would sing back.

And then one day, the shadows that he had made his home did exactly that.

“I read about Shadowsinger’s once, in the library…” Her confession painted a lovely blush on her
cheeks, “There’s not much written on the subject though, your kind are a rare mystery – even to the
records of time.”

A jolt of panic coursed through him. He should’ve known Gwyneth Berdara would’ve done her
research. And yet…whatever she had managed to find on him and his kind, didn’t seem to faze her
at all. In fact, she looked entirely captivated by the subject of shadow-wielding monsters that
weaponize the dark and gut the light from the world. Perhaps she needed a mental evaluation after
all.

He kept his tone painfully casual eyes trained on the page in front of him, “And what did you find
out?”

“Not much admittedly, but a historian named Mace Alcinder wrote in his annals that there was a
Shadowsinger long ago before Prythian was split into Courts named Andromeda… Though he
doesn’t go into much detail other than that she was quite the force to reckon with...”

Gwyn was being polite with her phrasing. Andromeda was considered one of the most deadly
rogue assailants in Prythian’s history and probably killed more males than Rhys, Cassian and
himself had, combined. And yet, she didn’t so much as flinch at the mention of her.

"Really?" Azriel knew of this reference, of course, he had read all twenty-seven volumes of Mace
Alcinder’s work, the first editions somewhere on the large bookshelf in his room. But he enjoyed
listening to her recall the faintest of details with unrelenting accuracy.

How many books had she read in the course of her life and what kind of ridiculous filing cabinet of
a brain would she have to have to be able to remember so much?

And fuck, was Azriel really in so deep he was starting to find her mind attractive?

Gwyn’s recollection pulled him from his train of thought, “They say the shadows found her after
she was thrown down a well to starve when she was accused of witchcraft… Which is entirely
ridiculous of course, because why would a witch with powers ever allow herself to be thrown
down a well?”

Ah yes…So she did have a mind like a filing cabinet. Or perhaps a wonderfully expansive
library....

Azriel's jaw clenched as he could see the silent question brimming in her soft eyes, the very
question he had been so afraid to answer for his entire life.

What happened to you?

He swallowed down the urge to change the subject, banishing the way his mind flickered back to
that disgusting cellar in his father’s manor. He couldn’t tell her that loathsome truth, not yet
anyway. But he knew Gwyn was no stranger to the horrors of misfortune and perhaps that was the
only reason why he replied with the closest thing to the truth his heart could muster up,
“Sometimes in life, what lies in the darkness is less of an enemy than what walks in the light.”

It was a cryptic answer that he knew wouldn’t assuage her flaming curiosity for long, but to his
surprise and immense relief, she only nodded in acceptance - no ounce of damning pity in her
expression - and went back to her dutiful studying. And perhaps it was another small kindness of
hers, because if she would have pushed it any further, Azriel wouldn’t be able to gather the
courage to show her those old wounds that still bled. His chest tightened, some parts of him may
never scar over, might bleed and bleed forever until eventually he's drained by the wound.

Another thick layer of silence fell over the study, but he didn’t miss the way she whispered softly in
reply, so quietly he almost thought it was to herself, “I’ve never been afraid of the dark either.”

Those words rang through him like the clang of holy temple bells on the morning of worship. Such
simple words that meant so much.

No.

Gwyneth Berdara could never be afraid of the dark. Because what was the darkness without the
burning stars that made it their home? And who else but her could dance with the darkest of
shadows like a lone flame in the dead of night.

Who else? He asked himself, would the shadows live for, if not the very light that made them
possible?

And perhaps he found some sort of religion in the way that admission seemed to tell him that
despite everything, all of his many flaws and shortcomings she saw all too clearly, Gwyn was not
afraid of him. And he wasn't foolish enough to think that if she knew the truth about the torture
and the monster that lay beneath, that her sentiments wouldn't change...but it was nice to know that
there was someone good and fair in this world that thought of him that way. That at least on the
surface, she saw him for what he wanted so desperately to be despite the shadows that he wielded
and the depraved killing she had borne witness to. Despite it all, Gwyn still traded laughs and
smiles with him like he deserved them.

Something warm sparked in his chest at the thought.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asked suddenly, something once fogged over now clearing in
his mind.

Azriel knew what he wanted and he didn’t care if it broke some ancient protocol of decency or
even if it went against his better judgement.

He wanted Gwyn and Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her. Knew that his soul was far too tainted to
give, and his hands, too covered in blood to hold.

And yet, here he was, broken and unworthy… asking her out for dinner.

Gwyn didn’t look up at him, continuing her writing as she said, “I’m going to settle down and have
a glass of wine with Geralt of Rivia, I think…”

His shadows stilled with his attenuated breathing. Wait, Geralt? Who in the fuck is Geralt? And
how did he not know about such a male traipsing about her?

“Oh…” Azriel didn’t realise he held the ability to plot murder in milliseconds, but upon hearing
the male's name from her lips, the skill became quite clear to him.

She glanced up, an amused smile twitching at her lips as she took in his expression and clarified,
“He’s the love interest in the new book I’m reading that Nesta leant me… I’m going to finish the
last few chapters tonight.”

He almost let out a sigh of relief that this male was fictional. Azriel rubbed the back of his neck
and nodded, “Well, I was just wondering if you might want to fly down to Velaris tonight… with
me.”

Obviously with you.

Shut up.

Ask her to wear the white dress we like.

No, absolutely not.

Yes, perhaps Master is right, she would look better in nothing at all.

Once again, you are not helping the situation.

Gwyn watched as the shadows curled around his ear in keen interest and he knew instantly that her
line of questioning about their words was not over. Azriel would have to remind them to be more
inconspicuous around her.
She raised a brow in shocked question, “Velaris? Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“For…training?” Gwyn asked, biting back the amusement in her lips.

“Well…no, not necessarily… But navigating a city is different at night and I want you to feel
comfortable being around crowds in the dark if we’re ever put in that situation on the mission...”
She nodded, as he felt himself blush, “And we could also get dinner somewhere I think you would
like and stop in at Rosetta’s if you want any more books seeing as your about to finish one...”

“Dinner and books…” She mused with a wicked grin, “Are you trying to cheer me up or seduce
me, Shadowsinger?”

Mother above and hell below, Gwyneth Berdara will be his ruin.

He couldn't help but ask, “Which one would you prefer?”

She paused, seemingly deliberating the thin line of propriety they were balancing on, before
answering, “It was my understanding those two things weren’t mutually exclusive…”

Azriel licked his lips, “They don’t have to be if you don’t want them to be.”

Her gaze darkened and then dropped to his mouth suggestively. He heard her heart begin to race
and her breath slightly falter. Azriel could have fallen to his knees right then and there. Could have
ripped those leathers off her perfect body and feasted on her until their heavy desires were satiated
and they were both panting and ragged.

“I suppose you're right.”

He scented it then, the flood of her sweet arousal filling the air, surely meeting with his. He
breathed her in greedily, the smell of fresh meadows and ravaging waves going straight to his cock,
boiling his blood and twitching at his wings.

“Is that an invitation?” He couldn’t hide the edge to his voice that gave away his desire but he
needed to hear it from her lips. Needed to know the tension that had risen between them like a
brewing storm was not a figure of his imagination.

Gwyn sat back in her chair, levelling a challenging look at him, “Well that depends…”

Gods this female was cruel.

He leaned back, following suit, “On what?”

“On whether you’re asking me out on a date or if you’re simply taking me into Velaris to buy me
dinner and take me to a bookstore.”

Azriel smirked, he could play this game. “It was my understanding those things weren’t mutually
exclusive.”

Checkmate.

His burning gaze dipped to her long legs which she lifted and crossed. He almost let a deep growl
slip from his throat when she shifted to press them together.

“Ask me properly then.” Gwyn’s voice had turned low and silky as she levelled the command at
him.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the urge to give in to the depravity that filled his mind.

No.

If this is what Gwyn truly wanted…even if it was to merely experience touch with someone she
trusted, he would take his time.

He would give her what she deserved.

Azriel would savour Gwyn like one would the taste of forbidden fruit.

She was everything good and beautiful about the world and he wanted to take his mouth to her and
relish that rare glimpse of heaven that he would never be allowed to see, while feeling it melt on
his hot tongue.

Wanted to worship every inch, praise every curve and dip of her flesh as if it were divine. And
maybe then, only if she allowed it, he would devour her. Body and soul. Would suck, lick and
stroke her into pleasure she had never known before. Would make her whimper, whine and moan
prayers to the Mother that Priestesses shouldn’t voice. Whatever she wanted, he would give. Even
if it meant damning himself further to the circles of hell to give it to her. Even if it meant
eventually she would go off and find someone worthy of her and never smile at him again. He
would do it.

At the realisation, his body seemed to hum with a symphony of heat-laden longing that
reverberated in his bones and sank to his chest. This wasn't just lust and genuine attraction, that
much was clear, but Azriel couldn't think about what in the Mother's name it actually was. No. He
pushed that feeling down somewhere deep and hidden, as he always had done with things he
couldn't bare to indulge himself with.

His voice was hoarse with those thoughts as he said, “Will you go out for dinner with me tonight,
Gwyneth?”

She stood, a pretty flush painting her cheeks a pink rose as she tidied her books into a neat pile on
her side of the desk. He drew every ounce of satisfaction from the way he had managed to elicit
that flood of arousal from her.

Gwyn turned when she got to the threshold, “I suppose I can clear my schedule, but only if you
promise me it will be more exciting than an evening with Geralt of Rivia...”

Azriel levelled her a dark smirk. He could show her things that would make this Geralt of Rivia
male look like a chaste temple boy and perhaps, one day he would. But tonight? Tonight he would
reign in his quickly thinning self-control and he would court her.

He rose a brow, the shadows around him undulating in delight as he let the arrogance shine through
every inch of his words, “I doubt that will be very difficult to achieve, Berdara...I'll see you on the
rooftop in an hour.”

She only nodded and left the room without so much as a look behind her shoulder. And Mother
have mercy, because Azriel would need every minute of that hour to drain himself of the fervour
that had filled him and threatened to drown every rational part of his mind. When her footsteps had
faded and the shadows had confirmed she was back in her room, he let out a deep breath laced with
the longing she had drawn from him.
 Reaching down, he unlaced his trousers and stroked himself. Perhaps if he wasn't so aroused he
would be embarrassed that he was already hard and twitching from the last thirty minutes of agony
she had put him through. Eyes flittering shut and thinking of burnished copper and crystalline
azure eyes, Azriel fisted his cock until he came so hard, her name ghosted on his lips and her face
was permanently sketched somewhere in his mind. And yet, that itch that had beset his fevered
flesh had not been scratched and he had the haunting feeling that only one person could satiate it.

He grew hard again just thinking about it and this time, he indulged in all the fantasies that had
haunted his dreams since the day they had begun training. Fantasies of her. Of that creamy freckled
skin, bare and quivering with undiluted pleasure. Of his name on her musical lips. That mouth, hot
and wet, challenging and teasing him. Azriel came again...and again.

Chapter End Notes

I would've loved to work on this chapter a little more, but it was already two days late
for publishing and I felt like I needed to get something out before the week was over.

I've been thinking about this scene for a long while and I really wanted this moment to
be something of a push for Azriel to get his shit together and quit playing. In my mind,
the only way Azriel will ever permit himself a chance at happiness or by extension,
Gwyn, is if he begins to voice his trauma aloud and process it for what it is.
Gwyn is the only one that will ever have the balls to call him out and blatantly refuse
to let him hide and I tried to make that dynamic clear in this scene where she doesn't
shy away from asking about his childhood/shadowsinger origins.

I think since he ties a lot of his diminished self-worth to secrets about his childhood
and his job, Azriel needs a chance to work through and talk about that in order to see
himself in a better light.

The part where she asks about what his shadows are saying is actually inspired by a
scene in the show Fleabag, where the love interest breaks the fourth wall and asks the
main character who she is talking to when she narrates her inner dialogue. This was a
way to highlight that Gwyn sees him in a light that no other does or has.
Also, had to add in my boy Geralt of Rivia because I think Gwyn would simp just as
hard for him as I do since he is a tortured emo magic boy with issues, haha.

As always, let me know what you think, Lou x

 Hearts and Arrows
Chapter Notes

ACOSAS updates and sneak peeks are posted on my Tumblr every day
@beaumaismortel and follow me on Tik Tok @venusandvirtue for more updates on
my poetry book that I am releasing soon!

This chapter likely needs a bit of editing, apologies if you spy any issues with spelling
or phrasing, I will edit them as soon as I can.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Her heart galloped at a racing pace as she all but ran to the confines of her suite. A pant set in her
breath, she shut the door and fell against it, the heat of their earlier conversation a sea of flames she
desperately wanted to drown herself in.

Azriel had asked her on a date.

A dinner date. And she had absolutely no idea what to make of that except for the second-hand
accounts from Nesta and the books she indulged in.

Mother above, she was in over her head. And Azriel had…five hundred years of experience and she
had…well she had none.

With a wisp of encouragement, something delicate and angelic materialised in the air and flew onto
the cream sheets of her bed.

Gwyn’s eyes widened at what the House had lovingly laid out for her as she stalked closer to
inspect the gift. A beautiful gown of flowing ivory chiffon, tailored expertly to wrap her curves and
dips perfectly, a neckline that would hug her breasts and tease at the caverned dip of her back.

But that wasn’t what had left her shocked.

No.

It was the scraps of pretty lace that lay next to them. Her hesitant hands picked up the powder blue
undergarments, so flimsy and light she had to blush. They were made with the finest of Chantilly
fabric and embellished with tiny white bows at the straps. Straps perfect for keen teeth to bite and
draw off. Lace that left nothing to the imagination.

Oh, gods. What had she gotten herself into?

She couldn’t wear that, could she?

The lace was soft and light, and her mind wandered to the way Azriel might run one of those
scarred pretty fingers over the scantily clad form of her. She could almost feel how his cruel
fingers would drag from her collarbone to her sensitive, peaked nipple and then further down past
her naval to where she needed him most. His gilded hazel eyes would burn with flames as he
palmed her peaked breasts over the sweep of fabric and felt the dampness that had soaked well
through her panties.
And by the Mother did she want that.

But how much was she was actually ready for?

And had someone like Azriel ever been asked to be patient? The answer was unlikely given his
general appearance. What was the Mother thinking, gifting someone a face and body like that?
Both of which appeared to be carved expertly by the Gods.

There was no doubt in her mind he would be thoroughly experienced in the ways of the bedroom
and she knew that despite his apparent unrequited conquests, Azriel would have a queue of devoted
lovers, each one probably as beautiful as Elain and charming as Morrigan. While all that she had
garnered of midnight desires was what was written in the pages of her novels and the whispered
recollections of Nesta’s wild evenings with Cassian.

So, what on earth was his interest in her based on? She wondered. Perhaps it was the silent,
invisible threads of the bond in action, those very strings tied to her chest that went taut when they
were around each other and seemed to pull them together like some kind of cruel, magnetic force.

And though she would never rob Azriel of his own agency to choose his path to love, it seemed
like the bond, however broken and lost it may be, was more powerful than she once thought.

And maybe that sent warmth flooding her chest more than it should, but if there was some
possibility it wasn’t broken and simply just lingering on the precipice, the bond couldn’t be
allowed to snap into place.

No.

No yet.

Not until she was sure he liked her outside of its compulsion. Not until she was absolute that she
wanted to face the frenzy that ensued afterwards.

The frenzy.

It scared her more than her pride would like to admit and she hated herself for it. Hated the fear
that it uprooted within her bones and rose to paint goosebumps on her flesh. To be so utterly
powerless to the drive of someone’s baseline needs with no rhyme or reason…The concept felt all
too similar to the powerlessness she had been subjected to on that wretched dining table. A vicious
paralysis of will that churned her stomach to nausea and her mind to ache.

‘Sex can be like medicine’, Nesta had once told her. And she wanted that healing so desperately,
wanted to be touched the way she was in her heat-laden dreams. But fantasising about sex was one
thing… actually committing the act? A whole other beast to master.

And though she craved a long list of indecent things, such a strength would take training and a
good teacher.

Would Azriel be willing to go slow with her?

Sometimes in the moments like the one that had just occurred in the study, she could feel the desire
rolling off them like crashing waves of the tempestuous sea. And she wondered if when they
finally gave into it, whether all that cauldron-forged lust and want would break her all over again
under its force.

Would it shatter every bit of progress she had made? Would he understand that her flesh had once
been stolen and made to feel like it wasn’t her own to wield?

Or, would the touch Azriel offered shatter her in other ways? The ways of nerve wrangling kisses
and back arching caresses that made toes curl, heat pool and vision blur. Ways of curses met with
prayers for pleasure.

Gwyn knew there were many ways a female could break, and not all of them were bad.

She took a deep breath, steadying her mind.

It’s just a date, she reminded herself.

He’s a good male, that would never hurt you.

You trust him with your life.

You can trust him with your body.

It was all too much.

The windows suddenly opened and a welcome ghast of cool wind flooded the room, licking her
fevered flesh.

Stalking to the bathroom, she drew an ice-cold bath and lathered the water with oils of orange and
lavender, pouring in the vial of salt and dried rose petals that the House had kindly left beside the
tap.

Gwyn ripped off her stifling leathers, the buckles and zips not unfastening quickly enough to
assuage her need, before she plunged into the freezing water and sought to dull the fire that Azriel
had started deep within her.

And yet, she couldn’t help but ask herself, why was the prospect of burning from his flames of
need and drowning in her own desire so utterly tempting?

She was fifteen minutes early when her feet found the cold stone of the rooftop, her heart still
thundering from narrowly avoiding Cassian in the corridor. They couldn’t know about this, and
Gwyn would be damned if she had to sit at the dinner table and be subject to the fine-tuned
mockery of Cassian and the searingly suggestive remarks of his mate. It was bad enough to be
subjected to their personal lewd innuendos… And she knew those two would take great pleasure in
drawing amusingly torturous embarrassment from both of them.

No.

This would be their little secret.

It would be easy enough, she supposed, to hide whatever time they spent with each other under the
guise of Azriel’s rigorously demanding training schedule.

Gwyn took a seat on the edge, letting her legs dangle off into the abyss of the mountain range as
she calmed her nerves and steeled her mind. She supposed dates were really like any other occasion
where two people found themselves together, having a nice time. And if that were the criteria for
such an occasion, Azriel and Gwyn had already been on countless dates before.
After all, what was the difference between dinner and their many lunches at Aislinn’s patisserie?
Or their picnics on the cliffs of the Rosehall estate…Or, their time spent walking the meadows and
fields around it, for that matter.

They had been practising dancing together for four hours every morning for Mother’s sake.

By the cauldron…Had Gwyn been on a date before and not even known it?

Had all those easy lunches they shared with cakes and tea, or the windy walks they enjoyed along
the cliffs been some kind of hidden romance? She didn’t know whether to feel relaxed or entirely
overwhelmed at that revelation. All she knew for sure, was that she had been sitting in that study,
knee-deep in the recount of a particularly interesting character of the Summer Court named
Taranis, when she had scented it.

Azriel’s heavy musk of arousal had flooded the study like a phantom breeze of night-kissed air
from an open window. And between the way she seemed to be distracting him from his work and
his body’s overt reaction to her presence, it was all she could do to remain composed enough to
light-heartedly tease him.

Gods, this game was cruel.

But tonight, Gwyneth Berdara would take her second win.

Tonight, she would not be nervous or afraid.

As always, the shadows found her first, a cool wisp of air brushing the small of her spine and then
wrapping around her white chiffon form in appreciating undulation. She gave the silly things a pat
– a habit sustained from their quick comradery – as she waited for the intentionally loud footsteps
to come closer. Even if it weren’t for the racing shadows, Gwyn would have known it was him.
Azriel’s footsteps carried a quiet rhythm to them, as just as his voice was, even his bones were
made for pretty song. Unhurried and confident, she listened and counted the large strides he made
across the training ring.

“I think they like you more than me at this point…” His voice was like dark velvet, smooth and
low as it wrapped around the wind. A sweet hymn she would always pray to hear.

Gwyn turned slightly, the shadow still nestled in her affectionate stroking hands, “Does that bother
you?”

The way he looked in the dying light of dusk threatened to undo all her self-control over again. His
leathers had been replaced for a crisp black button up shirt and some matching trousers, combat
boots swapped with their casual equivalent.

His gaze found the horizon, a city of glittering fae light cutting through the periwinkle haze of
twilight, “No, not at all…” Merely a mumble, he added, “Actually, I quite like it.”

She eyed Truth Teller, still sheathed at his side, something that would undoubtedly dispel any false
illusions of his innocence quickly. Although how could someone that looked like Azriel be
anything but a silken devil?

She had read enough books to know the prettiest things were always the most dangerous. And
perhaps she liked the way his hands were equally adept in drawing long comforting strokes on her
back as they were cutting through someone that harmed them like a knife through butter.

The evidence of the inked tattoos she had spent too much time trying to imagine in full form
peeked from the dip of his collar and reached up the golden tan skin of his neck. And perhaps
Azriel was every inch a warrior, but like this? With his wings stretched out and a glint of sweet
trouble in those pools of gilded hazel for eyes, he was nothing short of a fallen angel.

Dark and dangerous but an angel nonetheless.

And Gwyn knew, the darkest things could sometimes be the most holy. There was devotion
embedded in those brutal wings and salvation etched into those scarred hands. The Mother was just
as present in the shadows as she was in the light and it was hard not to find something godly about
the male before her.

“Well…” Gwyn sighed, standing up to meet him, “…I’ll have you know I cancelled an extremely
busy night with a very attractive male to be here Shadowsinger, so let’s be off.”

Before he could ask, she wrapped her arm around his shoulder in silent permission and gave him an
approving nod for him to follow suit.

But Azriel didn’t pick her up straight away, he only leaned into their newfound closeness, tucking a
rogue strand of copper hair behind her ear as he asked, “And what did this very attractive male do
to earn your affections, Gwyneth?”

She shivered, something like heat and electricity running down her spine, “Perhaps I’ll lend you
the book so you can find out for yourself.”

That wide, untamed grin took over his lovely mouth and it took every fibre of her being not to lean
in and taste it for herself.

“Maybe you can read it to me…”

Her heart betrayed the calm stealthy expression she wore, descending into a maddening beat of war
drums and chaos.

She grinned, “No, I think you should read it to me… If you can handle the smut, that is.” The
thought of laying on Azriel’s chest as he read aloud the scene in Chapter 33 where Geralt took the
maiden under the stars made her stomach flip and her cheeks flush. And yet… the curious part of
her mind filed away that idea for later on.

Azriel burst into a symphony of baritone laughter, his chuckles reverberating through her as he
effortlessly picked her up and took off into the fading sky. He smelled delicious, the faint scent of
smoked cedar and lush spice clung to his chest and she buried her face in it to breathe it in.

Gwyn had flown with Azriel so many times now that she had lost count and yet, this time felt
different somehow. Like he was holding her a little tighter, his heart beating a little faster when her
eyes caught the keen attention of his wings that battled the night breeze. They were beautiful
things of untamed, wild beauty, as if the finest of obsidian leather had been stretched and stitched
along perfectly carved bone.

She had the strangest urge to reach up and touch the powerful bridge of tendon-wrapped bone that
extended from his back, but at the last second, she reigned in that desire. And so, her outstretched
finger simply hovered in the air between his shoulder and the appendage.

Emerie had warned Gwyn of the sensitivity and private regard that Illyrians held their wings in.
They were an organ in their own right, every bit as powerful and muscular as the heart and yet, as
tender and sensitive as the soft flesh of...other parts. She would not touch them until he gave her
permission to, so instead, the light touch of her fingertips found the slither of wisped ink that ran up
the side of his neck. Tracing the inked shadows, she drew equal measures of keen delight and
curiosity as he shivered into the innocent touch.

She stole a glance up at Azriel, his eyes diverted from their flight path to her own as she ran her
explorative fingers up and down that soft golden skin of his neck.

“How many tattoos do you have?” A question to cut through the tension that rose so suddenly
between them.

He cleared his throat, “Many, we get them…” The sentence trailed off as she skirted her trailing
fingertips to the ink that rose above his powerful pectorals, gliding down the skin that peeked in
the dip of his collar. “…We get them when we complete certain stages of training at the war
camps, like marks of achievement, I suppose.”

“Did you get to choose yours?”

Azriel nodded, swallowing down something that had risen in his throat, “They’re all ancient
patterns and symbols from the Illyrian culture, but you choose which ones you want. All of them
collectively are insignia that promise luck and glory but individually, they mean different
things…”

Gwyn nodded, her hand coming up to trace the one that licked his jugular, “What does this one
mean?” Her feather-light touch navigated the swirl that looked like a permanent shadow impressed
on his skin.

“Retribution.” Azriel’s voice was hoarse and low, the way she had come to like it.

She hummed something low and sweet in approval, a sensual smile grazing her lips as she traced
the one on his other side, “And this one?”

“Justice.”

She rose a brow, her finger grazing over his jaw and then descending from the knot in his throat to
the centre. She continued down the exposed flesh that cladded his strong sternum, the ink there
was more intricate, the outstretched symbol pointed at the end like a bolt of night-veiled lightning,
“What about this one?”

“That symbol is an old Illyrian motto, called the ullaichte…” Gwyn drew no shortage of
satisfaction from the way his jaw seemed to strain and his hands tightened around her body as she
caressed the skin, “It means ‘I am ready’.

Gwyn’s mind absorbed the flurry of information, her gaze flittered along the ink of his neck that
surely reached down to his chest and perhaps even further beyond. Gwyn's touch travelled along
the story that was etched there, no not a story, a vow.

A vow that said,

I am ready to bring justice through retribution.

A fitting motto for a dark angel. An angel of death.

Velaris was more alive than she had ever seen it during the day.
There were people everywhere flooding the moonlit streets, out to enjoy the fresh evening
splendour. She conceded that Azriel was right in his assessment that the city felt like an entirely
different beast at night. The streets glittered with strings of draped fae light matching the famed
stars that shone above. On every corner of the street, there sat a musician or an entertainer, drawing
in crowds of onlookers and coin flippers with their skills. Velaris was a city dedicated to the night,
she had known that much. But seeing just how many came to sing its prayers and enjoy its stars
made her shrink a little.

“You okay?” Azriel’s voice cut through the whirl of colour, light and sound as she stood at the
edge of the alleyway they had flown into. As always, he waited patiently for her to adjust. And she
knew if it was too much, if the crowds were too loud or if the streets were too busy, he would fly
her straight back to the House, no questions asked.

But she was Gwyneth Berdara, and she would not be afraid.

As always, her curiosity won over any roil of fear in the end, so she mustered up an excited grin
and nodded, watching the way his shoulders relaxed and his wings seemed to expand ever so
slightly in relief.

But Azriel kept his shrewd gaze on her as he led her through the bustling streets, a reassuring hand
ghosting at her back to let her know he was there. While his shadows were more difficult to see at
night, the people of Velaris still cleared the way with widened eyes when they saw the
Shadowsinger approach, his casual clothes doing naught to dissuade the promise of violence that
he seemed to emulate. And Gwyn selfishly was never more glad he elicited such a response from
the hordes of equally terrified and interested people, because between all the whirlwind of noise
and activity she wouldn’t know what to do if someone accidentally bumped into her and caught her
off guard.

She distracted herself by focusing on Azriel, “I don’t suppose the Master of secrets is going to tell
me where we’re going?”

He tilted his head, revealing a smirk, “Are you telling me Gwyneth Berdara, famed Valkyrie and
feared Carynthian doesn't like surprises?”

Gwyn gave a snort, rolling her eyes at the grand title she didn’t deserve, “I like knowing things…”

His smirk widened into a striking grin that painted a rare form of beauty on his features, “You
don’t say.”

“Yes, and surprises are the direct antithesis of that.”

Azriel leaned in to whisper into her ear, “How about you just trust me on this one? Can you do me
that honour, Berdara?” His hot breath flittered down her neck and left something like a tangled
knot in the pit of her stomach. And by the gods, was it a welcome distraction from her anxious
worry.

“I suppose so…” She breathed; her voice entirely less together than it was meant to be. He only
wore an expression dripping in male satisfaction in response.

They entered a busy market square and wove through the outskirts of the night markets that had set
up camp. Gwyn’s eyes widened as she took in the wonderous array of trinkets and strange food
being sold in the tents. Everything from jewellery to baked apples was being bartered and paid for
and the scent of cinnamon and smoke wafted around them with the loud chanting of the vendors
and patrons.
Her heart began to beat a little faster as they approached the thickening crowd and she swallowed
down the anxiety that ran through her at the closeness of the bodies and the loudness of the music
and sounds that seemed to engulf them.

She knew Azriel was watching every move she made in concern, the shadows clung to her hands
as if holding her through the discomfort. But it wasn’t enough, and as they snaked through the
crowd and the air became less of her own and more shared, she was suddenly reaching. Reaching
for the hand that always told her she was safe.

Rivulets of course and soft skin found her own, slightly sweaty fingers. Gwyn took the large hand
that dangled by her side and wrapped her own dainty one in the warmth of it, eyes still alert and
glued to the crowd ahead. A few heartbeats later, as if it took that long for him to comprehend the
small act, Azriel tightened his grip around her hand. His hold was strong, yet still decidedly
gentle, like he was afraid he would break her little carpal bones beneath.

An undeniable warmth trickled through her veins at the touch, like someone had poured liquid
tranquillity into her bloodstream and a cold glass of water down the crevices of her mind. The
feeling flittered down her spine and caressed the frayed ends of her nerves, turning that panic into a
peace of mind she wasn’t sure was possible in such an environment as this.

When they cleared the bustling square and turned the street corner to the more docile marina, he
made no move to take his hand away and finally, she dared a glance up at him. But Azriel wasn’t
looking at her. No. He was somewhat transfixed on the sight between them, his gaze glued to
where his large hand enveloped her little one, the knot of golden tan skin and freckled pale flesh
illuminated in the moonlight.

“What’s wrong?” She laughed, “Surely in all your five hundred and however many years of
cavorting and dallying, a female has held your hand before.”

He swallowed, looking up at her with something imperceptible brewing in his gaze, the shadows
writhing and swaying happily in the breeze around them. “No…”

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she squeezed his hand tighter in triumph, lacing her fingers in
between his, “You can’t honestly be expecting me to believe that Shadowsinger.” She had no doubt
in her mind Azriel had a string of countless lovers and lock-lipped acquaintances over his time and
how could a female not want to touch and hold every part of him?

The idea was equal parts irrational as it was unbelievable.

“You’re the first that’s ever…” He took a deep breath, his gaze settling on something in the
distance, “Ever wanted to…touch them.” The scars, were the silent words that passed between
them. The scars she loved.

Something in her chest tightened at his confession, but she revealed no semblance of pity and gave
him an easy grin as she said, “Well I’m sorry to tell you that your taste in females seems awfully
terrible…Besides from me, of course.”

He snorted, the tension in him dissipating as they began to walk along the candle-lit dock littered in
floating restaurants and parked ships that twinkled on the moon-glazed Sidra. “I might have to
agree with you on that front, Berdara.”

Her curiosity peeked as they stopped at the docking station of a large wooden ship, the sails
undulating in the Spring night breeze. Upon the deck sat small circular tables, patrons already
seated and sipping their wine merrily.
“We’re eating here? On a…on a ship?”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, wings twitching in a rare display of
nervousness as he explained, “Well, you mentioned the other day at lunch that you had never been
on a boat before and this ship is a restaurant that sails up and down the Sidra…” Even in the black-
hued night, she saw the trace of a blush on his cheeks, “I thought you might like seeing the Sidra at
night this way… and the food is really good too, it has the cheesecake we like.”

Gwyn stared at him and then, at the ship with wide eyes, disbelief painted on her delicate features.

“If you don’t like the idea we can go to-”

She took hold of his other hand, a wild smile unleashed on her delicate features. “Are you kidding
me? Azriel this is amazing…” Before she could even think about what she was doing, Gwyn stood
on her tip toes with a joyful laugh and planted a chaste kiss on his flaming cheek. The skin was soft
and warm, and something like a jolt of electricity birthed from the contact of her lips and scattered
through them, planting twin embers in their chests. The unbridled joy brimmed in her azure-lit eyes
as she let out a squeal of excitement, dropping his hands and venturing onto the ship, leaving him
there, on the dock, heart stopped and lungs utterly unfunctional.

She couldn’t help but smile when the waitress led them up to a private deck away from the other
patrons, realising he had gone to the effort of organising privacy for her in case it became all too
much. In the first minute of sitting down, Gwyn entirely forgot she was on a date altogether, as
they slipped into the casual ease of their usual talk and teasing.

Gwyn fell into a cascade of laughter as he told her of the time he, Rhys and Cassian dared each
other to swim the length of the Sidra after a night of drinking and how Cassian almost got eaten by
one of the monsters that lurked beneath the deep waters.

She liked him like this, open and happy. The mystery and reluctance that shrouded him usually had
all but shed away when he was in her company. His smiles had become less rare and to her delight,
Azriel spoke as much as she had, as they debated over countless books and philosophy, things she
had never spoken about with anyone else. He even gave her a full review of the book she had given
him for his birthday, claiming she had excellent taste for mystery novels and that it wasn’t at all
predictable.

Azriel let Gwyn order for both of them, somehow enjoying her propensity to order more than both
their stomachs could ever handle.

And yet tonight, they ate it all. Every last crumb.

He laughed that sweet hymn of velvet baritone as they shared the entrees, and she told him about
Catrin and how she used to sneak off into the village near Sangravah and bring back swiped treats
from the preoccupied market stall sellers. Told him all about the temple and the rigorous schedule
they were inflicted with, as they delved into plates of plentiful pasta and cuts of whole fish baked in
heavenly sauce. In turn, he spoke about the Illyrian war camps, his distaste for the territory clear in
his voice as he described the brutal nature of the regime and how quick they were to punishment in
the face of disobedience.

Little by little, she gathered more information about his past, forming a picture to the mysterious
puzzle he presented.

The Sidra was beautiful from the vantage point of the ship deck and the House of wind was a mere
distant crown of fae light that crested the tallest mountain peak above. When they disembarked,
Azriel reached for her hand and she saw the quiet satisfaction that bloomed in him as she laced her
fingers tightly with his in return.

They walked around Velaris aimlessly, Gwyn’s fear of the crowd subdued by her full belly, the
wine they had drank and the hand encased in her own. They went to Rosetta's, Azriel insisting on
buying her no less than five new books on the grounds that she promised to read them to him. She
agreed, trying to pick ones without the level of smut Nesta and Emerie had keenly introduced to
her. Then, they wandered to the Rainbow. Azriel took her to his favourite place for dessert, and he
was both amused and delighted to find out she had never been to an ice creamery before.

Her eyes lit up like sapphire-forged stars as Azriel read out all of the possible flavours. salted
macadamia, summered strawberry, sweet chocolate and sour raspberry…The options were endless,
and she wanted them all. He couldn’t help but chuckle when she ordered no less than three scoops,
every one more decadent than the other as they piled onto the cone. Azriel followed suit, making
sure to get the other flavours her eyes had lingered on, so she could taste them all.

It was almost midnight when they leaned on the railing of the bridge that stitched the Rainbow to
the central business district and watched the ships sail by as a string quartet played softly in the
distance. Gwyn had never known such easy fun could be had. Had never realised what she had
been missing out on all those nights she spent desperately alone, tear-soaked and haunted in the
library. And because she knew the tides of life were quick to change, she savoured the moment.
Took the feel of his shoulder brushing against hers, the lingering taste of strawberry cream on her
tongue and the sight of the Sidra reflecting a blanket of burning stars - and tattooed it all into her
mind.

After all, not all memories had to be sad, and she would cherish this one as she did those of her
cheeky sister and her doting mother.

“What are you thinking about?” Azriel’s voice reverberated through his chest and settled onto her
side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It was then she realised she had been utterly silent for five
minutes.

“All the things in life I missed out on without realising it.” The confession was followed by a deep
sigh.

A frown carved through his handsome features as he glanced at her, “You haven’t missed out on
anything, you’re still so young…You have so much time to do everything there is to do, Gwyn.”
There was something like guilt that soaked those last words, but for what, she didn’t know for sure.
She wondered if he thought she was too young for her, a menial detail that seemed almost silly to
consider given their ease of friendship and that spark that flamed between them. She turned into
him, looking up through her lashes to meet his conflicted ones.

Her fingers grazed his hand in light strokes as she said, “Well, I think time seems a little irrelevant
when you could die at any moment, don’t you?”

He met the statement with contemplative silence as she could tell he was absorbing the words.
Mulling them over for what they were, a silent question, a silent request.

“You don’t need to worry about that though, do you?” Azriel turned in to face her fully, the hand
she was stroking still resting on the railing as he leaned in to her ear and whispered, “I fear for any
creature that dare tries to harm you…”

Something wicked and hot boiled in her blood as her other hand came up to his chest, the hard wall
of muscle below doing nothing to assuage the way she could feel his galloping heart. Gwyn forced
herself to give him an irreverent eye roll, “And why is that?... Because a certain overprotective bat
would choke them with his shadows and make them wish they were never born?”

“No…Although that does sound very appealing…” His other hand came up to her jaw and she let
him push her back onto the stone pylon behind her, as his thumb traced her bottom lip, “Because I
have no doubt you would end them so thoroughly that they would be in the depths of hell before I
even winnowed to you.”

“Well, that’s quite the vote of confidence…” Her lashes fluttered as she felt him press lightly into
her, their bodies meeting in a fever of heat and tension that had been brewing for a long while now.

The shadows had shrouded them in a wall of private darkness, those walking by not noticing their
less-than-decent position against the marble pylon. Azriel only hummed deeply in response, his
gaze dipping down to her mouth, while his fingers took to stroking her jaw. Heat pooled deep
within her and she saw his nostrils flare and his eyes become hooded as her arousal met the breeze.

Azriel almost looked pained as he said, “Tell me what you want Gwyn…” One of his shadows
wisped up to curl around her neck, the flushed skin meeting its phantom bite of cool wind. She
inhaled a ragged breath as a fresh dose of molten arousal began to melt away her worries, her
concerns, her doubts. Those things that held her back waned and melted until it was just her and
Azriel alone on that bridge, pressed together and flaming with want.

What did she want?

Gwyn wanted every dark and delicious thing Azriel could give her.

She wanted to be thoroughly devoured by him. Leaving no inch of her flaming skin untasted,
unlicked, unstroked and all of her wickedly satiated. And though the thought of her naked body
being splayed and vulnerable to a male drew up unwelcome discomfort, something told her that
Azriel would be patient. That, as with everything they did, he would ask and listen - and that made
her all the more flushed with desire. She bit her lip, trying to reign in her wild thoughts.

“What are you offering, Shadowsinger?” Remarkably, her voice came out silky and soft and she
saw his eyes darken at the sound of it.

Azriel didn’t hesitate as he replied into the shell of her ear, “Everything. Anything you want. Name
it and it’s yours.”

She levelled a teasing grin at him, “Anything?” A dangerous promise to make and yet the words
fell so easily from his lips.

He rose a brow, as she leaned in, their noses touching and their mouths so close they breathed each
other’s air.

“Anyth-” Azriel paused mid-sentence, his stance going rigid and his head dipping as if he were
suddenly listening to something inaudible.

A frown crossed her features, the arousal peeking within her begging to be tended to. He was so
close, their lips mere millimetres from each other.

A long, irritated exhale left his mouth as he leaned back, putting distance between them as the
shadows somewhat disappointedly retreated to his form and revealed them once more to the bridge.

“Rhys needs me.” He had his eyes clenched shut, his index finger and thumb pinching the bridge
of his nose as if trying to reign himself in. “It’s urgent.”
No.

Absolutely not.

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer again, “Tell him you're busy.”

Azriel sent her a pleading look as if there was a silent war waging in his mind. “I… I can’t, Gwyn.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Gwyn snapped back, although, there was no anger in it, just
blatant sexually frustrated irritation, “Tell him you have a life and that you’re busy.”

The shadows seemed to nod in agreement, but slowly, he shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t work that way, it’s an emergency. I’ll fly you home and then I need to get to the
Hewn City as soon as I can…”

“Okay…” She tried to hide her disappointment, but something told her about the guilt that flooded
his features that he saw every last inch of it painted on her face. And perhaps it was childish of her,
but in that moment, she might have hated Rhysand. Hated that Azriel never seemed to get a free
moment to himself. Despised that he felt obliged to acquiesce whatever was demanded of him
without second thought.

As they flew up into the night chilled air, he leaned down to her ear and vowed, “I’ll be home as
soon as I can…We’re not done here.”

It was a promise laced in so much unmet desire and ravaging fervour, that she couldn’t possibly
keep giving in to the irritation that had begun boiling in her blood for him and the unwelcome
interruption.

So, Gwyn simply nodded, giving him a menacing look that told Azriel she would hold him to that
promise - even if it was by knifepoint. And in answer, he gave her a chuckle and kissed the crown
of her head, knowing she meant it.
Chapter End Notes

Art inspiration for this chapter was this (NSFW) depiction of Azriel as a fallen angel
by the incredible @moonrosesxart
https://www.instagram.com/p/CasF1smNlp7/?hl=en

Fluffly Gwynriel! Sorry about the cutting ending, but it had to happen for the plot of
the next two chapters and as I said at the start, this is a slow burn so eat your crumbs
because I promise, I'm building to something.

The purpose of this chapter was to both discuss Gwyn's conflicted attitude towards sex
and to illustrate how Gwyn brings out the best in Azriel when they are giving in to
their feelings and listening to their needs. It's really important to me that this fic
highlights the issues that may arise in a SA survivor's journey to recovery, especially
within the guise of sexual empowerment, and so her learning about her body and
comfort in pleasure is a really big theme that will be expanded upon in this fic. I
personally hate the Gwynriel fics that just ignorantly glaze over that aspect of her
character and I personally think it's a disservice to their story to not to explore the
complexities of that.

Did you guys like the hand-holding bit? Gah. I think what's really sweet about them is
that although there will be a lot of firsts for Gwyn and she is relatively inexperienced
compared to Azriel, there are so many firsts for him that are both emotional and
intimate that I can't wait to write about.

I'd love your honest opinions on this chapter, I felt a lot of pressure writing something
light-hearted and fluffy like a date while still incorporating their banter and tension
and in my mind its such an important milestone for them in their relationship, so please
let me know your thoughts. I really hope I did it justice.

Also if anyone else is an Outlander fan like me, you'll know the motto 'I am ready' is
inspired by the highlander of my dreams, Jamie Fraser.

Lou x
 War and Peace
Chapter Notes

Shout out to captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship on tumblr, who described reading the last

chapter as getting 'blue balled in the best way possible', that one made me cackle.

This chapter was inspired by a quote from Orestes by Euripides that never fails to
draw a tear:

“Pylades: I’ll take care of you.

Orestes: It’s rotten work.
Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Three days had passed without a scrap of news about Azriel, or, where he had gone.

Cassian had temporarily come home yesterday, eyes weary and leathers covered in mattered blood
that wasn’t his own. He claimed their absence was due to what he referred to as an ‘Autumn Court
shitstorm’ to deal with at the border, simply saying Azriel was still caught up in the fallout of the
attack. Cassian said no more than that, before collapsing into Nesta’s concerned arms in pure
exhaustion, and since then, she hadn’t seen him to ask for more information.

The next day Nesta and Cassian were both gone, leaving Gwyn alone to contend with all the
frightful possibilities that arose in her mind in their absence. The eldest Archeron had at least left a
note, saying they were called to the Hewn City, but for how long exactly they would be gone, she
didn’t mention. Nor did she mention if Gwyn could do anything to help. She felt the sharp pang of
ugly uselessness churn through her, wishing there was some way she could be of assistance.
Wishing someone would have the decency to clue her in on the emergency that had taken her mate
and not returned him.

Her mate.

Who hadn’t bothered to even send a note.

And although she knew he hadn’t owed her such a consideration, she found herself hurt that he
hadn’t even thought to write, or winnow home for just one moment to tell her he was okay. That he
was safe.

The House was different when she was alone, it felt larger and impossibly vacant as if its very
heart had been hollowed out by her family’s absence. There was no hum of chatter from Nesta and
Cassian, no quiet company offered in Azriel’s study and no one to spar with on the rooftop when
sleep escaped her. And though the House had taken it upon itself to provide the utmost comfort
and luxury in those nights of solitude, a restlessness took home deep in her gut, accompanied by a
gnawing anxiousness biting at her thoughts and sinking its gruesome talons into the deep fissures
of her mind.

So, in lieu of company, Gwyn did what she always had done when isolation and seclusion got the
better of her; she threw herself into her research work. Books upon books had been read, her
notebook filled to the nth line, causing the House to gift her another...and then another. Fact and
reason had always been the leverage she could stand on when everything else had fallen away. And
this time, there was no screechingly cruel Merrill to contend with, nor was there impossible
deadlines to meet that compromised the quality of her investigations.

Adopting Azriel’s office as her own, she read book after book and cross-referenced each interesting
detail with the reports and resources he had given to her.

It might have been silly, but there was a degree of comfort she derived from being in that room,
surrounded by his scent, his things, that made her slightly relax.

The research, although important to the looming mission not days away now, held an entirely
different, hidden purpose. The bond was brutal in its influence on her nerves, something grating on
them as she spent night after night without him. And not just without his presence, but without any
consolation of his health and wellbeing. She was not foolish enough to ignore the way Cassian had
evaded her questioning after Azriel, nor was she ignorant to think that if his brother had returned
bloodied and battered, that her mate would be a right side better off.

She could barely sleep and occasionally, in those rare hours she did fall into unconsciousness from
exhaustion, she saw images that were not of her own making. Violent and gory scenes of dark cells
with no windows for light or fresh air. Guttural screams, choked confessions and flashes of
torturous blades drawing blood, bone and fingernails from tender flesh. Those nightmares had
plagued her mind and set an unease deep within her that riled her to the very core.

Gwyn hoped, no prayed, that it was simply a manifestation of her anxiety. That it was not some
window into Azriel’s capture or interrogation, forged by a mental bridge of the seemingly growing
bond.

Sweat-laden and screaming, she had awoken the previous night with his name on her lips, and she
swore…swore to the Mother herself…that a wisp of a shadow had undulated from the far corner of
her room in response. But it was no longer easy to discern what was real and what was a figure of
her worry.

It was in those silent hours of reddened eyes and warring thoughts, she came to the realisation that
despite their newfound closeness and Azriel’s gradual gift of opening up to her, that Gwyn was
deeply unaware of the semantics of his job. She knew he was a Spymaster, of course, had gathered
that his overarching work was to coordinate a web of tightly knit espionage that spread along
Prythian, Hybern and even the continent beyond. But what else did he do? What purpose was that
terrifyingly beautiful blade put to when he wasn’t shrouded in shadows and trading secrets?

She saw his evasion of those details all too well when they had come up in conversation, when she
asked him where he had suddenly disappeared to after dinner, or why he looked as if he hadn’t
garnered any sleep at their morning dancing lessons. Knowing better than to pry, Gwyn had let
those secrets fall to the wayside, hoping they would naturally uproot and be shared with her when
the time was right.

But now…Now it felt like a puzzle piece to him she desperately needed to click into place.
It was sometime deep within the night when she had been roused by a noise outside. The large
tome still cradled in her hands, evidence of cake crumbs beside her, she had woken in the living
room, where Gwyn had taken to reading on the sitting room sofa.

The batting of large wings stirring the brisk air outside had brought her into consciousness and she
knew, just knew somehow, that it was him. Shooting to her feet, uncaring that she was in a less-
than-decent nightgown, Gwyn ran to the large doors that met the balcony.

And there Azriel was…or at least, his body was. His mind though, that was a different matter
entirely.

As he took the sight of Gwyn in, flaming locks unbound and falling like ripples across the soft blue
silk of her nightdress, Azriel stood with a contending rigidness in his form and a stark weariness in
his features. Even in the fae light that illuminated the balcony, she noted that his leathers were no
longer black, but painted with the hue of dark merlot that she had come to know well.

Blood.

And not just a little blood but so much that it was as if he had bathed in it.

She quickly ran her discerning gaze down his form, inspecting every inch of him with detail that
bordered on mania. Giving a sniff in the air, to detect its origins, Gwyn noted the dark crusted
patches that sat amongst the fresh wet ones. This had been going on for days. Her shoulders relaxed
slightly as she realised, at least, the blood was not his.

He stared at her with cold, vacant eyes, so remiss of their usual gilded hazel flames she took in a
subtle gasp for air, not in fright but in profound concern. The shadows that shrouded him
uncharacteristically bound around his form, like they were attempting to hide his very presence
from her. There was something empty that emulated from him, that had her stepping out into the
cold brisk air of the balcony, not caring for snow drifting through the air, and reaching for him.

Reaching for his hand.

But he only took a step back from her. Away from her. A warning flashed in his eyes.

Gwyn didn’t have the time to disguise the hurt that flooded her features as she said, “Come inside
Azriel…” The snowed wind bit at her cheeks and turned her skin pink with cold as her nipples
pebbled and poked through the dainty silk of her nightdress. But both of them were far too
preoccupied to even notice such things that would be considered indecent in any other scenario.

In fact, she didn’t even feel the cold. No, she only felt the distance of the space carved between
them and the vacancy that his stare left in her aching chest. They may as well have been on either
side of a mountain range for all that lay in that cruel distance, in that cold agony that made a home
there.

Azriel clenched his jaw, the first normal movement he had made since she saw him. His voice was
gravelly and strangled as he said, “Gwyn…I need you to go back inside.”

She took another step forward, shaking her head slowly, “Not without you.”

“Go.” His voice had been guttered of its usual velvet softness, no evidence of the charming warmth
he had usually reserved for her - nothing but pure male command replacing the tone. Anger and
agony were all that coveted his expression as he took another step back and demanded again, more
harshly than before, “I said go, Gwyn.”

But Gwyneth Berdara was not afraid of him, or his pain, or his anger. And she would not turn her
back on him, not when everyone else had. Not when hurt and anguish and torture laced his every
heartbeat and breath. And certainly not when Azriel had stood by her when she had become so
eaten up by grief and despair.

This was not their way, they did not give up on one another for being cracked in places that ought
to be forged.

“No…” A reassuring but firm tone carried the word. The vow. “I won’t leave you like this.”

So, she stood her ground in refusal to heed the demand. Instead, Gwyn took a step closer and
closer until he had backed up to the railing. There was a wild look painted in the depths of his eyes,
something akin to those of a tormented beast that had come to know the sounds of whips and the
burn of hot irons. And yet, something flashed across his gaze, something like worry and guilt. Like
he was somehow scared she would see too much of him.

As if at any moment, he was preparing for her to run and scream from the sight of him so shattered
and weary from the hell he had risen from.

“Don’t…” The word was nothing less than a whimper, so at odds with his usual voice, “I’m…I’m
not myself tonight… I need, I need you to leave me alone.”

“I know you’re not yourself...” Because she needed him to know that Gwyn didn’t hold whatever it
was he thought of himself against him. Needed him to hear that she wasn’t afraid or scared. “That’s
okay… But I don’t want you to be alone, not like this.”

As she neared, the blood that mattered his face, his hands, his siphons even, came into view. Gwyn
had seen him once like this before, so ravaged by war and covered in violence, in the kitchen of
Sangravah, but something told her this was a regular occurrence. Something she had been blissfully
unaware of when she had lived in the library. And right then and there, she made a promise to him
to the Mother to anyone that was listening that she would not allow that to continue.

How could she be afraid of him now? When he was the picture of salvation.

How could she see him as anything but divine? When the blood on his hands came at the cost of
his self-worth and he paid the price so willingly anyway.

Once again, she reached for him. They were but inches away now, and he had stilled, agony-struck
eyes flittering closed as she took hold of one of his hands. Cold and bloodied though it was, she
ignored everything but those wonderfully strong fingers that met with a fierce, capable palm. Her
own touch glided over the rivulets of soft and coarse flesh in absolving strokes as her other hand
came up to his cheek.

“You can’t push me away, I won’t let you.”

Something trembled in his lip as he shook slightly under her touch, the words echoing through him
and sinking deep. Slowly he began to shake his head to refuse her again.

The words kept flowing from her lips in a soft, warm tone that contended with the freezing wind
that wrapped around them, “There’s nothing you could ever do to scare me…”

“You don’t-”
“No.” Gwyn cut him off, “No Azriel, you don’t get to hide anymore. You don’t get to decide to
give everything and take nothing in return.”

A hot stream of salted tears fell down his cheek from his clenched eyes and she could tell he was
holding a flood of them back. A dam had built under his flesh beneath his ribcage and Gwyn knew
it was about to break.

But she would take it. Gwyn would take every drowning, flooding drop and hold his hand through
the ruin.

His shadows had wrapped around them like a blanket, shielding their bodies from the frost-bitten
cold. It was as if they had been forged together by their own little piece of the night sky.

With feather-light softness, Gwyn lifted his hand that was wrapped in her own and brought it
slowly up to her lips. Azriel’s eyes hesitantly flittered open, glazed with red and blurred with tears,
he watched as she placed a kiss on his palm. And then, on each of his knuckles. Gwyn didn’t care
for the grime or blood that covered them, nor did she mind the way she knew there was a lethal
refusal that sat on the tip of his tongue.

She silenced him before he could unleash it, as she opened his hand tentatively and placed another
kiss into the centre of his palm, the scars thicker and rougher on that particular part of his flesh.
There was a message laced into every kiss. A clear vow made as her lips came into contact with his
hand, that said, let me give to you what you have never accepted.

She wanted to take every dark and wicked thing that haunted him, wanted to kiss his bloodied
hands and hold his broken body. Wanted to show him she wasn’t afraid of his violence or war or
pain. There was beauty in everything, that she knew, and Gwyn couldn’t help but find it in those
parts of him he hid. The parts that were evidence that despite everything, he refused to break.

And perhaps that’s when Gwyn realised, that she loved him.

Taking back his hand in her own, she led Azriel into the warmth of the house and out of the cold.
He followed on heavy footsteps, his grip tightening on hers ever so slightly as they went.

She had never been in his room before, it was something that had never risen to occasion, or
seemed appropriate, but now she was turning the doorknob as if it were her own and leading him
through the threshold in patient strides.

A fire lit in the hearth that appeared entirely unused and flared a stream of warmth and light to
reveal the neat space. It was the same size and layout as hers although his bed was decidedly
bigger, a factor, she surmised, which accounted for his wings. The wall opposite the imposing four
poster was embellished with countless weapons braced to the wall, each one more menacing and
glimmering with brutality than the last. A wide pane of pure glass covered the far side of the room,
revealing the moonlit mountain peaks in the distance.

But that wasn’t what had stolen her interest.

No.

It was the colossal bookshelf to her immediate left that caught her off guard. Filled to the brim with
books and not just any books, but vintaged first editions that she had only seen in the restricted
sections of the library and behind the high-value glass cabinets at Rosettas. It was something that
could only be attributed to a bibliophile and her twin heart warmed at the sight.

All she wanted to do was spend hours inspecting the prized tomes he had gathered over the years
and shelved lovingly. But not now. That would come later.

Gwyn led him into the grand marble bathroom, kept as neat, clean and orderly as his bedroom. The
House had already begun filling his bathing pool with steaming water that smelled of lush lavender
and gentle cedar.

“You don’t have to-” His voice was hoarse and tired, a sound she couldn’t bear the weight of. She
only shushed him gently and gestured to the stool that sat in the corner as she went to fill the basin
with warm water and gather a clean towel from the stack on the large vanity.

While she faced the basin, Gwyn stilled her trembling fingers, mustering her composure to not give
away how seeing him like this affected her.

“Take off your leathers…” Her voice echoed in the cavernous space of his bathroom and by the
Mother, was she glad there was no ounce of trepidation laced into the words. She half wondered if
he had silently refused her request. Nothing but the running bath and occasional drips filled the air
as she poured various salts and oils into the full sink, until the faint sound of buckles being
unclasped and zips being pulled down added to the noise. She gave him his privacy, tending to mix
the water and soaking the towelette in its warmth.

When she finally turned around, Azriel sat in nothing but a pair of briefs, wings contracted behind
him and the pile of bloodied and battered leather discarded on the floor uncaringly. And perhaps if
this were any other moment, Gwyn would’ve taken the time to appreciate his body for what it
was…some kind of cruel masterpiece forged with battle-honed muscle, brute beautiful strength and
inked artistry…but tonight, she kept her gaze on his.

Gwyn padded towards him, towel dripping and steaming in her fingers, the scent of the oils and
salts flooding the thick air. Although his stare was heavy and shrouded with darkened hazel
shadows, Azriel’s chest rose and fell in unmistakeable pants, which matched his thundering heart
beneath. She knew she was walking on a thin line with him, knowing from the look in Azriel’s
eyes that he would break in one of two ways. But whether that be anger or sorrow, she was not
afraid.

Ever so slowly, Gwyn reached for the same hand that she had met with her lips just minutes ago
and after a moment of weighted hesitation, Azriel lifted it to her welcoming touch. His eyes
flittered closed as she began to softly clean the matted crimson and black from the scarred skin, a
ragged breath escaping his mouth a moment later.

“Is this okay?”

Those words were holy words to her. The ones he would ask Gwyn every time he came near.

His voice was choked with some thick, silent emotion as he replied, “Yes…”

Thumbs lightly pressing into the thick mound of his palm, she pressed the heat and steam into his
flesh and continued the touch along his calloused fingers. Tears streamed down his golden cheeks,
as if the act was uprooting something long buried. A well of pain and hurt he had carried for Gods
know how long began to fall from his eyes and to his thick muscular thighs beneath.

The dam had broken.

Here was the very sorrow Gwyn had suspected. Here was the male no one else had seen before.

The sink was drained and refilled countless times, the evidence of his suffering discarding in
blackened and reddened whirls with it. Extra care was taken with his face, his ears, his neck, the
features she had come to adore and dream of were gently cleaned and lovingly caressed. There
wasn’t one part of his exposed flesh she did not wipe clean. No part of him she had left untended
too.

Except, his wings.

Bloodied and dirtied they may be, Gwyn knew the private nature of those beautiful beastly things
and so, when she had come to them, she only flickered her eyes to him in muted question.

Somehow, he knew exactly what she had been asking, and his response broke something long
hardened in her as he nodded and whispered softly, “Please.”

If Azriel saw how her fingers trembled as they met the boned edge of the appendage, he was kind
enough not to show it. There was something intimate about the act, that despite not being entirely
aware of the culture or the anatomical constitution, she knew held deep, profound meaning.

Trust.

Faith.

Something she gathered was an entirely foreign concept to such a male as him and equally,
something that weighed heavily in her heart and almost threatened tears from her own eyes as well.
Goosebumps pricked the gleaming skin of his shoulders and back as she ran the towel down the
stretched membranous flesh of his right wing. The shadows had snaked around her arms and
peeked over his collarbones to gaze at the scene, almost mesmerised or hypnotised by the rarity of
it. She watched with keen curiosity as it twitched and shivered slightly in reply to the contact and
Gwyn would have pulled back if Azriel had not outstretched them further.

It was enough to wonder if she had been the first female to ever touch them.

Her soft voice broke the silence that had fallen thick between them, “You know, I have to confess
something to you…”

As if her voice had dragged him from some deep state of thought, a moment’s pause met her before
Azriel answered, “What is it, Berdara?”

“I’ve always been jealous of your wings…” She let out a small breathy laugh as she continued her
sweep along the talon that crested the right-hand side and the sound of his own gravelly chuckle
gave her the courage to say what she did next. “And you know what? You asked me once when we
were on the rooftop where I would fly to if I could go anywhere, do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“I told you I would go to the Coves of Seraphina…” She swallowed down the thick lump that had
formed in her throat, “But… I think I’ve changed my mind…”

“Where would you go now?”

The wet towel ran down the tender inside of his left wing as she whispered, “To the cliffs of
Sabai…”

“Our cliffs?” He asked. Although two simple words, the question asked more than just that.

Gwyn nodded as she blinked back the welling in her eyes, trying her best to train her voice into
calm as she replied, “Our cliffs.”
Gwyn left him in the bathroom to bathe privately. Taking the opportunity to inspect every inch and
corner of his room. It was only fair, Gwyn supposed, that she did so, as he had practically snooped
every damn inch of hers under the heavily contestable excuse of a ‘Routine threat inspection’ not a
few weeks ago.

Perhaps it was strange, to find a collection of books as priceless and loved in the same bedroom as
an equally revered armoury of weapons, but Gwyn found it oddly charming. This was the one place
Azriel did not hide, the one place he felt safe. And if that meant copious amounts of books and
blades, she was happy to see it.

There was a poetry to him she supposed, something attune to old myths of wisdom sharpened into
weapons and brute strength derived from the quiet violence of knowledge, that she couldn’t help
but adore.

She ran an explorative hand over the soft black sheets of his bed, picking up the book that sat
proudly on his bedside table. Not able to supress the smile that flourished on her lips, she was
happy to find it was the mystery novel Gwyn gifted to him for his birthday. Her fingers pried open
the book and took in the delicious scent of him mixed with the earthy parchment.

And by the Mother…if only they could bottle that and sell it.

Her fingers played with the glass rose pendant of her necklace as she noted the painting that hung
next to the bed, the High Lady’s workmanship clearly visible in the fine colour blending and
keenly precise brushstrokes. It was a depiction of a mountain she knew well, although it wasn’t
painted in the horror or gore that Gwyn had depicted it in. No, it was Ramiel in moon glazed
beauty, standing regal and strong in the skyline. And above it, a blanket of burning stars, three
larger ones just above the snowed peak. And perhaps despite it all, despite the memories she had of
that brutal, unforgiving place, in this portrait at least, it looked beautiful.

The door creaked open and she turned around to greet the sound. Azriel looked decidedly less
shrouded in despair and drenched in bodily fluids as he approached her. Cotton sleeping trousers
were the only thing he wore, revealing the full extent of the beautiful tattoos she had spent time
trying to imagine. The expression in his eyes was unreadable, as he did something entirely
unexpected. Extending a hand out to her slowly, she curiously took it and was swept into his arms.
Her head found his chest, the heartbeat she loved so much singing a rhythm just for her, as Azriel
wrapped Gwyn’s slender form in his warmth.

“What happened?”

She felt him breathe her in like he needed her scent as much as she needed his. Like it took
precedence over even the oxygen his lungs demanded. “There are things about me you don’t
know…”

“I’ve gathered that much,” Gwyn said, loosening her grip on him slowly and adjusting to look up
at him. “Nothing you could do would change my opinion of you.”

“No, these are things that…” He swallowed, “Things that once you know, will undoubtedly change
the way you see me.”

She only shook her head, “No…”

“Yes, Gwyn. I’m not the male you think you know…and I’m not the male you deserve.” A muscle
flickered in his jaw as he clenched it, his fingers running through the long strands of her copper
hair. She watched as he played with the strands, feeling them like one would threads of fine silk
between his fingers.

“I’ll be the one to make that decision for myself, Azriel.”

He frowned, guilt rising in those haunted eyes. “You don’t understand, you don't know-"

Gwyn’s voice rose, a bout of anger flooding her, “I do know you, Azriel. I know that you have
your mother’s eyes and I know that you love your family and that you’re gentle and kind enough to
help people who don’t matter…” People like her, was the silent meaning woven through her
words. The unknown Priestess that he had found on a kitchen bench in Sangravah.

His eyes flittered shut, hiding whatever emotion was threatening to come to the surface, but she
pressed on. “I won’t stand here and listen to you think that you are one of those people that don’t
care…that you’re your father. Because you’re not.”

"I can’t give you what you are worthy of.” Azriel took her face in his hands, pleading eyes turning
to hers, “I’ve done terrible, horrific things and I will do them again. I am not good or kind like
you.”

The defeat in his voice caused the beating thing in her chest to prick with ache. She placed a palm
on his heart, “I don’t care about that. Give me what you can and let me take it…”

The words hit him like a symphony of sharpened arrows as a war waged in the dark pits of his
eyes. A war that she so desperately wanted to win, no matter the cost.

She cupped his hands that wrapped the sides of her face, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

Azriel's silence broke under her question as he nodded, his forehead coming to rest on her own as
he said, "Please."

There were so many questions she wanted to ask, her mind racing and roiling, needing answers.
But they could wait because he had given enough tonight. Tonight, he had given her his trust, his
faith and perhaps something more she didn’t have the words or reason for.

So instead, she took his hand and led him to the soft sheets of his bed, guiding him down and
planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. Gwyn fell down next to him and curled into the crook of his
body as he tugged the covers around them and pulled her closer.

She hadn’t been in bed with a male before, never tucked herself into the safety of a bare chest, and
never even shared someone else's bedsheets.

And yet, it felt…right.

Like amongst the chaos, his arms were something of a home and the sea of shadows that had fallen
around them like another sheet was a brand of protection she had never been shielded by.

There was so much to say and talk about, but the way he held her to him, so gentle yet fierce, the
way she traced the lines of his tattoos with the tip of her finger in the dying light of the hearth's fire,
said enough.

And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, they fell asleep, unbothered by the threat of
nightmares and at momentary peace with the war looming ahead.
 Something altogether powerful grew warm and strong, like ribbons stretching and forging their
frayed, lost ends together. Gwyn swore she felt a humming between what had begun to repair in the
dark, as they both slipped into that lovely oblivion.

Chapter End Notes

Well, he finally broke.

This was probably my favourite chapter to write (so far) for so many reasons.

Firstly, I hold a great deal of contempt for how the IC seemingly dismisses Azriel's
many sacrifices and capitalises on his martyrdom complex for political power.
Throughout the books they are so willing to turn a blind eye to the overt trauma and
suffering that underpins his role as a torturer. I think even at one point, Feyre asks
Rhys if Azriel minds doing that dark, bloody work, and he literally just says something
like, 'I don't know, if he does mind, he would never tell us". I mean what?! This is
Rhysands supposed 'brother' and they just totally ignore him and he's so clearly not
okay... So, I feel like the fallout of that neglect needed to be addressed (and I'm in no
way claiming that is an original concept many fics and fanart have depicted this scene
of him breaking because of its blatant need to be written).

Secondly, religious symbolism is something I carry in all my work including my

dalliances with fan fics. I've spoken about on Tumblr before how I love the poetic
value of Gwyn and Azriel being light and dark interpretations of angels. I am feral for
how they embody the two-sided coin of devotion and sacrifice, there is something so
satisfying about the pairing of an angel of death and retribution with an angel of light
and justice that makes my romantic/dark academia heart skip a few beats. I love the
religious imagery it evokes, how they are two halves of one holy, powerful thing. (I'm
not personally religious, but I'm just a sucker for that dramatic devotion it yields)
And so, the act of washing away someone's sins in the guise of salvation and love was
a symbolic moment I wanted to incorporate.

I'd love to know your opinion on this chapter, I really appreciate those incredible
readers who take the time to write such thorough and lovely comments with what
aspects they like and the quotes that stayed with them. It helps me both as a writer to
know what makes an impact and gives me inspiration to keep writing. So thank you.

Lou x
 The Things We Bury
Chapter Notes

Wow! I'm so grateful for such an incredible response to the last chapter, thank you to
those who took the time to leave kind comments, they really do make my day. We are
officially more than halfway now! How exciting this little project has been. Thank you
so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos.

- Lou x

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

The world came back to her in small doses after the long night of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. A
full night of sleep without the aid of tonic or pure exhaustion running her ragged had been
practically impossible for her, until now. Now, Gwyn felt a sense of restfulness that she had never
discovered before.

A gentle lick of sun flooded the sea of growing gold that lay beyond her closed eyelids. A long
inhale had the scent of cedar and wind-chilled mist flooding her senses and making a home
somewhere deep in her lungs. Sounds of long breaths, soothing and full. As she shifted in the soft
yet unfamiliar sheets, she became keenly aware that a weight had pressed down upon her ribs and
wrapped around from behind, warmth like no other emulating from the strange source. That very
odd sensation moved slightly of its own accord, shifting further into her pressing heat and hard
muscle into every dip and curve of her posterior form.

Gwyn’s eyes shot open. Her blood turned to ice and her heart galloped like a racing steed as she
began frantically surveying her surroundings.

This wasn’t her room.

These weren’t her white silk sheets.

And someone was behind her.

Her form went rigidly still as if every bone and joint had been welded into place. Although covered
by the foreign sheets, she could feel a large, muscular arm wrapped around her front. Gwyn’s own
hands had been holding it in place, securing it to nestle between the valley of her breasts, and the
hand to settle flush beside her heart.

The breath behind her became less tranquil and rhythmically slow as she wriggled quickly to
remove the covers and slide out from the stranger’s grip.

As she did, Gwyn glanced down at the large hand resting on her chest, intending to rip it off and
break free, and all at once, the shock and terror subsided from her bloodstream as she saw the scars
that coveted that hand.
Azriel.

It was Azriel’s hand.

She was safe.

Those scars were like a white flag that waved through the rapid swelling of anxiety, of fear.

The memories of last night came flooding back to her as she allowed herself to sink back into the
sheets, muscles relaxing. Memories of bloodshot eyes, crimson matted skin, wings and…and his
body wrapped around hers. As it had been just then, like in their shared state of unconsciousness,
Azriel and Gwyn had reverted back to the position that had felt so right.

Tangled together, in warmth, in safety.

Once she had regained her ability to breathe, she fixed the covers and rolled over to face him.
Hazel eyes, alive and gilded like the finest born stars met her own. They were no longer empty or
vacant or flooded with grief. No. They burnt bright and true, the way she liked.

“Sorry if I woke you…” Her voice was rasped as she glanced away briefly in embarrassment, “I…
I forgot where I was for a moment.”

Azriel said nothing as he searched her face. The grogginess of the morning had made her mind
slow to realise that he was searching for any trace of regret or worry. Any evidence she had acted
outside the bounds of her wishes. But there was none.

He seemed to register the position they had occupied, his front pressed into her back, leaving all of
him meeting all of her, and paled. Azriel shifted away from her as he quickly said, “Gwyn, I’m
sorry I… I didn’t realise…” At some point in the night, he had come up behind her, cradling the
back of her body in the embrace of his own. And it appeared she had followed suit, pressing her
behind into his hips and taking his arm hostage to her chest to hold.

She shook her head, chasing him to where he had sat up on the headboard and closing the distance
once again. “Don’t be sorry… It just took me a moment to know it was you.” A wry smile pricked
at her lips, “Believe it or not Shadowsinger, I don’t wake up next to males very often…Especially
ones that have the utter indecency not to wear shirts.”

The concern on his face subsided to make way for his own light amusement, a hand raising to the
thin straps of her silk nightgown and pinching the thin piece between his fingers, “If we’re going to
talk about indecency Berdara, I think we’ll start with this torturous scrap of silk.”

Her cheeks flamed hot as she let out a breathy laugh and propped herself up further, her elbows
tucked behind. “I rather thought the point of males was to remove a female’s clothes, not admire
them.”

Azriel rose his brows with a chuckle, the shock and surprise painting his features glorious in the
golden hue of the morning light. “And what scandalous book did you learn that from?” She peered
up at him through her lashes as he ran his finger to trace the skin that sat just above the deep
neckline.

“Some things are just facts…” The response came out in a breathy, whispered mess. She couldn’t
help the way something had flipped her stomach and a tumultuous knot began to form and pull
further.

He hummed in agreement as their eyes met once more and a sea of tension suddenly rose between
them, it sparked and jolted in the air like lightning had struck in the very sheets.

“And have you tested that grand theory out?”

Gwyn swallowed, her breathing shallow as a lick of heat began pooling between her thighs, “It’s on
my list.”

Azriel’s eyes turned dark as he sunk back down to the sheets and placing his elbows on either side
of her sprawling copper hair, slowly lowered himself over her. She could tell he was surveying her
for any sign of protest, but Gwyn was sure the scent of her flaming arousal had all but confirmed
she was in no mood for virtue.

No. In fact, virtue was the very last thing on her mind as she felt the warmth of his chest and hips
migrate onto her own scorched skin, even as he hovered respectfully over her form.

“And what else is on this list?” Azriel was so close to her lips, a wicked grin forming on his own
that she desperately needed to taste. But as soon as she leaned forward to close the cruel space
between them, he moved. Like a prowling cat, he slithered down the length of her body, shadows
undulating drunkenly from his form, and it was all Gwyn could do not to whimper in anticipation
as his eyes never left hers.

Down and down, he went, torturously slow. Each moment, more agonising than the last.

Settling at her naval, he planted a kiss innocently just below the small dip, the silk between his
mouth and her flesh feeling like some kind of cruel cage.

The room was hot, too hot.

And Azriel’s eyes gleamed with a challenge that she was aching to meet. Suddenly, he paused his
pursuit of her body and she remembered that he had asked her a question.

“M… Many things…” Gwyn was not about to admit the ideas she had gathered from her extensive
time investigating the literary world of smut. Not to a male who had likely spent his years
perfecting each bedroom proclivity with the skill and finesse he held for combat and wielding
daggers.

Azriel hummed something dark and wicked that reverberated in agonising ripples across the tender
flesh of her stomach. Gwyn wanted nothing more than for him to rip the barricade of silk off her.

“That’s not very specific.” To her profound dissatisfaction, he moved upwards, but only slightly to
the inferior edge of her sternum. “I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

“I thought you said the first rule of being interrogated…” A gasp caught in her throat as he turned
to one of her breasts, his mouth soaking the silken fabric that sat above her peaked nipple with
warm wetness. “…was to be as deliberately vague about the key details as…as possible…”

He chuckled, head dipping into the valley of his breasts as his body shook above her and by the
Mother, was it a sound that was both dangerously erotic and ridiculously tormenting. “I knew our
lessons would come to bite me in the ass one day…”

“Is this another lesson?” Her back arched as she felt his teeth graze her other nipple, lightly pulling
the silken peak between his lips as one of his hands wrapped in hers, fingers lacing.

“Of sorts…”
“What’s the…” The words that followed died in her mouth as he moved upwards again and
focused his attention on the exposed skin of the top of her breasts which sat above the neckline of
her nightgown. Without the barrier of the silk, she felt his warm mouth as it planted wickedly slow
kisses on the tender flesh. Gwyn knew he was deliberately remaining chaste with his lips, but for
some reason that defied logic, those chaste kisses were sending her into a spiral of heavy need.
“What’s the learning outcome for this lesson?” She finished when she could string the sentence
together.

“Well, I figured since you already had given me a lovely demonstration on honey trapping…” His
breath was hot and electrifying on the chasm that sat between her clavicles, “That I would give you
a proper lesson of my own…”

Gwyn’s head fell back onto the pillow as her gaze drifted to the canopied ceiling. The knot that had
been gradually tightening within her went taut once more, and her core had turned molten under his
lips. So much so, that there was no way the evidence of her desire would not be soaked into her
panties.

Letting her body guide her, she lifted her hips upwards to meet his, arching her back and pulling
him closer. And even beneath the silk of her dress and the cotton of his trousers, she felt just how
dedicated he was to this lesson of seduction. Azriel’s own desire was clear as her hips found
something hard and ready beneath. To her profound satisfaction, he stilled momentarily at the
contact, squeezing the hand clutched in hers as if pleading for her mercy. Like the mere inches he
kept hovering his hips over hers had been an exercise of itself in self-control and she had just
threatened to shatter his resolve.

More animal than human, a growl left his lips as Azriel resumed his exploration of her décolletage
and she knew it wasn’t a growl of warning but one of profound pleasure. And perhaps in that
moment, she was proud. Proud that she, Gwyneth Berdara had caused such a thing to someone that
had clearly taken no shortage of lovers over his years.

“Remind me what Chapter sixteen says about methods of interrogation through honey trapping…”

Her mind was scattered, but by some miracle the words of that page flashed in her mind as his
other hand came to her ribs, a thumb grazing the underside of her breast. “One must keep the
subject…” Gwyn sucked in a breath as his teeth grazed her clavicle, thumb rising to circle over the
silk of her still damp nipple, “…distracted enough to facilitate a line of questioning.”

His voice was hoarse with approval as he replied between hot kisses, “Good, what else?”

“As...As with pain, pleasure is a sensory experience that can be a useful coercive tool in yielding
information one might not ordinarily give…”

In answer, his palm moved upwards to completely take her breast in a gentle squeeze.
Involuntarily, her hips bucked upwards again as she poorly stifled a whimper.

Azriel hummed, pure male satisfaction leaking through the low tone that went straight to her
pounding centre. Whether it was of his own design or simply just luck, the position they found
themselves in, facing each other, a hand in his and their clothes still on didn’t seem to trigger any of
her panic responses. And perhaps it was testament to his patience and understanding of her needs
that he had been able to introduce her to this kind of new touch without crossing any lines.

“But you…you haven’t been questioning me for any information…” The words were laced in
heavy pants.
His teeth grazed the sensitive skin that ran over Gwyn’s jugular as she bit back a moan that
threatened to tear from her lips, she squeezed his hand as her head pressed further into the pillow.

“Ah, but remember our lesson on non-verbal cues? Sometimes the body tells you everything you
need to know… For example…” Without warning, he ran his hot tongue in a tantalising strip over
the tender, aching flesh of her neck that he had been working on. And for some reason, she jolted
at the feel of it, her back arching and her other hand coming down to bury in his thick hair, still
messed from sleep. “I now know that – if you wanted me too, of course – I could make you come
by touching these heavenly breasts and just licking, sucking and kissing this part of your neck until
you gradually fell apart.”

Oh, Gods.

He was good.

And none of this was in her novels. Perhaps she needed to study more.

Gwyn kept her voice as steady as she could as she said, “And is that information something you
would regard as an important detail to gather for the purpose of Night Court intelligence?”

There was nothing but unfettered masculine arrogance dripping through his smile as he glanced up
at her, eyes dark and wild, “Well, seeing as I am the Night Court intelligence, I would argue that
would be a yes, Gwyneth.”

She could see the silent question brimming like wildfire in his eyes and Gwyn knew that he was
waiting for her to lean forward and give permission for their lips to finally meet. Because despite
everything, there was no point in this escapade of torturous want where she had not felt out of
control. No, in fact, if Gwyn had given any indication of her unwillingness or discomfort, Azriel
would have stopped immediately, no questions asked.

Her fingers unknotted from his hair and travelled lightly down to his jaw, a thumb grazing
appreciatively over his bottom lip as she gave him a sultry smile and said, “Well, I-”

But then, shadows wisped around her, and she watched with a curious frown, pausing her words as
they whispered into the shell of Azriel’s ear.

The knock sounded on the door moments later. A burly, loud noise that made her flinch as it cut
through the silence.

If Azriel had ever looked more on the brink of a murderous rampage, it was now.

“No.” Was all he shouted in response. The pure, raw command in it enough to send a very harsh
message to the figure on the other side to leave and not return back.

“Who is it?” Gwyn whispered, watching his shoulders slump in apparent agitation.

“Az? You in th…” Cassian’s voice trailed off as a muscle flickered in Azriel’s jaw, Gwyn realised
her mistake as she heard his brother ask, “Gwyn, is that you?”

Her mouth was moving before her mind could think of a better plan, “Ah…Yes?” She squeaked.
Azriel whipped his head to face her, a brow raised in silent question. She just shrugged, half caught
between unmet desire and the awkwardness they had found themselves in. What else was she
supposed to do? Her scent was probably permeating everywhere in his room by now and she didn’t
think for one moment that Cassian would buy some outrageous farce about her being another
female.
Despite them not being able to see Cassian, the wide grin on his mouth was clear as day in his
voice as he called out again, “Sorry to interrupt what I’m sure is a very important early morning
training session…” Azriel let out a seething huff of anger, but Gwyn couldn’t help but stifle her
giggles by bringing her bottom lip between her teeth. “But Az, we need to debrief on what
happened yesterday in Hewn, as soon as possible. I’m meeting Rhys there in an hour.”

Her smile fell. That same rampant irritation she held upon the abrupt ending of their night in
Velaris pricking at her features once more. Of course, they do. Because what was Azriel for, but
just a male to be beckoned and called for at such an ungodly hour? Especially considering he had
been home not six hours, after arriving from whatever violence he had left behind.

Gwyn let out a disapproving sigh, hoping the General on the other side of the door heard every bit
of infuriation laced in it. “Okay, well then, we’ll just wrap up our…training…” Azriel rolled his
eyes at the ridiculous lie, but the ghost of a smile twitched at his lips could be seen, “And he’ll be
right out.”

There was a short period of silence and then, “Let me guess… more honey trapping, Gwyn?”

Azriel’s voice was as commanding as ever as he yelled, “Leave. Now.”

They listened as Cassian laughed his way out of the corridor, his unhurried footsteps fading into
the silence that was left between them.

“You know I’m really starting to despise your brothers, Shadowsinger…”

“Yeah, me too,” Azriel grunted, rolling off her in defeat and making his way to the closet for a
fresh pair of leathers.

She sat up, head still dizzy as she realised the bed felt impossibly large without him in it. “Are we
going to Rosehall today?”

There was something charmingly domestic about seeing Azriel like this, hair untamed, in nothing
but his trousers and foraging through his bathroom. She watched as he detached the siphons from
the bloodied, old leathers he had left on the floor and began inserting them into his clean ones.

“Would you like to go?”

Gwyn nodded, “Your mother will probably be worried about your unexplained absence, and I was
wondering if she could teach me the steps to a waltz.”

Azriel shifted to hide the smile blooming on his lips, the muscles carved into his back illuminated
by the movement as he replied, “Well then, I’d hate to refuse and face the wrath of two of
Prythian’s most feared females, wouldn’t I?”

Gwyn snorted, untangling herself from his sheets and making her way over his door as she shook
her head. Stilling at the door she turned to him once more, “Oh, that reminds me, if you ever leave
this House for days on end again and don’t bother to notify me of your whereabouts or general
state of mortality,” Raising a warning brow, she turned the doorknob to leave, “That wrath will be
the last thing you see.”

Something flickered over his features as he crossed his arms, fighting off the amusement that had
risen in his brows, “Noted, General Berdara…I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“Good.” She sighed, closing the door behind her and practically skipping back to her room.
“And where in the Mother’s mountains have you been, boy?” Maia’s cutting tone echoed through
the ballroom as she slowly made her way to them, a cane clutched in her hand as one of her wings
sagged a little further to the floor. Azriel told her that some weeks were worse than others.

Gwyn turned, stifling the amusement on her face as he said, “Sorry mother, it was an urgent
assignment that I didn’t have time to warn you of.”

Azriel’s mother just put her hands on her hips, a disapproving tight line forming her mouth as she
huffed some noncommittal response about ‘war-hungry boys with no manners that ignore their
mothers’.

The waltz was far different to the Illyrian dances they had practised before, in that it was distinctly
a high fae affair. Such evidence was found in the rigidness of its stance and chaste, sweeping
motions that ruled its steps, so contrary to the more tactile Illyrian dances. The style of dance,
elegant and refined, made her think of the novel she had eaten up a few months ago about a female
from the Summer Court needing to marry to save her family’s fortune and a handsome, yet
decidedly prickly heir to the Winter Court.

Gwyn’s eyes glittered with excitement, as the symphonia began to blare a different tune she hadn’t
heard before. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, Gwyn was somewhat glad
Azriel was as new to the steps as she was.

Maia was particularly specific about the posture they held in this dance, claiming that High born
fae are known to strap wooden boards to their backs when practising such a stance to ensure their
spines are straight. And despite that, Gwyn couldn’t help but be lost between the beautiful
harmony of strings that guided their feet across the floor and the hands that effortlessly led her
form in tantalising twists and dips.

The heat from their morning honey trapping lingered still, and Gwyn tried her very best to ignore
that fact when their hips brushed, or his capable hands found themselves rubbing small, distracting
circles on her back. Of course, it was only when Azriel began whispering suggestive remarks
masked by strategically innocent words into her ear when his mother’s back was turned, that she
realised perhaps their honey trapping lesson had never actually finished. And as she met every one
of his comments with one of her own, plunging him into that lovely, shocked amusement she
adored to draw from him, Gwyn decided that maybe this area of research was about to become
something of a field study.

Her face had been painted wild with rosy blush by the end of their dance lesson and Gwyn only
hoped to the Gods that Maia had chalked it down to heat-laden exhaustion and not their incessant
commitment to winding each other up. But much like her son, the Illyrian female saw far too much
and the look scorching in her eyes told Gwyn that she knew exactly the reason for her bashful
demeanour and unsteady breath.

“Give me a moment with Azriel, will you Gwyn?” She called to her as they had come to the large
wooden doors of the threshold which led to the meadow, “I’ll send him back to you in a minute, I
just need some help lifting the cabinet in the drawing room…”

Gwyn nodded happily as she ventured out of the manor by herself, taking the time to flush the rose
from her cheeks and steady her mind between the onslaught of nature’s sounds. A heavenly
symphony of chirping of gulls and the crashing of distant waves on the rocky shore. Her feet
dangled joyfully off the edge of the cliff as she aimlessly threaded the wild bluebells she had
plucked from the meadow together to make a crown, a skill that Catrin had taught her long ago.
They had invented all sorts of games to assuage their boredom as children, one of which, was
crafting grand flower crowns and playing make-believe as High Ladies of the Courts.

She wondered what her sister would make of Azriel, of her new official position for the Night
Court and her new friends. Catrin was always the adventurous one, the one that wanted to meet tall,
dark and handsome knights and wield swords. Deep sewed sadness had been upturned in her as she
began to imagine Catrin’s love for the cliffs she now sat upon, for the grand house that lay behind
them. She was always the one that wanted to leave Sangravah and forsake temple life for
something exciting.

Guilt roiled within her, acidic and harsh as Gwyn found herself having all the things her sister had
planned to take for herself.

“You can’t escape!” Gwyn laughed, shaking her head as she fiddled with the bluebell, “I mean,
where on earth would you go?”

Catrin’s wildly large eyes glimmered with all of her equally untamed ideas, “Everywhere. I’d try
and find some sort of wandering merchant - like in the one in the book we’re reading - and work
for him so I could get free travel around the Courts…and even see the Continent!”

Gwyn just snorted, her focus on turning the cup of the bluebell petals inside out with her nimble
fingers. Such things seemed so impossible from the isolated convent in the forest.

“…And then I’d find a rich man with lots of gold and a big ship to sail me around the seas. We
would pick you up and dock in every big city… buy every dress and taste every cake in the world
until we were experts.”

Gwyn grinned conceding to the fantasy, “And maybe we could swim in the Coves of Seraphina like
Ariel did in ‘When a Siren Sings’...” A dream of hers since her mother had spoken so fondly of
them when they were young.

“Yes, of course… And we would never have to come back to this boring place again.”

“But… what about the temple?”

Catrin rolled her eyes, rolling over to look at her sister, “There is so much more to life than
Priestesses, books and prayers, Gwyn.”

“Like what?” She couldn’t keep the sheer disbelief from her voice, she very much liked those
things, but admittedly she was curious if not to just see what her sister would say was more
important than serving the Mother.

A wild grin overtook her sister’s moonish features, “Like swimming, music, dancing, sword
fighting and kissing... or kissing and sword fighting at the same time!”

She stifled a giggle, “Well that just sounds as irrational as it is dangerous.”

It was her sister’s turn to roll her eyes, “Dangerous things are what make life exciting. Otherwise,
there would be no stories to tell or books to read… Perhaps someone will write about us one
day…”

Gwyn couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, “Us?”

“Why not?” Catrin beamed, “If they’re going to write books about hunting dragons, slaying
enemies and rescuing Princes… I want them to be about us… Look at Mother Marjorie…” She
gestured with a nod of her chin to the surly old faerie that stalked the grounds beyond. Her beady
eyes were peeled for any hint of trouble the children may be causing, more than eager to give a
tongue lashing in punishment than any gentle guidance. “That old bats never done anything
dangerous and look at her. Sagged and old like a sack of bad potatoes.”

They descended into a fit of laughter, the temple bells ringing in the distance to call them in for
supper.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do it all together… I won’t leave you here.”

“Promise?” Gwyn asked.

“Promise.”

At the sound of Azriel’s approaching footsteps, Gwyn quickly wiped away her tears and refocused
on the bluebells in front of her. A shadow wriggled its way into her lap, another one curling around
her neck and up to stroke her wet cheeks as he came to sit down beside her. She gave the shadow a
warning look, silently asking it not to rat her evidence of sorrow out to their Master – and to her
surprise, it simply nodded and obliged her request.

Something like heavy deliberation weighed in Azriel’s features, as if he was distracted by his own
thoughts, finally he said, “Rhys wants us to leave tomorrow for Autumn.”

She nodded, absorbing that sobering statement and stilling her own mind, which still was occupied
by her sister and their broken promises. “Okay… I’ll pack when we get back.”

“Will you be alright?” His gaze swept to her fidgeting hands and the chain of flowers wrapped in
them as he continued, “…Things have escalated on the border, which means we need to prepare for
the prospect of violence more than a mission like this would usually call for, and we haven’t
practised grappling since…”

Since she freaked out and almost killed him with his own blade. Azriel was kind enough not to
voice that reality out loud.

He hadn’t had the opportunity to inform her of the semantics of what exactly had unfolded on the
border, but Gwyn had pieced together there had been some kind of altercation between Autumn’s
forces and a Night Court garrison stationed nearby. Nonetheless, tension had risen between the two
lands and by the look of Azriel’s grave concern, they had not seen the end of it.

She forced an easy grin on her face, “Considering the fact I had no problem with your body’s
proximity to mine this morning, I really don’t think that will be an issue anymore, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel shook his head, “That’s different. When you’re…comfortable,” He diverted his gaze to the
horizon to disguise the blush on his cheeks, “…you’re less likely to be triggered. The whole idea
with the dancing was that you were physically exerting yourself while preoccupied with factors
like coordination and constant, sometimes unpredictable and unfamiliar movement, all the while
being touched by a male - just like we would be in hand-to-hand combat.”

Unfortunately, the bat had a point. She had been comfortable this morning, in fact, she had felt so
safe underneath him that her body had done nothing but luxuriate and melt under his kisses and
gentle contact. And maybe that wouldn’t be the same as being pumped full of adrenaline and
grappling to disarm an enemy...

“Alright …” Gwyn nodded, gathering her thoughts, “We’ll go home and pack and then, after
dinner, I’ll meet you on the rooftop so we can try again.”

The rooftop where they had spent many cold nights after Winter Solstice training together, not yet
friends and despite that, happy companions. Both robbed of sleep and fighting demons that
remained cloaked in the invisible sheen of the past, they had discovered company in each other,
long before such things had escalated.

Azriel nodded with a smile, and she wondered if maybe he too was thinking back to those nights
with the same keen fondness.

Later that afternoon, when she was filling her pack with the very specific necessities ascribed by
Azriel, the memory of Catrin still lingered. The words they had light-heartedly traded rang like the
clang of temple bells in her mind, drowning out everything else. She gnawed at her lip, folding the
decidedly inappropriate underthings the House had given her no choice but to pack, as the guilt
swelled within her once more.

Guilt that rose from having the life Catrin would have dreamed of. Guilt from the responsibility
she still held for her sister’s death. But all that guilt wouldn’t bring her back, nor would it change
what happened the night Sangravah was sacked.

‘Dangerous things are what make life exciting. Otherwise, there would be no stories to tell or
books to read…’ she had said. And maybe it was the truth that rang through them that made Gwyn
push away the ugly churn in her gut and gathered the courage to do something that she had needed
to do for a long while.

On hesitant footsteps, she made her way to the bedside table, a silent war waging in her mind as
she opened the drawer. With trembling fingers, Gwyn fished out the thing she had hidden there,
amongst the cobwebs to collect dust and be forgotten.

“Don’t worry, we’ll do it all together… I won’t leave you here.”

“Promise?” Gwyn asked.

“Promise.”

If Catrin wasn’t able to do all the things she wanted before she was taken from the world, Gwyn
would spend her life trying to make her proud. She would take her sister's advice and if by some
chance her spirit still walked with her, would show Catrin all those dreams come to life. She would
swim, listen to music, dance, swing swords and kiss until she was worthy. Worthy of being the
faerie they wrote books about…of being the female that she and Catrin had promised to become.

She slid the neglected invoking stone into her the side of her pack, the sapphire hue glinting in the
light of the afternoon sun that flooded through the windows.

Gwyn may never feel worthy to hold it, but she would in the very least, try to become someone that
was.
Chapter End Notes

Don't hate me!!! It will be the last time they are interrupted, I promise.
The objectives of this chapter were two-fold.

Firstly, I wanted to write an introduction to the second half of this fic, where things
start to begin to get heated between Gwyn and Azriel physically. The first twenty
chapters were intended to provide a foundation for their relationship to grow upon. I
really wanted to make sure that Gwyn and Az were given time to grow together
naturally, begin to grieve their trauma and get to a point where they had both been
vulnerable with eachother before anything physical happened between them, especially
considering touch holds so much psychological meaning for both of them in this
context.
The morning 'honey trapping' lesson served as an appetizer for another phase of this
fic entailing their sexual journey to begin.

I wanted it to be both respectful, yet still sexy and although some might think it's
strange that they haven't kissed yet, I actually love the concept that Azriel was holding
back on that, since he wanted it to be her choice, showing he respects the importance
of her firsts being on her terms. I also think that Gwyn and Azriel's competitive nature
would meet with their intelligence and wit in the bedroom to make for some pretty hot
knowledge kinks. In my mind, Azriel is absolutely feral for how smart Gwyn is and I
think he would tease that out of her in the bedroom and get off on it, because we all
know he's a secret nerd/pleasure dom at heart. It was my intention for their first sexual
moment to be very intimate and gentle, with Azriel prioritising Gwyn's pleasure in a
way that wasn't too revealing or vulnerable. I also like the idea of her holding onto his
hand during that moment, paying service to the fact she finds a lot of comfort in his
hands to assuage her anxiety.

Secondly, the memory of Catrin resurfacing was intended to mark Gwyn's progression
and development. A lot of fans like the idea that Catrin was the adventurous one and
Gwyn was the quiet bookish one when they were younger and I adore that theory
because I like to think she pushes herself to be more brave and adventurous to honour
her memory. There's a quote in ACOSF which alludes to the fact that Gwyn doesn't
feel worthy of wearing the invoking stone, something which naturally draws out a lot
of emotion and makes sense within the grounds of her perfectionism complex etc. I
wanted to get her to the point where she owns her newfound power and strength and I
think reclaiming the invoking stone as hers was my way of symbolising that.

As always, I'd love to know what you guys thought of the chapter. I love hearing that
you like to read my ridiculously long notes at the end. I'm not sure why but it helps me
as a writer to look at chapters in retrospect and talk about themes, symbols and
meanings.

Lou x
 Genesis
Chapter Notes

A big thank you to the queen of Gwynriel fics VikingMagic33 and one of my favourite
authors on this app, who generously took the time to give me some much-needed
advice and a second opinion for this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Part III

Crusade

Gwyn woke in her own room the next morning before the dawn was even a lick in the night sky.
Their grappling had gone better than she had hoped when they met on the rooftop the evening
before. She had attacked and disarmed Azriel without so much as a flicker of worry threatening to
strike through her keen focus. And when they had walked slow and honey-eyed back to the
corridor that housed their bedrooms, Gwyn might have hoped he would forsake his own bed and
follow her to her own. But it seemed that the comfort they both gleaned from sleeping in each
other’s arms the previous night had been something Azriel wasn’t ready to commit to making a
habit.

And admittedly, when she tossed and turned in the sheets that night, her bed feeling impossibly too
empty and the abundance of sheets, too cold, she found herself missing him. His warmth, his scent
the feel of his skin on hers. So, instead, her mind drifted to distraction, to planning the mission that
loomed before them.

Azriel had dutifully given her a full field report after their grappling last night in his study, and
unfortunately, the situation was more dire than she could have ever realised.

The Autumn Court were searching for something, something, that caused Beron to risk declaring
war and breaking treaties to find. The breach on the Night Court border had just been the
beginning, and while Azriel hadn’t alluded to the extent of his involvement, he had told her the
soldiers they captured for questioning were unnaturally reluctant to give any answers. But, they
had broken one of them down eventually and he had spilled his secrets along with what Gwyn
could only gather was a great deal of blood - the very same blood that she had wiped from his tired
flesh when he returned.

“What do you know of the Dread Trove?” Azriel asked, eyes grave and shadows tightly coiled with
tension.

“Only what Nesta has told me… That there’s a mask, a crown and a harp… I tried looking for
more information for her last year in the library, but I couldn’t find anything to help.”

He nodded leaning forward, those large, capable hands lacing together in front of him, “We have
reason to believe there’s more to just those three pieces in the trove and the Autumn Court soldier
we questioned informed us that Beron has them scouting all of northern Prythian for two others.”

“Two?” Her eyes widened. Perhaps naïvely, she had thought the business with the trove had been
attenuated. That Nesta had given enough of her sanity and strength for it all to be over. But it
seemed the fates had other plans in mind. “Why would they suspect the northern lands?”

“That part we’re going to have to find out for ourselves, I’m afraid. War makes informants
nervous and Beron isn't staying in the palace, so my usual contacts are silent with the answers we
need. All we know at this moment, is that the soldier we questioned was tasked with looking for an
amulet…"

"An amulet?"

"He didn’t know how Beron came to be privy to this information, he was high-ranking in their
military but it looks like Beron's playing his cards close to his chest. But, the fact they sent soldiers
over the border and into enemy territory in the first place means they're desperate.”

Gwyn nodded, mind reeling with the new information. "Why set up war camps on the border of
Autumn if they're scouring the Day and Night Court?"

"There's a cave system that transports fae from one Court to the other, but those exits and
entrances are heavily guarded. We suspect they may have recruited someone that can either draw
portals or winnow to manipulate the distance between. Beron would never risk his own life doing
so, but I'm guessing whatever this amulet is, is powerful enough to attract some other key players
who can transport soldiers for him. Camping at the border minimises the jump distance."

Azriel pointed at the map in front of them. His scarred finger traced the patch of forest land that
skirted the border of the Autumn Court. "This is where we'll go. There are covert war camps set up
along the Samhain forest edge, one of which Beron's apparently staying in." He glanced up at her,
eyes glinting with grave seriousness, "We get in, sweep the area and watch the perimeter for any
physical evidence and then if it calls for it, find subjects for me to question..."

She didn't miss the distinction that rang true in his words, 'find subjects for me to question'. Him.
Not them. And she wondered how much he would let her see, let her be a part of… or if Azriel
would try to shield her from the realities that plagued his position.

As Gwyn made to get ready, one fact swirled and flooded her mind, drowning out all else. War
was coming and she was going to the beating, bloody heart of it.

Azriel had come knocking at precisely a quarter to five and immediately took to tightening the
straps on her leathers and checking the various clips and fastenings that accompanied them. The
leathers were new and torturously complex, courtesy of Rhysand, for the cool climate of Autumn.
They were warm yet lightweight, stitched from fabric made especially for traversing the unique
terrain.

The shadows followed suit in their checks, skittering over to her pack, inspecting the contents and
its various zips. She patiently waited as he knelt down before her and retied her shoes, his scarred
hands an expert with yanking them tight and fixing them with knots that would be a pain to undo
later on. It was an act of hidden nervousness that she couldn’t help but find adorably endearing,
despite the clear unease it had plunged him into.

"Well..." Gwyn sighed, dealing him an easy grin to try and assuage some of that worry she felt rise
in his blood. She twirled in a circle as he stood up, shadows returning to his form and watching her
closely, "Do I look like a fearsome Spymaster?"

He smirked, finding amusement in her easy demeanour, before turning decidedly more
contemplative as he took her in. Finally, he broke the odd bout of silence, “I have something for
you…”

Gwyn raised a brow as he took a parcel concealed in the throes of his now joyously jittering
shadows. A gift, wrapped in fine cobalt velvet. Azriel extended its long, slender form out to
Gwyn’s hands, her fingers almost twitching with keen delight as she eyed the finery of it.

Gifts were rare things for penniless Priestesses, and she simply couldn’t contain the grin gilded in
undiluted excitement that bloomed on her lips as she took the soft fabric from his hands.

It was surprisingly heavy, the length of the parcel piquing her curiosity as she went to remove its
lush wrappings with care. “And what have I done to warrant such a present, Shadowsinger?”

In a rare display of bashful apprehension, he rubbed the back of his neck, “Well, I thought since
you’re about to embark on your first mission, you might like something more than just the kitchen
knife you keep in your bedside drawer to work with…”

Gwyn stilled, eyes raising to his for a heartbeat, mind flickering back to all those weeks ago when
he had handed her the pitiful weapon she had fashioned for herself in the Priestess dormitories.
And then, to a more recent memory of nosy shadows sinking deep into her bedside drawer on the
grounds of a ‘ routine threat inspection’ . A delicate blush feathered on her cheeks as she went
back to gently sweeping the wrappings of soft velvet aside to reveal what lay sheathed within.

A dagger.

And not just any dagger, but the feminine twin to the one he now wore at his side. At least, in its
shape and general design. But as she focused her attention on the fine weapon more clearly, she
noted there were clear deviations from his own, marking it as more ornately elegant than his.

The hilt was slightly thinner than Truth Teller, made especially to compensate for her smaller grip.
Wrapping around the fine silver of it, was an intricate pattern of sorts. Ancient swirls of filigree
coiled around the delicate handle, and as she leaned in to inspect the ornate detail that had been
taken in the art, she noticed that finely carved bluebells sprouted from the filigree’s tendrils.
Bluebells like the meadow they walked through every day. Bluebells that she always plucked and
wove into fine flower crowns as they sat on the cliffs and spoke for hours. And then her eyes found
another small detail, resting on the occasional branch was the outline of a small bird, beak open, as
if depicted mid-song.

Little bird , his mother called her.

Gwyn’s heart hammered something fast and unruly at the sight.

Despite its weight, the blade was lean, its striking silver sheen illuminating the lethal double edge
that carved its form, sleek and deadly. And at the end, was a tapered needle point so delicate and
acute, that she was sure it would cut through even the thickest of bone and the densest of muscle.

But that wasn’t what had garnered her keen interest. No. It was the inscription etched into the
blade itself. In descending letters that led to the violent point, it read:

sicut stellae, ardeo per tenebras et lucem

A turn of phrasing from an ancient language lost to the ears of this world. Gwyn ran a trembling
fingertip down the words, “What does it mean?”

Azriel shifted a step closer, looking down upon the blade sagely as he replied, “Like the stars, I
will burn through the dark and light the way…”

Her heart attenuated its rhythmic beat. She looked up at him, eyes welling and blood pumping with
an emotion she didn’t quite have the vocabulary for.

“It’s a quote…”

“By Atlas Bledwyn…” Gwyn had mentioned that she had an interest in that particular philosopher,
but she’d never expected Azriel to remember such a thing.

He nodded, a blush painting his tanned cheeks as he murmured, “That quote of his, it reminded
me of you.”

It wasn’t just that he had gone out of his way to give her a gift, which notably, looked like it cost
more gold coin than she had ever, or would ever own. Nor was it that he had chosen to honour her
with a weapon, something tangible to protect herself and others with…

No. It was more than that. Her fingers once again found the words on the blade, grazing over the
deep engravings and then, venturing back up to the ornate hilt, her gaze caught the embedded
sapphire that crested the pommel.

It was those etched words that had her heart swelling and threatening to burst.

And she knew in that moment that perhaps no one had quite understood her as Azriel did.

Because stars had to burn to light the night sky. Because to become a star, one had to be born from
a fit of rage and violence, an explosive nebula, to become something greater, something powerful,
something that cut through the night. Because Azriel saw her as exactly that, a star that lived in
spite of it all and lit the darkness instead of being swallowed by it. A light that shone like a beacon
amongst the ruinous and destructive forces which threatened to blind us all from the possibility of
peace.

No one had ever thought so much of her, had ever thought of her with that depth of capacity at all.

In his eyes, she was worthy.

Worthy of a blade that named her a star.

And maybe that’s why she kissed him.

Gwyn threw her arms around his neck, flying to her toes and without an ounce of hesitation or
trepidation, crashed her lips into his unsuspecting ones. Azriel’s mouth was warm and soft, even as
he went still from the shock she had struck through him with the unexpected movement.

Gwyn let her instincts take over, as her lips moulded and then melted like soft butter on a warm day
into his own. The collision sent jolting sparks through them, cracking with something akin to a
voltage as it sunk deep within their bones and swam like wildfire in their bloodstreams.

Gwyn felt it then, something awakening deep inside.

In answer, she felt the ribbons of the bond that wrapped around her ribcage unfurl and begin to
softly sing, as if contented by the meeting of their mouths. The song was not just any tune, but
something like a hymn, both from the depths of hell and the heights of heaven. A hymn with a
harmony forged by the fates and tuned by the stars that ruled over them.

Finally, Azriel’s fit of shock seemed to assuage, and he quickly wrapped one arm around her waist,
his hand finding the heavenly crook above her hips, the other, rising to cup her jaw. Her heart
stammered as he moved to kiss her back, his lips parting ever so slightly to give her the option to
deepen the kiss if she wanted to.

And with that silent permission, she followed his lead and moved to taste him further. Deeper.

Stronger.

A ravenous war of tender need and anguished pleasure ensued between them, their lips, the
battleground. He tasted of war, something like the clash of swords between the sweet honey of
victory and the tart salt of chaos. It was enough to want to swallow it down and savour it. The scent
of his arousal grew heavy and thick as it met her own and she let her senses drown in it greedily.
Her lungs filled with smoked cedar and yule spice, a heat-laden caress licked with the fresh bite of
wind-chilled mist. It set her further into chasing her need.

But despite Gwyn's matched desire, a rising naivety struck her as she slowed her movements.
Azriel was kind enough to respond to her silent request to take control, her inexperience catching
up with her as she contended with what exactly to do with her body, her tongue. His own swept
Gwyn’s bottom lip delicately as if tasting her for himself. And though she appreciated the gentle,
lightness of the kiss, Gwyn could feel the absence of the animalistic fervour that he had leashed
tightly within him.

She no longer wanted him to be careful or sweet, not when she had wanted to do this for so long.
Not when they had been interrupted at every God's damned turn. No. Gwyn wanted him to kiss her
with the primal ferocity she could sense boiling in his heated blood. So, to give him a little
encouragement, she reached upwards and laced her fingers in his hair, the dagger still clutched her
other hand as she knotted them in the base. Ever so slightly, she tugged at the roots.

Azriel let out a deep growl into her mouth at the sensation, a sound which told her she had done
something very right. Ever the penchant for having the knowledgeable upper hand, Gwyn noted
that interesting observation for later consideration as his tongue began sampling every inch of her
mouth.

Azriel left nothing unexplored as he continued his slow devouring of her. She let out a moan as her
back met the hardness of the wall and his body was pushed flush against hers, just as they had been
on the bridge in Velaris.

But this time, there was no one to interrupt them.

And now that she was armed with a priceless blade, Gwyn would not let any interference go
without punishment.

Azriel’s fingers wove into her hair, giving him the ability to angle her jaw in the way he liked. His
other hand, which had taken residence in the crook of her waist had begun stroking cruel circles on
the tender inner flesh of her stomach and even over the leathers, his touch was starting a fire that
no one would dare try to extinguish.

And by the Gods, was her body reacting to him.

Something deep within her flipped over itself, that same honeyed heat pooling in her core and
turning her body loose and tight at the same time as she moved her hips into his, grinding and
stroking the desire that had clearly hardened there.

The contact sent another wave of crackling electricity between them, the air turning thick with their
shared need as if a storm was brewing in the wake of it.

It was maddening, and Gwyn didn’t know if she was going to burn in the flames of his fervour or
drown in the sea of his desire, but somehow, she wanted both.

She bucked her hips against him again to try and satiate that need, but it seemed as if nothing
would be enough.

Azriel chuckled, something dark and wicked in a tone that had her tugging his hair more, had her
gripping the dagger in her other hand harder, if not just to exert all that pressure.

And Gwyn knew in that moment of panting and aching pleasure that she would never taste
anything more divine than him. That nothing would compare to the taste of forbidden fruit that
laced his bottom lip as her tongue swept along in exploratory swipes. That no other lips could
master the paradox of being soft and gentle, yet simultaneously hungry and devouring. Maybe it
was the bond, or perhaps it was the physiological sum of their repressed touches, she didn’t care.

Azriel tasted like every dark and delicious thing in this world, equally enticing as it was something
wholly corrupting.

Their kiss slowed into something of a secret lover’s, unhurried and soft. Savouring and sweet.
Hazel eyes, bright and burning met hers and she let out a giggle, burying her face into the crook of
his neck. It was here he smelled the strongest, the most viciously lovely. Her mind spun with the
overwhelming flood of sensation.

“Remind me to give you gifts more often…”

She knew if she asked him to take her on the bed right at that moment, he would do her bidding.
But some voice deep within, told her such a thing as that should be worked up to. That her body
had its fill and not to push it further. And so, she listened.

Still, Gwyn couldn’t help but grin as the pride swelled warm in her chest. She had kissed a male
and he had kissed her back. Her body had not fought against his like she was afraid it would.

Slowly, she pulled away from his arms, eyes glittering with untapped joy as she admired the
beautiful weapon that was now hers. “Thank you Shadowsinger, I will treasure it.”

His lips were pricked with a rose-tinted hue, hair slightly muffled as an adorably wide smile grew
on his features. It made him look more boyish almost, like the years he spent in the throes of war
and self-loathing had momentarily slipped from him. “Just try not to stab me with it when I
inevitably make you angry.”

She returned his grin as her hand brought the blade to drag lightly across his jaw, “Oh, I won’t
make any promises I can’t keep…” The sight of the sharp blade skating across his mandible sent
an unexpected thrill through her. And though she knew it should have felt wrong, there was a
pleasurable excitement in seeing him like this, at the mercy of her. The returning musk of Azriel’s
arousal filled her nose, that delicious, heavy scent pushing the wicked urge which had taken hold of
her, further. It was all the permission Gwyn needed to continue her bladed exploration, running the
fine tip down the column of his throat with feather-light softness as she bit her lip.

Their parting of mouths had done nothing to dilute the charged atmosphere that hummed and
cracked between them. Azriel raised a brow, his gaze sweeping down to the blade descending his
trachea before he looked back up to her with an expression that soaked her panties through again.
“When we get back, there are many more things about wielding daggers that I could teach you…”

“Like what?” Her voice was silky and slow, a sound that seemed to affect him more than it should.

Good.

Azriel stepped forward, using his height to loom over her as he wrapped a hand over the one that
gripped the ornate hilt and pressed the blade flush to his neck, the perfect amount of pressure that
ensured contact but wouldn’t quite pierce the skin. And yet, that blade fell precariously close to his
jugular and she understood enough about anatomy to know a slice there could be lethal, to any
manner of faerie.

Gwyn gasped slightly, taken aback by the danger of it and yet, he only levelled a wicked smirk at
her. The sudden rush of her fear met with the roused heat-laden desire and turned molten as if a
hidden want she had not known existed had been unlocked inside her by the very act. “Like how to
use one in circumstances, other than against an enemy…”

Oh.

Oh, Mother above.

The tension between them drew taut like a bowstring as a series of images flooded her inspired
mind.

“Would you…” She swallowed down any of the hesitations that arose in her, “Is that something
you would like?”

His thumb began massaging small strokes along her palm. “Only if it interests you.”

Something about the way her core pounded, and her insides flipped and folded told Gwyn it would
indeed interest her. And though she had spent the past year researching the very specific and
diverse field of romantic literature, she found herself coming to terms with the fact that perhaps one
cannot learn everything from books. Maybe there were some things you could only learn through
application.

A field study of gathered theoretical knowledge put into practice if you will.

She raised a brow, meeting the challenge of his words, “I have a list, remember.”

“Ah yes, the famous list…” His voice was thick and sweet like honey, “Are you ever going to
share those secrets with me?”
Gwyn let out an irreverently cruel laugh, breaking away from him and sheathing the dagger back in
the blue velvet. Placing it in her pack, she spared him a wry glance over her shoulder, “That’s your
job, isn’t it? To pry secrets from closed lips...”

Azriel’s eyes lit up with dark amusement as he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. She
couldn’t help but notice the bulge that had formed beneath his leathers and, admittedly, another
bout of pride ricocheted through her at that achievement. “Are you implying I’m not a good spy,
Gwyneth?”

“No,” She gave a breathy laugh, “I’m telling you that despite your reputation, your skills are no
match for my secret keeping.” The challenge in her voice was clear and she could almost see the
moment his male pride and mutual competitiveness flamed at the words.

“Well, you’re lucky I’m not betting man Berdara, otherwise I’d be draining your purse when I
prove you wrong.”

She swung the heavy pack over her shoulder, only giving him a knowing smile in response and
sighed, “We’ll see.”

Because truthfully, there was nothing more Gwyn wanted than for Azriel to put all those years of
fine-honed skill to the test. She wanted him to tear down every wall she had built and to pour every
secret from her with his hot tongue.

“When we get back,” he vowed.

And she knew the words for what they meant. That despite their locked lips, teasing taunts and
heavy touches they were about to go into a war zone. A place where such things were dangerous
distractions to behold as one moment spent lingering in desire, was a moment the enemy could use
against you. And the cost of that mistake was not just death, but a manner of violence and torture
that made her skin prick and her stomach churn.

The tension between them sobered, something like morose apprehension rising in Azriel as he too,
seemed to be thinking about just that.

Gwyn nodded as she extended out her hand for him to take, “When we get back…”

Autumn was undoubtedly beautiful with its lush forestlands painted in the gilded hues of gold and
rusted copper. But, the brisk winds that wrapped around them and bit at her nose were a stark
reminder of how deceptive beauty could truly be. They stashed their packs in a nearby cave, a
location which she had noted Azriel seemed to be familiar with, and then winnowed to a small
clearing in the forest thicket. The clearing overlooked a valley of dense trees, endlessly caught in
the cycle of ridding their browned leaves to cover the floor in a blanket of warm-toned debris.

A flicker of movement roused between the ancient trunks of two apple trees as a striking figure
emerged. “Azriel…” The High Lord's son sang the name low and devilishly, “What a pleasure this
is.”

“Eris.” Azriel greeted him with cool indifference as if he were nothing of importance.

He gave Azriel a cunning grin as he emerged entirely from the dissipating shadows of the trees. If
he was shocked Azriel wasn't alone, he did a good job of hiding it.
“Well, well…look what we have here…” Eris cooed, eyes lighting up with wicked delight as he
overtly ran his gaze down Gwyn’s leather-clad form appreciatively. Not removing his attention
from her, he asked, “Have you finally managed to convince a female to not run for the hills from
you?”

Gwyn bit back an insult that formed perfectly on her tongue to wipe that arrogant smirk off his
stupid face. But instead, her mind focused on the warning Azriel had given her.

“Eris may seem like a womanising fool, but he’s smart and I won’t believe for a second that he
wouldn’t sell us out for his own gain. The only reason why he’s allied with us is to support his
eventual claim to the Autumn Court. He knows I have Rhysand’s ear and that I don’t trust him. So,
I expect he will try and get a rise out of me so that I make a mistake and he has the grounds to get
rid of me... or at least try.

Gwyn nodded. She had heard of the rakish snob that was Eris Vanserra from Nesta’s recounts and
without even knowing him, Gwyn already despised him.

“Since you’ll be there…he’ll try and assess what we mean to each other by deliberately goading
me in front of you. I never have another with me, so he’ll naturally grow suspicious. Don’t let him
see if what he says bothers you, it will only give him what he wants.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Azriel’s voice was a velvet-laced threat, and if Gwyn hadn’t realised
how dangerous her mate could be before, she now did with those simple words.

Eris barked a laugh, “Oh Gods, you’re so much more fun than that brutish bastard of a General you
call your brother... What a bore that one is.”

“Why is your father sending covert troops over our borders?”

Eris let out an unhurried sigh, disappointed they had skipped to business straight away in lieu of
performing the fine art of trading witty insults. He slid his hands into his pockets, a movement that
reminded Gwyn, albeit reluctantly, of Rhysand. “Why does a selfish, war-hungry prick do
anything?”

“Answer the question.” Gwyn finally bit out, the leash on her patience had run thin and she didn’t
appreciate the mocking of Cassian or the degrading of her mate.

That same delight piqued in Eris’ gaze as with no shortage of amusement, he glanced back to
Gwyn. A heavy silence dragged through the air, as his teasing gaze flittered over her features.
Amber eyes flamed with some degree of scrutiny as they continued their shrewd assessment of her.
He was handsome, Gwyn supposed, but there was something cruel and malcontent about his
features that sent her disregarding his pretty features and chiselled jaw. While Gwyn would’ve
usually chalked this act of leering up to trying to rile Azriel, she noted genuine curiosity behind his
eyes, something that made her frown in confusion. Eris’ gaze seemed to linger on her hair, which
burned brighter, like freshly forged copper amongst the Autumnal vista.

“They think the Amulet might be in the Noctus… Bloody stupid theory if you ask me…But hey,
who am I to question my father.”

The Noctus? There were two main rivers that carved through the Night Court, the Sidra, which of
course ran through Velaris and into the valleys of the mountains beyond and then, the one further
south, the great Noctus, which fed in from the salted currents of the Summer Court sea.

“Why would you say that?” Azriel asked, face unreadable as his shadows expanded and contracted
around him in menacing form, as if they were some monster breathing and beating for the taste of
violence.

Eris rolled his eyes arrogantly, “Some of us actually read, believe it or not…”

Azriel rose a brow, ignoring the jeer laced with the assumption that he didn’t have a whole mini
library in his room, the muted gesture was a silent invitation for him to continue.

“Some old battering historians say the amulet was stolen and snatched off to the far lands of the
continent, others say it was buried in courts that don’t even exist on a map today. But, there’s an
old folk song from Autumn that spoke of a magic pendant tossed into the Noctus after a lover’s
squabble…” Eris sighed indignantly, “And, here we are…”

“Why does he want it?” Gwyn asked, “What will it give him?”

“Power.”

“Obviously…” Gwyn snapped back growing more agitated by the second at his treatment of
Azriel. She took a step forward, “What manner of power?”

Eris gave her a vicious, wonderful grin, eyes flickering to Azriel as he said, “Oh, I like this one,
Shadowsinger. Much better than the General's haughty witch, twice as clever and far more pretty
too.”

She ground her teeth. Gwyn wanted to ask him if he was referring to the female that he proposed to
after one dance and promptly was rejected by, but she held her tongue. Azriel’s preternatural
stillness told her he too, was holding back. Some things were more important than getting the last
word, and this was valuable information.

“Answer her, or we’re done here,” Azriel warned.

He rolled his eyes again, “They say the amulet can capture any faeries soul and by extension, be a
conduit to access that soul’s power as your own…”

Azriel asked, “And what of the other one?”

The High Lord's Son only shrugged, leaning against the tree casually as he replied, “That remains a
mystery, I’m afraid… But I would think they’re related somehow, considering my father is hellbent
on getting them both.”

Gwyn asked, "Do you know if they're winnowing them into other Courts?"

Eris' arrogance shone through every word of his reply, "I would assume so, seeing as the other only
believable option is traversing Winter and The Middle... Not exactly a smart strategy."

“And what of Summer?” Azriel's tone was clipped, clearly not appreciating the way he had spoken
to Gwyn.

Eris’ face drew imperceptible as he meandered a few paces in the clearing admiring the free fall of
leaves, “What of it?”

“We have reason to believe your father is allied with someone powerful from their Court, is that
something you can attest to?” Azriel’s tone was carefully absent of any desperation, marking the
question more as interest than need. This was a game he had played many times, and it showed.

“If he is associated with someone of Summer, I wouldn’t know who… My father is weary of
traitors these days and trusts very few, even quite rightly, his sons." He gave a low chuckle,
"But… It wouldn’t surprise me, he knows the art of war far too well and no one wins any battle
without leveraged power from allies…”

Gwyn let her curiosity win as she asked, “Why would you even help us? What’s in it for you
whether we know what they’re looking for or not…”

Eris smirked, “Honestly, I’m starting to ask myself the same thing, this is rather…” He picked at
his nail in apparent boredom, “Primitive, scrounging around in the forest, trading secrets like old
hags.”

Gwyn gave him a sultry smile, trying a tactic she had read about in the spy book she was given,
“Would you prefer if I took you out for dinner and wined you and dined you as we spoke?” Gwyn
said, voice tuned with honey. To his credit, Azriel didn’t make a single movement in response, but
whatever connection that tied them together had her feeling his shock and then, something uglier
form in its wake, like pangs of sharp bitterness.

Eris let out a breathy laugh, taking a step forward towards her, “Actually, that sounds lovely… Far
more civilised than this woodland cavorting…and, perhaps you would enjoy yourself, my Lady. I
can be very good company to those who are interesting enough to hold my time…”

She let interest flare in her gaze, "And what manner of company are you offering?"

"Anything you like..." He took a step forward, "There are many more exciting ways to trade secrets
that don't involve hiding in shadows or brooding in forests." Eris gestured to Azriel with a smirk,
"Though, he does make it look rather good, doesn't he? Perhaps you both could benefit from my
tutelage... I've often found things are more stimulating in threes."

Gwyn didn't miss the innuendo, but before she could go on, Azriel cut in, stepping between them
and by doing so, disregarding his own warning, “State your purpose, Eris.”

His gaze flickered between Gwyn and Azriel, calculating and reading them to an inch of their
bones. “I may be a Vanserra, but it’s my opinion that the Dread Trove should be left well enough
alone. And although I hate to admit it… Rhysand is the only one in Prythian I trust has the wards
and the sense to actually not let it slip into the wrong hands.”

Azriel nodded, shadows curling and whispering as the brutal bark of dogs sounded from nearby.
Eris kept his gaze on her, eyes still committed to the stark assessment he was taking of Gwyn’s
every feature.

“What made you leave Autumn?”

Ah, so he had figured her lineage out. Gwyn supposed to the trained eye she did carry many of the
Autumn Court features, pale skin, freckles and namely the hair, the exact colour for which she
shared with the High Lord's son. Gwyn didn’t show her trepidation at the unexpected question as
she replied, “It wasn’t to my liking.” Better to lie.

“Really?” He rose a brow, and she saw Azriel bristle in front of her at the personal nature his
questioning had taken, “What House are you from?”

“Enough,” Azriel demanded.

“Why would you presume I’m from a great House?” Gwyn let the mockery shine through her
words, as if his deduction was child’s play and ignored her mate's warning.

“You’ve hardly the demeanour of a scullery maid, nor the grit of a farm girl and look at the
posture…I bet that was beaten into you by a governess.”

His words met silence as Gwyn let them hang there for a moment longer than necessary, “I suppose
you’ll never know.”

Eris hummed in humoured amusement, as the panting of beasts and the thunderous clapping of
paws on the earth neared closer.

Azriel made a dismissive move towards Gwyn, outstretching his hand for them to winnow away.
But suddenly, they were surrounded by three hounds, all of which were the impossible size of foals
and bared teeth that could be as deadly as any baldric of daggers.

They immediately rounded on Azriel, disregarding Gwyn as they barked him a warning to get
back. His shadows curled into mighty viperous forms around his shoulders, as if ready to strike.
And though he showed no fear, Gwyn took a step forward out of terror that one of them may make
the mistake of launching forward. She did not want to see the violent maiming of a dog today.

“Call them off,” Gwyn commanded, gaze snapping back to Eris in a fit of fury.

Eris only raised a brow, finding some degree of interest in the interaction. He let them continue
their warning barks for a few heartbeats before finally telling them to heel.

The hounds fell back, mouths dribbling and leaking as they began for their Master's feet. The
biggest one, with eyes like pools of night and ears like sharp, upturned razors, stopped to glance at
Gwyn.

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he watched the dog survey her. For some reason that defied rationality
and common sense, she couldn’t find it in herself to be afraid of the beast, even when it lingered
forward to sniff her hand with its imposingly large snout. A moment later, it licked her fingers and
sat at her side, as if waiting for a treat, some kind of innocence returning to its complexion.

She frowned, glancing up to Azriel who was glaring at Eris, some kind of silent conversation
passing through the icy eye contact.

“Let’s go…” Gwyn finally said, trying not to let the strange moment rile her nerves. She walked
quickly to Azriel’s side, taking his arm as a shadow coiled around her wrist in united greeting.

Eris only levelled her a smirk and drawled, “If you ever want to take me up on that dinner, you
need only ask…”

The shadows closed in on them and they winnowed away before Gwyn could tell him there was
nothing she would ever want less.

See the amazing art 'A Court of Scars and Shadows' by artist @witchlingsandwyverns made for
this chapter of ACOSAS here
Chapter End Notes

Wait, is that? Plot? AND a kiss?

Yes! The second half of this fic is dedicated to the physical manifestation of her
healing; both Gwyn's sexual discovery and her physical transformation into the badass
spy she always was meant to be.

A few chapters back, Nesta tells Azriel to get something for Gwyn that's just for her -
in reference to the necklace debacle. I wanted the gift to draw comparisons to his
relationship with other characters in order to communicate his growing feelings for her
that are different to those that have come before. So let's talk about Elain. In
ACOMAF, Azriel lends his dagger to her in the war with Hybern to help protect
herself and in the act of chivalry that shows his selflessness, then at Winter Soltice, he
buys her a necklace.
The parallel I wanted to draw here, was that with Gwyn, he went out of his way to
create a weapon of equal power and violence for her to keep. To me, I see this as
evidence of him seeing Gwyn as more of an equal, to gift her something to use as she
fought beside him. I think the necklace he gave Elain symbolises their surface-level
connection and who he saw Elain as - an ornamental thing that is defined by her
beauty. Naturally, I wanted to show Azriel's character development and deeper
feelings for Gwyn by considering those two things.
The dagger is both a dangerous weapon and gilded with ornate details that show he
sees her as both a powerful and formidable Valkyrie and 'a secret thing of lovely
beauty', which is ultimately what he needs beside him. The detail he put into
personalising it for her was also very intentional. He bought the rose necklace for
Elain because Elain likes gardening. Quite surface level. But, with the dagger, he
crested it with a sapphire that was symbolic of her invoking stone aka the
Priestesshood, he had it decorated with bluebells (the symbolism of which I've spoken
about before) and little with little songbirds which to me evoke imagery of peaceful
doves and depictions of heaven.
'sicut stellae, ardeo per tenebras et lucem' - I love the symbolism of Gwyn and Az
being light and dark/burning stars and shadowed night and I wanted to incorporate that
in their story. I also thought the added layer of the quote being from a philosopher
they both shared admiration for was a testament to their intellectual connection.

Also, couldn't help but include a nod to the salacious Azriel/Gwyn/Eris fantasy of
mine. Although depraved, I think that dynamic would make for the hottest evening.

Let me know what you think!

-Lou x
 Blood and Lace
Chapter Notes

Sorry for the delayed update guys! I had a bit of trouble with this chapter, in fact, 23
and 24 were meant to be only one instalment, but then, as per usual, I got a little swept
away.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The gilded forest had turned a burnished hue of bronze in the looming darkness of the late
afternoon. There were five war camps scattered along the perimeter of the border, all with their
own well-endowed armouries and a fleet of covert soldiers who looked to be preparing for the
clandestine. But despite their efforts, there was no sign of Beron, or Harwin Folton, the
bloodthirsty Hand of the Autumn Court, whom Gwyn was informed was every bit as brutal and
quick to violence as the flames that marked their scorching Court sigil.

As the sun departed behind angry, greying clouds, the forest grew crisp and ominous. Azriel and
Gwyn watched carefully from the shadows of a nearby orchard as dusk descended on the third
camp. He had told her the initial stages of such a mission were often spent simply observing and
cataloguing key points of interest and players that may be fruitful targets.

The males of Autumn were all similar in appearance, hair the colour of rusted copper or bronzed
chestnut and eyes, deep shades of chocolate and amber. They all seemed to carry the same flare of
elegant menace that Eris did, as if a beautiful cruelty had sewn the seams of their very flesh and
forged in their bones. Perhaps it was just the nature of the overt hunter in them. Each one appeared
as if they could be set loose in the throes of the Samhain Forest with no weapon but a simple knife
and emerge with a slain mighty beast, victorious and hungry. There was an inherent beauty in the
land they had been wandering through though, and Gwyn couldn't help but find bits of her mother
in the soft singing of the leaves as they fell to the dry brush or the gentle scent of browned meadow
and raw oak that permeated the air.

They had been surveying the camp for an hour now, this one a little bigger than the last. The
distance was far enough away to assuage the attention of wandering eyes but close enough not to
invite patrol. Carelessly, they hadn't bothered to instil sound wards on the perimeter, so they
listened in on the ramblings of soldiers with no issue. Azriel had dispatched some of his shadows to
infiltrate and survey the scene from within, carrying updates back to them every few minutes or so.
Gwyn had identified the large golden-topped tent as the High Commanders, as those dressed in
finery and strutting with an air of importance seemed to drift in and out of it with purpose. A slight
male carrying rolls upon rolls of parchment left the tent in a fierce scurry, a symphony of guttural
screaming sending him quickly dashing away.

“That’s Beron…” Azriel whispered, frowning into the noise of shouts and foul-tongued insults that
carried across the small clearing and to their awaiting ears. "He must have winnowed straight into
the tent."

So the High Lord of Autumn was here. And as if to confirm her thoughts, a pack of large hounds
strolled from the tent and took guard at the entrance. Not the very same pack as Eris' though, Gwyn
could tell just by their fleeting attention spans, the way their heads whipped around and the
occasional jolting barks directed at soldiers that stared too long, that these were wild and far less
trained to courtesy. An interesting point of comparison between the father and son that she would
file away for later.

The precariously bundled papers were haphazardly clutched under the shaking steward’s arm and
every so often, when one fell to the dirt, he leant down to pick it up and then, another was lost. By
the shaking alone, she could tell Beron must have given him a tongue-lashing to rival those of
Merril. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed at the scene, knowing whatever those pieces of paper were, were
more valuable than gold. Azriel’s teachings rang through her as she watched the male traverse the
camp.

The primary rule of espionage is to gain the upper hand in knowledge of the situation as most as
you can, without the adversary even being aware they are under surveillance. From there, you
have the resources and the wisdom to make every other counter move as directly calculated and
risk-free as possible. We never engage directly with witnesses without gathering this intel first. The
history books you may have read will pride the General's for their strategies and the Lord's for
their coffers that fund the armoury, but without understanding the nature of the enemy first, those
two things mean nothing. Every bit of information we gather fortifies the foundation of our defence
and strengthens the blow we deal them.

They watched with keen curiosity as the male, still performing his balancing act fit for a clown at a
circus, stepped through the doorway of a less stately orange tent on the outskirts of the camp. They
had to get in there. Had to steal as many pieces of evidence as possible and somehow, avoid the
detection of the roaming guards, or the hounds, now lazily slumbering by the large tent from which
Beron had been heard screaming orders. Gwyn couldn’t help but thank the Mother and all her stars
that the hounds had not picked up on their foreign scent or heard them from the thicket beyond.

Her focus narrowed again, as a bell rang across the camp and fire pits suddenly raged to life
littering the clearing in gilded flames - a signalling call for dinner. But the male never exited the
tent to join the soldiers who had fled to the far side of the camp. Those pieces of rolled parchment
could be anything from communications from Beron himself to marked maps, but before she even
could suggest tracking him, Azriel said.

“Stay here, the shadows will guard you…”

Gwyn halted him with a hard grip on his wrist and a stern glare, “You can’t go in there, the dogs
will scent you and call for reinforcements…”

His brow rose arrogantly as he replied, “I’m fast, Gwyneth.”

“And what of the male?”

“I’ll knock him out, and by the time he wakes up he won’t even remember the sound of his skull
hitting the floor. They're always too embarrassed to admit they passed out during work and most
think the concussion is a consequence of either exhaustion or drink.”

It was a right side better than killing, she supposed. And yet, the danger of it did irk her deep in the
gut. Gwyn knew very well that if he wanted, Azriel could raze this entire camp to the ground with
little effort. But Beron was here, a High Lord... and not just any High Lord but the one that wielded
fire. Her treacherous eyes glanced down to his hands and she hoped he didn’t track the movement
in the darkening light.

What had happened to him to sustain such scars? It was the one question Gwyn had been too afraid
to ask him, her usual brash nature choked in the way he looked at his very own hands with disgust
and revulsion. She would be patient with him, as he was with her. She would wait for him to tell
her, to open up that deep wound he wore so clearly.

“How long do you need?”

He frowned, “Two minutes is plenty, I’ll have to read every one I can and only take the evidence
that is most valuable to keep, so as to not raise suspicion.” Azriel was right. There was a fine line
between circumstance and suspicion. Stealing confidential documents had to be performed in the
way that circumstance appeared to be the only explanation.

Gwyn frowned as her eyes flittered back to the Hounds who were rousing from their reclining
forms in the wake of the clanging dinner bell, “Those are bloodhounds and I wager they could
sense a millionth of a change in the air's scent in one singular moment…” Gwyn warned, mind
racing back to a tome she had read about the Autumn Court and its traditions in the library, “The
wind's direction isn’t in our favour.” And you smell delicious, were the words she held back from
voicing. Too delicious.

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take, winnowing into the tent will muffle my scent and they’ll be
distracted by their dinners anyway…”

“No,” Gwyn interjected, “The only way to dominate hounds is for the master to eat first… Beron
hasn’t left that tent and no serving maids have entered with food.” She steeled her spine, as her gaze
dropped to her new, nameless dagger, the etchings of a plan forming in her racing mind. A plan
that Azriel would hate. But she didn’t care, because if it would keep him alive and undetected, the
cost was never too high.

Without another word, she unsheathed the dagger, the sapphire pommel glinting in the final light of
the dying day as she lined the tip of the blade with her palm.

“What are you doing?” Undiluted alarm and confusion dripped through his whisper as he disarmed
her with one easy swipe. Hazel eyes were flooded with concern as they met her steady-set azure
ones.

Gwyn only rolled those eyes, holding out her hand for the dagger, “I have Autumn Court blood…”
He stiffened with every word, “If we put enough on you, the hounds won’t detect a change in the
scent quick enough to raise alarm-”

“No.”

"Given Beron's propensity for corporal punishment and his current state of anger, the scent of
freshly aired Autumn Court blood will not be suspicious to the hounds... It will mask your own
scent."

Nothing but brutal command could be found in his tone when Azriel replied, "I said no, Gwyn."

But she only levelled him a warning glare, not backing down in the face of the order, “I recall you
saying that when ‘making a difficult decision in the field, there’s no room for sentimentality in the
reasoning process, you must be motivated only by survival’…”

He clenched his jaw, no trace of the usual arousal he found in her irreverently repeating back his
own words to him. The shadows cloaking them drew his features into something sharp and deadly.
But he remained silent, at least. A war waged in the darkening hazel of his eyes as one of his
shadows curled into his ear and whispered to him. And perhaps they too saw the merit in Gwyn’s
plan, because Azriel looked well and truly defeated when he finally replied, “Fine. Not a lot
though, just enough to throw the scent, I don't want you wounded."

She wanted to tell him that she hadn’t been asking his permission and did not in fact, need it, but
biting her tongue, she simply nodded and got to business. Making sure to use the left so her
capability for defence wasn’t impacted by the wound, the fresh blade was so sharp, that the barest
of pressure was needed to draw a deep laceration in her palm.

And if her periphery wasn’t mistaken, the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court cringed,
actually cringed, at the sight of her blood-addled hand as the crimson pooled from the cut and
poured generously to paint the forest floor. She gave him a teasing smirk, “Don’t tell me you’ve
developed hemophobia within the timespan of a few seconds, Shadowsinger…”

Azriel let out a disapproving huff as she smeared her palm on the leathers of his chest and then, on
the warmth of his exposed neck, the very part of him that Gwyn had gathered, seemed to carry the
most deliciously concentrated version of his scent. His gaze didn't leave her calm expression, the
sting of the wound meeting his leathers and the chill bite of the air carefully hidden from his view.
When she was done, he began reaching into one of the various compartments in his trousers, and
pulled out a thick roll of bandage, before expertly wrapping it around her palm. His fingers were
quick and nimble, tying the bandage with just the right amount of pressure to alleviate the flow of
bleeding.

Then, Azriel was standing, his head peaking from the shroud of shadows, “Whatever you hear,
whatever happens, don’t leave this spot until either I or the shadows come back to find you. I’ll
only take a few shadows with me, the rest I’ll leave to hide you.”

Gwyn nodded, ducking back down and like the night wind falling through the dusk breeze, he was
gone. Every heavy, torturous second felt like an hour as she waited. Like the grating sands of time
were too coarse, too weighted as they fell to the glass bottom. Her eyes never left the hounds,
which remained loyally stationed at their master’s tent. Every single member of the camp
seemingly unaware they were being robbed by the shadows that crept in the corners of their 'safe'
tents. There was something decidedly attractive about how lethal of a weapon Azriel was. And
though it was awfully macabre, she drew no small amount of pleasure in the way that no enemy
was safe from his reach. Not when the night still ruled over the sky, and shadows were found in
even the most secure of places when the sun took over. He was a beautiful nightmare, the only one
she knew.

Her attention came back to the camp as a lone guard started towards the High Lord’s tent, barely
his silhouette visible in the darkening twilight. But that guard did not enter the tent as she had
predicted, no. Her heart began to thunder, the fresh wound on her palm burning with sweat as he
continued on heavy booted feet, closer and closer towards the grove of bush that hid her. The
shadows seemed to whirl slightly, licking and caressing her hands, her neck and forehead with cool
wisps of undulating night… as if reassuring her she was safe. And Gwyn might have been
mistaken, but a soft song of obsidian glazed night seemed to carry on the wind with their touch,
like an ancient lullaby.

But that small moment of curious delight subsided as every muscle in her form went rigid like
stone. The male’s footsteps grew closer and she only prayed that the Shadows could mask her
scent and the sound of her breathing as he arrived but a metre from where she squatted in the leafy
brush.

Another one of Beron’s taunting screams echoed across the clearing and the guard loosed a deep
groan, “Mother’s tits…What now?” The sound of a leather belt unbuckling followed by rapid
unlacing had Gwyn clutching one of the shadows as if it were their master’s hand. The sound was
all too familiar, the wrap and clank of a metal buckle, the cutting swing of drawstrings…

Gwyn’s eyes widened as the man proceeded to pull his length free from the confines of his trousers
and urinate on the leafy ground mere inches from her. The male let out a deep hiss as Gwyn could
only…stare. It was the first time she had ever seen male genitalia and though she had read
countless anatomical and physiological texts, the sight seemed to propel her into a state of shock.
Her mouth contorted into a bewildered scowl as he groaned in relief and the urine pooled far too
close for her liking. She wrapped a hand over her mouth and nose and a moment later, shadows
came to shield her eyes in an act of unexpected altruism.

But it did nothing to assuage the swelling of dread and the churn of memory upheave in her. That
same old bitter, coppery taste swirled in her mouth as the past whirled with the present. She had
been in the company of war-ravaged fae males before and it did not end well.

But this was not Sangravah and Gwyn was not a helpless Priestess anymore.

No, she was a Valkyrie.

And if tonight took the turn her mind was ringing the alarm bells for, she would be ready.

Gwyn swallowed that bitter tang of fear and forged her nerves. Her hand found the dagger at her
side and slowly unsheathed it, careful not to make a whisper of noise as she did. If the male
attacked, she would automatically have the disadvantage of being on the ground…She had noted
the outline of a sword at his side, but perhaps the dark would aid in diminishing his ability to wield
such a weapon with efficiency. Three seconds. That’s what she would need to kick in his shins and
manoeuvre him to come down to the floor and then it would be a matter of slitting his throat
silently and hiding the body before the Hounds could smell the death that lingered. She swatted the
shadows away from her eyes, but they wouldn't budge, as if they were mother hens hiding her from
such an overt display of male indecency. Her squatting stance on the ground adjusted so she was
ready to kick out and she waited and listened for the moment he noticed her.

One minute Gwyn was regretfully listening to the sound of the male pissing in the bush and the
next…the rigid give and snap of a branch and then, silence. Nothing but cicadas and the faint coo
of owls flooded her ears. Her heart seemed to stop for a beat as she stilled impossibly more,
bracing for whatever was to come next. The stupid shadows still hadn't given way so Gwyn could
see what on earth she was about to face.

Had he seen her?

Heard her gasp?

Scented her bloody wound, perhaps?

She kicked out to where the male had been just moments ago, but her foot met with nothing but the
cool Autumn air.

“Gwyn, are you okay?”

The shadows finally began to dissipate from her eyes as Azriel loomed over her, parchment
protruding from the pockets of his trousers and an unmistakeably concerned expression pasted on
his features. Gwyn’s eyes drifted down to the guard now lying next to her, eyes wide but unseeing.
The unnatural angle of his neck had her realising that the snap was no branch, but the male's spine.

“Yes… Let’s go.” She stood, taking his hand and without a moment’s hesitation, he winnowed
them away. Their feet found solid ground and her vision welcomed an echoed, dark space of a
cave, but only for a singular moment, before Azriel winnowed them again. And then, she was
clutching onto him as they fell through the cosmos of night and shadow, the warmth of his body
bringing her heightened nerves into check.

The blustering, cold air hit her before anything else as they appeared in the alleyway of what
appeared to be a snowed village, lit by flaming lamp posts distance. A thick coat of deep merlot
wool hastily wrapped around her form and dipped to the ground, the fur lining preventing her
bones from the cruel chill that hung in the air. Azriel’s eyes were alarmed and weary as his hands
found her shoulders.

“You okay?”

Gwyn frowned, ignoring his question, “Aren’t you cold?” He still wore his Illyrian leathers, the
siphons glistening bright despite the darkness that had swallowed the sky. Faint snowflakes dusted
the tips of his ebony hair and the broad muscle of his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about me-”

“Put on a cloak, Shadowsinger, it’s bloody freezing.” Gwyn’s voice turned demanding as she
levelled a raised brow at him.

Apparently, her command was effective, because he turned with a huff and wrapped a black cloak
around his own form, the wings sliding into pre-cut slits at the back. “Gwyn, I-”

“I’m fine… Now let’s find somewhere warm…Where is this?”

Azriel seemed to deliberate the truth of her words before he took both their packs, the things they
had stopped for in the cave and led her to the end of the cobblestoned alley. “Winter… We’ll be
staying here tonight.”

“Winter?” They had travelled over the border. “I thought we were camping in the forest?”

As they entered the street that was illuminated in fae light before them, she couldn’t help but gasp
at the beauty of the village they had found themselves in. Her eyes found the peaked, snow-capped
ceilings of shops that lined the narrow road, reminding her of a queue of gingerbread houses. A
horse-drawn carriage clopped by leisurely, fur-laden fae enjoying the nightly splendour from the
seat. The faint buzz of slow music filled the air from the various busy brasseries and the distinct
scent of freshly baked spiced cakes glided through the chill air.

“I didn’t want to risk it, not while Beron’s there…” Azriel turned to face Gwyn, watching with a
small smile as she stood in wonder at the scene before them. For a moment, he simply remained
content to observe her, as he hoarded the image of her lovely grin blossoming on those lovely,
snow-bitten features.

Gwyn nodded, still distracted. The unstaring face of the Autumn Court soldier flashed into her
mind and pulled her from the daydream as she said, "You need to go and get rid of the body. If
they find it like that, the guards will be doubled by tomorrow morning..."

"I will when I get you inside-"

"No," Gwyn cut him off, shaking her head, "Go and do it now, I'll wait here."

A muscle in his jaw feathered, "I'm not leaving you in the alleyway of a foreign Court, Gwyneth...."

She gave a mocking snort, "Don't worry Shadowsinger, if any viscous reindeer dare to attack me,
I'd say I'm sufficiently armed."

Azriel rolled his eyes, but the shadows seemed to agree with Gwyn's plan as he sighed in prolonged
frustration at their incessant whisperings. "Fine. I'll be back in a moment."

Gwyn gave him a nod as she made to play with a mound of heaped snow on a brick windowsill to
prove she wasn't going anywhere. She had never seen snow so fluffy and fresh before. The woody
climate of Sangravah indeed had stark winters, but it never snowed there and her time in the walls
of the library ensured she wasn't out with the other civilians making snowmen and ice-skating
during the colder months.

Azriel returned in a matter of three minutes and she didn't dare ask what he did with the body, nor
how he managed to clean the blood off his neck.

The village was much smaller than Velaris, more cosy and quiet, in fact, it reminded her of the
setting of some kind of Yule tide storybook. Azriel led her on knowing footsteps across the street
to the grand wooden door of an inn, and it was only then that she realised his shadows had been
completely hidden from view. Of course. It was one thing to see an Illyrian in the Winter Court…
but it was an entirely different thing to see one with shadows. There was only one Shadowsinger in
all of Prythian and they couldn’t afford to be spotted tonight, however unlikely that may be in this
quaint village far from the capital.

She sent a puzzled look to him and he only gave her a confident smile in return, as if to say, ‘just
follow my lead.’

They were greeted curtly by a white-haired female, whose piercing blue eyes and a soured
expression surveyed them from behind the small desk in the foyer. The faerie didn’t hide her
disapproval of them with her sweeping glances, observing every inch of their thankfully cloaked
attire. She prayed the shadows concealed in his cloak would hide the scent of blood that lingered
on his chest. Her gaze seemed to lock on Azriel’s wings and subconsciously, she took a small step
back, something like fear flittering over her face. The Illyrians were feared across the lands and
weren't exactly known for their hospitality.

“Good evening, madam…” Azriel’s voice was as soft and smooth as honey, a tone that Gwyn was
sure had permitted him into many places an Illyrian should not have been welcome in. “We’re in
need of lodgings for the night, do you have anything available?”

The female pursed her thin lips as her shrewd gaze fell over Gwyn, taking note of the finery of her
cloak and the intricate gold stitching woven into the expensive crimson fabric. Before going inside,
Azriel had pulled her hair from the braid and fanned the burnished copper waves out loose,
insisting it was some essential part of their disguise. “Under which name do you request these
lodgings?”

“Commander Rowan Highbridge of the Night Court and Lady Elyssa of House Forest…” Gwyn
kept the disillusion from her expression as she offered the female a bland smile, one of half-hearted
meaning that such a lady may give an innkeeper.

The female's gaze flickered between the two suspiciously, before snapping, “We do not harbour
runaways, Commander Rowan... Nor do we abide by the whims of loose morality."

Gwyn almost snorted in amusement, biting her lip and glancing down to disguise it. The faerie
thought they were some sort of wayward couple, like one of those fair ladies in her novels that runs
away with the knight to marry in secret.
Azriel let out an easy chuckle that seemed to warm the female's disposition slightly, “Forgive me,
the road has been long and I have not explained myself clearly. I am charged on Court business to
escort the Lady Elyssa back to Autumn from her official visit to the Night Court. We shall require
two rooms, as privately located as possible, please. Rooms with a through door...”

The innkeeper rose a brow, as Azriel explained, "I am under strict orders to be within the lady's
person at all times."

She seemed to relax, buying his honey-laden lie with open ears before nodding, “Well then, if it be
Court business we have no reason to refuse…” Turning to a cabinet and fiddling in a drawer, the
female returned and placed two keys on the desk. “Rooms six and seven are on the second floor at
the very end of the corridor, there is a through door that connects them. The lodgings are four
silvers for the night and dinner is included, which can be had at the White Horse tavern next
door…”

Azriel paid the four silvers and then, with a wink, slid a gold coin over to the female, “I’m sure it
goes without saying our stay here should be confidential…A gold coin for your trouble…”

Her eyes widened at the considerable sum and nodded profusely, her lips contorting into a wild,
greedy grin. They fled up the creaking steps to the second floor, Azriel keeping a respectable
distance from Gwyn as they did.

The room was small yet still spacious enough to accommodate a roaring fireplace, a standing
mirror and an armchair amidst the four-poster bed, which was dressed in linens of silver and blue.
Gwyn threw the cloak on the bed as she finally loosed a giggle, “Lady Elyssa of House Forest,
huh?”

Azriel levelled her a wicked grin, “Well I figured if Eris Vanserra was under the impression you
were nobility, an innkeeper wouldn’t be the wiser…”

Gwyn only hummed in amusement as she fell onto the thick sheets of the bed. Perhaps the more
humorous part of the whole lie was that the female bought Azriel was a simple Commander. It
should’ve been obvious to her by the sheer size and stealth of him that he was nothing short of a
General or even a Lord in his own right.

Handing her a mass of crimson velvet, “We’ll go and get some dinner before the hour turns late
and the tavern gets rowdy, change into this, and meet me in the corridor…”

Gwyn nodded, taking the gown from him and raising a silent brow in question.

He shrugged, “Let’s just say Beron’s camp mistress will be mysteriously missing a gown.”

She gave a snort, thinking back to the array of laundry they saw hanging in the air a few yards
down from the camp. He left the room through the connecting door as she began unfastening her
leathers, the skin beneath them tired and worn from wearing them all day.

The gown Azriel had given her was nothing of Night Court fashions. The long crimson-hued velvet
was elegantly and markedly feminine in its shape. Where the Night Court favoured flowing, airy
fabrics and steep necklines, apparently the Autumn Court preferred low-cut corsets and intricately
embellished sleeves. And there lay the problem...

Gwyn stood in front of the freestanding mirror, holding the bust of the gown to her chest as she
desperately pulled and yanked the straps behind her. But it was no use. They had never worn
corsets in the temple, and the House, with its infinitely generous wardrobe, didn’t give her
anything as remarkably complex as this either.

The door creaked open and Gwyn peered her head into the corridor. As expected, Azriel, clean and
changed, was patiently waiting for her, a rebellious shadow peeking out from beneath his cloak to
wave to Gwyn.

He frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help.”

With a dip of her chin, she tried to disguise her blush as he came back into the room. Gesturing to
the dress pleadingly, she mumbled, “I… I need you to tie the corset for me. I’ve never done it
before.”

Azriel nodded silently as Gwyn turned, bracing her hands on the wooden bedpost as she felt him
pause to take in the creamy skin of her exposed back. Yes, he had seen her in a less-than-decent
nightgown before, but even that felt conservative compared to this.

This was intimate. Intimate in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Acquaintances may see each other
in their night clothes, but the bear back was reserved for lovers. That part of her was uncharted
territory, her spine, not used to the licks of hot breath that were now descending upon it. Even
without seeing him, she could tell his eyes were littering over the freckles spattered on her skin, the
clusters of rusted dots that glittered over her scapulae down to her lower spine.

No male had ever seen so much of her, nor had she ever wanted one to, except for now.

Azriel cleared his throat, as she felt one of his scarred hands anchor at her waist and the other begin
to gather the crossed laces, slow and silently. A deep inhale left her lips at the feel of him behind
her and it wasn’t for fear, but for something else entirely. Having him so close like this in such a
private space. The fire in the hearth could not compare to the flames that flared in her blood at the
thought of it. This mission was purely business, she reminded herself. There was no room in the
field for dalliances.

Then her reassuring thoughts were silenced as the gentle movements of his hands stilled and a lone
knuckle grazed the top of her spine and proceeded down the soft skin that sat tenderly above it, in
an exploratory sweep. The touch left a cold trail of wanting in its wake as it met the warmth of her
flesh. Goosebumps prickled her skin in waves as she shivered at the touch and Gwyn bit her lip as
she felt the voltage the very act injected into her veins.

“You did very well today…” His voice was rasped and hoarse as the knuckle ended its descent in
the cavern of her spine just above the belt of her skirt. "I'm impressed."

Gwyn’s fingers gripped the wooden banister a little tighter, how could such a simple touch leave
her so drowning in need? “You would've been lost without me, I'm sure." Light, keep it light.

He breathed a laugh, as his fingers found the ties again, “That incident with the guard was…an
unexpected oversight that I regret leaving you to deal with.” His pace became faster as fingers
expertly began tugging and lacing her into the dress.

Ah, so he had done this before.

Gwyn would be mad to not expect Azriel to be versed in the intricacies of removing and then
reapplying females’ clothes. It would be simply irrational and totally unreasonable to think in all
his years – with that face and body – he would not have had ample opportunity to learn, nor a
shortage of willing tutors.
“I believe you were the one that dealt with it, Shadowsinger.”

The sensation of the corset tightening around her waist in harsh pulls was oddly pleasurable.
Something hot and dark ratcheting through her at the feel of his hands tightening and pulling those
ties, the feeling reminded her of the same thrill Gwyn had from when she held the dagger to his
throat. Though the fireplace in the corner of her room was roaring, it was the fire in the depths of
her abdomen that had set her alight.

“I panicked…” He confessed in a murmur at her ear that had Gwyn arching her neck, “When I saw
him so close to you, I…I lost control.” Another whipping tug of the corset strings had her breasts
pressed into the boning and pushed generously at her decolletage. Perhaps her arousal was free-
flowing in the air by now, but she didn’t care. Something about the way he had pressed into her
and Azriel’s commitment to fastening the corset as tight as her waist would allow told her he too,
was not above such indulgences. She pushed down that wicked sensation and all the imaginative
desires that came with it as she said, “I did have it covered you know… If he would’ve noticed me,
I was prepared to strike.”

Gwyn felt the final ties being sealed on the corset as he said, “I know, I had no doubt for a moment
you weren't capable of defending yourself.”

Turning around to meet his eyes, she grinned, her back braced on the bedpost casually, “And now I
know what a male's favourite part looks like, so I suppose that’s some semblance of a learning
outcome.”

His lips threatened to twitch up as his gaze dipped to her plump lips and then further down to
appreciate the sum of his work. Something low in her stomach flipped as her breath hitched.

“And what exactly did you learn, Berdara?”

She took a small step forward, mischief brimming in her azure eyes as she reached out to grip the
hilt of Truth Teller, the pommel peering out from the split in his robes, “That males are entirely as
disappointing as I thought they’d be…”

Heavy, lush spice and smoked cedar flooded her senses as his hand came to wrap around her own,
squeezing slightly, “Perhaps that assessment requires some field analysis before you draw a
generalised conclusion.”

She let out a breathy laugh, not taking her hand off his dagger as she drawled, “What are you
proposing, Shadowsinger?”

His other hand came to the array of plush skirts that draped over the side of her thigh, Azriel
smirked as he felt what was strapped and ready beneath the fabric. With a deftly smooth sweep, he
reached beneath the skirts and Gwyn couldn’t help the gasp that left her lips as his hand came to
grip the hilt of her own dagger. A checkmate. Her back found the hard banister of the wooden
bedpost and their warm, wanting bodies pressed together.

“That you should expand your resources.”

A deep, smooth hum left her lips as she mused, “Well, Eris Vanserra seems to believe you and I
could both benefit from time with his…resources, Shadowsinger..." She pointed a finger at his
chest, "So perhaps you have as much to learn as I do.”

This was their game, and it was a dangerous one. Tease and touch, until they pushed each other to
that sharp precipice of dancing on a fine razor blade. It was an art that they had gradually taken a
liking to and became committed to mastering, their competitive natures gleaning at the prospect of
outdoing the other. Undoing each other.

A wicked smirk landed on his face, “Is that manner of physical research on your secret little list?”

Her cheeks grew hot even as she willed them not to. A particular debauched scene in Assassin’s
Dawn did mention such an act between a female and two males, but she never quite understood the
mechanics of it. In fact, it was Gwyn’s understanding that sex was something of a binary act and
yet…perhaps that was an entirely wrong assessment.

“Why? Are you claiming some kind of expert knowledge in the field?”

His eyes darkened to pools of shrouded hazel as he took the hand from hers and reached forward to
tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, “Are you inquiring about my sexual history, Berdara?”

Gwyn kept her grip on the pommel of Truth Teller, her other hand finding the hard muscle of his
chest, “It’s only fair, I think, since you know mine…Or lack thereof.”

Azriel paused, seemingly debating what to tell her, she watched as the shadows curled into his ear
once more. “I’ve been alive for a very long time, Gwyneth…” He twisted slightly as his hips
pressed into her. Her eyelids flittered shut as she felt his knee knock between her legs, the height of
him ensuring that his thigh pressed to where she needed him most. Hot breath traced the tender
flesh of her ear as Azriel’s head dipped to her neck, “…This will probably be a lot faster if you tell
me what’s on that list of yours and I tell you what I haven’t already done.”

“I… Well, I…” Words failed her. Gwyn’s core was pounding and scorching with pooling molten
heat as her breath became ragged. Cruel, hot kisses were being planted on the skin above her
jugular, the very spot he had correctly identified the other morning, as one that could be her
undoing. Her hips had a mind of their own as they began raising to meet more of his hard thigh,
desperate for some friction to address the building demand there. A low growl reverberated from
his chest and she met it with another fierce buck of her aching hips, her core now unapologetically
riding his thigh. The feel of her clit brushing against him was something so dark and satiating, she
was sure they were in the depths of hell. His wings twitched behind her as the shadows skittered to
the door to give them privacy. Gripping his hair and tugging him towards her, Gwyn took his lips
in hers, swallowing down all the want and need that had boiled over and laced his tongue.

“Azriel…please.” His name had been said many times by those who were pleading for mercy, but
coming from Gwyneth Berdara’s lips, that was an entirely new brand of torture in itself.

Without a moment’s explanation, Azriel pulled himself away and wandered to the door. Nothing
but feral masculine pride gleamed on his features as he opened the door to the main corridor and
turned to offer her exit.

“What are you doing?” Gwyn’s words were as tight and strangled as her body felt, but quickly
descended into a whimper as she added, “we’re not done here.”

“Consider that the entrée of honey trapping…” She almost scowled at the velvet-toned arrogance
in his voice, “Pleasure is only useful for prying secrets when the subject of interrogation is left to
crave it…" Azriel's gaze wandered down to where she had pressed her thighs together, "...Makes
them desperate and loose-lipped.”

Gwyn wanted to kick him as he chuckled darkly at her pained panting and shocked face. Kick him
and then kiss him and then, kick him some more.
 The stakes of the game just grew insatiably higher and Azriel had seemingly taken a win. A win
she couldn’t help but need to match.

Her gaze locked onto his as she reached down to where the skirts of her dress had caught on the
holster at her thigh. But instead of pulling them back down and righting herself to propriety, she
reached further upwards, exposing the pale skin of her proximal thigh and then, upwards further to
the scrap of white lace that skittered across the peak of her hip bone. Azriel’s gaze tracked every
detail of the movement with some kind of primal ferocity, the smile falling from his lips and a
starved hunger taking place in every part of him.

Tauntingly amused, she revelled in the way the connection that bound them together went as taut as
a bowstring. Without revealing too much, Gwyn slid the white lace underwear down to her ankles
and stepped out of them.

“What are you-” Azriel’s voice had taken on a strangled, almost desperate tone as he watched her
finally right her skirts to the ground and pick up the discarded white lace.

It was soaked wet and smelled like something bordering on rapaciously addictive when Gwyn
innocently placed the panties in his still hands. She gave him an irreverent smirk, telling him,
"These will need washing..." before strutting down the corridor and descending the stairs to the
tavern below, leaving Azriel still at the threshold of her door, hard as granite and struck with
blinding arousal.

He swallowed, trying to steady the animalistic impulse that had raced through his veins. With a
deep inhale, he pocketed the drenched white lace and followed her. Followed her straight to the
depths of hell that she was content to venture. The scent of her dripping arousal, agonising and
haunting him every step of the way.

Perhaps it was Gwyn who was the apt torturer after all.

Chapter End Notes

I really wanted to begin to highlight how Gwyn and Azriel's dynamic can be translated
into the espionage field. I think their personalities compliment each other so well and I
truly believe SJM has laid the groundwork in ACOSF for Gwyn to take on a spy role
in later books. There's something inherently sexy about espionage... It's a position
completely based on intellect and strategy and I love seeing Gwyn put her mind to that
aspect of the work.

I also was nervous to introduce the new setting of this fic because I didn't want readers
to feel like the story had taken a completely new and disorientating frame for the plot.
A lot of the second half of this fic will involve Az and Gwyn in other courts, but I
think that will pave the way to shape and deepen how their relationship progresses and
develops.

As for the pocketed white lace underwear....Gwyn is gaining confidence in her work
and her body and I love writing that out with respect to her success on the mission and
her willingness to play and be more open and sexually exploratory with Azriel. The
ending scene was written to really highlight two things. Firstly, that despite years and
years of having full control over his desires and maintaining tight professionalism on
missions, Azriel is completely at a loss when it comes to Gwyn and his attraction to
her. Secondly, I would like to state outright that I am soft launching the head canon
that Azriel is a pleasure dom and that Gwynriel have a very healthy sex life that
dabbles in BDSM. I understand some people find this distasteful and a bit 'wattpady'
because of recent book releases like 50 shades of grey, but I am trying to put a lot of
thought and careful introspection into the context of that in conjunction with Gwyn
and Azriel.

Any thoughts on this topic would be appreciated in the comments because I want to do
this right and not let it flail into a mess. I genuinely believe it makes sense for them
from a character-driven perspective.

Lou x
 Nom De Guerre
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for waiting for this instalment! This week has been extremely
hectic for me and I didn't want to put this out until I had the time to properly consider
editing etc. This chapter and the next should be read as a part one and part two - as I
originally wrote them as a singular chapter but they grew too long.

Warning: Minor reference to SA

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Control.

It was a sharp and deadly weapon Azriel was intimately acquainted with and had never been
without since the day he left that damn cell in his father’s home. A weapon he had honed and
mastered as if it were a phantom blade at his side, a skill that had been tried and tested upon
battlefields of countless wars.

And yet… Azriel was freefalling and his grip on that long-held propensity for control had proven
precarious.

Never in his entire life had Azriel been so distracted on a mission. It made him uneasy, the way her
delicious scent flooded his senses, the way his instinct was no longer geared to take sudden
calculated risks and retrieve vital information, but to look over his shoulder and make sure she was
there. He only hoped his demeanour didn’t betray his lapse in nerves nor the completely obscene
danger it put them both in. In fact, the only threads that remained to stitch his control together, were
those that were forged by the prospect of keeping her safe.

It was as if Azriel were fighting two wars at once. One in his mind and the other in the field and
Gwyneth Berdara was singular most skilled opponent he had ever faced.

Gwyn had sat opposite him at the dinner table in the rowdy tavern with a glorious grin on her
pretty plump lips and a wickedly innocent gleam in her eyes. An innocence that he knew very well
hid a manner of devilish delights and deep desires. The very evidence of which, sat folded in a thin
scrap of soaked lace, deep in the pocket of his cloak, the heavenly scent masked by his hiding
shadows. Thank the Mother for that.

She made polite conversation about the Winter Court, reciting historical events and facts about the
land, as if she didn’t know her library of a brain made him as hard as granite and wild with
wanting, like some kind of beast in heat. He focused on the rhythmic pattern of her breathing, the
calming symphony of her heartbeat, which still held a glorious pace from their frivolity upstairs.
From the way she rode his thigh as he tasted the delicacy of her neck. The sound of her moan...

“There used to be a wall apparently that carved Winter and Summer apart… Did you ever see it?”
He levelled her a raised brow, glad for the distraction from his filthy mind. Tilting his head in
mock disproval, he replied, “I’m not that old, Gwyneth.”

“Well actually Shadowsinger, there was meant to be remnants of it still standing before the war, so
you are in fact that old.” A laugh like the ringing of faerie bells fell from that gorgeous mouth,
“Sorry to disappoint…”

Gods. Azriel loved it when she corrected him.

If only she knew what he was thinking about doing to her. What dark, salacious thoughts crept and
wove within his gaze as he politely nodded back to her sweet ramblings. Ramblings he would
gladly listen to every day of his life. He should be thinking about the information they managed to
acquire from the map and letter he stole at the camp. He should be out conducting night
reconnaissance while Beron was still in residence. A good spy wouldn’t even be at dinner, nor
risking the distractions that a certain female such as her so effortlessly brought.

But Azriel was no longer a good spy, for he was far too full of adrenaline and something else,
warm and crackling like voltage to even be out there. Far too embroiled in the addiction that took
the shape of rusted freckles painted like constellations on pale skin, azure eyes like the tempest sea
and lips pink like the last lick of sunset over the Velaris sky.

Gwyneth Berdara was like one of the poppy flowers that grew in the central valleys of the Night
Court. A beautiful soft thing, with flaming petals and a sweet scent but wholly and entirely
addictive. A flower that once plucked and tasted, could bring any manner of male to their knees,
begging. And Azriel had indeed been ready to fall to his, when she left him upstairs clutching that
pretty pair of underwear with a challenge laced in her eye and a victory brimming from her smiling
mouth. He knew right then and there she would be his downfall. Knew he was no match for
whatever dark and wicked instability seemed to be pulling them together.

“…And you know, apparently those Summer pirates hid treasure all along the western coast in sea
bunkers forged and sealed by salt witches…”

“Where did you read that?” Azriel knew, of course, that she had read it from ‘Summer, Sails and
Silver: A History of the Pirate Fae’ but he wanted to hear her say it. Liked the way the names of
the books he had read sounded in that sirenic melody that was her voice. Wanted to swallow the
sound and taste it on his tongue.

“Oh, Keris Maridrina referenced it many times in his work, though I did hear it mentioned in a folk
song the villagers would sing in Sangravah too. ”

So, she had read all of his nine historical texts, why had even thought otherwise? Of course, she
had. His cock twitched and he drowned the sensation roiling within him with a sip of wine.
Tonight, it appeared he would need a whole bottle. Yet another poor choice that exemplified the
downfall of his self-control.

Gwyn did the same, sipping the spiced, mulled wine, seemingly remaining unbeknownst to the
attention she had been garnering from the intrusively leering publicans surrounding them. In fact,
the only thing that had dissuaded a fleet of silver-haired, slick tongued suitors offering to share
their lodgings with her for the night, was Azriel’s haunting glare that sent their gaze permanently
dissuaded. A gaze that promised the same fate as the Autumn Court soldier he had caught taking a
piss next to her, if not horrifically worse.

Good.
He had never been more happy to be a frightful monster. Which is exactly what he had become the
moment he came back from collecting those pieces of valuable information to find that fucking
soldier not a foot from Gwyn. As if his body acted in accordance with some other higher power, or
governing force, his hands reached to snap his neck like one would a thin twig. It was a stupid
move that would undoubtedly have consequences if not dealt with appropriately. Any suspicious
death, no matter how plausible, puts an army camp on high alert, reminds them of their mortality
and causes them to be more vigilant. But in that moment, there was only Gwyn and those who
might harm her. A great violent tug at his chest told him she was in some kind of danger, reaching
him with the news before even his speedy shadows could. And he had never had a heart attack
before, but Azriel imagined that’s what it is like. For the heart to be spasming so wildly like it was
hooked and pulled on a string, for the blood to be pumping so uncontrollably and for the world to
slip away to only the instinct to survive and protect.

Luckily, Azriel had covered up many of his brother’s mistakes before and this one proved to be no
more of a challenge. He dragged the body like a roaming beast would have and proceeded to tear it
up, leaving the dismembered parts near a cave that reeked of forest bear inhabitance. It would be
eaten in a matter of minutes and the suspicion would hopefully be cleared.

The lick of cool air swept over his ear, pulling him out of his thoughts as a shadow bravely peered
out from hiding in the confines of his cloak. Luckily, it had the good sense to do so on the side of
him that brushed against the wall. He didn''t feel like murdering a whole tavern of drunkards for
the sake of an identity slip. Although, the way they had looked at Gwyn made him consider it just
for a moment.

Our Valkyrie has noticed your occupied mind.

You’re meant to be hiding.

And you’re being terrible company. Besides, shadows can watch and hide at the same time, hence
the name.

His gaze rose to Gwyn's, who was watching him and the intruding shadow like a hawk, brow
raised and eyes expectant. Curiosity around the shadows had bloomed in her and he knew just by
the way her unforgiving stare was waiting for an answer, that he had no choice but to explain.

“They told me you noticed that I was distracted…”

Tell her Shadows misses her lovely pats.

No, that’s creepy.

You’re the one with her used underwear in your pocket like some common derelict.

Shut up, don't remind me.

Gwyn smiled towards the treacherously doting shadows confirming what he was already aware of,
that even his closest companions had switched allegiances and he was now completely
outnumbered in this battlefield of blood and lace. She leaned forward, whispering so no ears could
hear them, “And what could you possibly be thinking about, Shadowsinger?”

Her voice was low and silky, a tone that went straight down his spine and flittered across his
wings. They shivered in response as he shifted in his chair.

Fucking hell.

He knew then that Gwyneth Berdara knew exactly what he had been thinking about, or at least, the
general synopsis of it. Azriel was quite sure that despite her affinity for reading filthy books she
didn’t know the semantics of light bondage and edging that his mind had indelicately fled to.
Couldn't possibly be aware of how he pictured taking that scrap of lace, ripping it in two and tying
her pretty hands together with it while he tasted every inch of her.

Our Valkyrie could use a lesson in tying knots, perhaps a private demonstration.

I doubt she would enjoy that.

The shadow laughed in a hiss of a whisper, If no one asks, no one will ever know.

Fuck it.

Azriel leaned forward, mirroring her movements, “I’m thinking about how you must be utterly
mad to walk into a tavern like this without any underwear on.”

And there it was, blooming like a winter rose on her pale cheeks, Gwyneth Berdara was
momentarily shocked. And by the Mother, it felt like the sweetest win a male could ever hope to
obtain. But then, just as he let himself gloat, those soft features curled into something more
knowing as her ankle brushed against his from under the table, “Do you often find yourself
distracted with contemplating what is or isn’t under my skirts, Shadowsinger?”

Yes. Yes he did actually.

Should he just tell her that? Or would it give her too much satisfaction? Just as he was about to
admit that yes, he had spent quite some time thinking about that exact fact, the waitress came to
their table. Dealing them a heavily shrewd once-over as she did, they were keenly reminded of how
out of place they appeared in the Winter Court. His dark skin and tattoos and her brilliant copper
hair were like splashes of soot and blood amongst the fall of fresh snow.

The hearty lamb stew and roast pork were placed down in front of them, steaming and coaxing the
slumbering hunger out in him. Azriel never ate much, bar the essentials for energy on a mission,
but he would never subject Gwyn to anything like the high-nutrition, low-flavour rations he was
used to. No, she deserved a hot meal and a warm bed.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes…” She whispered, grinning into her stew.

Azriel didn’t like the victory in her tone, couldn’t part with the fact she thought she had won
something monumental against him. But some lingering sense of duty had him not giving her the
true answer.

Not yet.
As they gave into their brewing appetites, the heat that flamed between them was dowsed by the
pure necessity of eating a hot meal. The remainder of the evening was spent in comfortable silence
and when they returned to their rooms, Azriel summoned the last remaining threads of control he
had left in his arsenal and bid her a swift goodnight, claiming they had to be up early the following
morning. And perhaps he was imagining it, but he could have sworn Gwyn looked disappointed as
he closed the door that connected their rooms.

Mother have mercy.

Gwyneth Berdara would certainly be his ruin.

Gwyn

Prometheus,

The key is where all things are lost and found.

The lock is where all things are born and die.

The search in Summer has begun, the spring tide will bring salted fire to the shore.

-Pontus

“Pontus?” Gwyn’s brow furrowed as she looked over the letter Azriel had swiped from the camp
the day before. They had eaten a quick breakfast and winnowed back to the Samhain Forest as the
gilded sun rose over the misted horizon. Her mind, somehow not fogged by the lack of sleep,
flittered through the names of the prominent members of the Summer Court royal family. But
throughout all her research, none held that title.

“It’s likely a pseudonym…” Azriel explained from the nearby branch of the tree they were perched
in, “Which tells us two things…”

“That whoever this Pontus is, is educated enough to know the name of the old sea God and in a
position prolific enough to warrant the precaution of a code name.”

His hazel eyes shone with quiet encouragement as he nodded, “Very nice, Berdara.”

“And these riddles…” She ran her finger over the lines of odd prose, “They’re another precaution,
which tells us that whatever it is they mean, is something Beron, who I'm assuming is Prometheus
- given he is the old fire God - and Pontus don’t want anyone else knowing… Not even their
trusted war council.”

Azriel nodded, glancing back down to the camp beyond. Beron had been screaming for ten straight
minutes, threatening to turn somebody into a ‘roast spit’ and feeding them to his hounds for tea.
“The ‘key’ and ‘lock’ are code names for the two items from the trove… It seems while Autumn is
looking for the amulet, the Summer ally has been tasked with searching for the counterpart.”

Gwyn’s eyes turned to the map, the other stolen piece of evidence Azriel had brought back with
him. Confusion roiled in her as she studied the seemingly normal map of Prythian for any sign of a
message. “Why this?” She asked, holding it up to him with a clouded expression, “Out of all the
things you stole, why a blank map?”

“Every single item in that tent was written correspondence that held confidential, extremely vital
information…” Azriel reached to take the map from Gwyn’s hand, studying it again, “This map
was kept in the same roll as that letter…In a locked drawer right at the back.”

“You think it’s spelled with some kind of invisible message?” It wasn’t improbable, Gwyn
supposed. Though, she would have thought that possibility would have been thoroughly explored
by now.

Azriel shook his head, frustration etching at his features as he stared at the map, “I don’t know.
The shadows can’t detect any magic emulating from the letter and I can’t smell the faint odour of
invisible ink used to disguise hidden messages.”

He was right. It was entirely odd for the piece of parchment to be held in such high security
without cause and yet… every part of it seemed normal.

“Normally with documents like this, I transcribe and return them before any suspicion is raised, but
I kept the letter because I thought it may hold some kind of cipher… When we travel back to the
Night Court, I’ll have Rhysand look into-” Azriel’s words fell into a pit of silence as a shadow
curled at his ear and his attention quickly snapped to the commotion in the war tent beyond.

“What’s wrong?” Gwyn whispered, but her question was answered as soon as Eris Vanserra
strolled out of his father’s tent, the same wickedly cruel smirk perfectly etched onto his face.

Oh no.

This is not good.

“But… But he said he had no affiliation with his father’s search…”

Fury flamed in his eyes as the shadows skittered towards the camp, following the High Lord’s heir.
“Either he’s just been pulled into the fold or… he’s a lying treacherous bastard.” There was no
mistaking which option Azriel had thought was the case. A fit of anger boiled deep within his
blood that by some unexplainable mechanism, Gwyn could feel radiating from him. There was
more to Eris and Azriel’s frosty relationship than Courtly politics and cultured divisiveness, and
she was sure that whatever had happened in the past for him to despise the heir to the Autumn
Court had to be personal.

“Stay here.” He growled, not even sparing her a second look before winnowing into the fleeting
mid-morning breeze and leaving her in the branch of a high tree, with nothing but shadows and a
letter of riddles for company. Azriel had winnowed away so quickly, her refusal never left her lips.

Worry began to gnaw at her when he didn’t return for an hour and then another… But nothing
could dissuade the sour feeling of being deliberately sidelined. Azriel had been protecting her and
she knew it. Coddling her from the brutality and ugliness of the job he so deftly performed for
centuries. She knew if it was just him on this mission, there would be no cosy inn at the Winter
Court, nor would there be hot meals at taverns for dinner. Gwyn had read enough spy books to
know the job involved sleeping rough, usually camping out in hidden caves or in the thick of
wilderness and eating game that was readily available and disposable in that area.

The more the mid-day sun beat down on her, the angrier she became. She was utterly useless in
this tree, with nothing but wide-range surveillance to conduct in lieu of instruction. And Azriel
knew it.

When he finally arrived back, Gwyn gave him a withering glare, to which he had the audacity to
appear confused at earning.

“Is everything okay?”

“You just left me in a fucking tree for three hours, Azriel.” Her tone was uncharacteristically sharp
as his shadows lurched back in horror. "No, everything is not okay."

Though, it seemed her anger didn’t quite land where she meant it to, because the edges of his lips
threatened to twitch up, as he rose an amused brow at her, “Did you just swear at me, Berdara?”

She scoffed, not appreciating the condescension of his dismissal, “I am not a Priestess anymore,
Shadowsinger. I am allowed to swear. And I am here to help you, not to wait for you. I am allowed
to put myself in danger and you have no right leaving me on the sidelines when I’ve been trained
and am capable of being a part of this mission.”

Azriel had gone wholly still, the amusement falling from his face as his brows raised in surprise.
The seriousness of her anger finally struck him. A shadow curled and whispered something into
his ear. Her narrowed gaze fell onto the shadows, and she couldn’t help rolling her eyes,
indefinitely annoyed at never being privy to their private conversations.

Guilt overtook his features as he said, “I’m sorry… I…”

“What am I even here for Azriel?” Her hands raised in confounded gesture as she continued with
her ravaging, “To be your little assistant?”

“No, Gwyn-”

“To hold your things and wait in safety while you go – without a single warning, might I add – and
put yourself in danger for everyone else while they just sit there and wait?” Her voice had turned to
a decibel over what the shadows could hide.

With one quick movement, he was reaching for her and then, they were beneath the shade of an
apple orchard, far away from the camp. The shadows swirled around her hand, her waist, as if
guiltily apologising on behalf of their master.

“What did you want me to do Gwyn?” He asked, tone measured but decidedly clipped, “Throw you
directly into the path of someone who has likely just betrayed the entire Night Court and has
enough political leverage to start a war on at least three fronts?”

She shook her head in disbelief, scoffing at his words, “No, because that would be far too
dangerous, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would’ve been.”

Gwyn paused, hurt flooding her eyes as she looked at the male in front of her. “And yet you didn’t
think twice about doing exactly that yourself…”

His jaw tightened, “That’s different.”

“No.” She cut him off, taking a step closer, “No it’s not. I will not stand by and watch you martyr
yourself for the sake of everyone else. You don’t get to make those decisions, not with me. Your
family may be happy to let you live like that and take the fall for them, but I won’t. I won’t,
Azriel…”

And there it was. A silent admission she had been holding in for months, released into the Autumn
air and landing with a devastating thud, right into his chest.

She despised the way they all turned a blind eye to the risks he obviously took. Rhysand, Feyre,
Amren, Morrigan…and even Cassian. Everyone knew he had the most dangerous and risk-prone
job and yet, they all just conveniently forgot that little fact, didn’t they? And perhaps he had
become so good at hiding it, masking the toll it took on him, but she saw that toll for what it really
was when he came back bloodied and empty the other week. When the life had been drained from
his yes and the pain had so clearly been drawn into every crevice of his tired body. And if she was
being honest, she saw it even before then too, in the fatigue that plagued his eyes at morning
training and the relentless perfection of his own form. Gwyn saw every broken bit of him.

Azriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. A long silence fell between them as she waited for
him to respond, waited for this wall he had built and fortified for years, to come crashing down.

When he didn’t respond, she said with heavy softness, “I want you to treat me as an equal. Not as
your trainee, or your understudy... or as the poor helpless Priestess who was raped at Sangravah…”

Finally, he looked up at her, something like utter devastation flooding his features.

They had never actually spoken about that night, not properly. She never mentioned the r word. It
was a subject, although she had alluded to and spoke in reference of, that they had danced around
for all those months.

"I want to be a part of this mission, Azriel."

“Gwyn, I…” He swallowed, a slow pain drenched every word, “It was never my intention to treat
you like that. I know you’re more than capable and intelligent and so fucking strong. I know that.
But, you have to understand that it is because I care for you that I left you there.”

She shook her head, “You said ‘…when faced with an emergency, a spy takes time to plan a
strategic attack, you said we must use any resource at our disposal to’…”

“I know I said that!” Azriel cut her off, snapping, “But I lied Gwyn. I lied because I didn’t realise
what it would be like.”

“What what would be like?”

“To be working with someone that I couldn’t bare losing.” There was a confession laced in those
wild words, an admission that could have knocked her off her feet, if they were capable of even
moving at all. But instead, his words seemed to feed her anger like fuel to a fire.

“And what about what I care about? Do you think it was fun for me to sit in a tree for hours and
think about all the ways Beron Vanserra could be torturing you if he found you? Are my feelings
any less important?”

He clenched his jaw, “No, but-”

Gwyn closed the distance between them, a keen threat coated in her glare as she pointed her finger
into the hard muscle of his chest, “Listen to me, you are not disposable Azriel, and I am not a
fragile doll. And I'm sorry if it inconveniences your commitment to a life of lonely, sacrificial
martyrdom, but I don’t care. If you’re in danger, I want to be with you. And if you want to go off
 and take risks and die, we die together.” His siphons flared as she gripped the front of his leathers,
like some kind of magic pulsed through him from the touch, “And I won’t hear another word about
it. Do you understand me?”

A war waged in the deep gilded honey of his eyes. She knew the weight of her request was a
crushing one. Her hand reached for his, and she pulled it upwards to her cheek. Planting a soft kiss
on the fleshy side of his scarred palm, Gwyn whispered, "Let me help, you've done enough on your
own. Let me help you."

The words seemed to strike him like fine-shot arrows. Slowly, she watched as the internal battle
ceased, and he nodded.

“Good, now winnow us back and tell me what I can do to get us out of this mess."

Chapter End Notes

I wanted to highlight the two overarching themes in this chapter, conflict and worth.

Conflict.
Firstly, I have been thinking about how Azriel's martyrdom complex might manifest
when he is faced with having to work in a dangerous environment with Gwyn - who,
even though he doesn't know is his mate, I believe the undercurrents of the bond still
cause him to be geared towards that animalistic protectiveness that seems to be a
common theme in the books. This I think, would be a central point of contention for
them as a couple, as Gwyn is extremely independent and would refuse to be coddled
and safeguarded by him, thus going against Azriel's 500 years of self-taught and
socially reaffirmed sacrificial behaviour and the bond's added urge to keep her out of
danger.
Every other female in Azriel's love life has allowed and thus indirectly encouraged this
martyrdom complex/manifestation of self-hatred and I wanted to draw a line in the
sand when it came to how we see Gwyn facing this.

Worth.
Secondly, I've touched on the whole 'the IC blatantly disrespects Azriel and his worth'
point before, but I think it had to come to a precipice where Gwyn came out and
blatantly said that she will not be the one to perpetuate that ignorance nor will she
stand for his propensity to disregard his own life in favour of any others. I wanted to
create a moment where she takes control of the situation and puts him in his place by
both reinforcing that she does not need protection from him and that he deserves more
than to be the sacrificial lamb for political gain. Worth is a central theme of both
Gwyn and Azriel's journey and I love the idea that they each give each other the safe
environment they need to feel self-worth and let themselves be appreciated/cared for.

My goal was to make this chapter an equaliser in this way. So moving forward, they
are a unit forged by trust and a vow to meet whatever end they may, together. It's
important to me to show conflict and realism in this fic as I have read so many that
glaze over trauma/aspects of their past that would clearly cause contention and I don't
want that for this fic.
A lovely commenter has pointed out before that their journey has parallels to
Aelin/Rowan and I couldn't agree more. Their relationship is definitely a 'to whatever
end' kind of vibe and I love it.

Lou x
 The Night and His Star
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW, Sexual themes

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

To his credit, Azriel had heeded her demands and allowed her to take on more duties as the
afternoon crept to dusk. Although, he did insist on their return to the inn for the night, despite her
arguing for the merits of camping.

As he did the night before, Azriel practically sprinted from her room after dinner with a quick,
mumbled goodnight, shutting the connecting door on his way. Though, half of the shadows had
opted to stay with her, seemingly preferring the warm place on her lap and her doting strokes of
affection to their aloof master.

Gwyn hated this. Hated the blurred lines of whatever their friendship had spiralled into. Hated the
fact that ever since the night she had slept in his bed it seemed as if sleep were something of an
impossibility. And even now, as she lay propped up against the headboard reading well past the
time she should have at least turned off the lights, she despised that the bed felt empty and the once
captivating plot of the book had fallen to the wayside of her own thoughts. Her eyes flittered to the
door, wondering what he would do if she simply went to his room and climbed into his sheets.

The shadows that were lovingly nestled in her lap stirred and then climbed up her torso, licking her
neck and caressing her cheek, she let out a laugh at their cheekiness. Couldn’t help but whisper a
thank you to them as they slid back down her form and scattered away for the door, disappearing.
Even the shadows were saying goodnight, it seemed.

Entirely abandoned, she picked up the book and began where she had left off, a delightfully heated
scene unfolding in the depths of a pirate ship. Captain Crow had just gripped Amelia’s waist and
pressed his fingers into her wet, waiting centre, when a politely rushed knock sounded at the door.

There was no denying her cheeks had gone blood red as a very shirtless Azriel appeared moments
later, his alarmed stare scanning over her room. She watched with a growingly amused smile as he
began surveying every single corner for some invisible enemy, signs for entry at the window and
door, anything out of place. Attempted not to allow her treacherous eyes to dip to those wonderfully
inked pectorals, his sculpted torso and the cruel, carved 'V' of hard muscle that pointed below.

“Another routine threat inspection?” She asked, tone mocking as he swept the room. His shadows
came back to their rightful place with her, undulating in quiet satisfaction.

A crease carved through his brows, as he shook his head, gaze falling in suspicion to the happy
shadows purring like a cat in her lap. Extreme irritation fell over his features as he glared at them,
but they only wriggled in joyous response, as if they were laughing at him.
“No, no, sorry...The shadows, they told me you were… Never mind…” Azriel reached up to rub
the back of his neck, a faint blush skittering across his cheeks as the fullness of his biceps and the
underside of his muscled ribs were revealed with the action.

Mother help her.

Calling him beautiful seemed like an egregious crime, truthfully, Gwyneth Berdara had no words
in her vocabulary for the Shadowsinger or how devastating he was to behold. And there he was,
standing in her room, half naked and watching with those burning hazel eyes as she read her
exceptionally filthy book. If only he knew.

Gwyn couldn’t help but note that his hair was unfussed and eyes were fully awake, “Can’t sleep?”

He gave her a soft smile, admitting quietly, “No, I don’t sleep well.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

With a sigh, Gwyn shifted from her central position in the bed, reorganising the pillows, her hand
came up from the duvet to tap the newly made spot next to her with an expectant look.

He hesitated with weary eyes and she cracked a large grin, “Oh come on, Shadowsinger, it’s not
like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

All at once the careful hesitancy in him dissipated and something momentarily wicked flashed
across his gaze as he seemingly agreed and began to stroll towards her. His curious eyes fell down
to the white silk of her nightgown and then further to the book she held open. With one quick
swipe of his hands, Azriel took the open book from her fingers, eyes lit with deviant interest as his
fingers pried back open the page. He ignored her protests that he certainly wouldn't appreciate the
subject material as he fell onto the bed beside her, landing on his stomach.

Azriel propped himself up on strong forearms as she writhed in blushed embarrassment. His
beautiful wings lazily stretched across the bed, and one of the talons playfully swept along the
sheets that hid her legs. Once again Gwyn found herself wanting to run her fingers over the soft
membranous flesh, feel the sheer power and force that was embedded into every tendon and bone
that stitched them together. "Now now... what do we have here?" He drawled, voice low and
teasing as he chuckled.

"You really shouldn't-"

"Quiet Berdara, I'm reading."

The heavy silence that followed was deafening as Azriel read deliberately slowly, his features
trained carefully into a beautiful poker face of handsome indifference.

“Hmmm,” He mused studiously, flicking over the page as Gwyn’s cheeks began to flush deeper
with a pretty crimson. Her fingers found a loose thread that hung aimlessly from the lace trim of
her nightgown as she couldn’t help but watch him for any trace of expression. Every so often he
would make a contemplative sound, as though he were reading some academic work of great
importance and he was agreeing with the argument being made.

It was excruciating. Gwyn was practically burning, he read the entire chapter before tucking the
ribboned bookmark back inside and closing the pages softly. "So tell me..."
She shifted in her position, bracing herself for the teasing that was surely about to ensue.

“Is this little bit of debauchery on the list then?” He drawled, finally looking over to her with
darkened eyes.

The list? That's what he's thinking about right now? She swallowed, not even attempting to lie, as
she replied, “Yes.”

Azriel’s mouth cracked into a menacing smirk, pulling a neatly folded piece of white lace from his
trouser pocket and dangling it in front of her from an outstretched finger. It almost looked like an
indecent white flag that he took to waving on their battleground, suing for peace. But Gwyn knew
the violent desire in his eyes meant an entirely different thing. “This was good, Berdara…Very
mean, I’m impressed.” She reached for them, but he pulled the underwear away with a chuckle,
“Oh, no…I’m keeping these.”

Gwyn raised a brow, ignoring the way her heart thundered and her blood had slowly begun to boil
with the heat he inspired. Fine, she had others. And, if she were to admit it, there was something
altogether darkly insatiable about knowing he wanted to keep them. Knowing that for some
indelicate reason, he had them in his pocket to begin with.

Azriel placed the book beside him, “Did you bring a pencil, Berdara?”

What?

“I… I think so…”

“Good… Because when I’m done with you, can check coming on my fingers off that secret list of
yours.”

Oh.

Oh, Mother above.

She gave him a sweep of a nod, mustering the courage this trip to sweet hell would take. Azriel sat
up against the headboard, placing a chaste kiss on her shoulder, her neck and then, her lips. His
mouth was warm as it met hers and his deliciously heavy scent lingered in the hot air around them.
Gwyn leaned in to steal all that heat and lush softness he harboured, deepening the kiss as she
moved to sit astride his thighs. Those large capable hands came down to lightly fall to her hips as
warm spice and smoked cedar engulfed her.

With trembling hands, she began stroking a hand up the hem of her nightgown, it was relatively
short, cutting at a barely respectful thigh length. But before she could reach to expose the area that
called for him, large hands gripped lightly around her wrist.

“Turn around…”

Shaking her head, she panted, “I want to see you…”

Azriel pulled away from her mouth for a moment, his thumb drawing down her bottom lip as he
gave her a dark smirk, “You will, just trust me… Turn around.”

Gwyn swallowed the velvet softness of the command and did his bidding. Slowly, she shifted her
back to his front as she found a place between his now open legs.

Oh, Mother's mercy.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of the tall mirror that the cheeky shadows had dragged in
front of the bed. Lust struck and incredibly intrigued, her greedy eyes took in their reflection, her
smaller frame nestled into his much larger one, a splatter of pale skin and burnished copper against
golden tanned flesh embellished with ink and dark ebony hair. Azriel was looking too, devouring
the sight of them with glazed-over, hooded eyes. Their forms were framed by those wonderfully
large wings. The black forms curved slightly around, like the appendages almost had the instinct to
enfold them from the world.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes…” Gwyn whispered breathily. She watched as his fingers traced idle circles just below her
navel, the silk of her nightgown thin enough that the touch went straight to the voraciously pooling
heat at her core.

“Tell me…” Azriel’s lips grazed the tender shell of her ear and a wicked chill scattered straight
down her spine, “Do you touch yourself when you’re alone at night, Gwyneth?”

The room was so hot, her skin aflame and her heart pounding to the beat of a viscous war drum…
and it was intoxicating. Like she was drunk on his touch, his scent, the tempestuous view in front
of her. She wanted more. Needed more until the world was nothing but her and him.

“Yes…Sometimes,” She breathed, every part of her focused on the way his fingers moved
tantalisingly slow on her abdomen, as if he knew the chaos and flood that ensued just below. One
of his hands glided up the white silk to her perky breast, the nipple already peaked in anticipation
of him. Gwyn bit her lip as he cupped her, but she didn’t close her eyes, not when she was watching
it all unfold in front of her.

“What do you imagine when you’ve got those pretty little fingers inside you?” His voice was low
and hoarse, like he was just as tightly wound as she was at the sight before them. Something hard
and warm pressed against her back meeting with the increasing depth in his scent. A gasp left her
lips as she moved into him and his arousal. Felt every thick, pulsing inch of it.

There was no use in lies, not when she was so utterly exposed like this, “I…I think about you…”

As if in reward, he lightly squeezed her breast and she had no choice but to arch her back. Their
eyes were locked in the reflection as he leaned into her ear again and replied, “Good, because I
think about you too… all the fucking time…”

Her stomach flipped over itself at his words and she pressed her thighs together. If she had been
wearing any underwear, they would be well and truly soaked.

The hand that was dedicated to her breast came to the thin strap sitting precariously on her freckled
shoulder, “May I remove these?”

Gwyn thought for a moment, contemplating before she nodded, gaze turning heavy with desire as
she watched him slide the thin straps of silk down her toned arms, a scarred hand guiding the
neckline down to reveal her pretty little breasts to the light. “I especially have taken a lot of time to
think about these…and what they may taste like on my tongue…” The rose pink of her nipples had
taken Azriel’s keen attention, and both of his hands began a barrage of appreciative strokes and
massaging. They ached under his touch, becoming heavy with the weight of her own want. No,
need, for this.

“I want you to…” Gwyn murmured, the rest of her request stolen by the wave of arousal that filled
her as he pinched her nipple lightly.
Azriel chuckled low and menacing, “Oh, if that’s what you want, I will but, tonight’s not for that.”

She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice as she managed out, “Why not?”

“Because…” He placed a series of torturously slow, hot kisses along her jugular, “Tonight…I’m
going to make you come so loudly that they might have me whipped in the street for my lapse in
morality as your watchful Commander - you are a Lady of Autumn after all…”

“You would make a terrible Commander…” She laughed breathily, but it was cut short by her gasp
as he pinched her nipple, harder this time with his thumb and index finger while he bit down the
lobe of her ear. It was a pleasure fuelled pain that had her melting below and almost begging for
more.

He hummed in agreeance against her neck, the reverberation doing nothing to assuage her growing
fervoured madness, “And you would make an awful noble Lady… Now show me how you touch
yourself when you’re thinking about me.”

Gwyn’s trembling fingers travelled down to the hem of her nightgown, drawing up the silk slowly,
but Azriel’s voice stopped her movements in their tracks. “No, no… I want to see what those lovely
white underthings you gave me were soaked in, put your knees up and spread them, Berdara.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, she brought her bent knees upwards and then, slowly, taking the
time to tease the male who had made an art form of the act, she opened her legs. Azriel’s roaming
hands went still for a moment, the same look of primal hunger filling every corner of his features
as his gaze zeroed in on what lay between her legs. Or more so, what didn't. She hadn't bothered
wearing any underwear to bed. Her centre was slick and already soaked in the reflection, and she
watched as he bit down on his bottom lip at the sight.

"No pretty underwear tonight?" Azriel asked, voice rasped and heavy with want. His hands
tightened at her chest, as if he were holding himself back from reaching to her core.

She smirked, "Would you prefer that I put some on, Shadowsinger?"

"No..." She sucked in a breath as he chuckled low and dark into her tender neck, squeezing her
aching breast as he did, "No, I like this much better."

"Good."

There was a power in this kind of act that Gwyn had never anticipated, a power that had him at her
mercy in a way she never knew she wanted him. In that moment, as the bond went taut with
desperate need and the Shadowsinger of the Night Court gazed at her with such ravenous, wild
devotion, Gwyn felt like a Goddess. She couldn’t help but relish in the sight of him like that.
Azriel’s expression, caught halfway between agony and starved longing, was as if her body was
some kind of ancient deity, and he was but a hungry beggar praying for absolution.

Gwyn knew right then and there, seeing that look on his handsome face, that there wasn’t a sin of
his she wouldn’t absolve nor a virtue she wouldn’t praise. He was heaven and hell wrapped in one
devilishly lovely form and she couldn't help but think that the Mother must have been feeling
particularly kind the day she sent him to her. And though he wasn’t hers to keep, she vowed to
treasure this moment for however long she could experience it.

Azriel swore a curse low and guttural and she felt his matched desire press further into the arch of
her back. Gwyn didn’t need to turn around to know that he was huge, perhaps Nesta’s wingspan
correlation theory actually held some merit after all. With a whimper, she shifted her ass back to
stroke him from behind and she watched in no shortage of pleasure as he swung his head to the
ceiling in desperate restraint, the tendons and muscles of his neck bulging and pulling at the
movement. “Fuck, Gwyn…” Azriel’s voice was strained, like it had been drawn over hot coals.
She liked that sound, liked the way it cut through every syllable like a knife that wouldn’t quit.

Her fingers found her dripping core, hot and aching, and his head snapped back to face the mirror
at the keen sound of her fingers lightly stroking the wet flesh. She half-moaned, as her finger
grazed her throbbing clit. Feeling him tense behind her, Gwyn watched how he devoured the sight
with his fervent eyes. Between the pleasure she was ringing from herself and the raw need the
image of the reflection was drawing from her, she found the confidence to admit, “I lie awake
sometimes at night and pretend it’s you who is doing this to me, Azriel…”

His jaw was clenched as he leaned forward, one hand possessively coming back to her breasts and
the other, coming to rest on the soft skin that marked the inside of her thigh. “What do I do to
you…in these filthy little fantasies?”

Gwyn’s other hand came to rest on top of his, as her knees splayed wider and she finally dipped a
finger inside her hot wetness, stifling a moan. “I think of these hands…” She trailed a delicate
fingertip over the beautiful rivulets of scar tissue, “And how I want nothing more than them on me.
In me…” She pumped in and out of herself, her thumb now dedicated to satiating the bundle of
nerves above. “…Everywhere,” She whimpered, biting her lip, feeling the pulse ratchet and built
within her in time with the increase in pressure.

But in the face of this arousal, this need, with Azriel here, it simply wasn’t enough.

“Put another finger in,” Azriel rasped into her neck, his grip on the inside of her thigh tightening,
as he planted a kiss on her jugular.

To Azriel’s surprise, the hand that lay on top of his own, dragged his fingers down to meet her
own. He went preternaturally still as their gaze met once more in the mirror’s reflection. An ocean
of azure that he desperately wanted to drown in met darkened hazel flames, a look which was
warring between something pleading and bewildered.

Gwyn’s voice was low and silky as she asked, “Do you ever think about me like this?”

He nodded, swallowing down the urge to flip the female over and drive into her until the sound of
her coming was the closest thing to a prayer for mercy from the Mother this earth had ever heard.

“Then touch me, Az…” She panted, “Please…”

“Gwyn…are you sure?”

It was a testament to his willpower that even in this state of indecency he would have the
propensity to ask such a thing. And perhaps it made her pleasure double over, because with the
next swipe of her clit, her back arched into his arousal a heaved breath following it. A low growl
left his throat at the sensation, a sound she wanted to swallow down from his lips.

“Yes, I want you to…” Her words were broken between the desperate breaths… “Please, I want
you to make me come.”

Whatever tightly strung self-control Azriel had been harbouring had snapped upon those words
leaving her pretty lips and she almost came undone right then and there as she watched his hand
graze over her own. Gwyn withdrew her fingers, her dipping cunt already aching at the absence of
touch and his hand replaced the position it had occupied.
The deliciously filthy scene revealed in the mirror was something out of Gwyn’s darkest desires, or
hidden in the well-loved pages of her favourite smutty books. The texture of those lovely, scarred
hands on the most soft and sensitive part of her had Gwyn whimpering in anticipation, her sweaty
temple falling onto his at just the touch.

“You like that, Berdara?” He smirked, cruel satisfaction coveting his pretty mouth as his thumb
and index finger played and lightly pinched at her throbbing clit.

For the first time in Gwyn’s life, she was speechless, her tongue utterly unable to wield words or
even complex sounds. There was just a low, indolent hum of approval that sang from her lips as he
dipped a finger inside her. His eyes threatened to flitter closed as he slid in so easily between the
slick of wetness there, a feral growl rumbled through him and she felt the sound ripple and
reverberate in his chest, his throat. “Fuck, is this how wet you always are for me?”

“Yes… Every time.” The confession came out as a choked cry as he began his strategic affront of
torturous pleasure. Once fully in, another finger followed suit, stretching her out further than she
ever had been before, his thumb arching up again to pay devotion to her clit. Some kind of
heavenly conjunction of thrusting, stroking and kneading ensued, and she didn’t know if she
wanted to scream more in pleasure or the sheer overwhelming power he was uprooting within her
and setting aflame.

“Tell me what else is on your list, or you don’t get to come…” Azriel's other hand had taken back
to the task of teasing her sensitive nipple, the added stimulation sending her further and further into
that state of need.

Gwyn had known what pleasure was like by her own hand, but this was something else, something
altogether religious in its soul and damning in its sensation.

“Please…” She whimpered, her hand wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers burying in his
hair and tugging at the roots as she began to lift her hips to meet his hand, “Fuck, please Azriel…
Im going to... I want to...”

Azriel only chuckled as he said, “Oh, there’s that secretly filthy mouth I love…” But his words
stopped quickly mid-sentence when her ass began to roll back rhythmically into his hard cock,
which was now twitching and leaking with want even beneath his sleeping trousers.

Her head fell back as she whimpered again toes curling and then falling loose as he edged her
closer and then, cruelly slowed back down just as she thought she may tumble down that cliff of
elation.

“Sorry Berdara, those are the rules…”

He deliberately slowed his movements right down, and she bit her lip, throwing whatever was left
of her dignity into the hot air that wrapped around them, “I want… I want to be tasted, down there.”

Cruel delight found his features as he turned to smirk at her, “By who?”

She glanced back to him in the mirror gaze dipping to see his fingers coated in her glistening
anticipation, “By... By you.”

Azriel's eyes fluttered closed at the confession, "Thank the Mother and her stars for that."

But she couldn’t look away, not when his perfect hands, the very ones she had come to worship,
were inside of her and ringing every debauched moan and ounce of pleasure from her like a wet
rag. His fingers abruptly hooked inside her, the sudden touch meeting a sensitive wall that had tears
streaming from her eyes and curses a Priestess shouldn’t know from her lips. Her walls began
spasming and clenching arrhythmically, responding to the sudden ferocity of his movements.

“That’s it, Berdara…” Azriel cooed, darkened gaze set on watching her begin to come undone in
the reflection as his hands became more wild with their pleasuring, “Come for me, baby.”

Gwyn bucked her hips again furiously, feeling the precipice of pleasure greet her as her toes curled
and a symphony of sweet curses fell from her angelic lips. Her vision exploded into a night sky of
burning stars, a choked sob following as the euphoria struck her hard in the core, in her gut, her
fingertips. Everywhere. All at once, a burst of warmth and ecstasy flooded her veins. Like waves
from the tempest sea, his skilful fingers drew long licks of undiluted pleasure upon pleasure to her
shore.

“Good girl...”Azriel watched every single moment with enraptured greed as she rode out the high
on his dedicated fingers. Through her blurred vision, she noticed his eyes widening and mouth
going slightly agape as she came further undone.

Gwyn fell into his back, her head coming to rest lazily on his shoulder and chin tilted to the ceiling
as she heaved choked breaths and sobbed. There was pleasure and there was...whatever that just
was. Something divine. Something as salaciously dark as it was entirely heavenly.

Azriel only spoke when her breaths had returned to a semblance of normal, drawing her out of her
daze as he said, “Gwyn…"

Her voice was a grinning mess of strung-out song, "What...Shadowsinger?"

"You’re glowing…”

She snorted, thinking of the sweat and the flush of her pale skin, “I know…”

“No…” Azriel’s voice was all shock and wonder as she arched her neck and met their reflection
again. A frown was carved between her eyes as she saw his words for the truth they were. She was
indeed glowing like someone had lit a fae light from within her chest and it was shining through
the pink of her flesh.

Oh, Cauldron..

Was this some rare feature of the mating bond she didn’t know about? Had she just outed herself as
his mate in the worst way possible? Her mind began racing, still fogged with her orgasm to
compute such a strange thing.

“Maybe it’s another symptom of being a Lightsinger…” Gwyn offered, still in awe but hoping the
lie would suffice, she began tugging the lone blanket over her skin to cover the sight.

Azriel snorted, shaking his head as he ripped the approaching blanket away while his other hand
trailed down the rift between her clavicles, through the valley of her breasts and down the plane of
her stomach in abject appreciation, “You speak about it like it’s a disease…” A light kiss grazed
her temple in quiet disagreement.

“It is technically a curse, the Annals of Healing call it a malediction actually…”

“No, Gwyn…” Her mind began to race as Azriel finally withdrew his fingers from her, the still-
sensitive walls of her spasming at his movement. She watched with wide eyes as he took the
fingers into his mouth, sucking her arousal from them as if it were hot, creamed honey. He made a
devilish sound of baritone satiation as he licked them clean, his eyes flittering shut momentarily
 before he continued, “Nothing which tastes this divine could be anything but Godly.”

Gwyn gave a breathy laugh, shaking her head, and sinking back into the cradle of his arms.

His shadows crept back onto the bed, and began to dance around her glowing skin, as if fascinated
by the light she emulated, drawn like moths to a flame.

There was something contenting about the sight, seeing the dark tendrils of shadow glide and bind
over the luminescent light in appreciating caresses. Because maybe despite being opposing forces,
there was some deep connection those two fundamental elements shared. Forged by the Mother to
exist in an ancient, balancing unison of power. Like the obsidian night sky and his burning, bright
star. In the gilded hue of the dying fire, the light and the dark were dancing together, like they were
made to move to a rhythm of something altogether celestial and holy.

At some point, between the careful caresses of his hands and her slowing breathing, the exhaustion
became heavy and claimed her consciousness. But not before she heard the same whispered song,
only louder this time, from the very shadows that wrapped and glided around her.

A song of light and shadows.

Their own melody and divine indeed it was.

See the amazing art ''The Night and His Star' by artist @kri_stasss_ commissioned for this
chapter of ACOSAS here (NSFW)

Chapter End Notes

FINALLY some action.

I wanted to write a little about how this scene came to my mind. I knew that the first
time Azriel and Gwyn were properly intimate together needed to be meaningful. The
last chapter where we see Gwyn putting Azriel in his place, affirming his worth and
declaring them as equals was very deliberately a precursor to this chapter.

As Gwyn is a SA survivor, I am constantly concerned about how to depict her process

of sexual discovery in both an informed yet empowered light that is absent of
condescending tropes that are often attached to those with this experience. You might
have noticed that Gwyn always initiates their contact, first with straddling him and
then with bringing his hand to her. This was really important to me to add.

The mirror served both as an allegory for how their relationship affords them this
really special opportunity to look inwards and see themselves in a new
appreciative/multi-faceted light, but it also was a way to make sure Gwyn felt in
control of the situation. I thought a lot about the context of her SA experience and how
she needs to constantly see his hands and his face to be reassured she is safe. I feel like
the mirror was a way of delivering that assurance while also delving into some more
sexually exploratory themes that will become more of a focal point later on in this fic.

As stated before, I truly think Azriel is a pleasure dom, and I've done some research
into this dynamic to ensure an accurate depiction was attempted at showing this. The
goal was for Gwyn to always feel like she was in control but for her to willingly hand
the reigns to Azriel to allow him to tell her what to do/tease and edge her in the face of
her sexual naivety. I personally think this works for both their personalities as Gwyn is
naturally curious and extremely trusting of him while Azriel is both incredibly
understanding of her situation and committed to pleasuring her in a safe yet
exploratory environment.

As always, I'd really love to invite people to tell me what they thought of this chapter.
I'm interested in feedback as I want this fic to accurately depict them as best as
possible.
 A Game of Truth and Flames
Chapter Notes

Warning: Minor references to SA.

Follow me on Tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/beaumaismortel for updates and

sneak peeks of new chapters!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Spinning and heavy, her mind reeled from a lost state of consciousness.

Gwyn woke gradually under a haze of thick smoke, a dull ache set into her occipital lobe and the
remnants of a forgotten blow to the chest still tender with harsh bruising as she roused. Her mouth
was as dry as ash as she tried to swallow, the cloth that had been stuffed in there had caused her jaw
to ache and her tongue to numb. She shifted uncomfortably as her hands pulled on the rope that
bound her wrists. The skin burned and she didn’t have to look to know that the friction between her
flesh and the tight bounds had caused rash and bleeding.

How had it all gone so wrong so quickly?

One minute she had finally convinced Azriel to let her scout the perimeter by herself and listen for
any sentries who were chatting with loose lips and the next, she was being struck over the head and
kicked square in the gut.

The cloth was pulled from her mouth as she finally rose her head to greet her captors, “What’s your
name, girl?”

Her mind raced for a family name decidedly Autumn in nature, yet not prestigious enough to raise
any suspicion or research into her heritage. The main character from a book she read last year came
to mind as she replied as evenly as possible, “Geneviève Fraser, sir.”

They had her tied to a wooden post in the central sprawl of the camp. By some manner of a
miracle, Beron apparently wasn’t in residence. A truth that was evidenced clearly by the absence of
his hounds and the distinct lack of screaming coming from his tent.

So, the Autumn garrison, in all their namesake cruelty, had taken to humiliating and interrogating
her publicly in the meantime. She tried to ignore the mix of hunger and brutality that seemed to be
plastered on every one of the onlooker's faces. Between the books she had read and her own
experience she knew one thing for sure, wars made monsters of men. Even the most elegant of
males could be turned to starved savagery in a war camp and it seemed she had come face to face
once again with that reality.

“We’ll ask you again girl…” The burly soldier spat, his screaming voice blaring in her ears, “How
is it that you happened to find yourself dallying around a bloody war camp?”
Gwyn glared at the two soldiers that had found her on the eastern border of the camp as they
looked upon her with a mix of amusement and disdain.

“I didn’t know-”

Before she knew it, a devastating slap landed on the side of her face, her jaw trembling in its wake.
She bit down the pain, focusing on anything else but the whipping burn that graced the flesh.
“Don’t lie to me, girl. The nearest village isn’t for a days-long ride and you don’t have a horse.”

Time had escaped her and she didn’t know whether it had been three minutes or three hours since
that blow to the back of the head knocked her clean off her feet. Azriel would know she was gone
by now, and if she didn’t get out soon, there was no denying this camp would be razed to ashen
ground and another war was started in a matter of seconds.

“I told you, I-”

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” There was no mistaking the smooth, aristocratic tone
as any other than Eris Vanserra’s. Her neck craned sidewards to see the High Lord’s son surveying
her tight-roped bounds and then, her captors with an arrogant glare of disapproval. Gwyn’s brows
knitted together as he leisurely strolled over to her, looking her over as if she were some kind of
escaped, prized pig that had rolled itself in mud. “I thought I told you not to go wandering off...”

Gwyn caught the subtle gleam in his amber-hued eyes, one that told her to go along with whatever
lie he had quickly spun from the Autumn air. “I…I’m sorry, I needed some fresh air.”

Eris made a masculine grunting sound of chiding annoyance as he turned to the two soldiers that
had taken it upon themselves to question her publicly, “Is there a reason why you’ve tied up my
favourite mistress like some kind of witch for burning?”

In the haze of residual concussion and her growing confusion, Gwyn almost snorted. She would
rather be set alit at the stake than ever be his mistress. But she knew that right now Eris was her
only chance at getting out of this unscathed, so instead, she trained her face into a look of guilty
pleading, as if she were sorry she had disappointed him.

“She’s… She’s your whore?”

Eris gave a sharp glare to the soldier, who had gone still under surveillance. “Yes, and while I do
like to see her tied up and begging…” He levelled a heavy smirk in Gwyn’s direction, to which she
practically sneered back at, “I don’t appreciate that pretty sight being afforded to others… Is that
understood, McNab…Gordon?”

“Yes, your grace.” They both replied, practically shaking from the threat lacing his cool tone. But
the burly one, apparently absent of good sense, spoke up, “We found her creeping around in the
eastern brush, it was the clothes your grace…” He gestured to Gwyn’s leathers and then, lifted the
dagger that had been confiscated, the sapphire pommel glinting in the afternoon sun. “And her
personal effects… We didn’t suspect a mistress of the royal household to be so…”

The other soldier answered for him when the words seemed to remain absent, “Oddly presented,
Sir.”

Of course, because what kind of mistress to a High Lord’s son would be dressed as a soldier? She
prayed his penchant for lying extended to thinking quickly on his feet, but she couldn’t take that
risk, not when so much had been hanging in the balance of it. Gwyn rolled her eyes, “Haven’t you
ever heard of role play, you half-witted fool?”
Eris raised an approving brow at the remark, his hand coming up to run a doting finger across
Gwyn’s mandible, her chin and then, grazed over her lips. It felt odd to be touched like that by
anyone other than Azriel and the discomfort that bloomed in her gut as a result was difficult to
hide. “Yes, not that I owe any of you a reason for how I dress my females, but we were playing a
little game…” He gave them a smirk soaked in rich arrogance, “I like my whores like I like my
army, armed to teeth and looking utterly lethal… It’s more interesting that way.” Eris gave a smirk
to the crowd, “Not that I’d expect you two to know the semantics of bedding females.” The males
erupted into laughter, the tension easing.

His gaze found hers again before Eris ran another appreciative sweep down her form.

Suddenly, he barked, “Now untie her and apologise for beating my only source of entertainment in
this godforsaken forest.”

The soldiers quickly rushed behind the pole, to where she had been bound at the wrists and the
keen tightness of the rope loosened. “Apologies… my lady. It will not happen again.”

Gwyn straightened, the stiff, aching muscles of her arms straining as they came back to her side. “I
should hope not.”

Eris glowered at the crowd, sending them to break from their gawking and on their way. He
offered her an arm, and she took it as he said loud enough for the soldiers remaining in close
proximity to hear, “Come and show me just how sorry you are for disobeying my orders with that
pretty mouth of yours.”

When he had closed the curtain behind them and they were in privacy, Eris’ silky demeanour
abruptly fell away. He gripped her bicep and whispered sharply, “What the fuck are you doing
here?”

She sneered up at him, “I hardly came voluntarily. I was captured trying to gather intel. Intel, that
you apparently withheld from us.”

He ignored that last jab as he tightened his grip on her, “Do you even know what they would’ve
done to you? What manner of horror my father likes to inflict on foreign spies? I know you’re
fucking the torture master of the Night Court…”

Gwyn’s breathing hitched, her mind turning hazed once again. The torture master of the Night
Court?

“… but I guarantee you Beron’s methods would turn even your solid stomach south.”

Gwyn’s parted lips and wide eyes gave her ignorance away. A cruel smirk landed on Eris’ features
as he registered her shock, “Oh… So, he hasn’t told you of his little side job yet, has he?”

“That’s none of your concern.” She brushed off the revelation, forcing her features back into a
glare as she reached for her dagger still grasped in his hand. But he gripped the hilt harder in
response, not yielding it back to her.

Eris loosed a deep chuckle, the sound evoking the smoothness of smoke and the heat of flames,
“It’s funny, isn’t it? How the Night Court are so ready to place blame on others for their lapses in
morality when they are just as guilty in perpetrating atrocities… And what do they get? A pat on
the back.”
“Don’t speak about my Court like that. You know nothing about us.” Gwyn spat the words as she
struggled from his grip. He didn’t let go, only leaning in closer.

Eris’ grin widened to reveal a row of straight white teeth, “I know more than you apparently… and
I’m just a humble observer, how embarrassing for you.”

Gwyn gave a sharp scoff, “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you humble.”

“And I wouldn’t call you particularly grateful given I just saved you from being burnt alive piece
by piece.”

“What do you want me to do your grace?” She said his title with such sarcastic deference that to
her surprise, the High Lord’s son smirked, “…Bow and scrape at your feet for committing the
egregious crime of having a moral compass?”

Eris’ hand loosened at her bicep, reaching up to indolently tuck a rogue piece of hair behind her
ear. Her jaw clenched as he replied silkily, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to you getting on your
knees, darling.”

Her hand was up in the air before he could register the reaction and it slammed into the column of
his neck a moment later. “The only way you will ever see me on my knees before you, is if I’m
cutting off your balls, Vanserra.”

But the lethal threat that laced her words seemingly missed its mark, as Eris glanced down at the
hand wrapped around his throat in piqued interest and then, had the audacity to grin back at her in
twisted delight. “Oh, you are fun, aren’t you? No wonder why he likes you… Pretty and violent. I
must say you make a lovely pair.”

“Jealous?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Something wicked flashed in those ravaging amber eyes as she leaned further into him with a cruel
smirk of her own. Her other hand fell on top of the one that gripped her dagger, stroking it lightly
as she looked up at him through her lashes and said, “Good.”

He smelled of the dry turn of earth and scorched wood, something heavy and smoky lingering
around them. Just as her lips were about to graze his, Gwyn turned her cheek to his ear and
tightened her grip on his neck so his trachea strained under the pressure. She noted the way his
body relaxed under her grip as if he found some kind of keen pleasure from the act and took the
ripe opportunity to snatch the dagger from his distracted fingers.

In one singular move that would’ve made both Cassian and Azriel proud as punch, she had him up
against the tent wall, the blade of her dagger pressing lightly into the soft place just below his chin,
her hand still gripped just below.

The seductive gleam in her features had been drained completely to reveal grave anger etched into
every crevice of her face, “Are you betraying us, Vanserra?”

Eris’s menacing grin remained, but his gaze had averted to a point of interest over her shoulder.
“Oh… very good, I wonder which big bad Illyrian taught you that move.”

The familiar sensation of cool whisps that flittered around her boots and legs told her exactly who
the male was looking at. Though the bond between her and Azriel was not forged, the mere simple
threads of it gave her the sense that his fury had quickly turned to something else…something dark
and more unhinged. A flood of acute panic, sickening concern and fury all rolled into one
menacing tidal wave.

“Answer her.” Azriel’s tone was a lethal slice of baritone velvet and she almost sighed in relief at
hearing it.

“I must say,” he drawled, still unaffected by the bloodied promises that laced their threats, “…this
is either the most suggestively seductive torture technique or, the most dangerous method of
foreplay I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing… Either way, consider me intrigued.”

Gwyn felt her mate’s presence draw closer as she pushed the blade further into the tender skin of
his neck, revealing a small droplet of blood at the tip. “I’ll ask again… Are you betraying us?"

He rolled his amber eyes in irritation, “Obviously not. If I was, why the fuck would I have saved
your pretty little ass out there? If I wanted to betray you, surely, I’d let you be barbequed by my
father.”

It was a fair enough explanation, but Gwyn didn’t remove the dagger or loosen her grip on him.
Azriel’s warmth radiated from behind as his hot breath scattered across her tender neck, and the
shell of her ear. She swallowed down the unwelcome surge of longing it brought up within her and
refocused. “What else do you know then?”

Eris’ gaze was still pinned on Azriel, his features twisted into something teasing as he avoided her
question entirely and said, “She’s a lovely little thing, Shadowsinger… Especially when she’s
pressed up against me and dealing those honey-laden threats with that pretty pink mouth of hers.”

The silence that met his mockery was deafening, a cool draft of icy wind rising in the tent despite
the small fire that burned in the corner. Gwyn didn’t have to reach down the fractured bridge of the
bond to know he was contemplating ripping the High Lord’s son apart. And perhaps at that
moment, she would have let him.

A serpentine shadow snaked up Gwyn’s arm and came to wrap around her hand, reinforcing the
pressure that found his trachea. Eris let out a choked laugh. “Fine…Fine, you’re both no fun today
it seems… They can’t find the amulet. My father brought me in yesterday as a last resort.”

Satisfied with his compliance, Gwyn withdrew the blade from his throat, shoving her hand away
from him as she stepped to the side. Azriel instead moved closer, eyes cold and the flames that
usually burnt in them nothing but charred ghosts as they pierced through Eris’ amber ones.
Amusement met the Autumn male's pointed features as he surveyed him.

But Azriel’s voice hadn’t wavered from its low growl as he asked, “Who is Pontus?”

Eris cracked a wide grin as he strolled unhurriedly away from the wall, “How about we play a
game?” With a wave of his hand, three crystal glasses were filled with a thick brown liquid that
smelled of smoked barley and apple.

“We’re not here to socialise,” Gwyn replied, even as he placed the glass in her fingers.

Eris held the other glass to Azriel, his hand extended out into the open air with as he crooked a
brow in suggestion.

She gave her mate a subtle nod and reluctantly, he took the glass from the Autumn male’s hand. If
playing one of his twisted games was how they were going to get answers, she would play. And
Gwyneth Berdara would win.
“I’ll go first since you just rudely threatened my life…” Eris declared, lounging into an armchair
indolently before taking a sip of the liqueur. “Who’s your father?”

Wait, what?

Gwyn frowned at the unexpected question, her eyes darting to Azriel’s. But it was no use, her
mate’s glare was already set on Eris’ in some kind of warning.

“Don’t answer that.” He growled.

But Gwyn ignored the request as she replied, “I don’t know, I never met him.”

Something sparked in Eris’ amber eyes as he took a lengthy sip, before asking again, “Who’s your
mother then?”

“You said a question for a question.” She replied, taking a seat in the armchair opposite him, Azriel
apparently intent on brooding in the corner. Eris only smirked in apparent humour, tilting his glass
in salute to her to continue.

“Where have the soldiers been looking in the Night Court?”

“Up and down the inferior portion of the Noctus River mainly… some streams and lakes too from
what I’ve gathered… The Regulus and the Andromeda were the focal points.” He took another sip,
relaxing into the caramel leather of the armchair, “I’m sure you can appreciate it’s rather hard to
look for a magical amulet lost to time itself in a river as long as the width of the land it runs
through and as cold as Kallius’ ballsack…”

Gwyn ignored the crass language as she held the drink up to her lips, smelling the contents of it
with curiosity. Normally she would avoid alcohol altogether but in Chapter 20 of the book she had
read about spy work and interrogation, the author outlined the power that trust could yield. It was
mostly psychological, as most reconnaissance was. Taking a sip would inadvertently tell Eris she
trusted him enough not to poison her and would make him relax amongst the company of his foes.
So, she took a sip, tasting the rich maple flavour of apple and spice dancing on her tongue. She
knew that since he had stuck his neck out to save hers, there would be no point in poisoning her, so
there really was no risk. Especially while Azriel was in the corner ready to slice him up into fine
pieces.

Admittedly, whatever it was, was delicious.

“Spiced apple brandy…” He explained, noting the satisfaction on her face, “An Autumn Court
speciality.” Eris grinned at her in feline approval as he asked, “What was your mother’s name?”

Again, Azriel bristled and made to interject but Gwyn was faster as she replied, “Alicent Berdara.”

“Of…”

“You get one question and I answered it,” Gwyn responded sharply, taking another sip to dull her
rising irritation.

Eris breathed out a soft chuckle as he corrected, “In Autumn, a female’s title is part of her name…”

Gwyn scoffed in disapproval.

“Call it sexism or misogyny or whatever you like, but a female is only as good as her blood is pure
in my father’s Court…So actually love, as we’re on my soil, I believe I’m entitled to the final part
of your answer.”

She clenched her jaw, before finally conceding. “Alicent Berdara, of House Forest.”

If the High Lord’s son was surprised, he didn’t let on, only nodding slightly and taking another sip
of his liquor.

“How are your Autumn Court soldiers navigating crossing the border without tripping the wards?”

“Wards don’t mean shit when it comes to High Lords and their power. They only deter the masses.
And even in the strongest of wards, there are holes and weak points. Rhysand may think he’s the
most powerful in Prythian but there are things not even he can hold over the sacred powers…” He
gave a shrug, “Amazing what a splash of regal High-Fae blood will do these days.”

Gwyn spared a glance over to Azriel who had taken to quietly plotting murder with a clenched jaw
and the grinding of his teeth.

Not only did he hate the personal nature of Eris’ questioning, but she knew he still hadn’t gotten
over her capture. Saw the panic that still resided in his eyes and knew that she would receive a
lengthy tongue-lashing for the mistakes she made when they left. But if Gwyn knew anything, it
was to make every mistake count for something. There was an opportunity here to make the
capture worth it. But that would only be the case if they left knowing more information than they
had arrived with. She took another sip, awaiting whatever frightfully strange and personal question
that laced Eris’s lips.

“What manner of powers do you have?”

“Enough.” Azriel’s growl cut through their little game like a knife through soft butter. “We’re
leaving.”

And there it was again…That same threat laced his gaze which was still directed at Eris. Gwyn
turned suspiciously to him, while the Autumn male just watched in keen amusement as he surveyed
them.

“It’s just a question…And a fair one, wouldn’t you say? Since mine is obviously fire and yours is
those shadows and that broodingly handsome face…” Eris turned back to Gwyn, looking into her
as if he could peer within her very bones, “So what’s yours I wonder?”

“I don’t have any powers.”

Immediately by his growing smirk, she knew he didn’t buy the lie, no matter how effortless it was.
“You see love, that’s another thing about regal blood, it ensures we can smell the power that runs
through the veins of others… And you?” He glanced over to Azriel, a teasing glint in his eye, “You
smell utterly delectable… Good enough to eat, actually.”

A low growl left Azriel’s throat. A sound purely animalistic and wild, so absent of his usual grace
and velvet softness.

“What’s wrong Shadowsinger? Is there something you don’t want her to know?” His gaze fell to
Gwyn, “Looks like your darling Illyrian has been keeping more than one secret from you after
all…”

She swallowed, her mind flittering back to what he had said earlier, ‘the Torture Master of the
Night Court’. That’s what he had called Azriel and somewhere deep down, she knew it to be the
truth.
It was all too much, Gwyn’s head began spinning trying to compartmentalise all the new
information, but the strong drink had gone to her head and ate at her senses.

Gwyn couldn’t help but ask, “What is it you are saying?”

A feral grin overtook his features, as he swished around the remnants of his drink, “Ditch the
grumpy bat and have dinner with me, then I’ll tell you.”

Before she could answer, Azriel was next to her, his features set into something altogether cold and
warning. The shadows had coiled into obsidian vipers at his shoulders, as if ready to strike. “Let’s
go.” He demanded again, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“Oh, I do hope I haven’t made things awkward for you both…” Eris drawled, “Next time Lady
Autumn, you should stay for tea… Maybe we could start a few fires of our own.”

A cloud of shadows abruptly engulfed their forms, her vision blackening as they fell through the
dark chamber of space and time, winnowing away.

Gwyn blinked as they materialised into the foyer of what looked to be a small townhouse. It was a
place she had never been before, a cosy home decorated in rich colours and quiet with
abandonment. Faelights burned to life as their presence became known to the home, the distant
roaring of fire meeting her ears from the adjoining living room.

Anger spurted in her blood as she turned to Azriel, who had taken to clenching his eyes shut and
pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t done with him yet. We could have gotten more answers.”

He didn’t make a move, taking a long moment before he finally answered, “Did they hurt you?”

“No,” she quickly lied, hoping the bruise on her chest and the blow to the head had healed by now.
“What the hell was that all about?” She wanted to ask about Eris’ line of questioning and his
suspicious avoidance. But her mind only could think of one, singular thing.

Azriel sunk to the floor, exhaustion plaguing him as his wings dragged down the wall behind him.
“Gwyn, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were the Torture Master of the Night Court?”

She watched as he went preternaturally still, even his shadows pausing in their undulating
floatation as the words were swallowed by the silent room.

There was no telling what was louder, her heartbeat or his as she stared at him, eyes welling with
tears. But those tears were not for the nature of his job. No. She had mostly gathered Azriel had
been complicit in many acts such as those of dark violence that vicious methods of torture
demanded. She had seen how heavily that responsibility had weighed upon him when he came
back from the Hewn City bloodied and broken.

It was for the fact that he hadn’t told her, that Gwyn’s eyes now flooded and something in her
chest fractured slightly.

He loosed a heavy, sorrowful sigh as his head came back to rest on the wall, the long column of his
throat exposed to the warmth of the stairwell light. For a moment, she thought perhaps he was
going to reply, but he swallowed down whatever words were on the tip of his tongue and
seemingly opted for silence.
“Is it because you thought I would think differently of you?” Gwyn couldn’t keep the devastation
from her voice, couldn’t hide the hurt and ache that had burrowed deep into her chest.

Azriel remained silent, his eyes still closed as she watched him try to navigate the situation in his
mind. He was a strategist at heart, a male that was always as calculated as he was informed. For
years he had the knowledge and wisdom for combating every conflict fought and foe that had
crossed him. But now, as he finally opened those blackened eyes… now he looked empty. Entirely
drained of all the tried and true coping mechanisms that he had previously relied upon and forged
into those adamant barriers he had put up his entire life.

Exposed and raw, the fallen angel was before her once more.

His voice was but a decibel above a whisper as he finally said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Azriel shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes as he said, “I’m sorry you found out through
fucking Eris Vanserra what a monster I am. I’m sorry you were captured. I’m sorry that I didn’t get
there in time…Again.”

Again. The word struck her like an arrow to the chest, she wasn’t sure she was breathing. The
memory of that fateful night in Sangravah came flooding back to her in shards of cutting glass,
every reflection, a foul moment that she would never be able to scrub from her mind.

I’m sorry that I didn’t get there in time.

Again.

A lone tear escaped the well in her eyes and ran down her cheek as she shook her head. “No-”

“I want to be enough for you, Gwyn… I want to be the type of male that you are proud of, but I...”

On slow but reassured footsteps she came down to sit on top of him, her legs flanking his large
thighs as they had done the other night. But this time it wasn’t an act of hot-blooded desire or fiery
lust, it was one of need. The need for her flesh to be at one with his. The need for him to know she
was not afraid of him or what he had done and sacrificed for those he loved.

Her hands took his trembling ones as she lifted them and planted kisses on his scarred knuckles,
“You are more than enough…” She continued dragging her lips over his hands until every knuckle
was thoroughly touched by her absolving lips. “And nothing you could ever do would change that
for me.”

His hands gripped her own, their gazes meeting, “When I found out you had been taken, I lost it,
Gwyn… I tracked the men that found you by scent and I… I interrogated them for answers about
you. I tortured them and killed them. Brutally.”

Azriel was searching her face for any sign of repugnance or even displeasure, but there was none.
Only careful, loving patience.

How could she blame him for such a thing? When she knew the bond was a strong and powerful
force that coaxed the best and worst from the soul in the name of fate? Gwyn knew that if it was
Azriel that had been captured, no manner of sickening brutality would be too great for her either.
And perhaps that was macabre and entirely immoral, but in that moment she didn’t care.

“That is what I do, Gwyn. I am the one they call when violence is not enough. I am the nightmare
of that Court in the Hewn city.”

She remained quiet, giving him the time and space to finally talk to her. As she waited for him to
continue, her fingers began lightly massaging his palms, his hands. Kneading out the pressure with
slow, gentle strokes of her fingers, she nodded for him to continue.

“…And the only reason why I didn’t murder Eris was because I realised that he had helped you.
But make no mistake, I was ready to. I was ready to go against Rhysand and Feyre and the entire
Night Court to make him pay. I didn’t care and I still don’t.”

Gwyn’s hands abandoned their cause and found either side of his face as she wiped the fallen tears
from his cheeks with her thumbs, “I know, Azriel. But I’m okay. We’re okay…” She looked
around at the strange foyer before saying, “We’re safe. You weren’t too late, and you never were.”
Her lips found his as she kissed him, long and slow and full of something warm and heavy.
Reassurance and resolution laced every swipe of her mouth against his.

“I’m here because of you…” Gwyn kissed him again, “I’m here because of these lovely, capable
hands.” She brought his palm to her lips once more, her voice wavering as she said, “I could never
see you as anything but that male, Azriel. The male that saved me when I had given up hope. The
one who told me I was going to be okay and offered me his cloak when I felt so utterly torn open
and debased…” The words were on the tip of her tongue, those three pretty, true, dangerous words.
But she swallowed them down, now wasn’t the time for that. Instead, she offered another truth, one
she had never voiced before, “I was ready to give up that night, so just know that you saved me.
And I will never let you forget that.”

His hazel gaze, flooded with a stream of salted tears bore into her own. Though his voice was
quiet, his reply rang like the toll of bells, making a temple of her aching chest, “You saved me too,
Berdara.”

They stayed like that on the carpeted floor for what felt like an hour. Azriel eventually explained to
her that the house they were in was one of Rhys’ and that it was currently unoccupied. She listened
as he admitted that after particularly demanding missions, he would fly here to be alone. But she
knew that for what it really meant; to gather up the discarded pieces of himself and try to become
whole again before letting his family see the damage that had been caused.

On heavy footsteps, he led her up the stairs, taking her to a large guest room that opened to a
generously lavish bathroom. He fished out some pyjamas for her from another room down the
corridor, a pale blue pair of shorts and a matching camisole and then, left her to bathe.

There was nothing she wanted more than to reach out and ask Azriel to stay. For him to see all of
her. Even the scars that never healed over, even the curves of her hips and the dips of her flesh. But
her heart felt heavy in her chest and the gravity of that choice, that vulnerability of being entirely
naked compounded the more she thought on it.

When Gwyn climbed into the soft sheets of the bed beside Azriel, she found him bathed and in a
lone pair of black boxers. As she sunk into the mattress, he gently pulled her into him. The
shadows draped over them like another blanket of cool, comforting air and those large, beautiful
wings of his, curved inwards to encapsulate them into a cocoon, drowning out the rest of the world,
even just for a small moment.

Gwyn’s ear found the crest of Azriel’s chest, and her fingers took their favoured residence, laced
into his. The calming symphony of his heartbeat lulled her own as she breathed in his rich scent.
 Night chilled mist and cedar, the smell of safety.

The scent of home.

And though Gwyn wasn’t sure he held the same sentiments, she felt Azriel turn to place a kiss on
the crown of her head and breathe her in, the same way she did with him.

“I have something else to tell you…” He said, fingers lacing into the silken, copper threads of her
hair the way they always did when she was wrapped in his arms. “… About what happened to me
when I was a child.”

Gwyn nodded, her gaze travelling to the scars on his hands and then she shifted, so she could see
the candour that had dripped into the gilded hazel of his eyes. There was no hesitation in his gaze,
only something like resolved intent. She pecked him on the cheek in response and waited for him
to begin patiently. Waited for that final wall, the oldest, strongest and most brutal of them all to fall
down.

“My father was a cruel and vicious man. He was the Lord of an old Illyrian estate and my mother,
bore me out of wedlock…”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter End Notes

“That is what I do, Gwyn. I am the one they call when violence is not enough. I am the
nightmare of that Court in the Hewn city.”

This chapter was a continuation of Azriel's healing journey and specifically, the
themes introduced in Chapter 20: War and Peace.

I deliberately left the truth of Azriel's past and job as a torture master unresolved
because I felt as if he needed to undergo more character development before having
the ability to be honest with her about those things. As discussed before, I honestly
believe that because Gwyn is such a rational intellect, she would have a realist view of
Azriel's job. I think the issue she fundamentally takes with it is not what he does but
what those responsibilities ultimately do to him and his degrading mental health. This
will continue to be discussed later on in the fic.
It was very clear to me from the bonus chapter we got in ACOSF that Azriel views
himself as something of a monster because of his role in the Night Court. This breaks
my heart into a million pieces and so I love to write scenes where Gwyn is reaffirming
his morality and worth the way he deserved someone to - because God knows nobody
else in the fucking inner circle has tried.

I also wanted to circle back to a major point of grief that I believe would plague our
little martyr/emo boy Azriel, which came in the form of the line, "I’m sorry that I
didn’t get there in time. Again." As I said in the previous chapters, I've been thinking a
lot about what conflict and contention would arise in Gwyn and Az's relationship. His
guilt and fundamental connection to the worst night of her life and the source of her
trauma really stood out to me. Because of course, Azriel would feel guilty for not
saving her 'properly'. I wanted that to hit home for both of them and I hope it translated
to the reader.

On a lighter note...Yay for more Eris!

I really like toying with the Eris/Azriel/Gwyn dynamic, I think it's hot and I wish SJM
had the balls to write a good threesome but let's face it...She doesn't and never will. So
I will remain contented by sprinkling crumbs in my work until I actually commit to
writing an unhinged one shot of one myself. I wanted to highlight here how Gwyn is
very capable and adept at interrogation and though Azriel spent most of the time being
a brooding bat, I wanted to show how he would likely hand the reigns over to her
when it came to questioning. This was a way I tried to illustrate he had learned from
his previous mistakes and took on Gwyn's request to give her more of an opportunity
to have agency in the field. I loved writing the shift in power dynamics and how their
personalities would interact. I also just adore Eris Vanserra and I find him to be one of
the most interesting ACOTAR characters despite being in all of like 5 chapters of the
books.

Anyway! Let me know what you think about this chapter. I didn't get much feedback
on the previous one, which was surprising because whenever there's smut people tend
to put their two cents in but oh well!

Also, I'm desperately looking for an artist to commission work from, if you are an
artist that does fan art please message me.

Lou x
 The Candour of Moonlight
Chapter Notes

Warning: Chapter includes discussion of sexual assault that some may find triggering.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Azriel had told her everything, well, more than he had ever told anyone before, anyway. And when
he was done, his voice was hoarse and his throat was left scratched from the lapse in his tendency
to be a male of few words.

And with that lapse came some kind of otherworldly lightness, like the secrets he had carried in the
left cavity of his chest had somehow been excised and the space now allowed for his heart to
thump harder and his blood to warm.

Despite the tiredness that had set deep into their bones, he and Gwyn lay in that bed for most of the
star-lit night talking with soft voices and touching with gentle caresses. He told her about his half-
brothers, the fire and the scars, the Illyrian war camp and how Rhys and Cassian taught him to fly.
Then, Azriel spoke about the war and how he was recruited to front the espionage unit, how Rhys’
father personally assigned him to interrogate the slavers and those that supported them. How the
High Lord had capitalised on the ability of his shadows and his penchant for delivering justice
through violence.

And through it all, Gwyn was patient and kind. Those sparkling azure eyes held nothing of
contempt or judgement, only interest and the commitment to listen to his story. She didn’t flinch
when he told her of the way the flesh of his hands melted under the flame-lit petroleum, nor did she
strike him with a look of sickening pity when he told her about the first time Rhys’ father demand
he flay a male for treachery.

Their fingers remained laced in one another’s while he spoke. Gwyn took to occasionally planting
kisses on his knuckles, his chest and though she gave him the space to talk, every so often she
would ask a question. And every time, he answered in truth.

Every time, he gave her more scattered pieces of himself that had never been aired to the world.

Azriel even told her about Morrigan, about how he had never seen a non-Illyrian female before the
day she strode into the war camp with a wide grin and a penchant for trouble. How for the first and
last time in his life he wanted to desperately kill Cassian for the mess made the night he took her
maidenhead. She listened as he told her of his four hundred-year unrequited longing.

“Do you think you fell in love with her more for what she represented to you?” There was no hint
of jealousy or judgment that laced Gwyn’s soft tone as she asked the question.

“What do you mean?”

She let out a long sigh, turning her chin so she could look up at him through her lashes, “I only
mean that Morrigan is a confident, empowered female and maybe you associated her character
with everything that Illyria doesn’t represent… Maybe because she was the antithesis of how
Illyrian men preferred their females to be, how your father made your mother, that you took such
infatuation with her…”

The revelation struck his mind like the toll of a bell. He had never thought of it like that before. In
fact, for most of his unrequited love for Morrigan was a perfectly cruel brand of self-harm.
Something so perfect and so close, yet so far away from his grasp. It was a delicious brand of
torture just for him.

And yet now, as he looked down to the lovely face that peered up to him, glanced at the spray of
long copper hair and sprinkles of rusted freckles, Azriel wondered how he had ever thought he had
seen perfection before he set eyes on Gwyneth Berdara. Mor may have been beautiful, but Gwyn
had a beauty that the old poets that took residence on his bookshelves wrote about. A kind of
beauty that shone brighter than the burning stars and struck you down in its majesty, like some
kind of divine force. And even now, he felt that force tug on him, as if his ribs were caught on
some kind of hook and it were being pulled.

His voice was quiet as he replied, “I suppose so… I haven’t thought of it like that before…”

Gwyn nodded, “It’s okay you know…” Her gaze drifted downwards, averting from his, “If you
still have feelings for her, I understand.” She gave a soft laugh, “I mean she’s the Morrigan. People
will write books about her one day.”

Azriel almost barked a laugh at the supreme absurdity of her words, at the acute irony they
represented coming from her perfect pink lips. How could she be so stupidly blind and yet so
indecently smart? The silent comparison she drew between herself and Mor made him ache a little.
“I’m afraid my black hearts become rather occupied with other things, Berdara.”

And there it was, a confession Azriel had never thought he would ever be able to voice aloud to
someone, to anyone. And yet, it felt so natural coming from his lips, as if they were made to say
the words.

Gwyn’s voice was barely a whisper as she replied, “What other things?”

In one swift movement, Azriel flipped her onto her back, a cascade of copper silken hair falling
around her lovely face like some kind of burnished halo. His forearms came down to flank her face
as he dragged a scarred finger over the cluster of freckles that sat just below her pretty clavicle.
“These…” With warm, soft lips he placed a kiss on the spot and drew no shortage of masculine
delight from the way she sucked in a breath at the contact.

She rose a brow, “And what else?”

There was a silent yet pressing question that laced those words. One that he knew asked if she was
the only female he wanted in his sheets and taking up the space in his scoured and scratched heart.
And fuck, looking at Gwyneth Berdara, as those perfect teal eyes bore into his, Azriel was never
more sure of anything in his entire life. He wanted her and only her, and perhaps he had done for
far longer than he would like to admit. And if he was ever an absolutist, it was now.

Azriel levelled her an indecorously wicked grin, his fingers trailing in exploration up the soft
column of her throat, feeling her swallow and then to her plump lips. With his thumb, he gently
parted the bottom lip, “These are proving to be particularly ruinous…” Another kiss was placed on
her mouth, the addictive scent of heavy rain, lilies and bluebells wrapped in the salted sea
enveloped him and drew him closer. Deeper into her orbit.
A brilliant smile that would make the brightest star full of envy shone on Gwyn’s features as he
pulled away, “And what else?”

Azriel rose a brow, making a show of surveying the length of her body with concern before
replying, “How much time do you have?”

Her laugh filled the room, the house, the entire land, as it echoed in the once-shadowed chambers
of his heart. “Oh, I’m afraid that depends on my boss…” She leaned upwards on her elbows to
whisper in his ear conspiratorially, “He’s rather strict and demanding with my schedule.”

A low hum rumbled from his throat as he took to kissing the tender spot over her jugular, “He
sounds awful…”

Her head hung back as she gave a nod, stifling her grin, “And broodingly bossy… But admittedly,
quite handsome.”

“Handsome?” His hand came to the small of her waist, his fingers sliding just above the hem of her
camisole to the sensitive skin that was hidden there.

Gwyn released a ragged breath through her smile, “Stupidly handsome...”

An indecent smirk tugged at his lips, hiding the true warmth that settled in his chest at the
compliment. “Well in that case,” he continued, lifting up her camisole to expose the pale skin of
her stomach, the peaked edges of her ribs, “I better get started before the bastard gets back…”

She sucked in a hot breath as his cruel lips trailed up her stomach towards her ribcage. In response,
her fingers buried into the lush thickness of his hair.

Azriel kissed every exposed inch of her, paying devotion to places she never thought a male would
think twice about. Her ankles, the dip of her hips, the tip of her nose and even her hair, unbound
and shining in the luminescence of the moonlight.

But there was a promise embedded into every caress of his lips, especially when he kissed the peak
of her nipple revealed through the thin material of her top or when he hovered low to kiss her bare
navel. A promise that made her heart beat a little faster and the bonds tethers forge a little stronger
than before. A vow that meant when she was ready, he would worship every bit of her flesh, even
the parts that were currently covered, even the parts that had been subject to sacrilege and
desecration before. Because for Gwyn, he would make every inch of her something divine and
spend his life devoted. For her, he would fall to his knees in worship, make their bed his temple
and the sound of her heavenly voice his favourite hymn.

They continued through the long night as Azriel committed to speak his long-held confessions.
Gwyn absolved every one with patient ears and gentle kisses, knowing the gravity of her mate's
candour was something to cherish.

Eventually, as dawn began to break through the blackened cloak of night and peer through the
window of the cosy townhouse, they fell asleep. His large form wrapped around hers, as if clinging
to her warmth and in return, her hands remained gripped his protectively, as if keeping them safe
next to the strong, beating thing in her chest.

And perhaps Azriel never had a real home before, but in that moment he felt the sensation of safety
and comfort fall over him like a longed-for blanket in the midst of a five-hundred-and-forty-one-
year winter.
Gwyn

There was something wholesome about the townhouse that she hadn’t experienced before. It was
perfectly small yet somehow generously proportioned, a place she knew had hosted many cup-
heavy dinner parties in the Summer and quiet nights sharing whispers by the fire in the Winter. A
home for a family.

A melancholy settled through her as she ventured down the suite of stairs and took to admiring the
mismatched art that cladded the walls, the rich colours and textures that ruled the décor and the
perfectly lived-in furniture that would now be considered antique. It was hard to envision a wealthy
High Lord living here, despite Azriel informing her this had once been his and Feyre’s cherished
home.

On exploratory padding feet, Gwyn marvelled at the simplistic beauty of the townhouse she had
woken in. The way fresh light shone through the bay window of the sitting room and drew warmth
into the space, illuminating the bookshelves that dominated the walls flanking the marble fireplace.

She wandered through the narrow corridor to the kitchen, a room of homes that Gwyn usually
abhorred and avoided where she could help it. And yet, somehow, this kitchen was different. When
she ran her fingers along the white marble of the countertop there was no familiar churn of fear or
pang of memory that greeted her, only the odd urge to take an afternoon there and eat and cook and
laugh with company. This was not a service kitchen made for servants like in the House of Wind,
nor was it a kitchen for boarders like in the library or Sangravah, this was a kitchen for something
else. For a life she hadn’t yet known and yet, suddenly found herself wanting.

Gwyn let herself imagine a world where she could do such normal things. Where she could wake
up well-rested and content after a mission, next to an equally calm, winged male with clear hazel
eyes. She would leave him in bed to go down the stairs in her favourite nightgown he had torn off
her the night before, and brew Velaris Breakfast tea for them both. In another life, she would make
fluffy pancakes or buttery toast with fancy jam and eat it at the grand dining table while the male
opposite her laughed in a velvet baritone that made his eyes crinkle and his teeth show. Then, she
might go for a stroll into town to the market square and not be bothered by the loud noise or the
close crowds as she met with her friends. They would sit at a café by the river and talk about their
lives, their work and laugh. And then, she would take the long way home, walking by the salted air
of the river and the street musicians. The remaining afternoon would be spent cuddled up on the
sofa, her legs in her mate’s lap as he read his reports and she delved into a new smutty book.

Such simple things and yet, as she stood there in the light-flooded kitchen, there was nothing she
wanted more. To have a life of equal measures adventure and safety. To have a purpose in her work
and a home to find at the end of a long day.

“Hungry?” Azriel’s quiet voice shook her from the rose-coloured images flashing in her mind. She
turned to see him leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed, and his gaze softened into
contemplation as he watched her. How long had he been there just…looking? Did he know that she
was dreaming about saccharine impossibilities that involved him? The way his eyes met hers told
her he might have. Azriel was in a pair of loose sweatpants, the broad muscle of chest and arms
honed by war and licked by ink still bare and tinged golden in the morning light.

Gwyn nodded, “Always.”

Azriel gave a soft laugh, making his way through to the kitchen and fumbling through the pantry
as if he had done so many times before. “I’m not the best cook I’m afraid,” He warned almost
bashfully, pulling out a loaf of fresh sourdough bread, a jar of fancy jam and some butter, “So it’s
going to have to be the basics.”

“I happen to love the basics.”

“Well, thank the Mother for that.” Azriel gave a boyish grin, as he set to work on making them
breakfast.

Not able to wipe the stupidly wide smile that was blooming off her face, she leaned on the
countertop and committed to simply watching him undertake such a domestic task. A quiet,
comfortable silence fell between them as birds sang from the garden beyond and the smell of toast
filled the light-flooded kitchen.

The things he had told her last night about his childhood set something bitterly sharp and aching to
grip at her chest. She wondered how after everything, all the neglect, the abuse, the pain, how
Azriel could still be so soft. How he could be a male that collects and reads the classics, how he
could take her hand and dance with patient eyes and make her breakfast with gentle, capable hands.

Without thinking twice about it, she made her way over to him as he dutifully buttered the toast and
wrapped her arms around his waist pulling him into her from behind. Azriel paused his buttering,
the sound of the knife scraping against the toast ceasing as he did. The taut muscles in his back
relaxed, his shoulders going limp as she squeezed him a little tighter.

Gwyn was good with words, in fact, her vocabulary was nothing short of exemplary. But in that
moment, her embrace said a thousand perfect words all at once and maybe that’s why, he ran a
grateful hand over her own and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Azriel turned taking her into his arms and pressing her small form into his muscular chest as if
needing more of her. His fingers laced through her messed hair, the other hand rubbing soft circles
on her back. She breathed in his scent greedily, placing a tender kiss on his carved flesh.

His voice was choked with some unknown emotion as he answered, “For staying... After
everything.”

She wondered if he truly had expected her to leave him after what he told her last night. Wondered
if Azriel had ever told anyone so many of his darkest secrets. Surely he knew by now how much
he meant to her. Gwyn let out a long sigh as those words threatened to wrench tears from her eyes.
Instead, she pulled out of his grip and gave him a brilliant grin, “You can’t get rid of me that
easily, Shadowsinger.”

He gave a nod, pulling away and returning to the cupboard. her eyes sparkled in delight as Azriel
pulled out a small tin and two mugs, before asking with a smile, “Tea?”

Gwyn requested they fly to the River House instead of winnowing, opting to enjoy the opportunity
to feel the wind in her hair and flood her lungs with the fresh sea-licked air. Azriel was all too
happy to oblige, taking her on a scenic route that skirted the Sidra as it glistened like crystal in the
midday sun.

At some point in their leisurely flight, her fingers had absentmindedly began threading through the
thick hair at the nape of his neck, the other, dedicated to tracing indolent circles on his chest. And
perhaps Azriel liked the sensation because he took the time to fly another circle before landing on
the plush grounds of the estate.

She took his hand in her own as they strolled through the flower bed-lined gardens, the saccharine
smell of fresh roses and the faint sound of busy, roaming bees following them as they went.

Her filthy leathers had been replaced with a simple, cornflower blue gown, something Azriel had
found in the High Lord and Lady’s old room and insisted on her wearing despite her many protests
on the inappropriateness of the act. He in turn wore his usual black ensemble, something he kept
stored in the bedroom for when he came back from missions and stayed.

As they approached the threshold of the grand home, the happy symphony of baby laughter
greeted them, followed by the pitter-patter of fast, chubby feet, followed by much heavier anxious
footsteps just behind.

“Can you hear your favourite Uncle?” Feyre’s voice cooed from behind the door as she opened it.
Nyx was revealed a moment later, those big blue eyes lighting up with undiluted joy as he looked
up to see Azriel and Gwyn at the door and clapped his hands in excitement.

A squeak of bubbling laughter fell from Nyx’s mouth as he walked on wobbly footsteps like a
newborn giraffe straight into the skirts of Gwyn’s gown, hugging her as if she were some long-lost
toy that had returned to him.

“He can walk?” Azriel sounded proud, shocked and terrified all at once.

Feyre looked exhausted, but not enough to fail at noticing their hands were laced within each
others. At the realisation that they had been caught, both of them pulled their hands away. Gwyn
and Azriel hadn’t discussed the semantics of what had slowly been building between them, but it
didn’t seem wise to warrant unnecessary attention and rumours.

Luckily, Feyre was kind enough not to mention it, but Gwyn couldn’t help but notice the warm
smile that flooded her fair features as a result. Brushing the hair from her face, she sighed, “Yes,
and it seems he’s content on learning to run today too.” The High Lady gave a laugh, “I’m just
glad he hasn’t worked out how to winnow.”

“Oh, what a smart boy!” Gwyn cooed, leaning down to pick up the babe who reached up to her
with open, wanting arms. Her well-practised hands were gentle not to grab at his little wings as she
swung him up and nestled him into the crook of her hip.

It was as if Yule had come early and the faeries at the little heir’s door were his most yearned-for
gifts, as Nyx took to lovingly grabbing a fistful of her copper hair and waving to his uncle, who
looked at the sight before him with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry,” The High Lady winced, “I think he has a thing for redheads, you should see him with
Lucien…The poor male leaves without clumps of hair.”

Gwyn only laughed, shaking her head as she tapped Nyx adoringly on his button nose, earning
another bubbling giggle, “It’s fine, I’m used to it… Well, I used to be anyway.” She felt the child
nestle into her chest, still playing with the captured lock of hair in his chubby fingers as he settled.

“Come in! Rhys is waiting for you two in the study…” Feyre shot a guilty glimpse towards Gwyn
as she said, “You wouldn’t mind taking him to his father, would you? He looks comfortable there
and I’m so tired, I think I might just fall asleep on the sofa.”

They both nodded in response, as they entered into the grandeur of the foyer, “Of course.”
She looked down at the heavy-eyed babe as they parted with the High Lady and began for the
study. The exact mix of his parents, the child was perfect in every way, but he was unmistakably
Illyrian with those little wings. They were so soft as they brushed against her arm, like sheets of
fine velvet. It was hard to believe that they would one day become the brutal appendages she was
more familiar with as she glanced upon them in their natal form, the talons were yet to grow into
sharp points and the lack of tendon and muscle that bound them ensured they were ineffectual.

Azriel was notably silent as he followed Gwyn and Nyx through the long corridor, a symphonic
folk song falling softly from her lips as she gently tapped his bottom in rhythmic pats.

The night had been long and heavy, both of them only getting a few hours of sleep before waking.
She supposed he was mentally going through his field report, readying key points and making sure
to remember important information in his official communication.

Sleep had found the babe before they even got to the business wing of the house and when Gwyn
looked over to Azriel to gloatingly inform him of her success, she found him already looking at
her, something soft and heavy in his hazel eyes.

“Here…” She whispered, offering Nyx to him, “I’ll show you another trick for when you are
eventually forced to babysit.”

Just as Azriel did the night of the dinner party, he took the baby with unsure hands, his features
contorted into a mix of apprehension and worry. It was the only time she could ever recall he had
looked awkward doing something, that perfectly polished finesse somehow absent as he cradled
the child. Gwyn urged him to take over the tapping motion on the baby’s bottom, failing to
suppress a smile as the child snuggled further into his uncle and a shadow wrapped around his little
hand in comfort. “If you keep the light pat going, they’re more likely not to stir when you hand
them over… And if they do, you can bounce them a little, babies love that.”

Azriel nodded, concentration clouding his fingers as he gently began replacing Gwyn’s movements
and swaying slightly. She knew enough about his demons to know it was the scars he hated seeing
on something so perfect as a child of the sacred Mother. But she noted the small smile twitch at his
lips when Nyx let out a little snore, indicating his venture in handling was successful.

“Well, well, well…” Rhysand cooed, somehow managing to watch from his doorway undetected
before snapping them out of the little moment they had shared, “Guess who’s on babysitting duty
next week, Az?”

“I’m away next week.” He quickly declined, the success still brimming in a smile on his lips.

Rhys only gave a humoured hum of agreement as he gestured for them to enter.

Gwyn only cracked a mocking grin at her mate and followed through to the confines of the plush
office, where she took a seat on one of the armchairs. As always, Azriel remained standing, but this
time it was for the baby's benefit and not his.

Rhysand smirked at him, a silent conversation passing through them as Gwyn waited patiently to
report.

The meeting was short and efficient, Azriel had seemingly refined his skill at reporting over his
many years and managed to inform the High Lord of every bit of important news in a quick
manner. They discussed the blank map, the letter and the odd codenames. Rhysand took the pieces
of parchment for closer assessment, claiming Amren would have a look at them tomorrow. And
then, when he mentioned that Eris was seen at the camps and that Gwyn had been captured, Rhys’
attention immediately shot to her, his gaze trailing over her form in an instinct of apparent
protectiveness.

There was something about the way the High Lord sometimes looked at her that Gwyn couldn’t
quite put her finger on. Something about the way occasionally he seemed to glance at her in a
moment of unshuttered candour, a sense of understanding flooding in his violet eyes. A brand of
understanding absent of pity but flourishing with some kind of deeper emotion that told her he
knew exactly what had been done to her in Sangravah and perhaps, like his brother, he felt some
semblance of guilt for it too.

“Did they hurt you?” His tone was measured, but the evidence of an edge could be found beneath
the words.

“No.” Gwyn shook her head, committing to keeping the slap, kick to the gut and knockout blow to
her head a secret to carry to her grave. “No, they didn’t get that far.”

She could almost hear the distaste for the fire Court pour into every syllable as Azriel explained,
“Eris proved himself useful for once and pulled her out of questioning before it got too far.”

If the High Lord was surprised at the Autumn male’s actions, he didn’t show it, only looked upon
her with sparked curiosity. “Did he have anything interesting to say before Az found you?”

Gwyn explained the interaction, watering down the more lewd points of Eris’ conversation and
sticking to the facts. The fury that had completely washed away in Azriel this morning seemingly
returned to his veins as his jaw clenched in abhorrence at the mention of the male alone with her.
Last night, he had told her of Mor’s unfortunate betrothal to the heir of Autumn and how she was
brutalised and left to die on the border. And though Gwyn knew Eris wasn’t a saint, admittedly she
found that story difficult to believe somehow, for there was definitely a darkness that dwelled in
the male but nothing of sinister violence that such an act would require. Or so she thought.

She watched with careful assessment at the High Lord’s reaction as she told him of Eris’ interest in
her parentage, dissatisfied when she found nothing in response that suggested why he would be
asking in the first place.

“Perhaps he thinks you’re his daughter? Or, granddaughter?”

Gwyn let out something between a snorting laugh of disbelief and a scowl of contempt.

Azriel sneered at the suggestion, dismissing it quickly, “No, his manner of crass conversation did
not suggest fatherly affection.”

“Hm…” Rhys sat back in his chair the silence returning to the room as she watched them once
again have some kind of silent conversation mind to mind. The High Lord finally sighed, a smirk
coming to his lips as he mused, “Maybe the prick's still hellbent on bagging a Valkyrie wife then?
If somehow Nesta didn’t stamp on his pride too much by rubbing Cassian in his face, you might be
the next victim on his list…”

Gwyn laughed, “Trust me when I say I really don’t think marriage was on his mind…” Unless
marriages in Autumn involved spiced apple brandy, mind games and a threesome, that is –
although, she didn’t mention that part.

Azriel only gave a disgruntled huff in agreeance, one of his shadows curling up in Gwyn’s lap in
response to the outrageous suggestion. Rhysand’s gaze dipped to the purring undulation of
obsidian, a teasing glint in his eye as he did. “You’d be surprised Gwyneth, what males say and
how they feel are entirely different things… It seems like you interest him enough to make him
talk, you were smart to use that to your advantage, good job.”

Pride flickered through her as she grinned, “Thank you.”

“Regardless…” Azriel cut in sharply, “She won’t be put in that situation again to have to resort to
such methods.”

Gwyn was quick to retort, “I don’t think you get to decide that for me, Shadowsinger.”

He levelled a warning brow to her as Rhysand watched with no shortage of amusement as his
brother was put in his place by a twenty-seven-year-old Priestess a foot shorter than him.

Rhysand turned to his brother, “Az why don’t you take Nyx to Feyre, it’s his lunch time and he
gets awfully scary when he’s hungry…”

Azriel practically scoffed, making no room to move, seemingly rejecting his polite dismissal.

The High Lord rolled his eyes at the stubbornness of his brother as he sighed, turning to her and
saying, “If Gwyn has a few moments to spare, I’d like to speak with her alone.”

She nodded, and then gave a look to Azriel which sent him huffing off in abject irritation to find
the High Lady, babe still cradled expertly in his arms, unroused. The shadow curled in her lap
reluctantly followed suit, albeit slowly as it eventually slipped under the crack of the door.

The violet of Rhysand’s gaze had turned into an all-knowing hue as it settled on her own and she
shifted uncomfortably in her seat as he smiled at her. “Tell me, Gwyneth…” Gwyn knew exactly
what he was going to say before he said it, but the shock still graced her features when the soft
question came from his lips. “When are you going to tell Az that you’re his mate?”

Alarm found her eyes as she leaned forward desperately, “You can’t tell him… Please Rhysand, he
can’t know.”

A sad crinkle carved through his brows as he sat back in his chair, “I’d never presume to interfere
with your private business, I hope you know that.”

Gwyn relaxed slightly, although the tension in her shoulders remained as she said quietly, “I want
him to choose this…” She thought about everything he had told her last night, all that pain and
suffering, “After everything that’s happened to him… Azriel deserves a choice in who he loves. He
deserves a life that he wants, not something that was chosen for him. I need him to have that
option.”

That same expression of heavy understanding flooded Rhys’ usually masked features as he nodded,
“I know from experience with my own mate… How hard it can be to feel like you’re forcing
someone into an arrangement they have no choice in. I struggled with it for months. I still do… But
something I’ve learnt is that no matter what, even if you are tethered through the bond, that person
always has a choice.”

His honesty took Gwyn by surprise as she asked, “You waited then… to tell her?”

Rhys nodded, letting out a regretful laugh, “I was scared she would reject me, the circumstances
were… complicated and I had my own demons to confront. But I left it so long that she found out
herself and trust me when I say that was not ideal.”

“What did she do? When she found out?”

 “Oh, she left me half-dead in the snow and then fled to a secret location for a week.”

Gwyn’s eyes widened, “She was mad?”

“I believe furious is the more appropriate word.” He grinned, something feline carving his features
as he did, “But she forgave me, eventually.”

“I just…” She let out a deep sigh, swallowing down hard. “It’s important to me he has a choice.
That he wants this. I’m afraid if I tell him he will accept it out of duty and not because he truly
wants me… And then, there are other reasons… ”

Rhysand’s expression softened as his smile faded into something more serious. Something about
the fall of his features told her he knew that she had been referring to the frenzy. “There is always a
choice, Gwyn. Even when the bond takes over. I understand your worries, more than you may
think…” Gwyn frowned as something dark crossed his eyes when he said the words, “But if I may
offer some advice?”

She nodded, understanding pricking at her that perhaps the High Lord and she had more in
common than Gwyn thought.

“When your body is stolen from you by another, it can be hard to think that you’ll ever want to
share it again. But in my experience, it can be cathartic to succumb to the bond. To lean into the
trust that is fundamentally fostered there that you might not be able to forge with another. It can be
freeing just as much as it can be completely fucking terrifying…” Rhysand gave another solemn
laugh, as Gwyn recalled the way Nesta had described sex with a mate in a similar way. She had
called it healing, some kind of dose of fate poured medicine.

“It’s different with the bond and I can guarantee you that as a male, your first instinct is always to
protect your mate, even from yourself. And if you decide to tell him, he will understand your
concerns… But of course, it’s up to you, always.”

Gwyn nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to well there.

As silver lined his own eyes, the High Lord said with a brilliant smile, “I’m glad he has you,
Gwyn. We all are.”

Chapter End Notes

Fluffy Gwynriel!

I wanted to make Azriel’s confession/honesty a moment of intimacy between them

without it turning to be overtly sexual. And do not worry, there is plenty planned for
that in chapters to come, but I wanted to create a moment of soft love between them. A
moment for the romantics to savour. I liked the idea of his confession being in tandem
with admitting harbouring deep feelings for her and that confession being in the form
of physical devotion, of revelling in every inch of her. Being from the temple in
Sangravah and then coming from the female-only space of the library, Gwyn has
rarely been romantically complimented or intimately admired before despite the fact
she deserves it. In this scene, both Gwyn and Az give each other something they have
never had before but always wanted.
For Azriel, this comes in the form of having the confidence to be open with someone
about who he really is and what he’s been through, for Gwyn it comes in the form of
physical intimacy and a little romanticism.

The themes of ‘home’ and 'family' is something I wanted to play around with in this
chapter.
Both Azriel and Gwyn have never had their own homes and I think that’s something
really beautiful that their eventual relationship offers them. Home isn’t a house, it’s a
feeling of safety and love, of comfort and trust – and these are the very foundations I
believe their relationship is based on.
I kind of love the idea that in finding eachother, they’ve found ‘home’. My theory is
that Gwyn and Azriel will live in the townhouse as Cassian and Nesta are in the House
of Wind and Feyre and Rhysand now have the River House. I think it suits them and
their relationship very much, giving them a gift of domesticity they never would have
experienced before.
Also I don't care what anyone says, when Gwyn holds Nyx, it makes Azriel WEAK
AT THE KNEES.
Let me know what you think!

x Lou
 The Eleventh Hour
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW Sexually explicit content

Big thank you to @booknerd87 who helped me out with ironing out the issues I had
with this chapter. If you don't already know her, she's responsible for commissioning
pretty much every single piece of beautiful Gwynriel art on the internet. So, she is
basically the angel of the Gwynriel community, blessing us with her plentiful gifts.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

It felt odd to be back at the House of Wind now that something fundamental between her and
Azriel had shifted. Once they had flown back from the River House, Azriel had quickly left with
Cassian to meet with Emerie about her efforts in Illyria. The house had settled into the comforting
silence of the evening as she farewelled Nesta after their quiet dinner. Their mission in the human
lands was proving to be as fruitless as it was politically complex, with the eldest Archeron claiming
the human ‘drab’ and ‘useless’ Queens were better left ‘disposed’ of. Gwyn only snorted, enjoying
the sight of her best friend in safety, and set off to her room to finally rest.

Her eyes widened as she approached the end bedroom door on echoing footsteps. The door had
always been plain in its design compared to the others, a simple slab of dark mahogany wood. But
now, as she neared it, Gwyn noticed the etchings that had been carved into the surface, the
decorative style now similar to those on Azriel’s and Cassian and Nesta’s doors. A suspiciously
familiar dagger with a gemstone-encrusted pommel had been carved in the centre of the door. Its
long, elegant blade was wrapped in a suite of unfurling ribbons, the outer edges, embellished with a
flock of small birds flittering happily.

Her very own door.

Gwyn cracked a smile, glancing up to the ceiling, “I guess this means you really like me, huh?”

In answer, the door swung open cheerfully on its hinges, as if the house were truly welcoming her
home and the art were some kind of gift. The distant fireplace roared to life, illuminating the
creams and blues that wrapped her room in soft comfort and lush textures.

Home.

A deep sigh tumbled from her lips as she set down her things, making for the bath that was already
filling with rich scented oils and healing salts.

The spindly flames of long candles danced around the steamy air, painting her bathroom gold. Her
lungs were flooded with a deep haze of lavender, jasmine and bergamot, scents that drew a soft
yawn from her.

Stripping off the borrowed gown, which Feyre had kindly insisted she keep, Gwyn sunk into the
bath, massaging her tired neck and calloused hands as her heavy eyes fell closed.

It hit her then, how truly different her life had become since moving from the library. She was no
longer Acolyte Berdara. And perhaps she would always carry with her that girl she had been. The
girl that worked in the library and prayed during the long nights for recovery and strength. But
now, she was different. She felt different. Gwyn was a female with a respectable position in the
Night Court that she earned and proved herself worthy of, she had loyal friends that she loved and
her own room complete with books of her own and a bathtub. And while that might have seemed
menial to some, the soothing comfort of those precious things settled over her with the warm water
and lulled her further into calm.

And yet still, in that quiet moment, the girl in her said a prayer. A prayer for peace, for wisdom and
for health. And the mother answered in the way she always had done. The candles flickering
beyond the tub burned brighter, higher, as their dancing flames cast rippling shadows on the walls
of the bathroom like starlit comets racing through the night.

A gentle tinkering sounded next to the bath and she cracked an eye open to see a cup of steaming
tea and a fat slice of cake rest on the ledge next to her.

“Oh, you are spoiling me tonight,” She giggled, reaching down for the cake as her mouth watered.
Looking up to the ceiling, grinning, Gwyn cooed, “I missed you too, House.”

A rubber Pegasus fell into the bath in response and Gwyn shrieked and giggled with joy.

Despite the calming state that bath had plunged her into, the eleventh hour proved to be
inconducive to sleep as Gwyn’s mind still remained alert and dedicated to the research in front of
her. Sprawled out on the sofa in her secret parlour, full from indulging in cake and tea, she
continued her reading, trying not to think about whether a certain brooding bat had come home
safely.

A sudden creak sounded from the back of the room. Gwyn practically jumped out of her skin, as
the door that had always remained locked opened on its hinges. Her hand found the dagger that
was nestled next to her a moment later, the book flying from her hands as Azriel, wide-eyed and
Truth Teller ready, peered suspiciously from the other side of the door.

Gwyn slumped in relief, the dagger quickly falling to the wayside as she shrieked, “How in the
Mothers mercy did you get in here?”

Azriel rose a brow, his shrewd gaze assessing every inch of the uncharted space, the door that went
into her room, then, to the one he had just come through and finally, landed back on her.

Heart still racing from the residual fright, Gwyn watched as his eyes dipped to the neckline of her
gleaming silver nightgown. Smoked cedar, lush spice and mist-chilled wing flooded the room,
heavy and delicious as it struck her senses.

His eyes were dark as they rose to meet hers again, something thick and hot settling in the air
between them as he said, “Well Gwyneth, I was about to go to bed and then, this strange door
just… appeared on the far side of my room…” Azriel shook his head in bewilderment as he
glanced around the parlour appreciatively, “I’ve never seen this room before.”

“It connects to my room…” A smile upturned her lips as she admitted, “I think the house made it
for me, it was here when I moved in…”
Taking a step forward, he went to survey the contents of the bookshelves, “So this is where you
sneak off to at night?”

She gave him a wicked grin as she nodded, “Jealous?”

“Ardently…” Azriel’s gaze flickered to the book sprawled on her lap, “What are you reading?”

“It’s just a book I borrowed from the library about the old Gods…” She explained, lifting it up to
show him as he neared with piqued interest flaming in his eyes, “I thought maybe researching the
mythology of Pontus might suggest some kind of connection to who the usurper in Summer might
be, since he seems prone to allegory in his codes.”

A glint of approval met his expression as Azriel took the thick tome from her hands and came
down to sit beside her on the sofa. Gwyn moved her outstretched legs to make room for him while
he studied the page she had been reading.

And Mother above, there was something so indecent about the way he sat there lounging in her
parlour, reading . Could such a simple thing be considered erotic? Gwyn never thought so until
now.

“I’ve always found Flavius’ histories to be rather dry…”

Her eyes widened, “You’ve read this already?”

Azriel levelled her an arrogant smirk, “I have been alive for a long while, Gwyneth. Surely you
would be worried if I hadn’t read this book in all that time.” He licked the edge of his finger before
turning the page, her eyes tracking every inch of the movement as she felt her heart begin to race
and heat pool like hot honey in her core.

She watched as his nostrils delicately flared, and while his attention remained on the page of the
book, she knew he had scented the evidence of her arousal.

Pressing her thighs together, she shifted to survey him. His large form was clothed in only loose
sleeping trousers and a t-shirt, the shadows happily swaying at his shoulders while the more daring
ones crept across to wrap around her exposed legs in cheeky greeting.

Azriel’s large wings were slightly less tucked in as he relaxed, the soft leathery flesh wrapped in
intricate bone so close. Gwyn felt the same familiar urge to touch them burning through her
common sense.

There was something altogether domestic about seeing him like this, in those simple clothes and
reading. He swallowed down hard as, he too, shifted in his seat. Gwyn gave him a sweet smile that
contradicted the voracious impurity which coursed through her blood, as she watched him slowly
fight whatever urge was coming over him and deepening his scent with hers.

“Gwyneth…” Azriel’s voice was its usual velvet baritone, but she didn’t miss the warning edge
that was buried beneath it.

“Yes, Azriel...” Her voice was liquid innocence, smooth like silk, as she rose a foot to lightly graze
the edge of his wing. Although a bold gesture, Azriel had allowed her to touch his wings before
and she gave him ample time to stop her, if he didn’t permit the touch.

The moment he clocked the sensation, he went preternaturally still, and she could almost see him
summoning the self-control she desperately needed to rid him of. The hard edge that outlined the
appendage was leathery soft.
“What is it exactly that you are doing?” The strain in his voice did nothing to assuage her
insatiable arousal, in fact, the thrumming heat deepened as something tender in her depths flipped
at the sound.

Her foot continued its gentle stroke of the cartilaginous edge of the wing and she took no shortage
of delight from the fact a shiver visibly ran through him and planted goosebumps on his tan flesh at
the sensation.

An indolent smirk graced her lips, “Testing a theory.”

He rose a brow, the challenge rising in his darkened eyes as he finally glanced up to her before
shifting his primal gaze to where her toes caressed the edge of his tender wing. “And what manner
of academic pursuit is that? Torture techniques or more honey trapping?”

“Nesta told me Illyrian wings were an erogenous zone…” She gave a careless shrug, “I wanted to
see what you would do...”

The tension between them cracked and thundered as if some kind of invisible storm brewed in the
midst of their teasing words. With every moment she glanced at him with that innocent smile and
challenging glint in her eyes, that damn self-control shredded and melted away bit by bit. Gwyn
wouldn’t stop until she had seen it thoroughly destroyed.

She had her own mission tonight and Gwyn was intent to see it through.

Mouth curving into another teasingly sweet grin, Gwyn went to stroke him again, this time further
into the centre of his wing, but a fast hand gripped at her ankle before she could. She couldn’t help
the ragged breath drawn from her mouth as he gripped the edge of her leg with force, but just
enough pressure not to hurt.

“I have my own theory you know…” Slowly, he splayed her leg a little further apart and she bit her
lip, knowing the ridiculous short hem of her nightgown ensured the vantage point he had, would
expose her already wet core and the lacy blue underthings that poorly hid it.

Sure enough, his flaming gaze dipped to inspect what lay beneath and she noted the animalistic
hunger flash in his eyes as he did. That hunger spread like wild fire as a dark and fervent appetite
rose in his features, one that she desperately wanted to satiate.

Remarkably, Gwyn managed to keep her tone silky as she asked, “And what would that be?”

The ache that had set between her thighs begged to be met, but the grip on her ankle forbade her
from pressing her legs together in desperate attempt to tend to that need. Her heart thundered into a
ratcheting pace as his gaze dragged back up to her, nothing but cruel satisfaction coating his rasped
tone as he replied, “That you’re a terrible reader.”

Confusion fell over her face as his smirk deepened and in one quick movement, he had released her
ankle and was handing her back the book.

“Read to me, Berdara… Prove me wrong.”

She raised a brow, the challenge lacing his words echoing the pounding deep within her. Taking
the book with surprisingly steady fingers, she placed both of her legs over his lap and began as he
shifted further onto the sofa.

“Pontus, the prime God of the Sea and the lover to the Stella, the Sun Goddess, has for long
periods of antiquity been heralded as a master of war and a-” Her voice faltered as Azriel hitched
one of her legs on his shoulder, planting kisses down the side of where he had just gripped.

Oh.

Oh, Mother above and hell below.

The true wager behind Azriel’s theory became suddenly very clear to her as she watched him smirk
in prideful victory at her fumbling. She swallowed down the flood of hot lust that rose in her and
sank back into her cushions, adopting a steady voice as she continued, “While many historians
have debated the true jurisdiction of his…” Her words were slightly choked as Azriel’s mouth
pursued lower and lower down her knee and then, wet the tender flesh of her thigh.

The anticipation stopped her dead in her tracks, her gaze losing the line as his head lazily glanced
up from its new position before her, a teasing grin on his lips as he asked, “You were saying…”

“I uh... I…”

Azriel rose a brow, a seriousness setting into his features. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“No!” The refusal was so quick to come from her lips that he met the word with an amused smile.
“Then keep going… I’ve got a theory to prove and you’re doing a wonderful job at proving me
correct.”

Gwyn’s competitiveness seemed to flare at the arrogance in his tone and she let out a long sigh,
hooking her other leg over his shoulder and turning back to the page again. The soft chuckle that
left his lips made her almost stumble again as his hot breath caressed the thin silk of her soaked
panties. The sensation sent a jolt straight up her spine and her eyes threatened to flitter shut.

“O...Of his sovereignty...most have come to a consensus that he ruled over the deep seas and
exacted vengeance on those he damned with furious st…” His lips were devastatingly close to
where she needed them now, as his hot tongue cruelly traced the skin that lined her underwear. But
Gwyn needed to wipe that stupid smile off his face. Needed to prove him wrong. “…Storms. A…
According to the works of Aurelius, he had three children with the Goddess of the Sun, th... oh …”

Her back involuntarily arched as she felt Azriel’s tongue glide over the wet fabric of her panties
and a low growl, full of primal pleasure reverberated from his throat as he tasted the first drops of
her arousal on his tongue.

“Keep reading, Berdara.”

It was all too much, but the thrill of having him between her legs as she read caused her to pick up
where she had left off again. Her voice was breathy and slow as she began, “Uh… Th…The first of
their children was Pelias, the God of fishing and tides. The-” Her reading was interrupted yet again
by the sound of her underwear being sliced apart and the flash of Truth Teller in the hue of the
firelight confirmed that fact.

She didn’t have the mental capacity to feel forlorn about him ruining one of her favourite
undergarments. Especially since, only moments later, a long, wicked stroke lapped down her centre
and Gwyn couldn’t help but cry in whimpered delight as he gripped her thighs, anchoring her hips
to the sofa.

“Azriel…” She breathed, the book falling to her chest as he licked her again, his tongue grazing
over the pounding bundle of nerves and causing her to try to buck her hips into the pressure.

“You taste like…” Another cruel swipe, “...fucking heaven.” The admission was more a growl
than anything else as he tasted her again to prove his point. Azriel's mouth was moving slowly and
deliberately over her, so much so, that he knew he was savouring the taste of her desire on his
tongue, like one might a decadent dessert.

“R... Really?”

“Trust me, Gwyneth…” The rumble of his deep voice reverberating so close to her throbbing
centre made her gasp and arch more into the cushions, “I swear on the Mother and all her stars,
you're fucking delectable.”

As if connected to her riled nerves, the flames of the fire roared to life with sudden savagery,
lighting the room and illuminating the indecent scene before her. She needed him to keep going, to
keep doing whatever dark and wicked thing it was that had her dripping and aching for his touch.
“Azriel, please…”

His eyes, glazed with some kind of carnal compulsion, drifted up to meet hers as he smirked. Lips
glistening with her wetness, he said, “Giving up that easily? I wish I would’ve known all it took
was to lick you for you to-”

In demanding response, her thighs clamped around his face tighter, as she continued her recital
with shaking hands, “The second, Lucretia, was made Goddess of the wind and travel, making her
the patron s…saint...Oh, Mother… patron saint of...”

Azriel’s efforts had taken a ruthless turn, as began to lap and play with her clit. It seemed this
evening she was not the only one with a mission and all attempts at her winning by proving him
incorrect fell to the wayside as he became more ravenous. The book finally fell triumphantly to the
floor with a muffled bang as Gwyn desperately gripped his hair, tugging at the roots and arching
her back as he sucked the bundle of nerves.

“Do that again,” He growled.

Gwyn obliged him, tugging at his hair, slightly harder this time. In reward, his tongue dipped
inside of her, tasting the delicate walls that clenched in response. A knotted pressure drew tighter
and tighter within her, threatening to snap. She bucked and writhed against him, a symphony of
desperate moans escaping her lips as his hands gripped her tighter.

“Fingers…” She managed out in a whine, “Az, I need your fingers in me.”

One of his hands obligingly slid from its anchoring grip and down to the depths of hell with him.
There was a slight pause before he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Shadowsinger if you don’t do as I say, I swear I’ll-” Her threat was cut off by the sensation of a
scarred digit slipping inside her wetness. Her eyes almost rolled back as she bit a damning curse
from leaving her lips.

Azriel glanced up with a teasing grin, drawling, “You’ll what, Gwyneth? Tell me what you’ll do...
I do like your threats.”

“I’ll-” But her words were again cut short as he hooked his finger inside her and his thumb came to
her clit. Gwyn fell back to the cushions, arching again as the sound of his deep chuckle edged her
closer and closer to that peak he was building to. “You fucking bastard.”

He only chuckled in response, rewarding her filthy mouth with a faster rhythm.

“Another one…” She begged, her hips moving of their own accord to help sate the pleasure that he
had expertly drawn and wound within her.

Azriel tsked, “So bossy tonight…” His mouth found her clit again as another finger slipped in, his
pace slowing to a torturous speed. “What happened to those lovely acolyte manners?”

Tears were brimming in her eyes as her toes began to curl, the coiling knot deep within her needing
attention. It was pleasure and pain all at once, something wholly divine sparking and igniting
between them. “Please.”

“Please what?” She could practically hear the smug grin on his face as he mumbled the words
between his agonisingly unhurried pace of licking and sucking while his fingers expertly thrust and
curled. She needed more. It was maddening.

Hips bucking and heart racing, she conceded and whimpered, “Please make me come, Azriel.”

With those simple words, he unleashed himself on her, a raspy growl rewarding her request. “Good
girl.”

Azriel was relentless with his dedication to ringing every ounce of pleasure from her as possible.
Taking her in his mouth as if she were some rare delicacy while his fingers pounded to the
voracious beat of her desire. Curses and prayers fell from her lips as she came to the apex of her
pleasure and her inner walls spasmed around his fingers. A choked sob followed as she hit her
orgasm and tumbled down, a galaxy of stars gracing her vision and her toes curling.

Azriel indulged in the taste of her pleasure as she rode out her high. Her fingers still gripped in his
hair like reins as tears fell from her eyes.

As her blurred and frayed senses gradually restored and she slumped in a sweated mess into the
sofa, she could see it clearly. From this point of view, Gwyn noted the soft glow that emulated
from under her skin like distant faelight had illuminated chest and spread like holy wildfire
throughout her body. It was as if every vein, every artery, were poured with pure starlight.

A light made just for him.

With the same awestruck gaze, Azriel noticed it too, finally pulling his greedy mouth away from
her and withdrawing his fingers, still slick and glistening with her. He noticed where Gwyn’s
attention had landed and raised a brow, crawling up her still-shaking body and offering her his
fingers. “Open.”

Gwyn did as he said and took his fingers in her mouth, the creamed salty sweetness hitting the back
of her tongue as he slid them in. She didn’t miss how he watched every movement her lips made
around his fingers with that same primal focus. Didn’t miss how his tongue swiped over his lips to
taste the remnants of her all over again when she sucked them clean.

As Azriel withdrew his fingers from her mouth, his gaze dipped lower to the lace hem of her
nightgown that joined with the silver silk at her breasts. His fingers stroked over the soft fabric,
gliding over her peaked nipples gently as he drawled, “These little nightgowns are going to be the
death of me, Berdara.” He pinched the little white bow that adorned the strap as he smirked, “I
might just have to buy you a great big sack to wear in bed when we’re away again…”

Gwyn let out a loud bark of laughter, the sound so wonderfully ethereal and sweet. Her gaze turned
curious as she threaded her hands in his hair, “Is that…something you like then? Females in
lingerie…”

Amusement fell over his features as he glanced up at her again, “If I had it my way Gwyneth,
you’d never wear a scrap of clothing at all.”

She laughed again, as she bent her head to inspect his form which had fallen over her own, yet his
erection, still hard and ready, was tented beneath his trousers. Many of the books that she had read
detailed the act that had suddenly bloomed in her mind.

He caught onto her train of thought as he followed her stare, shifting so he wasn’t pressing into her.
“Not tonight…” He said softly.

“But what about you? Don’t you need to be… tended to?”

"Tonight is not for that..." Azriel grinned, something wicked flashing across his features as he
leaned into the shell of her ear and whispered, “Are you admitting that little act is on your secret
list?”

“Yes, I am,” she shot back, earning a surprised chuckle from him as he shook his head, sitting up.

Azriel stood, the sheer magnitude of him clear through his trousers as he made his way to the
cabinet, where he poured them each a glass of the brown liquor decanted there. “Good to know.”

Curiosity pricked at her as she followed suit, sitting up and pulling her knees into her chest. Gwyn
noted the sliced panties now discarded next to her book on the floor and another wave of residual
pleasure rolled over her, threatening to undo her all over again. As he handed her the glass of
whiskey, she asked “What’s on your list?”

Azriel raised a brow as he sat, taking a long sip of the maple-coloured liquid before answering with
a shade of arrogance, “There’s not much I haven’t done, Gwyn.”

She rolled her eyes at him, “That much is obvious to me, Shadowsinger. What I mean is, what is it
that…you like ?”

Assessing hazel eyes met hers as they both took a sip, Gwyn surprisingly appreciating the sweet
burn of the whiskey after such a rigorously demanding act. His silence was deafening. She could
tell he was trying to decide what to tell her, especially considering a rogue shadow had curled to
whisper into his ear. Finally, Azriel replied, “I don’t expect you to cater to my-”

“Oh, come on, just tell me!” She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Something you have to understand is that sex is highly dependent on the person you’re with and
what you mutually desire from each other.”

Gwyn leaned closer to him, her eyes searching his as she asked, “And what do you desire?”

“Control.”

She nodded contemplatively. It made complete sense to Gwyn why control would be such a
baseline need for someone like him. Why he, who spent the majority of his childhood locked in a
dark cellar, so absent of autonomy in the thrall of cruel chaos sought control in his life, his work
and even his intimacy.

Azriel’s voice was quiet as he asked, “Does that scare you? That I’m like that? It’s okay if it does,
there are-”

“No…” Gwyn shook her head, the word falling from her lips without hesitation. No, it didn’t. She
thought for a moment, before she replied, “I actually think I like when you’re in control. It makes
me feel safe… Because I trust you.” And only you , were the silent words that seemed to linger in
the pause that followed.

Those very words seemed to strike him down like a bolt of thunder and she watched as Azriel held
the true gravity of them.

Gwyn reached for his hand as she continued, “ I never thought I would be able to do this with
anyone…ever.” The memories of the night they met in Sangravah flashed over them and his gaze
grew heavy with painful understanding. “... I didn’t know that it could be like this, Azriel. I guess
for a while I thought I was ruined… that I could never find someone I felt comfortable with enough
to give up the fear and the worry, to be open to pleasure. And that was hard because I wanted so
much to be normal. I wanted what Nesta and Emerie spoke about and I felt like I’d never get the
chance to have it. And then when I met you, I wanted those things and you made me feel safe to
want them…”

He stared at her and stared at her as the words sunk into the left cavity of his chest. “I will give you
whatever you want Gwyneth, name it and it’s yours.”

Her heart sparked with warmth and wonder as she squeezed his hand, “I want you to teach me…
Az, I want you to show me everything.”

Their fingers laced together as he replied, “In time I will, I promise. But we’ll go slowly and see
what you like.”

“I’ll remind you I have read some pretty filthy books. I do know about the concept of kinks,
Azriel.”

“Oh really, Gwyneth…” He grinned, “And what is it you know exactly?”

“Well, in the most recent novel I read, the vampire Aleksander would blindfold his females…
Which I later learnt from a little bit of research, was part of something called sensory play.”

He took another deep sip of his whiskey, “Good. And what else?”

“In ‘The Dragon King’s Daughter’, Niklaus did this thing with dripping hot wax onto Maxine’s
body… Which I must be honest, I don’t really understand from a pleasure perspective, but it
worked for her – I mean, the girl orgasmed three times - so, I suppose it’s a ‘don’t knock it until
you try it’ scenario.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the ghost of a smile still playing on his lips as he finally said, “How about,
for every one thing you tell me that’s on your list, I’ll tell you one that’s on mine…”

“Fine…” She sighed still not satisfied at his mysteriousness, her gaze trailed down his form as she
thought, “Well, you’ve clearly got a thing for hair pulling…”

He tipped his chin with a smirk, highlighting the sharpness of his jawline as he did, “Indeed, I do.”

“And you now know three things on my list, so - according to our deal - you have to give me three
things in return,” Gwyn stated, an expectant look sparking in her azure eyes as she took another sip
of the whiskey.

A large sigh of defeat left him as he finally conceded and said, “The sensory play you were
speaking of is something I’m quite fond of…”

She nodded, expecting as much. In fact, that was half the reason she brought it up, to see his
reaction at her mentioning it.

When he found no aversion or trepidation in her expression at his confession, he went on,
“Daggers… Knife play in general really…”

“Obviously,” she rolled her eyes.

He gave a surprised chuckle seemingly not expecting her reaction, “And bondage, naturally.”

“Naturally.” Something like piqued interest had flared in her eyes at the mention of it, her
perceptive gaze dipping to the shadows in silent question.

In answer, one of them wrapped playfully around her wrist, the light weight suddenly becoming
strong with a force she didn’t know they were capable of. A cold sensation skittered along her arm
and flittered down her spine.

“Interesting…” Gwyn remarked as she attempted to break free from the bonds experimentally. It
didn’t budge. She rose a brow in approving surprise not being able to help contemplating just
exactly what else those shadows could do. Intrigued, she placed her empty glass down on the
coffee table and extended out her hand, softly commanding “Do the other one…”

Azriel leaned back into the sofa, adjusting himself as he sat. She took no shortage of satisfaction
from the way the hard thing in his trousers seemed to strain at her words. Slowly, as if giving her
time to object, another tendril of darkness wrapped around the other wrist and then, bound the two
hands together.

“How does it work?”

“There’s usually a pre-agreed-upon safe word, as soon as the shadows hear it, they will unbind
you…”

Gwyn nodded thoughtfully, “Safe word?” That hadn’t been covered in any of her books before.

“A word that both parties use to communicate they are at their limit…”

By the Mother. It was like discovering an entirely new field of research, Gwyn’s mind raced. The
intrigue mixing with a heat-laden urge to explore the field more closely. Of course, she wasn’t
ready for anything so complex yet, not when she was so inexperienced, but the urge was there. For
one day.

“And it can be anything?”

Azriel nodded, “Something easy to remember and say.”

Gwyn glanced back down to the shadows that bound her wrists, lifting them to observe the
sensation more closely. “What’s yours?”

He cracked a wry grin, “I don’t have one.” She frowned, as he continued to explain, “It’s for the
person being dominated to determine.”

Eyes widening, she nodded again, contemplating the concept and the information he just revealed
to her. Tipping her chin, she asked, “So that's what you always prefer? Taking control, I mean…”

Azriel’s darkened hazel eyes dipped to his shadows that linked around her wrists like manacles of
soft night. “Usually.”
“And what about the wing thing?” As if in answer, his left wing extended out a little towards her
and she gazed at it curiously, wondering how much of the movement was purely a physiological
reaction and how much was voluntary.

He rose a brow, amusement finding his features again as he said, “If you did that to any other
Illyrian male, they would’ve likely killed you… Well, at least tried to. And I don’t usually let
anyone touch my wings, but…”

“But…”

“But…” He went on, eyes piercing into her, “You may do so… If you ever want to, of course.”

A victorious grin bloomed on her features, something about being the exception to that rule made
her warm and cosy inside. “Very interesting…” She remarked again, watching as the shadows
slipped away from her wrists and took their favoured residence, curled on her lap.

“They’ve never done that before…Before you, I mean.”

The confession struck something deep within her as she glanced down to the shadows. And for the
first time in her life, she wondered if the shadows had known about the bond all along. Gwyn gave
him an irreverent grin, as she patted them, earning an undulating purr in response. “I like them…
They’re sweet.”

He snorted, “Most people scream in terror when they see them, Gwyneth. You treat them like a
spoilt cat.”

She only gave a dismissing laugh as one appreciatively curled around her arm. Her tone turned
contemplative as she murmured, “I suppose when you’ve seen true darkness, it’s hard to be afraid
of the shadows.”

The words visibly hit him as he absorbed them with a deep crease carved through his brows. As if
he had suddenly realised something fundamental, he whispered, “I guess you’re right.”

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, that tends to be the case.”

Azriel extended his glass to her in salute as he replied, “Right you are, Berdara.”

Her empty glass met his in playful cheers, before she stood, making a show of bending down to
pick up her shredded panties from the floor. With a careless flick, Gwyn threw them into Azriel’s
lap as she said low and mockingly, “For your little collection…”

Hazel eyes never left hers as he pocketed them with a smirk and took another sip of the whiskey.
“I’ll replace them.”

Gwyn placed the discarded book onto the coffee table as she replied, “Yes, you will. They were my
favourite pair.”

His smirk deepened into a wicked grin, “Then I’ll be sure to replace them in every colour just so
my little collection is more varied.”

Azriel watched with quiet amusement and a raised brow as she padded off to her room, turning
back to him as she entered the doorway with a question set in her features, “You’re really not going
to make me sleep alone tonight, are you, Shadowsinger?”

He downed the rest of his drink and followed, the fire in the parlour dimming to triumphant embers
 as he went.

No, he wouldn’t. In fact, if Gwyn truly wanted it, Azriel vowed right then and there to never leave
her side. He would warm her bed and pay worship to her soul until the last star burnt out from the
sky and nothing but ash remained of this world.

As he followed her into the darkness, Azriel swore the shadows sang a hymn just for her. And in
answer, something powerful and divine began to unfurl in his chest to the rhythm. To the song that
was made by shadows and forged by light, just for them.

Chapter End Notes

Here we gooooo.

This, I believe is one of the cornerstone chapters of the fic, whereby we see the net
effect of the trust and open line of communication that was forged in the previous
chapter manifest and develop into something more.

You thought I forgot about the weird second door in her secret parlour? Nope! The
House once again is the biggest Gwynriel shipper and I will die on that hill.

I've spoken about this countless times and you're probably sick of me banging on
about it but the way I present Gwyn and Az's sexual journey is extremely important to
me as I believe it would occur in tandem with their emotional healing and solidify the
deep nature of their relationship that eventuates.

Trust and pleasure are the big themes of this chapter. As I mentioned previously,
Gwyn's sexual journey is made easier to navigate with the physiological baseline that
her bond with Azriel provides. The trust that exists between them both makes her
comfortable with exploring that side of intimacy and makes him feel worthy -
something we know he struggles with.

We all know that Gwyn and Azriel are the biggest nerds and I loved the idea of
capitalising on the way he finds her intelligence and bookishness sexy through him
asking her to read a book while he pleasures her. I wanted that moment between them
to be playful yet hot while trying to entirely encapsulate their dynamic.

Let me know what you think! I'm dying to hear your thoughts, this one was scary for
me to post and honestly, I almost scrapped it because I was too scared to publish it lol.

x Lou
 Reaping and Sowing
Chapter Notes

There will be two updates today, as I wrote this chapter and it ended up being 8000
words long, whoops! Big thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship who helped me
with this one!

I'd recommend going back to read Chapter 13: Lullabies of the Heart, as this chapter
introduces the themes and setting of these Buain Uaine scenes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

“I don’t like this,” Azriel murmured broodingly as he sat on the edge of the Valkyrie’s bed and
watched her pin the thick strands of curled copper away from her face.

Gwyn raised an irreverent brow, eyeing him from the reflection of the duchess mirror, “You don’t
have to like it, Azriel, but Emerie invited me and I’m going.”

He bristled, the shadows pleadingly lapping at her skirts, climbing up the smooth fabric as if
begging her to stay.

The past week had been spent researching and waiting for Azriel’s spies to confirm it was time to
leave for Summer but in every other moment, he had tried to convince her not to go to Buain Uaine.

In the throes of their mission, Gwyn had forgotten all about Emerie’s mention of the Illyrian
festival and when her invitation arrived one morning, Azriel had made his opinion on the matter
very clear. And though he would never resort to condescendingly telling her what she should or
should not do, he had made a sport of grumbling about it for the entire week.

“Illyria is just a long way to travel for drunken debauchery…” He drawled, taking to fiddling with
Truth Teller in his hands, the sharp blade spinning and reflecting off the mid morning sun that
flooded the room. “If it's dancing and drinking you want, there are far more exciting
establishments in Velaris I can take you to that doesn’t involve a crowd of dimwitted, violent
Illyrian fools.”

“Well, maybe I happen to like dimwitted, violent, Illyrian fools.”

He rolled his eyes at the assertion, bitterness staining his tone as he quietly said, “Are you
forgetting what those males did to you in the Rite?”

“The males that threatened to hurt us in the Rite are dead,” she shrugged, “and I don’t see how
wallowing in hatred is going to make it easier, not when I want to be able to visit Emerie in Illyria
without fear.”

“Well, I’m sure Balthazaar Cyprian will rejoice, then.”

Gwyn snorted, fixing the final pin into her hair, the glittering sparkle of the diamonds that were
encrusted in them making her head a starry sea of copper and light, before turning to look at him,
“Are you jealous, Shadowsinger?” The edges of her mouth threatened to twitch up as she watched
the question land right in his damn male pride.

“Am I jealous of an Arktosian bastard with low-level talent and a flair for misplaced ambition?”
Arrogance dripped through every word as he raised a brow in disbelief.

“You’re jealous!” She breathed a laugh full of shocked amusement.

Azriel bristled again, making a dismissing sound, turning his attention back to the dagger in front
of him.

Slowly, she stood, the delicate wisps of her navy silk gown rippling like a waterfall to the floor.
Gwyn’s eyes narrowed slightly as she made to prowl towards Azriel, her intent gaze never leaving
him. “You know what I think?”

A primal wave of tension passed through the thickening air as he glanced up from his blade, the
shadows dancing like cobras around them as she neared the bed. Azriel only cocked a brow in
response, his gilded gaze dropping appreciatively down her silken form before indolently returning
to her eyes.

“I think…” Gwyn stood before him, her form now between his legs. A lone index finger trailed
along his sharp jaw, “... you’re jealous because I almost let that Arktosian bastard fuck me…”

If looks could kill, Gwyneth Berdara would be burning in hell, for the intensity of Azriel’s stare,
the hazel flames in it, seemed to be lit by the devil himself.

Her mouth quirked to the side as she asked, “Is it because I let him put his hands on me,
Shadowsinger?” Withdrawing her explorative fingers from his mandible, she ran a caressing palm
down the silk-laden dip of her hips. “Like this…”

His shrewd gaze tracked the movement with a brand of animalistic prowess that only a spymaster
could manage. Gwyn’s hands glided along the plane of her torso and up the small curve of her
right breast. The heavy scent of wind-chilled mist kissed by lush spice and smoked cedar wrapped
around her senses, pouring fire into her veins.

Those azure eyes became a deep sea that raged with desire, “Or maybe it's because you can’t
handle that I lusted for somebody else…” Her hand cupped her breast, the way he had done to her
before and she watched as his self-control drew more and more taut with the compulsion to touch
her. Azriel’s grip on truth teller tightened as she let out a long sigh of pleasure, her scent surely
joining his as his nostrils delicately flared.

A wicked tease upturned his lips as he replied raspily, “You weren’t lusting for him, Gwyneth…
I’ve seen you in lust - and that little drunken show at Cassian and Nesta’s mating ceremony? That
wasn’t even close to how you looked the other night coming undone on my tongue.”

Her heart thundered to a pace bordering on wild as the air they shared became thick with the
mutual need pumping through them. The need that promised to have her saying more prayers to the
Mother for mercy and curses to the devil for damnation.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to give him a chance to redeem himself…” Her voice was sweetly smooth,
a threat wrapped in the finest of silk.

Azriel chuckled, his scarred hands coming to trace the back of her knees, thighs and rising further
to cup her ass. The challenge between them cracked and sparked as he tilted his head, satisfied with
the salacious reaction he had scented from her. She gasped as he squeezed the ample flesh of her
behind and she stepped closer into him, the shadows undulating around them like lust-struck
smoke.

“I didn’t think you’d be into that, Berdara…”

Her brows creased as she asked, “What are you talking about?”

Placing a singular hot kiss just below her naval that went straight to her pounding core, he glanced
up and replied, “Fucking a dead man is a little much, even for me…” Another kiss, lower this time,
“and that’s what he’ll be if he puts his hands on you.”

Gwyn leaned down to pick up Truth Teller from its discarded place on the mattress. He fell back
onto his outstretched palms as she straddled him in one fluid movement. She took no shortage of
satisfaction from the way his pleasure strained so clearly in the tented front of his trousers. Not
removing her gaze from his she sunk down on top of that hardness, the silk of her dress and the
cotton of his trousers the only barriers between them.

She bit her lip as she, once again, took to lightly skimming the blade along his jaw. “Admit that
you’re jealous then.”

Azriel’s chest was rising and falling in a symphony that told her his patience was at the very edge
of snapping. Gwyn liked seeing that moment shine in his eyes, liked seeing him grip to the last
threads of his self-control with a clenched jaw and a tightened fist.

His hands navigated to the small of her waist and then down again to her hips, the feel of the scar
tissue through the thin silk pushing her further and further into the heat.

When Azriel said nothing, she trailed the tip of the knife down his trachea, the blade skimming
down the knot of his throat as he swallowed down the feral hunger that she had coerced from him.
“Tell me you don’t want me to be touched by anyone else…”

The blade rose higher coming back to his chin and skimming over the other side of his jaw, as she
ground her hips against his hardness. A low growl, full of insatiable fervour met her ears as she
smirked, “Admit it.”

Shadows, darker than she had ever seen before, twisted around them as if they were being bound
together by the very threads of night. Gwyn watched as the pride he fought against and the pleasure
he felt, warred within him. With another roll of her hips, she pushed him further but this time, the
movement sparked some kind of divine euphoria to ricochet through her core, her hips and then, up
her spine.

The moment his pleasure won out was so clear in his darkened eyes and in a singular movement,
he had fisted a hand in the nape of her hair and gripped the wrist that held the dagger against his
mandible. Azriel’s lips found the shell of her ear as he pushed up into her, the feeling of acute
pleasure hitting the pounding bundle of nerves, rolling through her once more.

“Fine, I admit it,” he growled, tugging on her hair slightly and pushing the blade further into his
own flesh. “I admit that you drive me fucking insane Gwyneth Berdara. I admit that if anyone else
touched you, it would kill me. I admit that I’d tear them to shreds - and I wouldn’t be quick about it
either…”

Gwyn let out a whimper as his hips once again met hers at the same time she ground into him. A
hot kiss was placed just above her jugular, the feeling making her head spin, “I admit that you’re
the only thing on my mind, always. And I would do terrible things to anyone that dared to take you
away from me.”

She turned to look at him, Truth Teller now descending to graze the left side of his chest, where
the thing that beat just for her, pounded like a war drum. She beamed victoriously at the
confession, letting the surprisingly arousing violence of the threat and the desire that pushed them
further into madness subside. Leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his soft lips, Gwyn whispered, “I
feel the same way, Shadowsinger.”

Before he could even give her an answer, make her want to stay, she shifted, placing the blade back
in his hand and standing. With a satisfied sigh, she righted the skirts of her gown and then dared to
glance up at the male she had left on the edge.

Azriel truly looked on the precipice of madness as he watched her. The sight of him so wound tight
and struck with viscous need made her want to lock the door and spend the day tangled in the
sheets with him. But instead, she just cocked her brow and said, “You have five minutes to get
changed, if you’re going to be such a jealous, overprotective bat about me going, you may as well
come.”

Upon hearing the demand, his eyes were wide but she didn’t miss the way his brows rose with
keen amusement. Gwyn left the room before he could even answer, a wide, triumphant grin
plastered on her face as she went.

Azriel

Azriel couldn’t help but grimace as they made their way through the crowded narrow streets to the
town square. He could count on a single hand the number of times he had conceded to visiting the
shit heap that was the northern highlands of the Night Court and yet even that felt far too frequent.

Thankfully, his hatred was doing a useful job of gradually draining his arousal and easing the
erection that had persevered even after winnowing to Illyria. His attention focused on the way
Gwyn shrieked in glee as she practically skipped in excitement with her two friends ahead of him,
the flowing copper of her hair glinting like sunlit rubies in the spring light.

There was nothing he wanted more than to take her hand and winnow her back to the House of
Wind and finish what she had just started. But with every melodic giggle that came from her
perfect mouth, every beaming smile she wore for being reunited with her friends made him rein in
that selfish desire.

The truth was, if Gwyn wanted to go anywhere, he would follow. Even if that meant traipsing
through a display of male degeneracy and taking a tour of Illyrian vices. His glare was nothing
short of murderous as he witnessed the clan of Arktosians leer at the three females in front of him
with hungry eyes.

“What’s up your shadowed ass today?” Cassian groaned, as the soldiers quickly noted the promise
of violence in Azriel’s warning glare and cowered away.

“They shouldn’t be here,” was all he replied as he sent some shadows to walk with Gwyn. They
enthusiastically agreed and raced over to her, climbing up her skirts and wrapping around her
shoulders. He bit back the smile that tugged at his lips as he watched her mindlessly pat the
shadow in greeting.

Cassian gave a snort, “Why do you think I insisted on coming?”

“Devlon’s here, we should just kill him and be done with it.” Azriel hadn’t been able to stop
thinking about how those males had dragged Gwyn, Nesta and Emerie into the Blood Rite. Rhys
had shown him Nesta’s memories from those agonizing days they spent trapped in the Rite. He
couldn’t get the vision of Gwyn, clothed in borrowed leathers that didn’t fit and bleeding at the lip,
climbing up Ramiel. Climbing desperately to save their lives. It made him sick. Churned his
stomach into an acid-laden mess and set a coldness into his blood.

The General rose a brow, “You know they can’t prove anything… Their involvement was
influenced by the trove.”

Azriel threw his brother a bitter sneer, “Surely you don’t actually believe that.”

“We’ve been waiting for Devlon to fuck up for hundreds of years so we could knock him off by
the books and Rhys wouldn’t have our balls for fucking with the politics…” Cassian sighed as the
loud square came into view, “And the prick hasn’t done anything. We both know Devlon and if he
was truly behind their kidnapping…” His features turned bitter, some kind of shared nausea rising
in his gut as he finished, “They would’ve done far worse to them and you know it.”

He huffed, not appreciating the truthful point his brother was making. It didn’t help that in his own
investigations Azriel had found nothing to condemn the war camp leaders. That in the month after
Ramiel that he spent interrogating and investigating the Blood Rite, all signs pointed towards
Briallyn.

Azriel craned his head as Emerie pulled Gwyn through the crowd and it took all of his self-control
not to follow her.

“Let them go Az…” His brother waved a consoling hand, paying for two pints of the brewed
Illyrian mead and handing one to him, “If anyone even looks at them wrong, the only thing we
need to worry about is cleaning the blood off the street when Nesta rips out their balls, Emerie
shreds the bastard's wings and Gwyn guts him clean.”

That, admittedly, made him smile.

“Well, well, well…Look at what we have here…” The familiar chirpy tone called from behind
them as he took his first sip of the drink that tasted like his youth spent in the war camps. Turning
around, Azriel met Mor’s radiant grin as she took the pint from Cassian’s hands and indulged in a
sip. Her features contorted into bitter displeasure, but that didn’t stop her from taking another sip.

“You too?” Cassian asked, reaching over to the nearby vendor and paying for another pint to
replace his stolen one.

The blonde nodded as she gave a shrug, “I don’t mind it here you know, now that I have Emerie to
visit for company. I used to like it here…” Her eyes turned uncharacteristically nostalgic as she
looked around, “...when Velaria was with us.” The mention of Rhys’ younger sister gripped at their
hearts, Azriel’s gaze turning solemn and withdrawn. Although they weren’t blood, she had been
like a sister to him, always kind and gentle even when he was a tortured, scrawny little thing.

“To Velaria…” Cassian charged another pint in the air, making a toast, “...and all those we’ll one
day meet again.”

“To Velaria…” They said, clashing their pints together and drinking the contents to drown the
long-buried uprooted pain.

Gwyn

“I don’t know the steps.” The Valkyrie's watched from the crowd that encircled the merry Illyrians
who had taken to drunkenly dancing to the traditional folk music played by the orchestra afar.
Jubilant sounds of laughter and shouts of joy carried across the square as the Illyrians clapped and
twirled, making Gwyn forget that little voice in her mind which reminded her of her latent fears.
Between the mulled wine infused with berries and rich spices and the atmosphere of the festival,
the careless joy became infectious. The slight buzz of inebriation sent the rhythm of the music
sinking into her bones and the melodies swimming in her bloodstream.

She wanted to dance, dance and dance. Wanted to whirl and twirl under the full moon until her legs
gave out and her heart stopped beating. The trepidation she had felt for returning to Illyria had
subsided with that music, with the shared joy of Nesta and Emerie’s company and for the first time
in a while, Gwyn had felt truly free from the cage of her past. Free. Despite being around so many
people in a place that was conducive to one of her worst memories, she was able to smile and laugh
and sing.

“Nesta, the last time you danced, a High Lord’s son begged for your hand in marriage and your
mate basically professed his love for you in front of the whole Court of Nightmares…”

“Damn right I did,” Cassian chimed in, coming to wrap a hand around Nesta’s waist with a prideful
grin, “I wasn’t going to let that fire-fingered bastard anywhere near her.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head and smacking him lightly on the thick muscle of his bicep.

Emerie rolled her eyes, then gestured to Gwyn, “And rumour has it, this one has been given private
lessons by Azriel’s mother… a professional Illyrian dancer. Rest assured ladies, I will be the one
that looks like a complete fool.”

“To be fair, all of them look like fools, so I think we’re in good company,’ Nesta whispered,
earning laughs of agreement in return.

“Do you think they’ll play the Amantè?” Gwyn asked, azure eyes sparking with hopeful delight.
She had been hoping a certain Shadowsinger would take her out to the dancefloor, but he had made
himself scarce and left her to enjoy her friends. With of course, the notable exception of the lone
shadow that had curled itself around her shoulders and draped upon her collarbones lazily.

To her surprise, the question was met with a bout of heavy, almost awkward silence.

Emerie only gave her a puzzled expression as Cassian finally chuckled, “Why? Do you and Az
have something to announce?”

“W… What do you mean?” Gwyn shook her head, desperately trying to understand the odd
reaction from them. Why on Earth would Cassian ask her if they were going to announce
something? She had indulged in far too much mulled wine for this conversation. “No, no it’s just
the dance Maia taught us first… She said it was important to the Illyrian culture so I assumed they
might-”

“Maia?”
The two winged Illyrians were grinning fiendishly from ear to ear as the mix of confusion and
embarrassment rose in her further. Nothing but joyous amusement radiated from them as they
glanced at each other with knowing eyes.

Clearly, she had missed some sort of joke.

Nesta’s patience was waning, as she snapped, “What are two so smug about? Just tell us for
Mother’s sake.”

“Gwyn, we won’t be doing the Amantè tonight…” Emerie laughed, consoling her friend with a
light touch to the shoulder, “Because it’s an Illyrian wedding dance.”

Wait… What?

A few heartbeats settled through the eldest Archeron as she grasped at the reasoning behind her
friend's words. Nesta’s sharp features contorted into a wolfish smile that mirrored her mates, before
falling into shared laughter that ricocheted across the three of them.

But there was no trace of that humour found on Gwyn’s face, which had taken on a bashful brand
of acute shock and horror. She gaped at Emerie, “A wedding dance?”

The winged female nodded, “Mates are rare up here and dowries are in high demand, so unlike in
the High Fae lands, weddings are quite popular. Once your hands are bound and fasted and you’ve
made the blood oath to one another, the married couple performs the Amantè…” A deeper blush
spread across Gwyn's freckled cheeks and traced the tips of her ears as her friend leaned in and
whispered, “It’s a dance meant to prepare the bride and groom for the bedroom.”

Oh, Mother have mercy.

Cassian snorted, shaking his head, “It’s good to know old Maeve hasn’t lost her fire.”

Gwyn’s head snapped up, irritation biting at her propensity to need to know everything. “Maeve?
But Azriel’s mother’s name is Maia?”

“In Illyrian culture…” He began, splashing his drink as he became giddy with amusement, “‘ Maia
’ is a name of endearment we give to mother figures of the clans… Rhys and I call Az’s mother
‘Maia’, but she must have really liked you to introduce herself as that.” Tapping her shoulder in
congratulation, he grinned, “Good job, Gwynnie you’ve got yourself a mother-in-law.”

Shock flooded through Gwyn as she put together the pieces that had just been thrown at her.

An Illyrian wedding dance? Maia?

Her mind thought back to the day she had met Azriel’s mother, the scene replaying in her mind.

“We’ll start with an Amanté I think…” Her eyes glimmered with something like hidden humour as
they swept upwards to her son's and a silent conversation seemed to travel between them for a few
heartbeats.

Gwyn frowned, “I’ve not heard of the Amanté, is it an Illyrian dance?” By now, she had read many
fae romance novels that detailed particularly sultry dance scenes, often involving long-heated
stares across the dancefloor and desire-sparking touches of fingertips that led to steamy moments
in broom closets and gardens. But she had never heard of this particular one before.

Azriel’s mother smiled with a nod, “It is…and it’s a rather important one, so best master the one
you may need to know first, I think.”

Oh, Cauldron save her.

But… She couldn’t have known even then - after meeting her for mere seconds - that they were
mates… right? Her mind raced for reasoning, some kind of rationale. Some of her personal
research on the bond said that it can be sensed by those with special powers - had Maia… Maeve…
sensed her omission of truth all along? Whatever she knew, or didn’t know, it was very clear the
Illyrian female had her own motives in giving them dance lessons.

“So, unless you and Az plan to seal the deal before Mother and Cauldron tonight…” Cassian
sighed, “I really don’t think the Amantè’s gonna happen.

Azriel

The more he drank, the more Azriel felt the need to watch Gwyn. His hazel eyes didn’t leave the
sight of her twisting and twirling in Emerie’s arms to the sound of a long-honoured folk song that
blared across the busy square. Like in the field, Gwyn was ruthlessly elegant on the dancefloor.
Her lovely form, carved by curves and muscle, was some kind of perfectly honed weapon,
sharpened and precise in its movements and yet… completely effortless.

Azriel could watch her all night. And although he wasn’t one for the Mother above, in that
moment, under the iridescent light of the full moon and in the throes of the music and faelight, he
could find some kind of religion in the way she moved. The way her perfect lips curved up into a
smile that beamed with undiluted joy. It was contagious, the sight spread warmth in his cold heart
which sparked that same feeling of euphoria to burn within him.

He tilted his chin slightly as he felt the shadow climb up to curl at his ear.

Our Valkyrie is angry and would like to physically harm you, Shadows would like to watch.

‘What on Earth are you talking about?’

Brother Cassian and Valkyrie Emerie told her of Mother Meave’s secret ways.

Oh fuck. That was just what he needed. ‘She knows about the Amantè then?’

The shadows undulated in a nod, Brother Cassian suggested that you both ‘seal the deal’. Shadows
is not sure if she knew the full extent of the double entendre, but judging by the lovely pink blush
on her cheeks, she likely did. Our Valkyrie is very smart… and pretty.

‘Yes, we’ve already established that.’ Fuck. ‘What else did he tell her?’

That Maia is not Mother Maeve’s name.

Azriel audibly groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, summoning the strength not to find
Cassian and punch him in his loud, busybody mouth. No, Gwyn wouldn’t like that. ‘What do I do?’

Master could ask her to be his wife. Shadows would be very pleased and our Valkyrie would get
her dance and you would get your-
‘Something I can actually do tonight. Something useful.’

The Shadows let out an indignant hiss of a sigh, Ask her to dance, obviously.

‘The others will see’.

They sagged in exasperation, Everyone already knows you daft fool. In fact, they know more than
you.

Azriel rolled his eyes.

She thinks you are embarrassed by letting our family see you together…

‘What? No, she clearly wants to keep this private’.

Azriel thought back to the other day at the River House when Gwyn had ripped her hand from his
under Feyre’s watchful gaze. It hurt, he supposed, for a moment that she had done so, but he
understood.

Master is as wonderfully obtuse as he is blind.

Azriel huffed. ‘Shouldn’t you be surveying the perimeter for threats?’

Shouldn’t you be dancing with your-”

“I don’t think anyone is going to touch her Az,” Nesta snorted, her voice ripping him from the
silent conversation that he was having with the irritating shadows.

He blinked, turning to her, “What?”

The eldest Archeron rose a brow, “You’ve been glaring at the entire crowd for half the evening and
have spent the other half watching her like a love-struck bat. You might as well just cut to the
chase and threaten every male here personally, it would make for far more fun…”

Azriel gave her a blank stare, “Gwyneth can dance with whoever she pleases, it doesn’t concern
me…”

Nesta grinned like a wolf that had cornered a rabbit, “How funny, because, between the fact that
she smells like you and whatever depravity is going on down that corridor and that you haven’t
stopped staring at her for an hour, I’d wager that’s a lie…”

He couldn’t deny the fact that hearing she smelled of him filled Azriel with some kind of foolish
masculine pride.

Good.

He wanted her to smell like him. Wanted every male in Prythian to scent the sweet, unforgiving
death that would greet them if they even thought about touching her.

“Oh, I forgot to mention…” Nesta went on when he didn’t answer, “You remember Balthazaar?
My good friend from the Rite? He’s here tonight…”

“Wonderful.” Azriel bit out, all attempts at neutrality quickly draining as the winged male - whose
presence he had been well aware of for hours - came into view. The few times Balthazaar had
spared a glance at Gwyn, Azriel had taken to entertaining thoughts of taking him for a trip to the
Hewn City.

Nesta grinned, “It is wonderful isn’t it?” Leaning in to whisper into his ear, the deft stirrer said,
“And I heard his wingspan is rather impressive.”

Azriel gave his sister a warning glare as she laughed in amusement.

“Oh, There you are!” A familiar feminine voice rose from the sound of music and called from
close behind them.

They turned to see yet another unexpected sight, Rhys, Feyre and…Elain. The latter of which dealt
him nothing but an uncharacteristically cold glare as she neared.

Fucking great.

Not only was he in Illyria and Gwyn was apparently pissed at him… but now, his two old flames
had come to make sure his night was well and truly torturous. Azriel only gave the latecomers a
bland, uninterested smile for greeting.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta asked, taking her sister into a tight hug.

Elain shrugged, clearly not caring for the town she had found herself in, “Apparently our presence
is meant to forge political unity… But if you ask me, everyone here seems rather offended at our
presence.”

Azriel found himself looking for any excuse to leave the conversation. Things had been awkward
enough after Cassian and Nesta’s mating ceremony and now, he sensed the bitterness directed
solely at him.

Feyre only rolled her eyes, her attention alit with wonder to the celebration that was unfolding
around her, “Well I have to disagree… I think this is all quite charming.” She turned to her mate
who was watching Azriel with silent amusement, “Not at all as debaucherous as you had
described.”

Rhys levelled her a feline grin, “Don’t worry Feyre darling, if it's debauchery you want you won’t
have to wait too long, the effects of the Torrach will kick in at midnight and I’m sure you’ll change
your mind.”

Azriel huffed. The Torrach . An Illyrian drink that doubled as an aphrodisiac brewed especially for
Buain Uaine. A drink, which judging by the red tinge of Gwyn’s plump lips, she had indulged one
too many in.

His gaze met Rhys’ knowing smirk as he came over to greet him.

Nesta’s right you know, if you keep staring you’ll look like a creep.

Get out of my head, you prick.

Rhys laughed, the caves of his mind filling with the familiar sound, Go and find Gwyn, I’ll keep
Elain distracted.

Azriel nodded, turning without another word and making his way through the crowd.
As if he was being pulled by some great force, Azriel found Gwyn easily. She had been taking a
moment of respite from dancing, drinking down the sweet mulled wine as she beamed at the jovial
scene before her with hazed eyes.

There was something altogether beautiful about seeing her like this, her face glowing with a thin
layer of sweat and cheeks flushed with excitement. Happiness could be found in every inch of her
starlit complexion, from those azure eyes, bright and twinkling with wonder, to the way her foot
tapped in time to the tune of the music that blared through the night-kissed square.

As soon as Azriel sat down beside them, Emerie excused herself and dashed away, surely not
prepared to bear witness to Gwyn’s line of questioning about his mother’s never-ending conquest
for Gwyn to become her daughter-in-law.

She stared at him, eyebrow raised as the anxiety brewed within him. But then, like a wild storm
clearing to reveal a perfect Summer’s day, her lips cracked into a wide smile, and perhaps it was
the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Shoulders dropping, Azriel instantly relaxed as she took
his hand in hers and leaned into his ear.

“You should have told me about the dance.” Her breath was warm as it skittered across the tender
skin of his neck and he found himself leaning into it.

“I thought it wasn’t necessarily helpful information considering the context of our lessons.”

Gwyn nodded, looking beyond to the whirling figures in the crowd, “I know, it’s just a shame, I
know all the steps.”

Azriel didn’t let the response that so temptingly sat on his tongue leave his mouth. No. Now
wasn’t the time for that. Instead, he levelled her a smile that stole the beauty from the clear night
sky above and whispered back, “We can learn them all if you want. We can come back next year
and I’ll dance every one of them with you until you're begging me to sit down.”

Gwyn let out a girlish shriek of excitement as she began telling him of all the dances she, Nesta and
Emerie had attempted to master. And even though Azriel had been watching her all night, he
listened with interest as though he hadn’t.

From the shadows of a far corner, someone watched them with sharp curiosity. The blonde was
looking at them and not just in the way one might glance at two people at a party enjoying
themselves, no, Mor was staring .

Something like unbridled, joyous shock bloomed across her striking features as her deep gaze
dipped to where Azriel had gently taken to rubbing Gwyn’s hand. She watched as the copper-
haired Valkyrie laughed at something and then planted a surprise kiss on his flushed cheek. An act
equally simple as it was wholeheartedly life-altering.

Mor’s heavy eyes filled with five hundred years of long glances, shadowed secrets and unsaid
words.

Azriel felt the intensity of her stare and looked over his shoulder, glancing towards his long-pined-
for paramour, one of his oldest friends. A silent conversation passed through them full of things
they had never said that time had gradually drained the urgency from.

He gave her a small nod. A nod that seemed to take every one of those unsaid, tangled things
between them and somehow lay it out, aired and exposed.
 They were never a pair to discuss semantics and perhaps in this way, whatever flames they kept
burning for each other were doomed to cinders from the very beginning. And now, as Mor saw the
content wash through her friend of many years, of many wars and many moments of kinship, any
remnants of those flames were dowsed and reduced to nothing but smoked memories.

And just like that smoke, those complicated emotions drifted away, leaving nothing but the love of
siblings, the love that promised support and affection without romance.

Azriel gave Mor a loving smile and then, as if finally turning a heavily weighted page in a long
book, he glanced away and led an unknowing, giggling Gwyn to the dancefloor.

Morrigan couldn’t help it, she watched as he went, a war of old grief and new joy barrelling
through her as her eyes watered and her lips upturned to a grin.

For it was not only a page that had been turned, but it was the dawn of a new chapter.

A chapter, that had the blonde searching the crowd for a winged female with kind eyes and a fierce
heart.

Buain Uaine had indeed brought the harvest. The old, no longer viable life was uprooted and in its
place, the sprouting of new had begun to grow. Perhaps it was some ancient magic after all.

Chapter End Notes

From the start o this fic, I knew I wanted to expand the world of Prythian we had been
given. So far, we have only been shown Illyria from very unfavourable perspectives
and I wanted to challenge this and offer a new view of the Northern highlands. I think
as Illyria represents a place where both Gwyn and Azriel had experienced immense
trauma, beginning to at least try to see it in a new light and adding positive memories
to the land is a step in the right direction for both of them in terms of their growth.

The themes of this chapter are 'growth' and 'death'. Buain Uaine literally means 'Green
Harvest' in Gaelic, something that I think represents ripping out the old and nurturing
the new.

This chapter and the next are meant to be read together. I had a lot of ground to cover
and though it might be an odd choice in terms of pacing, as I said on Tumblr this
chapter serves as an end to Part II of the fic and the beginning of Part III.

I hope you liked the Amante surprise! Haha, I had it in my mind from the very
beginning and I love to think that Az's mother is aware of the bond.
I also wanted to bring up Rhys’ sister, which I believe would be such a central part of
the IC’s bond as friends, but really isn’t discussed enough in the books. I called her
Velaria - as it’s a close name to Velaris and I think it suits her station as Lady of the
Night. Also wanted to make it clear I’m not invested in the Az x Rhys’ little sister
theory…..Although ages aren’t mentioned, I picture her as young so…absolutely not
lol.

As always, let me know what your thoughts are.

Lou x
 The Gift of a Scarred Heart
Chapter Notes

Warning: Brief reference to SA

This chapter is likely riddled with errors, please excuse any you find until I have a
moment after exams to go through properly and correct them.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

As promised, Azriel danced with Gwyn for as long as her aching feet would allow. The crowd had
become less inhibited and more frenzied as the stroke of midnight crept closer. While she could've
danced the entire evening, the bodies gradually piled more and more onto the floor and hands
became wandering and exploratory with the heavy influence of the Torrach. So, Gwyn finally
conceded to having her fill of frivolity and fun, and they left for the more decent company of their
friends.

She sat down on a nearby table, desperately slipping off the silk shoes from her sore feet as she ate
the baked apple covered in vanilla custard, an apparently popular Illyrian dessert. A foolish smile
met her lips as she watched her friends laugh and drink and dance before her. And though the sheer
amount of alcohol they had consumed surely had something to do with it, Azriel was actually
beaming. His grin, so wide, that two perfect rows of teeth shone in the moonlight.

An endless flow of gratitude coursed through her at the sight of her mate, her friends . Two things
she never thought she would have.

The scent of honeydew filled her nose as a violet-draped figure came to sit down beside her. Gwyn
smiled as the middle Archeron offered a quiet greeting. The female’s eyes were hazed with the
evidence of a night of indulgence, her usual beauty somehow compounded by the white glow of
the moon above.

“So…” She sighed, swishing the contents of her mulled wine as hesitation pricked at her rounded
features, “You and Azriel, huh?”

Gwyn swallowed down the odd awkwardness that had risen at the mention of the Shadowsinger,
mentally scolding herself for not having the foresight to check if Elain was present before she
danced with him so publicly.

She winced, “Elain, I’m sorry if you think I’ve been rudely forthright…” Gwyn's hand landed on
the petal soft fingers of hers as her brows knitted together, “I wasn’t thinking properly…”

A pretty laugh tinged in sorrow left her stained lips as Elain shook her head, squeezing her hand in
return, “I don’t blame you, Gwyn… I know you’re just as much a victim in this as I am.”

Victim? Confusion painted the Valkyrie’s features as she tilted her head in silent question.
“Let me guess…” Elain gave her a sad smile, every perfect feature etched with heartache, “He
started paying attention to you, making you feel special… told you that he’s over Morrigan.”

Gwyn frowned, “Elain, I’m not sure-”

She shook her head, resolution set in her unusually hard gaze as she replied, “I’m sorry to be the
one to tell you this Gwyn, I really am. But I can’t in good conscience allow him to do to you what
he did to me, not when you’re Nesta’s good friend…”

“What… What do you mean?”

Elain raised a pretty hand to the pendant around her neck, her dainty thumb tracing the fractures of
coloured glass with a look of pained nostalgia, “He gave this to me first, the pendant… at Winter
Solstice…”

Disbelief clouded her mind as she leant backwards, away from Elain’s reach, but the middle
Archeron only moved forward again. “Azriel’s in love with her, Gwyn, he always has been and he
always will be. He’s made a habit of looking for distractions in trusting girls like you and me. And
I know how it feels, to be looked at by him, to desire him… But he will get bored like he always
does and at the end of the day…” Elain jerked her chin towards the sight now before them, Mor
was filling up Azriel’s cup of wine, their smiles wide and untamed as he laughed at something the
great beauty had said. “...At the end of the day, it will always be her.”

There was a war suddenly waging within her, a battle between heart and mind. And maybe it was
the wine or the music, but the more she looked at them together, the more Elain’s words made
sense. Instinctually, her fingers came up to touch the necklace, her eyes welling with tears as the
truth set in.

“I’m sorry…” Elain’s chocolate eyes were flooded with sympathy, “...As soon as he made it clear
to me that he was tired of me, I gave the necklace back to him. May I ask, when did he give it to
you?”

Gwyn’s voice was choked as she said, “The day after Winter Solstice.”

Her eyes widened in response, a bitter laugh soaked in resentment rising to her full lips as she spat,
“That conniving bastard.”

Despite clinging to reason and hope that this was all a perfectly silly misunderstanding, she
couldn't help the sudden hollow feeling creeping in her chest. Because even if her instincts were
correct and Elain was mistaken and Azriel truly was over Mor, he had still given her a necklace
that belonged to another female. He had let her treasure it and find joy in the gift that she had
thought was meant just for her, and perhaps it stung her pride to be made to look such a fool.

Truthfully, Gwyn had wept when she clicked open the box’s clasp and found the brilliantly crafted
jewellery inside. Had spent an hour just staring at the fine piece in abject awe.

And not because it particularly suited her, no, even though it was not something she would have
bought herself, even though she had always preferred bluebells and lilies to saccharine-scented
roses, it was kind. The gift lay in the very sentiment it was given in.

Jewellery was rare for Priestesses to own and the thought of having something so lovely and
perfect given to her… well, it was everything. Everything because she knew despite it all, despite
not seeing Catrin beam with delight on her favourite holiday or hear the sweet melodies of her
mother’s voice singing sweet hymns at the service, someone had thought of her.
Someone had seen her.

Elain gave her freckled hand, now limp, another squeeze before standing up to leave.

“I just thought you should know,” she gave a shrug, “I would’ve wanted someone to tell me.”

Gwyn nodded, fingers still touching the pendant and that familiar feeling of being watched pricked
at her senses.

Welling azure eyes met alarmed hazel ones as they stared at each other from afar, the ghost of a
shadow curling at his ear, informing him of the conversation that had just transpired.

Azriel was in front of her in an instant, his face, full of grave guilt.

“Is it true?” Her voice was tamed into a placid question, but within the azure seas of her eyes raged
a storm that promised destruction. “About the necklace being hers, is it true?”

“Gwyn…” Azriel let out a long sigh laced with regret, pain etching into his features as he reached
for her and she didn’t reach back. Didn’t recoil , but certainly didn’t take her hand in his as he had
hoped she would. “Let me explain, let me take us somewhere more private …”

She paused, eyeing him with narrowed hesitation before noticing the attention they had garnered
from their curious friends. With a sigh, she conceded to his request and gave him a curt nod.

No more words were said between them as Gwyn extended her hand to his and they winnowed
away from the celebration in a whirl of shadows, falling into a cloud of misted night.

They landed moments later in some kind of…cabin.

Small and cozy, the furniture appeared worn with age but entirely comfortable. However, that
wasn’t what had momentarily distracted Gwyn from the situation she had found herself in, no, it
was the little paintings that littered the walls.

Hazel eyes she had come to know well, were painted expertly over the threshold of a corridor and
then, stars and the night sky on a dining table nearby. Instinctually, she leaned for the dining table,
but the rough texture of the wood awoke a dormant memory within her, so she took to standing
ramrod straight instead.

“Listen, Gwyn, I never intended for the necklace to cause any harm…”

Azriel’s words shook her from the chaotically spinning thoughts whirling through her mind. She
crossed her arms, waiting for him to continue.

“Please just hear me out-”

“Here…” With a slight tremor in her fingers, she reached around her neck to remove the thing that
had suddenly drained the evening of its splendour. “...I don’t want it.” She reached out to hand it to
him and with a rare look of devastation plastered over his features, a scarred hand took it from her.

He nodded, throwing the necklace onto the neighbouring sofa with little care for its worth, “I’d like
to take you to the House of Thread and Jewels when we get back to Velaris… I want to get you
something else-”

“I don’t care about the necklace Azriel, I care about the fact that you let me wear it - in front of
Elain and everybody else. I care about the fact that you let me think that for the first time in my
life, someone had actually thought of me enough to give me something for Solstice.”

Azriel swallowed down hard, “I did think of you Gwyn, I need you to know that.”

Gwyn let out a harsh breath of laughter, “When? When you gave me a second-hand gift and made
me look like a fool in front of everyone? Why didn’t you just tell me, Az?”

That devastation turned to pain as the words struck his chest like a symphony of sharpened arrows.
“I was going to… But I saw how much you liked it… And I couldn’t bear the thought of telling
you it had belonged to someone else before you.”

Her voice had turned strained and low as she finally said, “I have been second to other females my
whole life Azriel. And I won’t let you make me another example of being the next best to Elain
Archeron or even the fucking Morrigan. I am worth more than that and I won’t accept it. I can’t.”
Not when I’ve spent this entire time loving you, were the chasing words on the tip of her tongue,
but she swallowed them as she continued. “And I am mortified you would do that to Elain. Just
parading me around in front of her, wearing this stupid fucking necklace like some kind of
permanent reminder of whatever transpired between you two - She still loves you, by the way.”

“No…” Azriel shook his head, striding towards her, “You are not just some replacement, Gwyn.”
His voice was strained like the guilt wrenched through every syllable. “I need you to know that. I
need you to know that despite this stupid fucking situation I’ve put us in, you mean more to me
than anyone ever has…and I know it doesn’t seem like that right now. But I promise I will spend
my life showing you if you just listen to me.”

Gwyn searched his pleading eyes for a few heartbeats before she fell down to the wooden chair of
the kitchen table, “Tell me everything, Azriel…I’m tired.”

He came to sit down next to her and slumped into the chair. “I gave the necklace to Elain on the
evening of Winter Solstice and yes, I bought it for her because at that time I thought I had feelings
for her. When I gave it to her, we almost kissed but Rhys broke it up before anything could happen
and then, she had the good sense to give it back to me. And then, I…” He shook his head, looking
down at his hands, “I was so pissed, so angry that I flew back to the House of Wind…and there you
were training on the roof…”

Gwyn swallowed the emotion that rose from her gut and flooded her rapidly beating chest like a
tidal wave. She remembered that night. Remembered the icy anger and sadness that lingered in his
eyes. Remembered the way that despite that anger and sadness, he had given her his time, he had
shown her how to correct her sword swing in the midst of that cold, blustery night.

And from that small moment of kindness, she had refined the skill to cut the ribbon. A ribbon, that
in retrospect, she wished she had kept. By the time Gwyn had raced back up the stairs to take it, it
was gone.

“And for a single moment Gwyn, you pulled me out of that terrible, all-consuming rage. I don’t
know how you did it…” Azriel shook his head in confusion, his brow furrowing in bewilderment,
“...For a second, all the noise and bullshit went away and you grounded me again. And then, the
next day I couldn’t stop thinking about you and the way you were so determined to cut that fucking
ribbon at training. Even if it meant coming out in the blistering winter at two in the morning to
practice.” He leaned forward, hazel eyes burning with something wet and bright, “I was so proud
of you, Gwyn. I know I never said it. I know I don’t say it often enough even now, but that moment
made me realise how fucking brilliant you were. And I realised that night that you were up there
for the same reason I was. Because you were alone. So, I stupidly thought you might have wanted
a gift… I gave it to Clotho to give to you anonymously the next morning.”
Gwyn let out a laboured breath, as she too, leaned forward, her hand landing on top of his in the
way it always did. Shadows flittered around where they were joined, like ribbons of smoked night
binding their hands together.

“… I guess I thought it might make you feel like you weren’t alone… because I couldn’t bear that
thought. And I still can’t, Gwyn.”

Her tired eyes drifted from their entwined hands up to his eyes, so heavy with the weight of regret.
The next question left her lips before she could even think twice about it, “Why is that, Azriel?”

His eyes burned bright as if they were forging some kind of new metal. Golden ore flecked with
darkness, equal parts beautiful and deadly, just as he was. “Because I’m a selfish male, Gwyn...”
He gripped her hand tighter, the shadows binding them kissing the flesh with cool licks of night,
“...Because even though I don’t deserve you, I can’t stay away. Because you’re the only thing I
want and I know I’ve fucked things up in the past but trust me when I say, Gwyn, you’re the only
thing I’ve ever really wanted and I can’t explain it but…” Azriel shook his head, looking up to the
ceiling as if begging the Mother for some kind of divine guidance in the moment.

Her heart was beating so fast it felt as if it would burst out of her chest and for the first time, Gwyn
wondered if she should just tell him about the bond. If all he had said was enough to know that he
had chosen her, regardless.

“...But if you’ll allow it when all this is over, I’d like to court you…”

Gwyn’s lips twitched into a small smile, “You want to…properly date me, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel mirrored her smile, as he nodded with tears pricking his eyes, “Yes, Gwyn. I promised to
give you anything you wanted, and I meant it. Whatever you want, name it and it's yours. If you’ll
allow it, I’ll spend whatever years of my life I have left, trying to be deserving of you. And if that’s
not what you’re looking for, I understand. But if I’m being completely honest with you, I don’t
know if this can just be sex for me…”

The irony of his words almost made her laugh. He was worried that she was only interested in the
physical… That for some ridiculous reason, Azriel was under the impression she wasn’t already in
love with him. But Gwyn wouldn’t admit that yet, for if anything, that admission may snap the
bond in place. No, at that moment, in the cosy warmth of the cabin, she resolved to wait until he
said those words to tell him. Until his heart was ready and she was absolutely sure he wanted her,
forever.

Suddenly, he stood, the feet of the chair scraping against the floor as he did. Disconnecting their
hands and running a stressed one through his hair, Azriel took a deep breath, finally turning to face
her again. The look on his face could have shattered her, right then and there. Such utter
devastation, such heart-aching vulnerability. It made her weak, made the pain in her chest
compound a little more. His usual mask of carefully crafted collection had been entirely discarded.

The fallen angel, her angel of death, was before her once more.

“The truth is…” His voice was low and hoarse, like the confession that laced his lips had been
uprooted from the depths of him, “...I have feelings for you, Gwyn, and that scares the living shit
out of me. And I haven’t said it because I’m a fucking coward… You need to understand that
everything I have ever loved tends to get broken because of me and I can’t bear to watch you
break, Gwyn.” Azriel shook his head, a tear running down his cheek, clutching the back of the
chair for support, “I couldn’t bear that, it would destroy me.”
 She stood, her feet carrying herself to him as if she were pulled on the invisible threads that had
bound their hearts. A soft hand cupped his cheek, her fingers wiping away the salted tears that ran
down the golden skin. “I told you before, Az…” Gwyn hadn’t realised she was crying until that
moment, “I want you to give me everything you have to give, everything. Even the parts you hate.
All that you can offer, let me take it… You are what I want, all of it.”

Azriel slowly nodded, such raw feeling glistening in his haunted eyes.

“Nothing will ever break me, not now, not after Sangravah, or the Blood Rite… You don’t need to
worry about me, not when I have you.”

“You do have me, Gwyn,” he whispered, drawing one of her hands to feel the thunderous beat in
his chest, “every broken, unmendable and dark part. If you want it, it’s yours… It beats for you.”

“And you have every bloodied and battered part of me, Shadowsinger.”

Chapter End Notes

This Chapter is the end of Part II and the beginning of Part III.
It was the most difficult chapter for me to write thus far and I'm still not happy with it
to be completely honest, but, I'm hoping you can find some redemption in it.

Did anyone clock my sneaky Little Women reference, haha! Tik Tok has influenced
me once again.

The necklace drama always needed to be addressed, and I know from many
correspondences on Tumblr that I've had with lots of you that everyone has a different
idea of how it should go down.

Many people have told me they thought she would blow up and be angry. But in my
interpretation, I think she would be saddened by the sentiment of the gift being so
sullied and the added devastation of realising she had inadvertently hurt Elain's
feelings would ultimately make her more sad than angry.
And so, I chose to use it as an opportunity for Azriel to finally come clean to Gwyn
about the depth of his feelings for her. I think the necklace in a way, represents
Azriel's fractured relationship with his heart. He didn't know how to tell Elain how he
'felt' about her so he resorted to buying something entirely surface level and material
for her instead.
When Gwyn and Azriel are on the rooftop in the Bonus Chapter, the bond is quietly
awoken in Azriel (this can be seen through the use of SJM's mate language) and I think
that triggers him to - in his messed up/ undeveloped way - offer what he perceives as
his 'heart' to her.

I wanted to draw a line in the sand here and make it clear that as Azriel has grown and
developed with Gwyn, he no longer resorts to such feeble means of showing affection
or love. This I think, is where the emotional and devotional meaning of Gwyn's dagger
is exemplified and the true depth of his feelings for Gwyn become realised.

I also wanted to add a justification for why he had been holding back.
"...everything I have ever loved tends to get broken because of me and I can’t bear to
watch you break, Gwyn..." Was a line that came to me when I thought about Azriel's
relationship with the people he loves most and the consequential root of his self-
hatred. It was meant to mirror Rhysand's line in ACOMAF, along the lines of
'Everything I love has a habit of being taken away from me..." I thought it was a nice
connection to the books and the shared trauma the bat boys have gone through.

Anyways, I'm expecting a mixed response to this chapter. So please let me know -
respectfully - what you think of it.
 Fire and Flood
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW, smut and sexual themes.

As always, big thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship, a true mastermind that

helped me with this chapter. If you don't follow her on tumblr, I don't know what
you're doing.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In the distance, an aged grandfather clock struck midnight.

And her feverous blood, once sparking small embers, was now crackling with the flames of magic
and practically setting her bones alight.

Gwyn had been aware of the effects of the Torrach when she drank the sweet, warm wine that was
spiced and honeyed in a way she had never tasted. Prior to attending the festival, Azriel had
dutifully informed her of the stimulating effects and had warned her of its potency and its purpose
amongst the Illyrians as an aphrodisiac.

And yet, Gwyn had drank every drop from the cups she had spent her coppers on.

It was odd, to feel safe enough, protected enough, to be able to indulge in such risks. A dark, more
wanting part of her mind had craved to know the feeling of the high that came with it. There was a
deep desire buried within her to know what such a sensation would be like.

Light though it was, she felt that drive, the need boil under her skin. And perhaps the more rational
part of her mind knew what this really was.

An experiment.

A test just for her. To see if external forces that influence one's needs and hunger for the flesh
might be manageable. Because there it was in the back of her mind again… That same anxious itch
that had haunted the halls of her mind for years now.

The frenzy .

Azriel had made a point of drinking the honey mead and not the Torrach. It was those small things
he did that she found comfort in, the consideration, the understanding that seemed to flow so freely
between them as time waged on and their connection grew deeper.

And yet, even without the aphrodisiac coursing through his own veins, Gwyn saw the heat-laden
appetite that flamed in his gilded eyes.

Her lonely lips had found his as soon as the confession was voiced aloud.

“And you have every bloodied and battered part of me, Shadowsinger.”
It was the most honest thing she had ever said to him, the truth dripping from her tongue like sweet
spring honey. The taste of that honesty, that trust, she found it on his tongue too. And there was
nothing more Gwyn wanted than to swallow every lick of it down until she knew the exact notes of
his candour.

“Every broken, unmendable and dark part. If you want it, it’s yours… It beats for you.” He had
vowed and it felt something holy.

In that moment as she felt the ferocious rhythm of his heartbeat, every constricted part of her had
unfolded. Every terrible thing she had done, every regret she clung to and every dark desire, left
open and waiting, exposed to him. And judging by the slackening of his shoulders and the way he
just…stared at her as she made her vow in return, she knew he was unfurling just the same.

The kiss turned ravaging, hungry, like they had been starved of each other and finally had been
allowed to feast. All the mess that had just transpired with Elain and the necklace had seemed to
drain from her mind, replaced only with some kind of blade-sharp focus to where her skin met his.
As if her very nerves had become fine-tuned to feeling him, magnetised to the Shadowsinger’s
form.

Gwyn’s arms wrapped tightly around Azriel’s neck, one of her hands buried and knotted into his
lush, ebony hair, the other, dragging across his shoulder blades to where soft skin met the bony
appendage of his wing.

His movements against her mouth became more desperate and wild as she innocently ran a
fingertip over that space where flesh met hard-boned leather. A low groan escaped his throat, and
she tasted every inch of it. Revelled in the sound that she had coaxed from deep within. That sound,
a dark and wicked song she had come to miss at these lonely hours of the night.

A dangerous smile spread across her swollen lips, as her eyes glinted with mischief and piqued
curiosity. Slowly, she took a step forward, and then another, pushing him into the wood-panelled
wall beyond.

Just inches from the wall, his feet stopped in their tracks, halting her with them.

“Gwyn…” The lust burning in Azriel’s gaze had subsided, clearing into a warning stare. One that
she appreciated but didn’t want to see. His voice was hoarse as he continued with measure, “... The
Torrach is settling in… I should take you home.”

The grip Gwyn had on his hair tightened and she watched as his eyes threatened to flutter shut.
There was no way he was going to take this experience away from her. The lack of inhibition felt
so deliciously good and she had drunk just enough to feel the effects, but not enough to entirely
have her will encumbered by the salacious throes of the Illyrian magic.

“I don’t wanna go home…” Her voice was low and soft like silk, a siren's tone if there ever was
one. “... Home is full of prying eyes and ears…” Gwyn’s lips found his jugular, the spot that
whenever she touched, seemed to have him teetering from his state of careful control. She felt the
pounding intensity of his heartbeat under the hot kiss, his blood pumping with the same lust that
hung so thickly in the air. She felt him draw in a ragged breath as she said, “... And I want to be
alone with you, for once. When we’re not in danger on a mission or training...”

Azriel pulled away from her, taking her chin in his hand and surveying the look in her eye, a
shadow curled at his ear a moment later. She knew what he was doing, assessing the extent of her
inebriation. A familiar war waged in the pits of his eyes, one that she had come to realise was his
demanding heart battling his sturdy mind.
Gwyn hitched a brow, “Do you really think if I was too drunk on the Torrach that I’d still have my
clothes on, Shadowsinger?” Only reason and rationality would abate his thorough concerns, she
knew that. Teasingly, her finger trailed from his shoulder, down his carved pectorals and down…
and down to the hardness that pressed violently against the hard material of his leathers. She
palmed his length as she said, “Do you really think your clothes would still be on?”

Azriel swallowed down hard, the conflict in his eyes clearing. He gave her a smirk, tipping his chin
to the side. “As always, you make a compelling argument, Berdara.”

“I’ll remind you, that you did say not five minutes ago, that you would give me anything I
wanted…” Her hand reached down to unbuckle the holster that held Truth Teller at his waist and it
fell to the floor moments later in a muffled clamber, as the leather and metal pommel hit the floor.
Azriel didn't even bat an eye at the undressing.

“And what is it that you want?” His heated gaze dipped low to where his thumb came to draw
down her bottom lip, an act of appreciation for her mouth he had taken a habit of silently pursuing.

Everything.

Gwyn wanted every single inch of him. Wanted to taste it on her tongue, feel it on her naked flesh.

Azriel continued when she didn’t answer straight away, “My mouth on your deliciously pretty
cunt?” That very spot dripped and ached for him as he said the words, a hot firing need pooling
low in her belly. “...Or maybe you want me to use my fingers again… I do miss the way you
scream my name like a prayer…” His gaze rose to hers, the promise of that very act barrelling
through the intensity of it as he finished, “...Priestess.”

Cauldron boil her.

How did such perfect filth pour so wonderfully from his wicked mouth? She liked the antithetic
sound of his depravity, liked the way such indecent words were delivered in the low, velvet
baritone of his voice.

Gwyn swallowed down hard, ridding herself of the urge to give in to the offer. Because, no, tonight
that is not what she wanted.

Her hand lightly squeezed his thick, hardness, earning a deep groan as she leaned in and said,
“No… Tonight I want to try something else.”

Azriel had clamped his jaw shut so tight, the tendons strained in his neck. Slowly, he took a step
further into her, increasing the pressure of her grip on him. Their lips met again, fiercely,
approvingly.

She knew then, that he was more than pleased to let her take him wherever she wanted to go. To let
her take this wherever she wanted it to go. The trust in that fact made her heart skip and her
stomach flutter.

His wings found the hardness of the wall as she pressed into him and they flared out to span the
entirety of the panelled wood. With no ounce of a tremble, her hands skirted upwards to find them,
fingers taking to lightly tracing up from the hard joint to the sharp talon above. Azriel shivered, and
from their closeness, she felt the erratic thumping of his heart, heard the breath he had sucked in.
The talon was sensitive, she filed away that information for later.

Gwyn pulled away briefly to catch her own breath, taking a moment to survey the beautiful
structures in wonder as they stretched and stretched outwards. Azriel never extended out his wings
like this except for when he was preparing to take flight. There was a silent vulnerability that
underpinned the act, another wordless vow of trust laced in the way they stretched to their full
capacity just for her. Her analytical mind noted that all silky teasing aside, his wingspan really was
impressive.

An arrogant smirk laced Azriel’s features as he watched her take in his form, “I’ll add wing play to
the secret little list, shall I?”

A faint blush flittered across her freckled cheeks as she tipped her chin to the side gathering up the
courage to say the next words, “I have another thing to add…”

“Oh?”

Gwyn pressed her hips against his, finding the evidence of his arousal hard and ready beneath his
leathers. Her other hand descending down the muscled plane of his chest, down the valley of every
carved abdominal muscle until she began unlacing the ties there.

Hazel eyes rolling slightly at the touch, Azriel swung his head back onto the wall, exposing the
lengthened column of his neck.

“Is this okay?”

She watched him swallow down hard and saw the lazy movement of the hard knot of his throat bob
as he did. For a brief moment, the darker part of her mind wondered what that flesh would taste like
on her tongue if she bit it.

“Fuck yes…” He breathed, the words laced in a long, laboured breath.

Her nimble fingers wrestled with the ties as her palm took to kneading his hard length in
exploration.

“Have you ever heard of the Wingspan Correlation Theory , Shadowsinger?” Gwyn smirked as her
blood pumped viciously with the thrumming beat of her heart. She would enjoy this. Make him
sweetly suffer like he had done to her so well.

Azriel’s jaw had clamped shut again, a muscle flickering through it as she asked the question. In a
raspy voice he replied, “Are you implying you want to conduct field research on my cock,
Gwyneth?…”

She bit her lip, enjoying the way his filthy mouth poured heat low in her belly and made something
tender within it flip. There was no need to see her panties to know that they had met the same fate
of many others in his presence, soaked and damp. His nostrils flared slightly, and she knew then,
that he could scent the extent of her arousal. In answer, a carnal hunger painted his features.

“I’ve heard from reputable sources that there is a direct association between an Illyrian male’s
wingspan and his endowment…” Planting a kiss on his exposed neck, she once again felt the
growing thrum of his galloping heartbeat in the pulse point nearby. “...I’m curious as to whether
that correlation is actually true…”

Her teeth grazed the soft flesh that was littered with ink, lightly biting down on it, tasting those
lovely tattooes. All her senses had been heightened somehow and she couldn’t help but want to
indulge in every inch of him that had become so visceral.

By the way he was reacting to her touch, Gwyn wondered if he too, had felt so overcome with that
engulfing sense of overstimulation.
His voice was gravelly and coarse as he replied, “Well, I’ve never been one to stand in the way of
your academic pursuits, have I?”

A breathy laugh fell from her lips and tumbled across the skin of his neck, the tip of her nail
skating up the winged appendage that rose from his shoulder blade and scratching slightly.

‘Interesting…” She remarked, her tone teasingly light and innocent. “I wonder what would happen
if I…” All five of her nails delicately clawed down that same sensitive flesh and she watched with
no shortage of delight as he slammed her hips further into his own and unleashed a growl so loud,
that made her indeed thankful they weren’t in the close quarters of the House of Wind.

Azriel sucked in a breath, his eyes, dark with desire coming to anchor into her own. “If you keep
doing that, I’m going t-”

His warning was cut off as her hand moved into the gaping hem of his leathers. Gwyn’s eyes grew
wide as she felt what lay underneath. He was long and thick and hard as stone. Yet somehow, soft
to touch like fine spun velvet. Though she hadn’t gathered personal experience in the area of male
cocks, his length was… neigh on anatomically impossible.

“Fucking hell, Berdara…” He hissed, his grip on her waist tightening.

Her voice was softer as she came up to the shell of his ear, asking, “Can I…?”

“You can do whatever you want…” He replied, “...Except, let me forget that the great Gwyneth
Berdara almost made me come from just palming me through my fucking leathers and somehow
learning wing play in the span of two minutes.”

The validation that laced his words caressed her riled nerves. She let out a laugh as she freed the
wicked, pulsing thing from the harsh material of his pants. “What can I say, I’m a fast learner…”

“Damn right y-” Azriel became wordless as he patiently let her explore him with a tentative and
gentle hand. Her eyes maintained their focus on his, which were now clenched shut, not gathering
the courage to look down just yet.

Gwyn’s lips found his as she dragged him up off the wall and lightly pushed him down into the
little sofa a few feet away.

There was a flick of his hand from the seat as he threw something glinting with silver across the
room. It hit the floor with a delicate cling. If that stupid necklace wasn’t broken already, it likely
was now it had been tossed to the ground uncaringly. She didn’t pay it any mind, her knees came to
rest on either side of his thighs, while his wings curled forward and wrapped around them
protectively.

Then, she peered down.

Holy Mother above and Hell below.

He was huge. So big, she didn’t even know that such a thing was possible.

Her pale, freckled fist looked so small in comparison to the thick shaft it was holding. And Gwyn
wondered how on Earth something like that might ever fit inside her.

“Have you proven your little hypothesis then?” Undiluted male pride dripped through every word,
his voice was rasped as his eyes, blazing with untapped desire, took in the sight of her holding him
too. So he knew how impressive he was then… And looking at him right now, with that mix of
smug arrogance and dark lust laced through his features, she couldn’t help but be taken aback.

“I, uh…” Gwyn cleared her throat, “I’m still deliberating…”

Azriel let out a low chuckle, the sound settling in Gwyn like hot honey and causing her to take the
bottom of her lip between her teeth.

She needed a distraction. In that moment, she thanked the Mother for her plentiful knowledge
gathered from smutty books and Nesta’s extravagant sex life as her thumb came up to lightly graze
the textured area just below his tip.

Azriel’s hips bucked as one of his large hands found its way into her now, undone hair and the
other, travelled underneath her dress, to grip the fleshy flank of her hip. Well, at least she had done
that right. And although Gwyn knew the mechanics of the act she had so willingly gotten herself
embroiled in performing, the sight of him like this, the way he looked at her… Her confidence
faltered.

“I… I don’t really know what I’m doing here…” She breathed in regret, the self-consciousness
getting the best of her in the heated moment. Gwyn wanted to make it good for him the way he had
made it mind-bendingly amazing for her. But… other females, more experienced and less
encumbered, had without a doubt done this very act to him before. And maybe the competitive
part of her hated that. Maybe the mating bond, which had gone taut and demanding between them,
made that fact compound and crush her confidence just a little. “I… I’m going to need some
guidance.”

“Everything you’re doing is perfect.” Azriel’s mouth found her neck and trailed hot, encouraging
bites down the tender flesh. His teeth took to clamping down harder as she massaged the area
which elicited such a wonderful response from him, again. He groaned into the arc of her neck,
“D…Do that again…”

Gwyn followed his instruction and, gripping him a little tighter this time, felt his hips lift into her
touch again - her fist slipping up and down his shaft from the movement.

“Fuck…” He growled, biting down on the bony rise of her clavicle lightly. She sucked in a breath,
her eyes gently shutting. The sensation was a sweet mix of pain and pleasure, one that had her
grinding her wet core down onto his thighs. In nothing but a tone thick with husky need, Azriel
said, “Keep going, baby…”

Hazed with both the mounting of her own fiery pleasure and being at the hand of his, she dared to
slide her hand down his length in perfect timing with her finger navigating its way onto the thin
membranous tissue that stretched across his upper wing. His cock twitched in answer, and her
brows raised in delighted triumph as she gloated in his responsiveness to her touch.

His hot breath scattered across her chest as he shuddered. “Gwyn, I’m not going to last long if you
keep doing that…” Azriel warned, suddenly looking up at her with strain in his hooded eyes, “Do
you know what… what will happen?”

She almost laughed but settled on rolling her eyes and giving him another tight squeeze that was
met with a deep growl. “I do read, Azriel.”

As if to prove her point, she pumped him a little harder, faster.

“Not very well, I recall,” he managed to shoot back in throes of his heaved breathing. And the
memory of the way he had her moaning through a history recital in her parlour as his head was
nestled between her wet thighs, had her slowing torturously before picking up the pace to
something menacing.

She hummed something low and sweet replying, “I think if we put a book in your hands at the
present moment…” Pleasure overtook his entire body and as if he were on some kind of precipice,
Azriel leaned back into the cushions, his mouth disconnecting from her neck as he began spurting a
symphony of creative curses that reddened her cheeks and pricked at her own arousal. “You
wouldn’t even get past the title page.”

She could feel it in him then, as he gripped her hip harder, rocking her against his thigh and his
voice drew more scattered and panting. The edges of his wings had contracted slightly as if bracing
for the impending release.

But… Gwyn wasn’t done yet, so she slowed her movements, sensing his patience dwindling from
the abrupt tease in the change in pace.

“Berdara, I swear to the Mother…”

“Not yet…” Offering him a smirk, she leaned into his ear and whispered, “I have another thing to
add to the list…”

Hazel eyes, now poured with gilded ore, narrowed as he panted slightly. The shadows had turned
wild and struck with their own brand of hellish gratification as they flickered like night-licked
flames around their sweaty forms. She felt the cool lick of them slither up her bare legs, to where
Azriel’s hand had clamped down on her hip. Others had taken to crawling up her torso and lapping
at her neck, which was blotched with the evidence of his teeth and still wet with his attentive
tongue.

Gwyn didn’t wait for him to answer as she, on shaky legs, stood from her place astride him. Her
eyes never left his, as slowly, her knees bent and she sunk down to the floor before his massive
form.

Azriel went wide-eyed, his cock straining impossibly harder at the sight, a glistening small puddle
of something wet spurting from the tip. But… he hadn’t come yet. She would ask him about that
later.

“You don’t have to…” His voice trailed off as her lips innocently kissed his knee. She could hear
the war drum of his heartbeat so clearly, like it was a song she loved playing in the next room.

Gwyn looked up at him through her dark spray of lashes, azure eyes lit with their own kind of
fiendish war between amusement and desire as she asked sweetly, “You don’t want me to lick
you?”

Azriel let out a gruff noise of disbelief as he went slack, a tortured sort of expression on his face.
Because he did want her to lick him. She could see it in his eyes, struck with dark compulsion and
hear it in his ferocious breath, heaved and wanting.

And maybe she was shocked because… she wanted this too. Despite her lack of experience, despite
her fear of not being good enough, there was something powerful in this moment. And that power
was making her ravenous for him. Seeing her mate like this, strung out and pleasured, Cauldron, it
was addictive.

“Of course, I fucking do, Gwyneth…” His handsome features contorted into pain, “I’m trying to…
I’m trying to be a good male here.”
She let out a breathy laugh as she kissed up the leather of his thick, muscular thigh with swollen
lips. “Considering there’s a Priestess, who is under your charge, kneeling before you as you swear
like a sailor bound for hell's gates…” He stiffened as she took the head of his thick length and
placed a chaste kiss on it, tasting the little puddle of glossy salt that had pooled there, “I… I think
we’re past that, Azriel…”

His eyes, hazed and hooded tracked every single move her mouth made with animalistic intensity.
“Yeah, I think you’re right… F… Fuck.” The curse met her ears as she experimentally ran her hot
tongue along the seam of him.

Azriel indeed tasted like every dark and hellish thing had been spun to something altogether
saccharine and godly. Like the heavy promise of war and the sweet lust for victory. The smooth
skin was a mix of salt, rich spice and laced with smoked cedar, his scent engulfing her every
overstimulated sense, until they all blurred into one.

She was drunk on him, on them, on how indecent they were being.

It was a scene altogether unholy, her face something both angelic and wicked as she cocked a grin
at him, “I’m always right, Shadowsinger.”

His cock twitched in her hands as he hissed out a breath in a wordless response.

Her lips met his tip again, “Say it…” Gwyn took the head of him in her mouth again, dipping it
slightly between her puckered lips, trialling the movement.

Strained and shattered he asked, “Wh… What?”

Looking up at him through her lashes, she clarified, “Tell me I’m always right…” Another lick up
the sensitive inner side of his shaft, “I want to hear you say it.”

“I… uh…” Gwyn had never seen Azriel appear so utterly unlike himself, so completely naked - for
the lack of a better word. There was no trace of that cool, calm and collected male she had come to
know. His bravado had faded away, the handsome threat of his knowing looks was absent too. And
in their place, raw and unmasked, he looked struck with an impossible mix of both agony and sheer
bliss.

She would always remember how he looked in that exact moment. Years from now, whatever
happened between them, even if she were lying in the cold earth of a grave, this memory would
stay with her.

To edge him along, Gwyn leaned forward, her mouth finally taking his length between her
puckered lips and letting it hit the back of her throat. There were some books she had read that
spoke of gagging and retching as his twitching tip slid along her tongue and hit her tonsils, but
luckily, she found this was not the case.

“Fucking hell… Gwyn…” He rasped, a hand lightly knotting in her hair, not to push her head
further in but instead, to still her from moving anymore. “Y…You don’t want to… I might…”

"I don't mind." In another experimental attempt at putting her knowledge into practice, she took the
base of him, the plentiful amount that couldn’t fit in, and gripped it in her hand. Her eyes ascended
to meet his once more and with a little smile brimming at the edge of her lips, she moved him, in
and out of her mouth.

The hand in her hair gripped tighter, but never pulled or tugged at the roots to the point of pain.
“I’m waiting, Shadowsinger…” She reminded him as his wet cock, glistening and hard, slipped
from her mouth.

Her tongue returned to that textured point just under his head and with a hot swipe, glided over it.
The movement was met with an involuntary buck of his hips.

“You’re…” His words descended into a sharp intake of breath as she took him back into her mouth,
gaining some kind of easy rhythm that seemed to come naturally to her instincts. Azriel growled
again, his siphons blaring bright cobalt in her periphery as he did, she swallowed the sound down
with the rest of his taste. “... You’re always right.”

Gwyn choked slightly as she let out a laugh around his shaft and that seemed to send him into
overdrive.

“Every fucking day you’re perfect, Berdara…” His other hand had clenched the arm of the sofa so
hard, the fabric had ripped under the pressure and she knew then that he was holding back on her.
Making sure he didn’t lose control and force too much of himself in her mouth. That realisation
only made her movements faster.

“Really?” She asked in a moment of reprieve before taking him in again. The pressure was building
inside him, inside her. The air was thick and charged between them and his hand gave her hair a
mindless tug as he bit his lip.

“Yes.." Azriel admitted, "I should have known you’d be good at this…” He groaned as his hips
snapped up into her, “You look so pretty with me in your mouth… I’ve thought about you like this,
tasting my cock… M… More often than I’d like to admit.”

The filthy words pushed her further into her own arousal, the pounding in her core thrumming
faster and faster. Gwyn hummed in agreement, the reverberation of it making his hips snap up
again.

“Fuck.” He spat, “Berdara, you need to… I’m going to…”

She didn’t give him the chance to pull her way, instead, she did what Florence Finch had done to
the dark Prince Orion in the Crown of Night , and took him further down her throat. She wanted all
of this. All of him.

Azriel’s answering curses were loud enough to shake the entire cabin while every muscle tensed
and contracted within him. His wings shuddered as they pulled tightly in, even the shadows
seemed to go taut and strenuous, no longer undulating blissfully around them. Then, as he fell back
onto the cushions, his fingers pulling the strands of her copper hair in his tight grip, he came with a
symphony of baritone moans.

Gwyn didn’t know what to expect at the sound of his orgasm, but the feeling of that break in the
floodgates of his pleasure made her hungrily welcome the flow of hot seed that ran down her throat
moments after. She liked the taste of him as the milky saltiness hit her tongue, revelled in the
feeling of him coming undone because of her mouth. Because of her.

Pride struck her right in the chest. Gwyneth Berdara had made the Shadowsinger of the Night
Court…come in the throes of passion.

She swallowed down every bit of him down, not able to help the victorious grin that carved her
lips as his slackening shaft slipped out. His hand lazily came to her jaw and his thumb wiped off
the residual gleam of left on her lips.
Azriel opened his arms, a silent invitation as he continued panting and piecing the scattered parts of
himself back together. Rising to her feet, she climbed back onto his lap, her lacey core coming
down to brush against his cock. Instantly, at the contact, it was hard again.

She ignored the urges that came with that sensation, and clamped down on the desperate need that
rose in her. A smirk came to her lips as she pecked his, “I’m happy to report there is academic
merit in the Wingspan Correlation Theory after all…”

A wide, lazy grin overtook his flushed features, making him look boyish and charming. He
appeared so… happy. So absent of stress and the shrouding harshness of constant vigilance.
Reaching forward, Azriel placed a kiss on her forehead and brought her into the warmth of his
chest.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me, Gwyneth Berdara…” With a low mumble, he added,
“And, I’ve never wanted to meet my end more.”

The shadows settled over them like an obsidian blanket, the only sound filling the air the crackling
fire and their laboured breaths. Just as Azriel turned to offer to return the favour, he found Gwyn
asleep in his arms, the ghost of that triumphant and conquering grin still on her lips as she slept. He
loved that fucking look. Wished he could tattoo it as a permanent memory in the walls of his mind.
Every little detail of her rose pinked cheeks, the perfect sprawl of freckles that sat below a sweep
of thick lashes and the small crinkles aside her closed eyes.

Perfect. Something beneath his ribcage and in the depths of his heart went liquid and warm like it
had burst at the sight of her.

Azriel couldn’t find sleep as easily. Not when she had just touched him like that and he had just
been given the greatest blowjob of his entire life. Not when she was there, wrapped in his arms and
clinging onto him, like she would never let go. Not when she looked so safe and content.

He realised then that perhaps he had never known peace like the one that found him in that
moment. Realised that in his five hundred and forty-one years of debauchery and no shortage of
lovers, no one had ever touched him like that. So full of intent and care. No one had ever looked at
him the way she did, like he actually meant something other than a chance to fulfil some dark,
fucked up fantasy.

The gravity of that fact settled upon him swiftly and gripped at his heart.

As he carried her to the guest bedroom and laid her down on the soft sheets, Azriel knew he meant
every damn word he had said.

This female really would be his end, because there would not be a life beyond her and fuck, would
he bring fire and flood to anyone and anything that threatened this perfect thing that had burrowed
into his once cold and cobwebbed heart.
Chapter End Notes

Eeeep. Okay.

I'm nervous about this one.

It was really important to me that to punctuate Gwyn's growing confidence and her
sexual discovery, she was given the opportunity to explore giving pleasure as well as
receiving it. And though Azriel was being pleasured, this chapter is really about
Gwyn.
Physical touch is so important to both of them and is a central pillar of their
relationship so, I thought it natural for Gwyn to want to show him her appreciation for
his honesty, his pain and vulnerability that we saw in the previous chapter in a form
that she wanted to explore and that he never would have asked for, but ultimately
wanted.

From the start of this chapter, I knew I wanted Gwyn to flip the switch a bit and be in
control of him. She is experimenting with her body and her boundaries in a safe
environment. This aspect of their dynamic will be explored later on, but I like the idea
of Gwyn subverting their usual roles every once in a while and Azriel being
surprisingly into it.
It was hard to write the thin line of Gwyn being both extremely curious and sexually
explorative while also being naive and hindered by the issues that may arise with her
perfection complex and competitiveness. Ultimately, I wanted to show that Azriel's
nature and their bond overrides those issues and helps her work through them.

Thank you for dealing with the ridiculous pacing of the last three chapters, I realise its
a bit jarring and not conducive to usual spans of time. But hey, this night was
important and I wanted to invest time and words into making it right. Promise this isn't
just descending into a derailed smut fic, there is definitely more plot to come haha.

Let me know your thoughts! I love hearing from you in the comments!
 Uncharted Waters
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW Sexual themes and mentions of SA that some may find triggering

As always, thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for being my lovely beta

reader and offering such wonderful advice to me in creating this fic.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Part IV

Hymn

Gwyn

“Wait, you did what ?” Emerie gasped, a hand coming to clasp over her mouth in a poor attempt to
muffle the onslaught of giggles that followed.

Gwyn couldn’t help the smug grin taking residence on her face as she leaned back in the bathtub
and closed her eyes triumphantly. “Yep.” She popped the ‘p’ at the end of her answer and the
sound echoed across the walls of Nesta’s large bathing room.

When Azriel and Gwyn had arrived back from their night at the cabin in the snowy mountains, she
ran straight to Nesta and demanded that Emerie come over for a much-needed girl’s night. Azriel
and Cassian were instructed to make themselves scarce for the entire evening, which was met with
a series of groans but reluctant agreement. The House, in its ever-persistent endeavour to make
their every dream come true, had set up a spa night for the Valkyries, complete with copious
bottles of star-glittering champagne, decadent chocolate cake and various face masks and luxurious
oils imported from the Continent.

“Holy shit,” Nesta exclaimed from the bathtub beside her, “What was it like?” Her eyes darkened,
the lingering death god in them suddenly intrigued, “What was he like?”

“Nesta!” Emerie reprimanded, but when Gwyn glanced over at the winged female soaking beside
her, only pure excitement and anticipation shone in the depths of her coffee-black eyes.

“He was… kind and patient and…” Gwyn bit her lip, ignoring the flip in her depths at the thought,
“very encouraging. It was hot…Like Sellyn Drake hot.”

Seeing Azriel like that, sated and blissed from the tending of her hand and the attention of her
mouth was possibly the greatest achievement she had earned in her entire life. And perhaps, it had
sparked something new in her, awoke a dormant need to explore the many facets of sexual pleasure
that she had been peeping into.
Emerie gasped again.

“I meant his cock, Gwyneth.” Nesta sighed.

“I’m not telling you that!”

Nesta gaped, “I told you all about Cassian’s penis, length, height and width. It’s only fair, fess up.”

She snorted, her bright eyes landing on the eldest Archeron, “All I’ll say is your speculations were
right…” Leaning forward and bringing the glass of champagne to her lips secretively, Gwyn added
in a mock whisper, “Azriel’s a total weapon down there.”

Nesta made a shriek of pride as she extended her own champagne flute in cheers and they all
joyfully took a sip in celebration of Gwyn’s exploits.

She couldn’t help but giggle in excitement at their encouragement, having them support her meant
everything and had done for the past year. The sisterhood she had found in their kindred hearts was
forged into something infallible on that desolate Illyrian mountain and the relationship between the
three was different to that she found in the Priestesses in the library. The Priestesses were
wonderful company and caring counsellors when needed, but the topic of life advice and the
complex world of sex was admittedly, sometimes difficult to broach with them, considering they all
lived relatively sheltered lives amongst the confines of the library.

On the other hand, there was nothing Nesta and Emerie wouldn’t speak about and perhaps it was
nice to have such deep connections beyond the dark walls that she had once clung to in refuge.

In the months after the Blood Rite when she was drowning and lost, it had become difficult to see
the females that had climbed that mountain and braved the horrors of the trial with her. And now,
as she looked upon their bright, happy faces, she realised just how much she needed them, just how
much she missed them. Something once gaping and hollowed out within her had slowly started to
feel whole again. And perhaps it had been mending for some time, without her even knowing it.

Outside of therapy, Gwyn had learnt almost everything she knew about sex from two reliable
sources, one, Nesta and Emerie’s loose lips and two, the filthy books they traded between them
which had become her new obsession.

Gratitude bloomed in her chest for the females that sat in the bubbling bathtubs next to her, warm
and gentle like a summer’s breeze.

“So you’re like dating now?” Emerie asked, taking a chocolate from the plentifully stocked box
balanced precariously on the lip of her bathtub.

Gwyn nodded, before giving a little laugh, “He said he wanted to court me… Although, something
tells me that he doesn’t really know what that even means…”

It was true, when Gwyn had woken the next morning with the ghost of a hangover pounding in her
head and a desire to sleep for the next century, she had felt the sudden shift between them.

Azriel, of course, had fussed over her in a silent and efficient manner that was every bit as
concerning as it was adorable. Upon her confession of ravenous hunger, he had immediately
winnowed to Velaris to pick up a mountain of sugar-dusted pastries, tea and savoury bread from
Aislinn’s for them. Then, when he returned, they dined on every last indulgent crumb from the
warmth of the sheets and to her surprise, he had even stayed in bed with her for the entire day.

Whether it was from voicing the full extent of his feelings and explaining his trepidations to her, or
simply just the fact that Gwyn had touched him and licked senseless the night before, she wasn’t
sure. But what she was sure about, was that Azriel looked as if a weight had been unloaded from
his back. Even the hazel of his eyes burned brighter in the soft morning sun that drenched the cabin
bedroom.

And yet, with his confession, Azriel seemed a little apprehensive. Slightly flustered almost, like he
had won a war, only to be encountered a piece of intelligence he had no means to decipher.

He was quick to assure her he meant every word he had told her the previous night and even asked
if it was alright to tell his brothers about their new relationship. The fact that Azriel had asked her
for permission to practically gloat about her made Gwyn’s stomach flutter with butterflies and
those butterflies turned positively wild when relief visibly washed over his features at her
approval.

It was odd seeing Azriel like that. Gwyn was so used to him being all over things, never a question,
mistake or even an apprehensive pause when he took on a challenge. He was a male with all the
answers to every problem. And even though he tried to play it off, she could see the worry
barrelling through him, the anxiety this new arrangement had caused in the face of his lack of
experience.

Azriel

“Okay this what you gotta do…” Cassian proclaimed, speaking as if he was some specialist
academic giving a lecture in an auditorium, “...Tell her you’re hungry, then, when she asks what
you want to eat for dinner, say ‘you’ and then get her to sit on your face and-”

“Do you really think I need sex tips from you?” Azriel cut in, his voice tuned with quiet arrogance
as he desperately hoped his brother would not finish the rest of that sentence. Hearing him and his
mate through the walls of the House of Wind was punishment enough, and as such, he did not need
an in-depth play-by-play to go along with the variety of abhorrent sounds.

Azriel knew perfectly well how to get Gwyn off. In fact, that very act had become his favourite
new sport, a passion to rival all others and one he was dedicated to mastering. Within the depths of
his filthy mind, there was no shortage of new ideas to try whenever she gave him the opportunity
again. The chance to see her unravel. To hear that melodic tone of her voice plea curses that were
sweet like hymns. To feel her heavenly body, wet and warm, clench around him.

Fuck. He needed to see her tonight.

Cassian gave a great huff of annoyance, waving his whiskey in the air uncaringly, “You asked how
to date someone-”

“No, I actually didn't ask you that,” Azriel corrected, “I simply told you that Gwyn and I had
started seeing each other.” Something in his chest spasmed at the words he thought he would never
be able to say to his brothers. When Gwyn had given him permission to tell Rhys and Cassian
about them he had braced for the teasing and merciless ragging that he knew was to come, but he
couldn’t help but also feel the contented pride wash over him.

Azriel had someone to call his own. Someone, that - by some feat of a miracle and perhaps
madness on her part - returned his feelings.

Cassian went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “… I’m telling you - extremely kindly, might I add -
exactly how I got Nesta to date me.”

“I don’t think fighting to the point of fucking counts as dating…” Rhys drawled from the opposite
sofa, amusement teeming in his violet eyes.

The General bristled, before moaning, “Like you have a leg to stand on jackass, you manipulated
your mate into a bargain in order to get her to look at you twice and then, you employed her to fight
a fucking war with us so she wouldn’t beat your ass and leave.”

“At least I didn’t use climbing the stairs at the House of Wind as some kind of fucked up brand of
foreplay.”

“Hey,” Cassian rolled his eyes, “I told you that in confidence, you prick. And from what I can
recall, I’m not the one that scarred half the population of Velaris last Solstice by impregnating my
mate mid-flight-”

“My mistake, Cass,” Rhys chuckled, leaning back into the chair, “I didn’t realise you’ve overcome
your flare for public sex. From what I remember, it was somewhat of a favourite pastime of
yours…”

Azriel let out a laboured breath, it was quickly becoming clear to him that telling his brothers about
Gwyn was the second stupidest fucking thing he had ever done. The first, of course, was giving
that damn necklace to her on the day after Solstice. Or perhaps, it was even buying the thing in the
first place that was the true evidence of his lapse in intelligence.

“So what I’m understanding here, is that both of you have never had to actually date your
significant others because they’re your mates…” Azriel concluded somewhat irritably, before
adding, “Wonderful.”

Rhys just grinned at him, every inch of his face amused, feline mockery.

“We still dated, you prick…” Cassian defended, “Hell, I take Nes to the dance hall every Friday
night.”

“No,” Azriel quickly interjected, “Nesta takes you to the dancehall every Friday night.”

“Shit Cas, does she pick you up and buy you dinner too?” Rhys’ dry tone had turned teasing.

The General only shrugged, happy to cop the bait, “Not my fault my mate likes to take charge. I’m
into it, personally.”

Rhys leaned forward, “It’s all about the grand gestures…”

“Grand… gestures?” He rose a quizzical brow, patience thinning by the second.

“Females need romance. Especially females like Gwyn…” With her history , were the unspoken
words that seemed to linger in the air after the recommendation had been voiced.

Cassian rolled his eyes, his tone condescending as he asked, “What you expect him to do, Rhys,
make her fetch her own engagement ring from a death god? Or, maybe just buy Gwyn a fucking
River House on their first official date?”

Second date, Azriel mentally corrected. But they didn’t have to know that. In fact, the less these
big-mouthed, busy-body pricks knew the better.
“All I’m saying is, find out what she needs and give it to her… Feyre always needed a home that
was hers, not mine . Think about what Gwyn needs and then give it all to her until she has
everything.”

Despite his trepidation to take any advice from either of them, Azriel nodded because admittedly,
Rhys had a point.

Yes.

Gwyn needed romance and spoiling. She needed to be shown how a female should be treated by a
male and Azriel would be the one to dote on her every need and show her that life she deserved.

He never missed the way she appreciated the beauty in the smallest of things, a trait only those
who have truly gone without tend to exhibit. To this day, he couldn’t shake the memory of seeing
her little dormitory room, complete with an old squeaky single bed and enough well worn locks
bolted to her door that the room may as well have been a prison. Couldn’t etch from his mind the
way she gasped at her new room in the house when she moved in, how joyfully overwhelmed she
was at the sheer luxury of having something nice all to herself. It damn near made his heart hurt
just thinking about it.

Azriel wanted to see that unbridled wonder sparkle in her eyes again, wanted to give her everything
she could have ever dreamed of until she never wanted for anything again.

A cold wisp floated around the shell of his ear, interrupting the train of thought of his plans.

Our Valkyrie is currently drunk, wet and naked.

‘What are you talking about?’ And fuck if that didn’t bring a delightful mental image to distract
him from his own mind. Azriel wasn’t proud of how quickly that report sent all the blood in his
system to a specific spot in his distal torso.

Ever since he had touched her in front of that mirror in Winter, his urges had become ten-fold.
Nothing seemed to satiate them either, except for one. The thought of other females neither entered
his mind nor entertained his thoughts anymore. For his attention had been purely stolen by her
lingering scent on his bedsheets, the taste of her in his mouth and the memory of her lips wrapped
around his…

She let shadows sit in the bath with her. Shadows loves the bath.

‘You were in the fucking bathtub with her?’ Mother above, if he could strangle them, he would.

Jealous?

‘Obviously.’ Another unwelcome mental image materialised in his mind. Gwyn in his steaming
bathing pool, her creamy skin flushed by the heat and her wicked mouth spurting those angelically
innocent curses as his dedicated fingers pumped in and out of her tight wetness until the bath went
cold and she was rung out.

Shadows must protect our Valkyrie at all costs, that is what Master said. Shadows is just doing
Masters bidding.

‘Yes, I’m sure the part water nymph, part Valkyrie is in severe danger submerged in a bubble
bath.’ He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
She is now putting on a matching pair of black lace underthings.

Fuck. How the hell was he supposed to stay away for the entire evening?

With bows, so we can unwrap her like a solstice present.

It took everything not to audibly groan at that little idea, he bit down on his bottom lip in tortured
restraint.

“Everything okay over there, Az?” Rhys’ voice was perfect innocence, but his gaze glimmered
with teasing amusement.

Bloody hell. Azriel was aroused and by the ferocious grin on Cassian’s fat mouth and the vicious
mockery that was brewing in Rhys’ eyes, his scent had no doubt flooded the study where they had
taken their stiff nightcap.

And yet… Azriel couldn’t find the capacity to even slightly care. All his mind was focusing on
was Gwyneth Berdara and how she might look in that scandalous black lace before he tore it off
her pretty moonish skin and laid to feast on her.

“Yeah you’re looking a little… hard-pressed, Az,” Cassian chimed in menacingly, not disguising
the downward direction of his stare, “... what's grinding you lately?”

There was no denying it, his cock was rock hard.

Thank fuck he was wearing his leathers, otherwise, he would be tented to hell in anything else. But
the sheer pressure was straining and he needed to get out of there, fast.

“Enough.” He grumbled, getting up and shooting the rest of the amber liquid down in haste. The
alcohol burnt his throat as it went, but that did nothing to dull the need which seemed to have taken
residence in his body and dissipate his self-control into that of a thirteen-year-old. “I’m off.”

Before the incessant ridiculing and lewd commentary could erupt anymore from his nosy brothers,
he winnowed away, not even bothering to say goodbye.

Despite being June, Summer had not graced the night air with warmth one bit. And although taking
flight in the chill wasn’t preferable, it did wonders to assuage his ridiculous erection. Azriel flew
through the blistering cold for an hour, just thinking about everything that had happened in the past
few months and the female which he was hell-bent on becoming a good male for. A good
boyfriend for.

But there lay the problem.

In his five hundred and forty-one years, Azriel had been in two major wars, fought in countless
battles, constructed and coordinated a global intelligence web of spies, tortured and killed far too
many criminals to recall and fucked so many females (and admittedly, a few males in his more
exploratory years) that his cock was as honed as any swordsman's blade. And yet, with all that
experience, he had never been a boyfriend.

And that prospect, of new uncharted territory, set his nerves in riled unease. Because he could not
mess this up. Gwyn was too important, too precious to ever be subjected to the throes of his chaos.

Gwyn and Nesta had kicked them out for the entire evening, practically threatening them at
knifepoint to not come home until ‘at least eleven o'clock'. So, in a desperate attempt at getting
relationship advice that wasn’t to the tune of engaging in cunnilingus or buying her a house - both
of which he would do, by the way - Azriel landed on the moonlit grounds of Rosehall Estate. Some
things only females knew, and there was one in this land that would want nothing more than to put
her cunning mind to good use if it meant him dating Gwyneth Berdara.

Gwyn

A soft knock tapped at the door as Gwyn sat upright in bed, but didn’t remove her narrowed eyes
from perfecting the task in front of her.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.” She didn’t know when exactly the seven locks on her bedroom door
became less of an ardent requirement for her safety, but lately, Gwyn found herself using them less
and less.

Azriel strode in a moment later, he was no longer wearing his leathers but a casual pair of black
sleeping pants and a simple shirt that drew her appreciative eyes to his carved biceps. There was a
curious smile playing on his lips as he neared, his attention dragging to the little blue, white and
black thing curled around her fingers.

Gwyn tapped the empty side of the bed expectantly, and he took the invitation with a grin, before
sprawling out on his stomach next to her. His wings were politely contracted to not take up too
much space, but slightly outstretched, the way they had come to be when he was in her easy
presence.

“How was girls' night?”

“Very enlightening…” Gwyn sighed, making the final tight knot in the woven bracelet she had
been threading. When Azriel raised his brows in question, she elaborated, “...Apparently we missed
quite the show of lapse in morality at Buain Uaine, Emerie said there was an orgy and
everything… I mean can you imagine? All those people just naked together for everyone to see?”
She shook her head in disbelief. When Emerie had explained to Gwyn what an orgy was, she nearly
blushed so crimson she was halfway to hell.

He snorted, his head hanging low as his body shook in laughter, “Well I’m sorry you missed
out…” His eyes turned molten as his gaze travelled over her form. “I didn’t realise public
polyamory was an interest to you, Berdara.”

A playful smack landed on his shoulder blade, “That’s not what I was saying, Shadowsinger and
you know it…”

“No orgy on that lovely list of yours then?”

“Mother no…” She laughed, “Here,” holding out her hand expectantly, she gestured for him to take
it. “Give me your left hand, I made something for you.” The warmth that she felt blooming on her
cheeks confirmed the fact she had blushed at her offering.

Without a moment's hesitation, he placed his scarred hand in hers and watched quietly as she tied
on the bracelet with her best knotting skills. “In the Blood Rite…” Gwyn explained distantly, “I
found Nesta and Emerie with these bracelets. Don’t ask me how or why, I’ve looked up every
possible explanation for it to no avail…” Her gaze lifted to find the intensity of his and she
anchored it there as she said, “But if we’re ever apart and need to find each other, maybe we can
use these…” She gestured to her own with a small smile, the twin to his, on her left wrist.

A long moment of heavy heartbeats passed as he absorbed her words, seemingly slightly taken
aback. Harsh embarrassment flooded Gwyn’s features and heat pricked at her pointed ears as she
began to think the gesture was silly. After all, she was gifting a homemade bloody bracelet to an
Illyrian warrior who wore a dagger used for the sole purpose of torture.

Mother above, she was so stupid. Why would he…

“Thank you.” His words were low and solemn as his gaze doubled down into hers and he vowed,
“I’ll always find you, Gwyn.” Azriel took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “No matter
where we are or how far apart… I’ll find you.”

The rapidly beating thing in her chest squeezed in response, because she knew what those words
meant. Azriel had found her once in Sangravah and looking at him now, her angel of death, her
saviour and mate, Gwyn knew he would rip the world apart to find her again. Equally, she would
go through hell and high water to get to him.

With her other hand, she fiddled with his bracelet, making sure it was secure, as she replied, “And I
will always find you too, Azriel.”

His handsome mouth curved, “Is this a proposal?”

Gwyn laughed as the mood instantly lifted, “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s only a friendship
bracelet…”

“Is that what we are then? Friends?” He asked with an amused tone, drawing his hand back down
to admire the craftsmanship as if it were some precious piece of fine jewellery. Azriel traced the
delicate weaving with an exploratory index finger, captivated by it for some reason. It didn’t
escape her that he seemed to be nonplussed by gifts and knowing the darkness of his childhood, she
supposed that made a sad sort of sense.

Gwyn’s voice was soft as she said, “Amongst other things…”

He cocked a brow, lips twitching and eyes blazing. “And what things might they be?”

The air between them went thick with sparking electricity, the same charge that is felt during an
oncoming storm.

Just that look had her stomach flipping as she swallowed down the arousal flourishing and flaming
so easily in her depths. The flood of his heavy scent hit her as though his desire were a tidal wave
of want. She breathed in the smoked cedar and rich spice, savouring the headiness of it as she gave
him a nonchalant shrug that disguised her own growing arousal. With a grin of secret mischief she
sighed, “Well, I suppose you’re my housemate too…”

“Housemate, huh?” The edges of his mouth twitched up again as Azriel shifted on the bed closer to
her.

His warmth radiated and she found herself leaning into it, “Mhmm.”

In a tantalisingly slow move, Azriel had navigated to where her legs were sprawled on the mattress
and shifted them so he lay in the space between them. Hot lips found the flesh of her exposed
kneecap. And despite the innocent location, the sensation had Gwyn wanting to press her thighs
together and heave in a much-needed breath. Voice low and rasped, he asked, “What else am I to
you?”
Gwyn smiled innocently, trying not to give away the extent to which his presence between her
thighs affected her. Taking a mocking moment of silence to think as her hand played with the lush,
ebony strands of his hair, she finally said, “Well, seeing as we work together now, I suppose you’re
kinda my boss too…” Chin tipping to the side, Gwyn added, “Which makes this a little
inappropriate don’t you think?”

“If I recall correctly…” He smirked, “It was you that kissed me first.” Another hot, wet kiss was
planted a few inches upwards. The muscle beneath twitched and he did nothing to disguise the
gloating satisfaction that small tell gave. “What else, Berdara?”

By some remarkable feat, her voice, level and virtuous didn’t betray her as she said, “My midnight
training buddy?”

Azriel hummed something dark and wicked as he placed another kiss, higher again, this time on a
patch of freckles. “Not quite the answer I was looking for…”

The grip on her thighs tightened slightly and she felt the white-hot heat pool like warm honey in
the depths of her from just that movement alone. But she was enjoying this game far too much to
back out now. “My…winnower?”

This time, his kiss was followed by his teeth lightly biting down on the soft and tender flesh of her
upper thigh, the feeling set her heart beating at a galloping pace. Azriel tsked, “No… Not that
one… Try again.”

Gwyn felt the fine fabric of her nightgown draw upwards to expose her black lace panties. The
scrappy things barely passed for clothing, the eyelash thin lace, despite its dark colour, revealed
everything underneath. She watched as his nostrils flared and Gwyn instantly knew he could scent
the arousal that had soaked them through already.

“These are pretty…” He remarked, skirting an appreciative finger over the lace-clad centre of her.
His touch felt like a bolt of lightning on her sensitive, needing flesh. A low satisfied growl echoed
from his throat as he felt the warm, wetness waiting there.

Gwyn sucked in a breath, “I thought you might want another colour to add to your little pervy
collection.”

That earnt a chuckle from him, one that reverberated across her skin and sunk into her pounding,
crackling bloodstream. Hazel eyes, dark and burning with gilded flames found hers as Azriel
glanced up through his lashes. And if she had ever seen a Prince of Hell, she was sure it was now.
“May I?”

Gwyn could only nod, the anticipation robbing her of words. Truth be told, ever since he tasted her
in the parlour she could barely think of anything else but him and this . In the past week, before the
events of Buain Uaine, they had spent their entire time researching and getting back to training with
the others… When they were alone, she occasionally managed to sneak in a wry kiss. Gwyn had
been waiting and waiting for him to seek her out for more, but she quickly got the sense the
stubborn male was committed to taking this aspect of their relationship slow. Being around Azriel
was stifling, especially now he had heeded her request to sleep with her and so, she certainly wasn’t
about to turn him down, not after all those innocent nights spent in his arms.

“I’m waiting for that answer, Berdara…” The grin on his stupidly perfect face almost convinced
her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“M..My-” Her voice was cut off by the abrupt feeling of him kissing the rise of her hip,
goosebumps followed the sensation and pricked her skin swiftly.

Shadows had slid under the silky fabric of her nightgown to crawl along her torso and up to her
breasts. They began to lick wisps of cold air onto the already taut peaks of her nipples and her
breasts became full and aching at the touch. Gwyn’s back arched at the maddening sensation.
“...Lover?”

Azriel had taken to slowly tearing down her panties with his teeth, the sight of the thin strap of
black lace clenched between his lips and between his bared canines was intoxicating. Soon enough,
she was naked and glistening in front of him from the waist down.

Gwyn expelled a ragged breath as his gaze locked onto her sex. Slowly those eyes came to meet
hers, a familiar look of starved hunger painted in the hellish hues of them.

“What do you want, Gwyn?”

“I want you to touch me.” The admission was so easy, so completely unfettered by embarrassment
or hesitation.

When Azriel didn’t make a move she huffed and added, “Please.”

His eyes darkened, “If you want to come tonight…” The shadows that had ghosted around her
nipples somehow went unexpectedly cold and slightly pinching, Gwyn whined and gripped at the
sheets in response. “...I’m going to need you to answer me truthfully…Tell me what I am to you,
baby.”

A phantom force pressed down lightly on her throbbing clit to punctuate his request for honesty.
She took her bottom lip between her teeth as it flicked in tandem with the tightening force on her
nipples. It was sensory overload, the pounding in her core seemed to ache for the odd sensation of
cold pressure that had found her most sensitive parts. Gwyn had once wondered what those
shadows could do and now, as they scattered across her body in the most needy places, she was
beginning to really find out.

And holy Mother, was she glad she was.

Azriel seemed every bit content to watch this time while those skilfully torturous shadows slowly
tore her pride apart bit by bit. She didn’t miss the way one of his hands snaked down to tend to his
own mounting pleasure and the thought of him touching himself in front of her had her whining
even more. Her hips bucked as the shadow draped across her sex gave another massaging flick.

Fervent hunger found his intently watching features as her head fell back onto the cushions,
exposing her creamy neck to him. The hand in his trousers stroking his cock moved faster as
Gwyn’s resolve to stubbornness became more and more shattered with every single undulating
touch. “Come on baby.”

Oh to hell with it, she couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re my…” The word came out in a breathy
whisper, “Boyfriend.”

Not a moment later, his body fell on top of hers and instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his
torso as their lips connected. The kiss was fierce and wild, like he was tasting the admission on her
tongue and savouring it. Azriel’s voice was hoarse and thick with male gratification as he replied,
“Good girl.”

Then, the shadows fully unleashed on her. He swallowed down every loud moan, every curse and
prayer that fell from her pretty lips as they continued to drive her further into a writhing, wet mess.
Azriel reached up with one hand, knotting his fingers through hers as he held them above her head
as he continued kissing her. The other hand came back down to stroke himself. Gwyn could feel
his pleasure winding tighter and tighter within him as their tongues desperately clashed and their
mouths devoured each other.

“I want you to say it back,” she managed to breathe out between moans and kisses.

His brow rose in silent question, a pant setting in as he lifted up slightly to look at her.

“Tell me, ohh-” Her words were cut off as the shadows quickened their pace, their force almost
vibrational in pace.

Holy Mother, she was going to…

Her eyes momentarily shut as she adjusted to the mounting pressure, “Tell me what I am to you…”

“Gwyneth Berdara…” Azriel began, eyes anchored into hers as he watched her find the precipice
of her pleasure with a violent buck of her hips, “You are my girlfriend.”

As the pleasure became unbearable and her toes curled, her pleading became high-pitched and
scattered. This time, she came quickly and hit her orgasm with a muffled cry into his awaiting lips.

Azriel followed her over the edge moments later and the growl he unleashed as he did, made her
consider asking for a second round.

When Gwyn unclenched her eyes, she found him staring at her, as if seeing her come was like
some kind of cosmic eclipse Azriel couldn’t help but look in abject wonder at. And perhaps it was,
because the sight of shadows lapping over her glowing skin as she rode out her pleasure with the
slowing pressure was something altogether divine.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Gwyn was still thunder-struck and panting when Azriel came back from her bathroom with a towel
to wipe her up. She barely comprehended the question, her chest rising and falling in deep breaths
and her vision, still littered with stars.

“W… What?” She asked, voice dazed as he cleaned her with dutiful care.

Azriel’s grin was all arrogance as he took a moment to once again observe her satiated state and
make a show of pocketing her discarded panties. “I said, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uh…” Gwyn glanced up to the ceiling, coming down from the high and clearing her head, “I’m
training with Nesta in the morning… and then I was going to do some more research in the library,
why?”

Azriel handed her a cup of water, a dimple carving into his cheek as he replied, “I want to take you
out on a date.”

Azriel had not been kidding when he vowed to take this dating thing they had started seriously.

After he had flown her down to the bustling and lively streets of Velaris, and they ate their fair
share of decadent pastries and cakes at Aislinn’s and stopped for hot chocolates at Bendery’s
Chocolaterie, it became clear that the Shadowsinger was on a mission. But this mission had
nothing to do with espionage or intel and rather, had more to do with finding any excuse to spoil
Gwyn senseless.

She was caught halfway between amusement and alarm at the sight of the shadow-cloaked Illyrian
in the glistening Palace of Thread and Jewels. Despite the plentiful purchases, his muscular arms
did not strain one bit under the weight of the countless packages and parcels held in his grip.

Upon seeing the bare nature of her closet, and being told the only clothes she owned were those the
House had generously gifted her, something in Azriel had apparently snapped into action.

“What about this? You… you like blue…” He held up the ridiculously expensive gown, stitched
with fine velvet and encrusted with pearls. The male said it with a kind of nonchalance that told
her he had no apparent care for the draining of his coffers, “...and it has those sleeves you like.”

The edges of her lips threatened to twitch up and she bit down the growing smile as he flashed the
flared bell sleeves in front of her for viewing. “I have enough dresses now to last me a few good
centuries, Azriel.”

He seemed to contemplate this assessment and gave her a quick nod putting the gown back on its
hanger, “Right… Shoes then?”

“I have plenty of shoes.” Well, technically she had three pairs, but he didn’t have to know that. The
floor of her outrageously large closet was home to her beloved training boots, a pair of silver silk
slippers for outings such as these and an elegant pair of cobalt heels that she had been far too afraid
to don since blistering her feet at Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. That was enough.

“Oh..” His features turned both confused and an adorable sort of stressed, which told her he was
thinking a million miles a minute. “Okay…”

The Shadows had been whipping around the elegant marketplace all afternoon, scouting every
store for possible value. And in doing so, had done a fabulous job at scaring the other patrons to the
point that Azriel and Gwyn found the Palace almost deserted in their presence. Now, they were
curling in his ear, and she knew just by looking at them that they were hatching some nonsensical
plan to buy her more things she simply didn’t need.

Gwyn took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them and placing a calming hand on
his chest. “I do have my own money you know…” She had since figured out how to access her
exorbitant bank balance courtesy of the High Lord, though truthfully, she had barely touched it.
“I’m more than capable of supporting myself when it comes to dresses and shoes…”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate anything… I just…” Frustration clouded his hazel eyes and pinched at
his brow, “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you need.” He ran a stressed hand
through his hair.

Warmth fluttered like summer butterflies taking flight in her beating chest. Mother, this male was
going to be the death of her.

Taking a sneak peek around the quiet haberdashery stall to find no one lurking, she bent upwards
on her tippy toes and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Her arms snaked around his neck and pulled
him closer until her body was flush against Azriel’s large form. Slowly, his arms came to wrap
around her slender figure, the parcels and bags clanking around her as they did. “I have everything I
need.” Gwyn reassured him with whispered content, before grinning playfully and adding, “Except
for one thing.”

Azriel’s handsome features had relaxed at the touch of her, but the urgency was still clear in his
voice as he asked, “What is it?”

Leaning into the shell of his ear, she whispered conspiratorially, “A pegasus.”

The dark reverberation of his chuckle matched the melodic symphony of her giggles and soon
enough, their lips met again. There were few things in this life Gwyn adored more than kissing him
when he was smiling, the taste of it was sweet on her tongue and that lovely baritone of laughter
went straight to echo in the full confines of her ribcage. “One that flies faster than you,” she added
wryly, pulling away, “so we can race and I can always win.”

That made Azriel’s grin crack through his entire face, a beautiful sort of untamed joy revealing in
its wake, “I’ll see what I can do…” But then, something sorrowful struck, like a cloud of sudden
resignation passed his features and deflated that brilliant smile, “I’m not very good at this, am I?”

“You know…” Her fingers threaded lazily in his ebony hair as she mused with a grin, “I kind of
like that you’re a dating virgin…” She gave a small laugh shaking her head, “I’ve never seen you
be remotely bad at anything before, it’s extremely satisfying.”

He gave a snort and flicked her nose, “Don’t get used to it, Berdara. I’m quite obsessive when I
want to master something.”

Gwyn hummed in agreement as she glanced down to the floor, “...I suppose it makes me feel better
about my complete lack of experience in… well, everything.”

Azriel frowned, moving their purchases to one hand so he could link his fingers through hers and
pull her into his side as they strolled out of the haberdashery. “There’s nothing wrong with your
level of experience, Gwyn.”

She let out a great sigh as they meandered into the busy square, their drawn complexions greeted
by the last licks of the fading sunset.

They had never really spoken about what had happened to her, not really. Of course, she knew it
was out of a respect for her privacy and a commitment to her healing in her own time that Azriel
didn’t mention the horrors which he himself witnessed firsthand that evening in Sangravah. And
perhaps, despite everything, her bravery, her confidence, her recovery… There was one blaringly
large skeleton Gwyn had been too scared to air from her closet.

Something in the warm breeze, the gilded farewell of the burning sunset and the feel of perfectly
uneven rivulets of flesh wrapped in her fingers, told her the time was now.

Her tone turned solemnly contemplative as she finally replied, “It feels that way… sometimes.”

Azriel began to stroke her hand with his thumb, allowing her the silence to continue when she was
ready. “I used to be so angry about it all… About what he took from me and how empty he made
me feel… Sometimes, I guess I still am.”

It was an acute pain, an intimate sort of robbery. To feel as if her body no longer belonged to her.
To look in the mirror and see flesh that she couldn’t identify as her own without thinking about him
and what he did to her in that kitchen. What his rough, uncaring hands had felt like on the softest,
most untouched parts of her. It was those kind of staining memories that once had her fixing locks
to her doors and staring down at the library's flight of stairs in the long, haunting nights - inching
forward, ready to discard her life entirely.
“I want to not be afraid.” The confession came out as a whisper, but it may as well have been a
shout with how it seemed to set Azriel stiff. “I want to know what it is to think of sex and not be
reminded of that night. Of him.”

Azriel looked stricken, as though she had just slapped him in the face with such a raw, harsh truth.
It took him a heavy moment of silence to swallow the lump in his throat and reply, “You’re
allowed to be angry, Gwyn.” His voice was caught between quiet devastation and roughened
malice, “But please,” her heart cracked at the shattering in the syllables, “don’t blame yourself for
any of it, or feel guilty you haven’t explored that area of life…Hearing that you feel that… it
breaks my fucking heart.”

She shook her head, “I don’t blame myself. Not anymore, anyway. It’s just…” Gwyn glanced up to
the sky. There, a beautiful war of night and the still lingering golden orange of the sunset, “I want
to have a normal life and do normal things. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of taking that
from me. Not after all the work I’ve put in… Not after what I’ve found with you.”

The Shadowsinger let out a ragged breath as he murmured with devastating softness, “Me?”

“You,” she confirmed, a silent vow laced blaringly in the heavy syllable of the word.

It was true. In sex and desire, Gwyn had truly found a peace with him when it felt like there was
only ever going to be war. Touch no longer felt like violence, her body, no longer a battleground
for males to claim their arrogant brutality on.

And yet, there was still that worry that rang in the back of her mind like the warning temple bells
she knew all too well. A worry that all that peace she had worked so hard to build might unfurl at
the moment she needed, begged it, not to.

Azriel stopped in his tracks and pulled her into the quiet of an adjacent alley. His voice was
heartbreakingly soft as he asked her, “Can I take you somewhere more private?”

By the time she spoke in confirmation, the sun had fully descended from the sky and a beautiful
clear night had cloaked the city in its dark glory.

Before she blinked twice, shadows engulfed them and the familiar feeling of falling through space
and time wrapped around her and caressed her frayed nerves.

When Gwyn opened her eyes, her wobbly feet were on the rocky peak of a tall mountain, the
glittering sprawl of Velaris twinkling beneath them and the star-encrusted sky above.

Her copper hair whipped in the harsh wind that battled the expanse as she looked to the winged
figure who had his back to her.

By the way of the bond, or perhaps just sheer instinct, Gwyn could feel the tension boil within
him. Feel the weight of the responsibility, the misplaced guilt and the need for retribution as
though it were another fearsome force contending with the wind.

Finally, Azriel turned to glance at her. Hooking two fingers, he tilted up her chin so her azure eyes
saw the blazing sincerity in his own as he vowed, “You have so much time to become ready for
those things, Gwyn. I hope you know, if this is about what we’ve been doing, I-”

“For the record…” She cut him off before he could finish. Her hand came to cup his cheek, still
warm despite the brisk chill. “I like what we’ve been doing, Shadowsinger…” Lips twitching and
eyes gleaming with endearment she added, “Very, very much.”
Burning hazel searched her gaze for any hint of a lie, the anxiety etched in every crevice of his
features.

“And if anything, this,” Gwyn gestured between them before her hand fell to his and squeezed it
tightly, “has been healing for me. You have been healing me, in so many ways.”

He released a large exhale as she ran a thumb over the scar tissue in self-assuring swipes. Slowly,
he gave her a nod. “Okay.” Relief cracked through his features, the strain subsiding slightly.

Summoning all the confidence, all the bravery in her bones, her blood, she finally admitted, “I want
to have sex, Azriel. And…” Gwyn glanced up at him with nothing but earnestness shining in the
azure of her eyes, “I want to do it with you... When I’m ready, I want it to be you.”

The male in front of her looked as though he might have been shot with a hundred ash arrows for
the preternatural stillness he was in. A shock-laden intensity carved every inch of his handsome
face as he stared at her, unmoving and heart thundering. In fact, if those shadows that wrapped
around them like slithers of ribbon, stitched of silken night and that heartbeat hadn’t been so
undoubtedly loud, she might have thought he were dead, or in the least, going into some sort of
cardiac arrest.

After a startlingly long while, Azriel finally blinked and swallowed down the shock enough to
vow, “I told you once that I would give you whatever you wanted and I meant it…” The shadows
that bound them tightened and sparked with an intense magic that reverberated in the depths of her
chest. “I’ll wait, for however long it takes for you to be ready, a hundred days or a hundred years,
I’ll wait.”

“Really?”

“Really.” The ghost of a smirk flickered on his lips, “I’m a patient male, Berdara… Especially for
you.”

“Okay, but first…” Gwyn began again, inching closer, “I need to talk to you about that night in
Sangravah. I need to tell you what I survived, the way you told me.”

Because the only way to truly be ready was for him to know. For him to hear the whole story and
understand. She had never told anyone bar the therapist from the temple the exact happenings of
that dark night, and now, she knew it was time that changed.

Because Gwyn promised him every bleeding and battered part of her and this was the heaviest
most rotten piece of her scarred heart. And the way he was looking at her with such devastated
adoration and pained longing, she knew her mate would take it with those lovely, open hands.
Those hands, that had themselves been subjected to a brand of cruelty and malcontent few truly
knew and yet, in a macabre way, that is what bound them, tethered them together.

Azriel and Gwyn knew the intricacies of darkness and the promises of light.

They had both seen true violence. Felt what it was for the sharp claws of brutality to sink deep into
the fissures of the mind and seep its poison into the chambers of the heart.

And yet, here they were despite it all.

Living, breathing, touching.

Together.
Chapter End Notes

Thank you for being patient with me on this one. The last two weeks have been a blur
of exams and moving for me and I wanted to make sure the quality of the fic didn't
dip, so I took much longer than usual to put this out.

One of the things I love about Gwynriel is that despite Gwyn's relative naivety in life,
in their relationship Azriel would equally be challenged with many firsts he never
would have encountered before. I think he would struggle with not knowing exactly
how to be a boyfriend/ be in a relationship and this is a learning curve I look forward
to navigating with them. Their connection is so special for this reason, because they
both are learning new things on their journey together.
I also wanted to bring the Valkyrie back, I love Nesta so much and miss writing her.
How did you guys like the bats ragging on Az? Haha, I have a feeling they would be
LOVING every second of Azriel struggling with this. I tried really hard to get their
dynamic right, but I'm interested to know your thoughts.

Special Note: For those who don't know, it's a tough time for this particular area of the
ACOTAR fandom right now. There is a particular group of people who are trying to
censor Gwyneth Berdara content out of extremely malicious intent and as a result of
this, lots of wonderful art, fics and media are being unnecessarily and vindictively
reported. My own commissioned artwork (attached in chapter 25 notes) has been
reported for no reason. If you see any Gwynriel or Gwyn content on Tumblr,
Instagram or Twitter give it a like or a reblog, I know the community would really
appreciate the support.
 The Angel of Death
Chapter Notes

Warning: Strong references to SA and descriptions of trauma pertaining to assault.

This chapter was a serious dumpster fire mess before my love @captain-of-the-
gwynriel-ship lent me her time and editing expertise so let's all thank her for not letting
me ruin this entire fic with one chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A violent chill ran down the column of her spine, the howl of wind becoming harsh and
unforgiving atop the violent peak of the mountain.

Azriel tracked the movement with his shrewd gaze, pulling her shivering form into his warmth and
discarding the shopping bags on the ground. The shadows reached for her, cloaking her shiver-
ridden body in their protection. Placing a light kiss on the crest of her head, he said softly, “Let’s
go back to the house. We can talk there, where it's warm.”

But she didn’t want to be in the house, not for this conversation.

No.

This conversation called for a soft, airy breeze, not the warmth of a fire that may feel too similar to
that of the Sangravah kitchen with its clay ovens and large hearth. Not the enclosed walls of the
parlour, or her bedroom that may become too encroaching. The lack of space, of doors, too
familiar.

Gently she shook her head, “I need to be somewhere open.” Swallowing her pride, she tilted her
chin upwards to look at him and explained, “It’s just… thinking about that night. Reliving it…
Maybe we could go somewhere open, somewhere free and more isolated from all this.” She
gestured to the city with a flick of her hand.

Azriel nodded intently, his voice resolute as he replied, “Anywhere you want.”

“Can we go to our cliffs?”

She didn’t miss the way the edges of his lips twitched at her phrasing, “Of course.” Offering a
downward glance at the evidence of his over-indulgent shopping, he added, “Mind if we drop
these off first? I’d hate to have dragged you through the worst date of all time without letting you
at least keep the spoils.”

Her hand came up to grace his cheek, her lips placing a soft kiss on the wind-bitten skin there.
Gwyn’s azure eyes became nothing but glittering pools of earnestness as she said, “I had fun today,
Shadowsinger... And as far as worst dates of all time go, if this is ours, I’d say I’m about to make it
even worse by talking to you about my assault.”

The mention of that, despite the humorous context she attempted to deliver it in to offset its
macabre nature, set a stern distaste in his features, visible even in the starlight of which the city
below was named.
A pain flickered in the drained ore of his hazel eyes, with a heaviness that told her perhaps this
conversation may weigh just as heavily on him as it would her. Azriel took her hand, gentle and
slow, as though he were afraid to impose his touch on her delicately pale skin and waited.

Waited for her to give him permission to pick her up and take flight, as he always did. Gwyn gave
him a smile, her eyes temporarily welled with gratitude and a confirming nod of her head. Taking
the parcels and packages in one hand, Azriel lifted her into the safety of his arms and he flew her to
the House, his grip on her, careful and tender, as if she were some kind of precious thing he could
never bear to lose.

Despite the midnight-hued evening, when they materialised in the familiar meadow of blooming
bluebells and lilies, they didn’t need a light or the shadows to guide them.

Gwyn held onto Azriel’s hand as she silently led them towards the sounds of crashing waves and
the subsequent hiss of the retreating shore. As she did so many times before, she eased herself
down to sit on the scruff of grass until her feet were dangling off the sharp edge of the cliff. Azriel
sat behind her, his body cradling hers between his muscular legs and the solid warmth of his arms
wrapped around her waist.

She instantly relaxed into his form, her head resting on his broad shoulder as his wings came
around their sides to shield them from the bite of the ocean breeze.

The glorious alabaster gleam of the moon shone down upon them, illuminating their forms in the
outskirts of the meadow and lighting the small rocky shore that crashed and thundered in a constant
war of tides below. This place, where the land met the sea and the salted air could flood even the
most tired lungs anew, was exactly where she needed to be to tell her story.

She took a deep breath and then began to speak. The slow melody of Gwyn’s voice sailed through
the ocean-licked air as she spoke, the tone so at odds with the morbid content of her words.

She didn’t expect to cry. Didn’t think that there were still any tears left for that night, for what had
been done to her, as there had been far too many shed already. However, it only took mentioning
the temple bells that clanged in warning and the shine of resolute determination in her twin sister’s
gaze in the final moment she saw her, for Gwyn’s eyes to flood as they had so many times before.

As she spoke, wrapped in Azriel’s arms and his thick scent grounding her, he shrouded her in the
gentle caress of his devoted hands. He began placing a series of light, unhurried kisses upon her
hair, neck and temple, his fingers working in tandem to lightly stroke her arms.

When she swallowed down the hard knot of trepidation that had risen and began to describe the
events that had transpired in the kitchen, their fingers laced together. The pale creamy softness of
her skin met the scarred, uneven flesh of his. And maybe that gesture was the only thing that gave
her the strength to continue her recollection, the feeling of those hands. The constant, tactile
reminder that she was safe. That he was there.

But Gwyn didn’t miss the way he had gone rigid, the way the shadows protectively bound her to
him in slithers of night-forged ribbon and became inexplicably more attentive in their own
affection as she slowly but steadily told him of the way the soldier had gripped her hips and bent
her over that gods-forsaken kitchen table.

When speaking with the temple mind healer, it became easy to talk about what had happened in a
clinical, removed sense. Anatomically she could describe what was occurring to her body,
physically she could recite the number of soldiers in that room watching. But never before had she
spoken about that night with so much unfettered honesty. Never had she voiced the details that
haunted her nightmares and racked her fear-struck mind.

But this was different. No detail was relinquished from her telling, not after he had granted her the
same dark sort of brand of confidence in his own traumas.

No.

Lies and omissions were not for them, not after everything they had been through, had said to one
another. There was nothing too dark, too sinister or agonising that she would spare. Gwyn
promised to give him every part of her, and this was how she would keep that vow.

The grip laced in hers tightened as she recalled with a choked voice the way the other Hybern
soldiers watched, their cruel faces twisted into sneers and merciless greed. How they laughed and
taunted her with viscous lupine grins as the soldier drove in and out of her mercilessly from behind.
How she prayed - prayed as her soul was splintered apart with every slam of his hips into her. How
she prayed to the Mother for death to come swiftly, so she could join her sister in the Afterworld.

The edges of his wings curled slightly more around them, blocking the breeze that had planted
goosebumps on her skin.

“And then,” The gust of Western wind met her tear-stained cheeks and kissed the heat of her
forehead as she whispered, “you found me.”

A wave of grief whirled between them as his temple met the apex of her head. As if Azriel were
somehow afraid that she would suddenly fall to the depths from the perilous ledge, he tightened
those broad arms around her, their fingers still knotted together in a solid vice. Although he didn’t
make a sound, she felt the wetness of his own tears meet with hers as their heads touched softly.

“It was like they were all there one minute and the next…” Gwyn paused, her mind still entrenched
in the darkness of the memory, “The next, they were gone. Torn to shreds and in pieces on the
floor. But I couldn’t move. I was so cold; my legs were numb and I was shaking uncontrollably.
And somehow, I didn’t know who you were, but I knew you were good, kind . Like an angel sent
from the Mother to save me. I had this feeling, like I knew I could trust you. That you would keep
me safe.”

Her head tilted downwards as she brought the bundle of their entwined hands to her lips. With a
priestess’s reverence, she planted a kiss on the knuckle of his index finger. Because the Mother did
indeed send her Death, just not in the way she had expected it. No. The Mother sent her an Angel
of Death, the very angel that held her now and maybe that’s why she would always be a believer.
Because in her hour of need, that prayer was answered and her mate was sent to her. And that to her
was faith, as even in the darkest of times, she learnt that light could be found, even if it was draped
in shadows.

“I never knew true violence until that night,” she admitted, “but in truth, I never knew sacrifice or
justice either. I saw both of those things when I watched you rid the Earth of those males…Then
you helped me up and wrapped me in your cloak.” Gwyn twisted so she could see his face, her
glittering eyes finding his flooded hazel ones. Under the bright light of the moon, she found
something heavy and ransacked in them, as though her words had chipped away at a long forged
wall he had built centuries ago. And perhaps in the fleeting heartbeat of that moment, she hoped
the bond might actually snap for him. If hearing that absolution of his misplaced guilt might trigger
the magic that bound them to galvanise.

But alas, it didn’t.

A bashful smile spread across her lips as she murmured, “Do you want to know a secret?”

Speechless and overcome with devastation, he only nodded.

Gwyn glanced back down to the beautiful scar-flecked hand laced in her own, “After you got me
out and Morrigan took me to the infirmary, I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t do anything
except relive what had happened over and over again. The only thing that would pull me from that
recurring nightmare I was trapped in, was remembering these…” She squeezed his hand tighter,
her index finger drawing strokes over his knuckle again, “...and how these hands saved me.”

Azriel frowned, another flood of tears freshly running down his cheeks. His voice was raw with
emotion as he said, “You thought of me, even after… after everything?”

She nodded, her voice quiet as she confessed, “I drew your hands, every day. The mind healers
gave me parchment and graphite pencils as a last resort to get me to do something . I drew them so I
wouldn’t forget. So I would remember that it was over. That I was free.” A tear ran down her cheek
as she caught the glistening light of a wave crashing against the rocks, “But now, I think I was also
drawing them because they were evidence.”

“Evidence?”

“Evidence that the Mother existed,” she shrugged, “proof that not all males were so unkind.”

The stillness of his form contended with the rapid flowing of his tears, as he too, glanced down at
their entwined hands.

“I drew close to a hundred sketches,” Gwyn gave a solemn laugh, shaking her head, “I didn’t have
the skill to draw your face, but I remembered it. I remembered your eyes, the black flecks in them
and the cut of your jaw. I remembered the shadows and blue of your siphons, how they glowed so
brightly amongst the smoke and the chaos.”

A beautiful, winged angel, cloaked in the divinity of shadows. That was her first thought of him as
he said those words to her she had never once forgotten.

“ Don’t worry… You’re safe now. You’re safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

He lifted their hands to meet his own lips as he whispered, voice gravelled and harsh, “I
remembered you too… I dreamt about you, actually.”

“What?”

“The nights after, I…” Azriel’s tone was confused as if he too was just rediscovering the buried
memory, “I had nightmares about finding you again… About being too late. It was strange, I didn’t
know you but I kept thinking of you. There was so much blood and you were so small and fragile
and…” His words trailed off as he blinked through a fresh cascade of tears. There was a frown
pinching his brow as he said, “Gwyn I’ll never let anything happen to you again, you know that
right? I would never…” Again, the train of his voice dissolved in the midnight air, as he grimaced,
“I would never touch you without permission and if anyone ever tries to ever lay a hand on you
again… I fear for the monster I would become, for the violence I would be capable of.”

It was a promise - a promise forged in the deepest of scars and the darkest of shadows.

Her voice was whisper soft as she nestled down into his form, closing her eyes as a weight that had
bore down on her for many years had somehow lifted, “I know, Shadowsinger…”
She knew, because in turn, if anyone ever hurt him, Gwyn would not know the creature of cruelty
that she would become.

Perhaps that's what love was, an equal balance of dark and light, of war and peace. Because
beneath her ribcage in her thunderously beating heart, lay the promise of violence to protect him
and the vow of softness to keep him.

They spent the rest of the evening flying nowhere in particular. She didn’t want to go home, not
yet, and he didn’t want her far from his arms either. There was something freeing about sailing
through the wind with him, leaving all the worry, hurt and pain on the ground and soaring above it,
as though they were nothing but travelling stars.

Occasionally, Gwyn would ask Azriel to speed up and she would time how fast they could travel
through the updrafts and plummeting to the depths of the downdrafts. Other times, he would fly her
leisurely through the fine mist of the low-lying clouds and they would emerge sprinkled with fresh
rain and laughter on their lips.

It was sort of telling, she supposed, that they would find solace in the fearsome plunges as well as
the slow soaring. Just like life, no matter what they went through, as long as she was with him, if
they were together, they would emerge with grins and laughter, holding each other and looking
forward.

“So,” Azriel began, an uncharacteristic kind of hesitation on his features, “I may have mentioned
our relationship to my mother.”

“You told Maia about us?” Gwyn’s eyes widened but she couldn’t help the stupid smile that
formed on her mouth.

“If you must know, she’s quite thrilled and is claiming responsibility for the whole damn thing…”

Gwyn laughed, a beautiful symphonic sound that made the shadows around them dance like
contently hypnotised cobras. “That’s where you inherited all your sneakiness from, I guess.”

His mouth curved into a shy smirk, “I never thought about it like that before.”

“You know,” Gwyn smiled, “when I first met your mother, all I could think about was how much
you looked like her.” Absent-mindedly, she pushed a finger into the dimple that carved into his
cheek, “Especially with these.”

Azriel’s voice became forlorn as he admitted, “I always thought I looked like my father.”

“Not to me,” Gwyn shook her head, “not when you smile like that.’

She liked this, the feeling of the wind in her hair and the lightness in her heart. Liked the way she
could hear his own chest beat in time with the magnificent batting of his wings in the current of air
they swayed through leisurely.

“What were you like as a child?”

Azriel’s question caught her off-guard and she had to pause slightly before answering, “I was
happy, always singing and reading - Once, one of the High Priestesses even banned me from
singing for an entire day because I kept humming hymns in her lessons during school.”

He snorted, shaking his head, “I can definitely see that.”

“Mostly though, I was content and well-behaved, happily committed to my imagination thanks to
all the books I read. Catrin was the rebellious one, always convincing me to do whatever forbidden
thing she had her mind set on.”

Lips twitching, he asked, “Like what?”

“Well, there was this village just beneath the hill where the temple was built upon. Some nights,
Catrin would sneak out and drink herself senseless and dance with the travelling soldiers that came
through and I went with her… Mostly to keep her out of trouble, but wherever she was concerned
that was somewhat of an impossibility.”

Azriel grinned, “She sounds like Cassian.”

She gave a snort, “Exactly, except infinitely better at dancing and far worse with a sword...” Her
voice became distant, her head dipped solemnly as she added, “She would have made a great
Valkyrie. As fierce as Nesta and as relentless as Emerie… Sometimes… Sometimes I wish she had
been the one that escaped.”

Azriel’s flying slowed, as he opened his mouth, a pained torment struck again on his face.

“I’ve spent so much time asking why I got this life… Despite what it cost, it… it should have been
her.”

“No, Gwyn.” Azriel’s intent stare bore into hers as he said, “The fates don’t make mistakes, even in
death.”

She only nodded, fixing her gaze on the twinkling horizon, but his eyes remained on her as he
whispered, “I wish I could have met her.”

The evidence of a small smile pulled at her lips, but sorrow contended in her eyes. “She would
have liked you…” Her mouth upturned slowly into a grin as she quickly added, “Despite all your
brooding.”

He only snorted in reply and placed a soft kiss to her temple.

They flew until dawn and crested the snow-capped mountains ahead. When Gwyn and Azriel fell
into the massive confines of his bed, washed and droopy-eyed, it was together.

His large form wrapped protectively around hers, pulling Gwyn in a little tighter than he ever had
before. Her fingers drew adoringly soft strokes on his knuckles in return. The span of membranous
leather wings encased them and just as blissfully as they had soared through the sky, it was
together they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Content and safe.

A violent bash echoed through the room, and then, the sound of the door being opened quickly
pulled Gwyn from the blissful depths of her slumber. Azriel reacted so quickly, she barely tracked
his movements, as he instinctively pulled a dagger from beneath his pillow and shielded Gwyn
with the mass of his muscled body. The shadows had roused into defensive forms, coiling around
his broad shoulders to strike.
“Morning sunshine, or should I say, afternoon…” Cassian’s grin shone tauntingly at them as he
leaned against the frame of the door. And despite her being fully clothed, Gwyn brought the sheets
up around her body shrugging behind one of the outstretched wings in front and peeking over.
There was nothing remotely untoward about the pyjamas she was wearing, nor the position she was
in. Yet, she still felt the heat of crimson blush rush to her cheeks.

No, this wasn’t sexual, but sharing someone's bed? That was intimate. A brand of intimacy that felt
strange for other people to see.

Cassian, who was dressed in his leathers and was seemingly ignorant to this fact, went on with no
effort to disguise his smugness, “And good morning to you too Gwyn, don’t you two look cozy in
there. Long night?”

Azriel slightly relaxed the hand that was gripping the dagger, his form going lax as he rubbed the
residual sleep from his tired eyes and flexed the muscles that tautly constricted his wings. He
pinched the bridge of his nose, and there was no denying the threat lacing his cold tone as Azriel
replied, “You have 3 seconds to tell me-”

“Rhys wants us at the River House,” Cassian’s eyes flickered over to Gwyn, the bright smile still
on his lips as he continued, “All of us.”

Azriel only nodded, turning back to gauge Gwyn before nodding and replying sharply, “See you
there.”

Cassian only beamed, as if his very grin were the product of the burning sun itself. But the sight of
him didn’t last long, as the shadows raced forth and slammed the door in his face, locking it.

When the footfalls of Cassian’s boots finally dissipated down the hall, Gwyn turned to Azriel, who
was sitting on the edge of the bed, the exposed muscles of his back carved by the midday sun. He
cradled his head in his hands, as though summoning the will not to run after his brother and sock
him in the jaw in the name of some newfound boyfriendly propriety.

“You told them then?” Gwyn surmised, standing and raising her arms above her head to stretch her
stiffened limbs.

Azriel gave a nod, “A miscalculation on my part, I think.” He ran a hand through his hair and
finally looked up to where Gwyn had begun shuffling towards him, mischief lacquering her teal
oceans for eyes.

Silently, she padded over to position herself between his splayed-out knees, delicately inching up
his chin with the hook of her finger. The annoyance that clouded his hazel eyes cleared to make
way for something softer, the colour like the simmering burning of gilded embers. Slowly with a
teasing touch, Gwyn leant down and connected her lips to his, the contact prolonged and stirring.

“I like it…” She whispered as she pulled away slightly to glance down at him.

Azriel’s eyes were hazy, his voice a deep rich velvet as he asked, “You like, what?”

A lazy finger traced the harsh edge of his jaw as she smirked, the other hand running through the
lush thickness of his hair. “I like that they know you’re mine.”

Like the thrashing of a whip, cracking and reverberating, the air turned thick and charged as he
levelled a heavy-lidded stare at her. A stare, that she was sure was sending her heart into a
plundering, beating mess and her core into something white-hot and flooded with needing.
Voice thick, Azriel cocked a brow, “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Gwyn’s knees came to flank his thighs on the edge of the bed as she lowered herself
astride his massive form. Trying not to audibly moan, her centre found him unforgivingly hard and
ready beneath the thin cotton of his boxers. Azriel’s heady scent was thick with smoked cedar and
rich spice as she took a deep, greedy inhale of him.

Lazily, her hands stroked down the carved plane of his bare chest, until they rose again and her
fingertips brushed his temples. And she knew in that moment, as his fevered desire barrelled and
burnt through the intensity of his stare straight into her own, that this perfect male, was truly hers.

“Say it again.”

Mother above.

That simple command made heat rush to her depths and caused her stomach to flip and knot in on
itself.

She planted a hot kiss on his lips, her own parting with the curvature of a smile before she
complied, “You’re…” Another kiss, deeper, harder. Claiming. “Mine.”

And then, with that confession, he was devouring her.

One of Azriel’s broad hands came to wrap around her waist, anchoring her hips to his in a gentle
grip. The other, coming to snake around the nape of her neck and pull her in closer, knotting his
fingers in the throes of her copper locks as he did.

Without even thinking about what she was doing, Gwyn slid her hips against him in desperate need
to sate the hunger for touch that had been tormenting her and slowly edging her towards a kind of
madness that only he could elicit.

A low, primal growl reverberated from his throat as her core came into contact with that massive,
hardness. It pressed into her most tender spot, only two pieces of fine fabric between them, and she
could help but release a ragged cry as that part of him, throbbing and equally agonised hit that part
of her that needed him most.

“You can punish me later…” Gwyn managed out, her breathing uneven.

Azriel’s voice was equally confused and distracted as he mumbled between biting kisses, “And
why would I do that?”

A gloriously menacing grin plastered over her pink lips as she suddenly parted their chests with an
outstretched palm. Despite every inch of her will being entirely dedicated to the prospect of her
flesh meeting his, somehow, she managed the self-control to slowly stand.

Her eyes never left his and she took an unbridled amount of victory from the way animalistic
arousal flickered in them.

“Because… we’re about to walk into a meeting with the High Lord and Lady of the Night
Court…” She righted the shorts of her pyjamas from riding up as her amused gaze dipped to the
evidence of his erection practically bursting through his pants, “and all you’re going to be able to
think about, is me.”

The Shadowsinger gaped. Actually gaped at her as she winked at him and strode triumphantly
through the door that connected their rooms via the secret parlour.
The unmistakable sound of his back falling to the bed in defeat as he tried to muffle a groan of
acute arousal and begging frustration only made her smile grow wider.

Mentally, she checked off one little word on her list.

‘Edging’.

Azriel was silent as they flew to the River House, caught between his sustained need and amused
annoyance at Gwyn’s clear victory against him. But it was in the way he placed her down when
they landed. The way his hands slid ‘innocently’ over her still aching breasts and his gaze, which
promised a ten-fold retribution - that had her having to rein in her own anticipation-fuelled arousal.

Just before they reached the heavy oak doors of the imposing front entrance, Azriel pulled her into
the stone column of the threshold. Leaning down, so his lips caressed the tender flesh of her ear in
a lover's whisper, he purred, “You’re in a lot of trouble, Berdara.”

“How much?” Her voice was a breathy mess as he smiled at her, tucking a strand of her lustrous
copper hair behind her ear.

Azriel stared at her for a heartbeat longer until he finally said, “So much that you should clear your
schedule for the rest of the day… and perhaps the evening as well…”

And just like that, Gwyneth Berdara was wet, the lace of her underwear fully soaked through and
her clit pounding. The tables had well and truly been turned and she didn’t like it one bit.

His form pressed into hers, and she suppressed a moan as he ground his hips into where she needed
him. “Because, if you want a lesson in edging, Gwyneth, I am more than happy to give you a
long…” Sniffing the air, as though he were sampling it for the waft of Spring’s blooms, a wicked
grin coveted his features, “...very thorough one.”

Gwyn bit her lip as he rolled his hips at the perfect angle to place pressure on her clit. Her cheeks
flushed with embarrassment as she thought of the prospect of her friends, her colleagues, scenting
her arousal.

Shit.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

But she couldn’t let him win, no. Gwyn wanted to wipe that stupidly handsome look off his
ridiculously devilish face, so she leaned in and whispered, “The rest of the day…and the evening?”
She cocked a brow, “Is that all you can manage, Shadowsinger? I was under the impression all that
experience had you skilled in this area…” Her hand came down to lightly stroke the hardness in his
pants and he clenched his jaw at the sensation. “...Colour me disappointed.”

As they approached the door of Rhysand’s study hand in hand, Gwyn saw the apprehension grow
on Azriel’s face. Saw the small tells of anxiousness she had come to note in him, the slight
tightening of his jaw, the hardening of his eyes and the way he squeezed her hand a little harder in
his own grip as he eyed the black, grand door.

She knew the males that Azriel called brothers enough to know that Cassian’s light taunting this
morning was nothing compared to the full-scale ragging they were likely itching to unleash on him.
She knew, in part, that he was unnecessarily worried she would be dragged into the mockery of the
banter. Honestly, though, Gwyn didn’t mind it one bit.

But perhaps it went deeper than that still, perhaps Azriel had never been so vulnerable, so
unguarded in front of anyone, even his closest family. And that’s what this was in a way,
sauntering in and declaring amongst everyone that Azriel, famed for his secrecy and mystery, had a
vulnerability - and it was in the form of a twenty-eight-year-old, 5 ft 11’ Priestess.

Gwyn’s mouth curved into a consoling grin as she lifted her other hand up to stroke his cheek, “Is
the big bad Shadowsinger of the Night Court scared of a little official meeting?”

That worry, that slight apprehension melted away at the sound of her teasing and just as it did, his
features broke into a wonderful smile. The kind he only wore when it was them, the kind that
crinkled his eyes at the sides and carved glorious dimples in his cheeks.

“Heaven forbid they see those cherub dimples…” Gwyn remarked in a mocking whisper, “How
are they ever going to fear you across the lands when you look like such an adorable little bat.”

Azriel let out a laugh, so genuine and careless, the sound, a lovely baritone hymn. She joined in
with her own, planting a playful kiss on his cheek, right where that dimple sat and Azriel opened
the door and led them through.

The Inner Circle may have been under the impression that they were being subtle, but when Azriel
and Gwyn entered Rhysand’s study, laughing themselves silly and beaming like idiots at a funfair,
they were anything but that. Gwyn made sure that she held Azriel’s hand proudly as they entered.
It was a silent gesture that always seemed to both take him by surprise and settle something warm
and content over his features.

Her mind set to wondering if his friends had ever actually seen him hand in hand with a female
before. The expressions that met them, told her otherwise. A mixture of excitement, amusement
and intent curiosity brewed within the intent gazes that met them as she approached the suite of
furnishings, currently occupied by the High Lord’s closest companions.

Notably, Elain was missing from the meeting, which, judging by their previous encounter at Buain
Uaine, was probably for the best. When all this was over and Azriel had apologised to the middle
Archeron as per Gwyn’s request, she would speak to her, girl to girl. There was no need for bad
blood between them, in fact, the thought made her heart sink a little. She always thought she and
Elain would make fast friends if the situation were ever not too complicated between them.

Their attention made the blush sustained from Azriel’s heat-laden promises seem to flourish once
more and return warmth to her cheeks, the tips of her ears and her neck for all to see.

Gwyn quickly excused their tardiness and squeezed his hand before dropping it, retreating to the
edge of the dark teal sofa next to Nesta. While Azriel, doing a fine job of remaining calm and not at
all on the cusp of starting an edging war, took to leaning on the back wall, shrouded in his
shadows.

Brow furrowing, her keen gaze narrowed in on what lay unfurled on the table in front of them. The
map she and Azriel had brought back from Autumn…and it was no longer blank. No. Every inch
of it was sprawled and annotated in red ink. Lines had been drawn, numbers calculated, x’s
marking suspicious points in each neighbouring Court territory.

It was a war map. Autumn and Summer’s plan of attack… and they had it in their hands.
“You deciphered the wards…” Gwyn whispered, eyes wide at the sight before her. The sheer
magnitude of the large-scale attack that was being planned, made clear.

This was not a war. This was a revolution, an uprising to end all others and judging by the
formations of the battle strategies sketched on the map, it was one to turn Prythian into a singular
Kingdom once more.

Finally, Rhys gave a grin seemingly unbothered by the threat that sat before them and explained,
“Beron used old magic to ward the map… Helion proved himself to be greatly helpful in breaking
the spell.”

Helion, The High Lord of the Day Court. Gwyn had gathered quite a bit of knowledge on the male
and the neighbouring Court during her years of research, and admittedly, she had always wanted to
travel to Day. The Day Court was a land that championed knowledge above all else, and they are
known to host the largest library in Prythian. So many ancient texts and forbidden tomes. So much
power archived and preserved in the pages of books she longed to read. They say the main library
was built by an old mage and carved with sun stone, the blocks of rare material forged with liquid
sunlight itself.

“It was somewhat of a miracle you even found it,” Amren added, pulling Gwyn from her thoughts,
“It was warded against being found by anyone who did not hail from Autumn or Summer.”

The High Lady’s brow furrowed, a deep crease forming between her pretty grey eyes, “But I read
your report, Az… You were the one to uncover it, weren’t you?”

The Shadowsinger gave a nod, “It was simple reconnaissance,” he explained, “I knocked out the
cartographer and looked in the typical places people hide things they don’t want to be found… I
couldn’t sense any wards, the shadows didn’t alert me to any either.”

“Hm,” was all Rhys said, before looking over to his mate, a silent conversation passing through
them as she stood, taking the lead of the conversation.

“You had my blood on you…” Gwyn breathed, her head tilting to look at Azriel.

“Why was he covered in your blood?” Nesta asked, her sharp tone tinted with worry.

“Before he found the map, I covered him in my scent to-”

“Offset the hounds.” He finished for her, eyes sparkling with quiet encouragement and a slight
confoundment of his own.

Nesta’s brow arched, her voice was slow and thoughtful as she asked, “Those dogs, they heel to
you?” From across the room, Cassian frowned, whereas Amren simply grinned, a lupine, near-on
beastly expression.

She gave a shy nod, reasoning “Because I’m from Autumn…” But even as she said the words, they
seemed to hold less and less validity. Why on Earth would the hounds be trained not to attack
anyone with Autumn blood? Surely the more plausible solution would be to train them to heel to
the scent of a particular bloodline…

A lone shadow found itself curled around her wrist, burying its slithering end in her palm, holding
her hand. Azriel’s scent grew stronger, and though she couldn’t see him, she knew he had crept
closer behind her.

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to disregard the theory as a ridiculous emulation of falsehoods. But,
the logical cogs in Gwyn’s fast mind would not allow for such a thing, because admittedly, it made
sense. The memory of Eris’ interrogations flittered back into her mind's eye, his line of
questioning, the way his hounds seemed to heel to her naturally.

Mother’s mercy.

It made sense, but that meant…

The light touch of Azriel’s hand met with the tender flesh of her shoulder and the flood of cedar
and wind-chilled mist followed from where he now stood protectively behind her, but that did
nothing to calm her riled nerves. Her mind was reeling, her heart thundering to an uneven beat.
Nesta must have sensed this, as she reached over to Gwyn and placed a reassuring hand in hers,
saying quietly, “It’s only speculation… Who knows what that prick did to those dogs, or what they
could scent. Your mother was from Forest House, correct?”

“Yes…”

“So maybe, the dogs scented that lineage to the palace and didn’t regard you as a threat.”

Feyre nodded, a careful expression plastered on her lovely features, “We don’t know the full
circumstances of blood magic used by the Autumn Court…” Her gaze landed on the map, drawing
attention back to the imminent threat of war, “But what we definitely know is that Beron has a
powerful ally in Summer. One that is high ranking enough to think he can stage a coup and take
over the military…”

Cassian shook his head, his features contorted into careful reasoning as he said, “I just don’t get
why Summer and Autumn would think - even if they found the other lost elements of the Dread
Trove - that they stood a chance against five other Courts, it’s suicide.”

“Arrogance is the death of reason,” Rhys mused, “And Beron has no shortage of it pulling this shit
after the war.”

“Whatever these two items do, they’re clearly powerful enough to give Beron and whoever this
Pontus is the gall to attack so brashly.” Feyre agreed.

“We need to ensure they don’t find them and if they have, we need to get them back before this
war even can be started…” Rhys looked to Cassian and then Nesta, “I want you to go to the
Noctus, maybe the residual power left in Nesta might be able to detect the locket they’re searching
for…”

They nodded, faces grave. “Feyre and I will go back to Day and inform Helion of the attack and
research whatever we can find on the second item… Amren and Morrigan will keep things running
here, we can’t let on to the public that there is anything to fear, not after the war. Not after
everything they’ve already lost.” In a rare display of stress, the High Lord rubbed his forehead
before murmuring, “Give them a moment of peace, until we have no choice but to ready them for
war.”

A solemn fist seemingly gripped at their chests. It was only last year Briallyn almost waged a war
on Prythian and all but two years since Hybern reaped havoc on the lands.

“It seems Summer’s attack is on the horizon and we need to be close to the source of the coup,”
Feyre continued for her mate, her voice gentle as though she knew everyone needed it, but the
silent request rang through every word.

She may have been shocked, but she had kept enough sense to know that the Night Court needed
someone to infiltrate the Summer Court that had the ability to break through the blood wards on
the correspondences and Mother knows what else.

“I’ll go to Summer.” Gwyn’s voice was resolute and decided, her chin dipping in a firm nod.

Azriel’s tone rang just as clear from behind her, his grip tightening on the top of her collarbone as
he declared, “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

We’ll leave tomorrow . Because if she was going to walk into a war zone, he would be right beside
her. In fact, Gwyn somehow knew that if she asked him to walk through the gates of Hell, Azriel
wouldn’t even bat an eyelid. And perhaps this is what this mission was.

For what was hell but Autumn flames and the heat-laden fury of Summer?

“You’re going to need to be stationed in the Court itself to access any information we may need to
prepare,” Rhys surmised, rubbing his jaw in thought.

“There’s no way Tarquin’s going to let the Spymaster and a Valkyrie into his Court as emissaries,
he’s not that stupid,” Cassian sighed.

Morrigan spoke after her long-held silence, “Unless we take a risk and tell Tarquin about the
coup… get him on-side…”

Amren shook her head, “Too risky, we can’t count on his reaction to be strategic enough not to
solicit the attacks early...”

Azriel nodded, “We keep this confidential until we know the players and we have no other choice
but to involve potential risks.”

“Cassian’s right, Tarquin won’t buy that they’re emissaries for the Night Court, especially given
we’re technically in peace times…” Feyre nodded, her voice distant as she glanced at her mate and
then back to Gwyn, “But he might buy something else…”

The High Lord only fixed his glance on his mate and slowly nodded in agreement with whatever
plan was brewing in her mind. Through some otherworldly sister sense, Nesta seemed to
comprehend her thoughts and ran a shrewd glance over Azriel and then, over Gwyn, as if
discerning something by the way he was touching her and the shadow maintained curled in her
palm.

“You can’t be serious.” Gwyn gaped, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at what Azriel had
placed on the table in front of her.

They had spent all day planning, dissecting the revealed schemes on the map and the letters they
had intercepted in Autumn. Azriel had spent the majority of the day in the study with Rhys and
Feyre, door closed and sounds warded. Cassian simply stared at the map, making notes, calculating
numbers and artillery counts. While Gwyn, Nesta and Morrigan went over Courtly protocol,
Amren, who took the liberty of chiming in every so often to give her advice on the power plays at
hand.

The High Lady had offered them to stay at the River House for the night, but she politely declined,
opting to fly home with Azriel, who said all but three words to her before. There was something
plaguing his mind, she could see it carved into the furrow of his brow and in the tightly wound
shadows that unnecessarily fussed and draped around her form.

“It’s the most believable circumstance for our visit…” Azriel reasoned with an unreadable tone,
“Tarquin and Rhys are on better terms now, but he’s more likely to grant a visit of this nature than
an official one.”

She reached out, a slight tremble in her hands as her fingertips grazed the small black box. Its
velvet was buttery soft, yet the box appeared to be aged and the glistening thing that sat elegantly
inside it, looked as if it were made long ago for far more delicate hands than her own.

“You only have to wear it when we’re in public… So the marriage is believable.”

Gwyn swallowed down the lump in her throat, nodding as she took in the dark blue stone that
crowned the ring and the flanking bands of tapered diamond around the metal band.

It was beautiful. More than beautiful even, it was perfect.

Her stomach churned.

And she couldn’t help but be overcome with melancholy at the sight. Because Azriel was giving
her a ring, but it wasn’t real. And they would have to act like a newlywed couple venturing to the
coastal regions on their honeymoon, but that too, would be a farce. And maybe it was stupid, but
the prospect of acting out something that Gwyn had only now realised she had always wanted, felt
like a punch to the gut and a knife to the heart.

She wondered where he had even got such a priceless thing, but feared the answer might be
something she couldn’t bear to hear. A dark, ugly part of her mind even wondered if it were
another piece of jewellery he had bought for another female before it was given to her. Such a
beautiful ring would look just right on the dainty fingers of Elain Archeron, or, would compliment
the otherworldly complexion of Mor.

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it…” Azriel muttered, not reading the content of her sorrow for what it
truly meant, “I uh… We can get another one.”

“No…” Gwyn shook her head, summoning a resolute uncaring look to her features as she glanced
up at him, “No, It’s fine.”

He frowned, nodding slightly, a long pause beating between them as he seemed to be overcome
with his flurry of thoughts. “We leave at first light… Let’s get some sleep.”

Her eyes found the ring again, the stone, a perfect hue of teal forged sapphire before she gave him
a nod and left him in the parlour, to go and bathe.

Because what was she supposed to tell him? That the prospect of pretending to be married to her
unknowing mate felt like some great tragedy had carved a hole in her chest? That the very act they
would be expected to put on would never leave her wanting mind and her aching heart?

No.

She couldn’t say any of that.

As she plunged her body into the steaming bath that gently scented of lavender and sweet
honeysuckle, Gwyn did what she always did in situations where the odds seemed stacked against
 her and fear bit at her nerves: she said a prayer.

A prayer to the Mother to keep her new family safe. A prayer to keep Azriel by her side and
another, to give her the strength to pull this mission off without doing anything stupid.

Something cataclysmic, like triggering the mating bond to snap. Because what would be more
dangerous than a newly mated Azriel in a Court full of viperous usurpers and a war on the horizon.
And, more importantly, in what world would that overprotective male let his mate fight in her first
war?

She shivered at the thought and submerged herself into the heat of the water, letting it lick at the
wounds of her worry and drown her trepidation.

Chapter End Notes

Another chunky chapter to fill your thirsty Gwynriel heart!

There was so much I wanted to cover before they set out to their next mission and
effectively, into a political warzone - and one of the most necessary aspects of that,
was Gwyn opening up to Azriel about what happened to her in Sangravah. I knew
from the outset that before they had sex, Gwyn had to come to a stage in her life where
she felt comfortable discussing her assault and communicating effectively with him, in
order for her to feel comfortable. The ties of honesty forged through shared
experiences of pain is really the marrow of Gwyn and Az's relationship and I wanted to
take my time building the relationship that would ultimately embody that. It was
extremely purposeful that this conversation between Azriel and Gwyn happened as a
'final frontier' of sorts and I hope it was as impactful and respectful to the subject
matter as I aimed it to be.
If I don't add anything else, there's roughly 12-14 chapters left of this fic and I should
probably state outright now that if you don't like the fake marriage trope you should
leave now because this fic is about to take a plot turn in Summer filled with political
intrigue and all that juicy gwynriel sexy espionage.
I'm sorry for not adhering strictly to the posting schedule, I've just moved across the
country and life is a little crazy right now.

As always, let me know what you think of this chapter! I love seeing your amazing
comments - and thank you to those who have been sending me encouraging messages
on Tumblr, it's been such a mood booster getting your kind words.
 Tides of Marriage
Chapter Notes

As per usual, big thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship my beta reader, editor

and all-time favourite person.

Warning: Some themes that are NSFW.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Is this really necessary?” Gwyn asked for what had to be the third time as Nesta fussed over her
hair. She stole a hesitant look into the large mirror she had been placed in front of. The gown was a
glittering white, the colour of fresh pearl shucked from the ocean and it hung diaphanously from
her form, the iridescence catching in the midmorning light stark against her flowing copper curls.
Nesta was fixing pearlescent pins to her hair, they shone through the weaving of braids arranged
like a crown.

Gwyn had not thought she would ever be a bride, even if it were part of a war-ceasing scheme. And
though this wasn’t exactly a wedding dress, it was the closest thing to it she had ever worn before.

After arriving at the library, such romantic whims that were born of dreaming of handsome knights
and secret kisses were all but made fallacy in her mind. The thought of leaving the library and
gaining enough of her life back to be such a thing, a bride, would have been laughable a year ago.

And yet she was.

No longer working as a researcher, no longer cowering in the library nor fearing the other side of
her locked bedroom door. And though this gown was just another mask of her feats of espionage, it
felt heavier, as though all those dreams she once had weighed it down cruelly on her form.

The eldest Archeron only grinned, “Scared of a little roleplay, Berdara?”

It was High fae tradition, she had been informed, that a bride was to wear white for the first three
days after her wedding. It was an old practice to apparently bring fertility and luck to the marriage,
which factually speaking was absurd. And now, looking at the lavish folds of gossamer silk, a
material as soft as it was costly, which wrapped her curves and hugged her waist, she was sure that
tradition was entirely ridiculous.

She bristled, “No, obviously not.”

Nesta only hummed in apparent disbelief, “If you are, don’t dare peek at what undergarments the
House has packed in your travelling case…” A wicked grin covered her lips, “I think I gave her too
much Sellyn Drake… Admittedly though, her taste is superb.”

Amusement took over Gwyn’s hardened features briefly, before falling again. Because even so,
any moment of distraction in the Summer Court could cost them the war. This rouse was a
dangerous one. Lives were on the line. Any opportunity taken to kiss, to touch, to heed each other's
desires would be as risky as it were stupid.

Nesta noted the change in Gwyn’s demeanour, the fall in her features as she mumbled softly,
almost to herself even, “I should knock that boy over the head for not realising he’s been sneaking
around with his mate for months on end…”

Gwyn frowned, “Don’t say that.”

“And why not?” She snapped defensively, “I mean he’s the great Spy Master of the Night Court
and the prick can’t even see what everyone else has seen for weeks now.”

Commanding all the resolution she could muster with a nonchalant shrug, she replied, “If the
Mother wanted us mated she would have willed it to snap by now.” Despite her deliverance, the
words grated on her. Gripped the beating thing in the confines of her chest a little too tight. Because
a part of her really did believe it.

What if the Mother truly had abandoned the bond? What if it was broken? Even after everything
they had been through and gained together, the clinical, academic side of her mind thought the
evidence favoured some cleaving in the magic that bound them.

Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him.

She didn’t know.

Nesta gave a crude snort, “I hope you’re ready for when it does. That idiot is going to be even more
broodingly insufferable than usual when he finds out you’ve been waiting so long for him to catch
on.”

Gwyn’s voice was merely a whisper, a quiet, sombre confession, as she said, “I’m not.”

The well-practised hands tangled in the pearl-laden masterpiece of her hair stilled as their eyes met
in the reflection of the mirror, “You’re not, what? Ready?”

The question hung in the air as Gwyn contemplated her answer carefully. She didn’t want to think
about the prospect of the bond being unmendable. That same clinical side of her seemed to speak in
answer. “I’m not ready for him to find out, not now with war looming and us galivanting into a
Court that’s about to erupt into a coup. It would be a distraction we can’t afford.”

“Love is a distraction everyone can afford…” Nesta cocked a brow, her voice sharp and correcting,
“Especially in times of chaos and destruction. When it all goes to shit and comes crumbling down,
love is the only thing that gives us the strength to get back up and keep fighting…Even the great
perfectionist, Acolyte, Valkyrie Gwyneth Berdara might need that one day.”

She shook her head, “Let’s say the mating bond snaps then, and we have to separate if war comes.
What then?” Her hands flung up in question, “Do you really see Azriel letting me go off and fight
with you in a Valkyrie legion when he’s waited five hundred years for a mate? He barely lets me
do any solo work on our missions as it is.”

Nesta frowned, “If you wanted to fight he wouldn’t stop you, even if the bond is fresh.”

“And then what, Nesta?” Gwyn pushed, her mind reeling through all the questions that had been
keeping her awake during the long night, “And then he would abandon his post and fight by my
side to protect me instead of doing what is best for the Night Court and the lines of strategy. He
would defy everyone's orders, if it meant protecting his mate. He is reckless with his life at the best
of times, imagine then if we were on the battlefield. And if I got hurt? If I was captured or if I
died…” Her words faded out as she considered what that would do to him. What kind of hellish
madness would infect him if something like his fated mate was taken from him like everything
else.
She recalled the heavy words he had said to her the night of Buain Uaine.

You need to understand that everything I have ever loved tends to get broken because of me and I
can’t bear to watch you break, Gwyn… I couldn’t bear that, it would destroy me.

Her chosen sister had fallen silent, seemingly accepting Gwyn’s reasoning for concern.

“That is why he cannot know. That’s why the Mother has spared him from it, I’m sure.” Silver
brimmed Gwyn’s eyes as she spoke the words. Glancing down, she caught sight of the beautiful
ring that sat perfectly snug on the fourth finger of her left hand. It was such a cruel twist of fate to
have Azriel as hers and yet, have to keep him safe from knowing the truth about their bond. And
honestly, it was tearing her apart because the closer they became the stronger the pull was and the
more it hurt that there was no pull in return.

But she would do it. Gwyn would make that sacrifice to keep him safe. To keep everyone safe.

Nesta stepped forward spinning around and taking her by the shoulders, “I know you’re in a tough
position, but… just know that when the time comes,” her grey eyes sharpened, “and it will come,
Gwyn. When the time comes, you need to be honest with him and tell him everything. All your
fears about the frenzy, the war, everything…because he will understand. But only if you explain.”

The streets of Adriata were a wonder of sun-licked beauty.

After looking as though he had been struck in the chest when he saw her, Azriel had quickly
winnowed them into the heart of the old town district, their feet landing in a cramped alley that
gave way to the lively sprawl of sun-lit terracotta and olive trees swaying in the balmy breeze.

They had set to lodge for a night in the bay precinct, before infiltrating the palace as official guests.
It had to seem believable, Rhysand had claimed, that their schedule be conducive to the leisurely
tourism of a honeymoon and not of the hurried courtly politics of covert espionage that actually
motivated them. So they made for the inn on foot, looking the perfect picture of travelling
newlyweds, to where they would plan the details of their masked reconnaissance.

Azriel was quieter than usual, an uncharacteristic nervousness emulating from his form and pulsing
in the jittered undulation of his shadows. His grip on her hand was secure, their hands knotted
together by a weaving shadow, as they made their way through the crowded streets, much louder
and less refined than those of Velaris.

Unlike the city she had become accustomed to, the ancient city of Adriata was built upon a point of
hilly cliffs, making the streets steep and the pebbled roads narrow to navigate. The crest of the
coastal cliff was crowned by an imposingly beautiful palace adorned with spires and towers that
seemed to pierce the blue sky itself. And the city, of which was built below, descended into a
glittering cove bedecked with ships and docks full of merchants and trade.

Being a famed port town, the sunned streets were rife with vendors. There were fresh cockles and
mussels being sold on every street corner from the fisherman yards, traders of fine clay pottery,
fabrics and mysterious charms from the continent lining the thin roads they walked upon. Azriel
seemed to know his way around the city and she didn’t have to ask to know it was because he had
worked extensively here before.
It wasn’t like Velaris, not in the way many walks of life came together and mingled peacefully. No.
There was a stomach-churning hierarchy evident even in the daily happenings of the street. The
‘Low Fae’, as they were referred to, clearly had been designated jobs of simple remuneration and
little repute. While the High Fae, clothed in rich colours and decadent fabrics, that sometimes could
be seen walking into shops or traversing the commerce quarter for spoils wore their chins high and
their snobbish noses in the air as if they were above all else.

Such flagrant injustice of those prejudices troubled her to the bone, especially considering that she,
a part-water nymph and Azriel, an Illyrian, were about to enter the Court tomorrow. The only
saving grace for their treatment would be Azriel’s prominent station in the Night Court and
Tarquin’s apparent affinity for him, a camaraderie apparently forged in the war against Hybern.

Despite the chaos of the city, its unknown streets and unfamiliar faces, Gwyn remained calm and it
surprised her a little how unaffected she had become by crowds and the unknown when it was so
brusquely thrust upon her.

Once she would have trembled at the mere sound of shouting market traders competing for the
attention of the lively chattering street patrons. Would have been beset with a messed mind,
thundering heart and sweaty palms at the sight of so many in such a close space but now, she was
in control and her nerves were abated by the knowledge that she could protect herself… and
admittedly, that there was a 6’ 11’ Illyrian with the cold promise of death written across his face
helped too.

Her gaze dipped to where her hand wrapped in his and as had become habit, she ran her thumb
along the inside of his scarred palm, earning a stroke to her knuckle in return. That little gesture
had become a silent conversation of theirs. A wordless act that asked if the other was okay and she
was thankful for it as the patrons of the street stared.

The fae of Summer seemed to be blessed by otherworldly beauty, as though the sun that blazed
above were the very source of it. The dark complexions of the city dwellers set Gwyn and her
flaming hair apart and painted her a strange thing in the sea of Summer fae. But it was Azriel’s
wings, his all-black garb and the shadows that draped around him that the fae turned their attention
towards.

Some, in curiosity, most in abject fear and others… Well, the females of this easterly land made no
secret of appreciating the Shadowsinger's own beauty. No. In fact, even some of the males didn’t
care to disguise their heavy-lidded glances towards her mate.

Hers.

She bristled, the sudden heat and the noise was becoming irritable. Admittedly, it was preferable
when they cowered in fear.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, pulling Gwyn out of her growing envy fuelled frustration and back
into the bustle of the street.

Her eyes met his, the hazel of them shrouded in concern as a shadow curled around his ear and
surely whispered the content of her jealousy to him. Treacherous things.

Surely enough, his lips twitched a moment later and he leaned in, his low velvet tone caressing the
shell of her ear as he said, “Pay them no mind… despite their prejudices, the Summer Court fae are
artful exhibitionists, they’ll leer at anything they deem exotic.” He pulled her further into him and
gave her a smirk, “Even Illyrian bastards.”
Gwyn only huffed, there was no use in hiding the ridiculous nature of her discomfort, “Well, it
would be preferable if they leered a little less obviously. I mean I’m holding your hand and
wearing a wedding ring, for Mother’s sake. It’s rude.”

“Now you know how I feel.”

Gwyn made a scoff and shook her head, “What are you on about, Shadowsinger? No one gawks at
me like I’m some decadent dessert to be devoured.” Just as she said the words, a female, her skin
iridescent with the slight glimmer of blue scales, winked at Azriel.

Actually winked .

By the Mother, Gwyn was beginning to understand how Cassian had managed to ruin a building in
this Court.

His amusement grew ever wider as he ignored the wanton gesture and they continued towards the
centre of the old town precinct, “For someone as incredibly intelligent as you, Berdara, you really
can be short-sighted when it comes to your own beauty.”

Her heartbeat faltered a little. Azriel said the words as though they were such an undeniable fact
and yet, no one had ever called her beautiful before. Even when she was younger, it was Catrin,
with her onyx hair and crystalline eyes that garnered that kind of praise. And though it felt a little
silly, vain perhaps even, to place such a material thing in such high regard, the compliment swelled
in her chest, warm and gratifying. “You really think that?”

Azriel glanced at her as if she might be the subject of a lobotomy, something like realisation fixing
over his features, “You really don’t know, do you?”

She felt the crimson warmth rush to her cheeks as they turned into a sun-drenched square and she
shook her head in dismissing disbelief. This was the male that had spent the better half of his five-
hundred and forty-one-year existence in love with Morrigan, and then, up until recently had his
heart set upon the doe featured Elain Archeron… The insinuation that she was something of a
beauty that rivalled them seemed outlandish.

“There,” Gwyn pointed to the upscale lodge, an inn that backed upon the fountain-littered square.
She hurried towards the door, which was opened for her by a deferently nodding tree-fae, but she
knew the look Azriel was dealing her even if it was out of her line of sight. A look that said, their
conversation was not over.

Rhysand had spared no expense in their rouse of a lavish honeymoon befitting his brother-in-arms.
Their suite was on the top level of the building and Gwyn couldn’t help but audibly gasp as she
drew open the doors and found the large windows that flanked the generous living room to reveal
the sapphire blue sea.

She dropped her travelling case to the floor and raced over to press her fingers upon the cold glass,
her eyes widening in delight as she took in the cove that curved below. A large beach stretched
before them, brimming with restaurants and bars that were frequented by glamorously decorated
fae. High Fae children laughed and played in the sand, some even flittering in the gentle lapping
waves of the water.
In all her years, she had never seen a beach before. The cliffs of Sabai were the only comparable
thing. But even then, the waves were rough forces of nature that crashed upon perilously rocky
sand. Nothing like the calm paradise before her. She itched to swim, to feel that sand squelch
beneath her feet and collect seashells as they did in the books.

The wonder slowly fell from her face as her eyes found the glistening sapphire mounted in the ring
that sat upon her finger, the colour so very similar to the ocean beyond.

No.

There was no time for swimming, or such a ridiculous thing as shell collecting. They were working
and this mission, should it fail, would lead to war.

Should she fail, there may be no children to roam happily and laugh on beaches.

There may not be beaches left at all.

Gwyn turned around to find Azriel watching her intently, with his arms crossed. His hazel gaze
dipped down her form as if he too, had momentarily forgotten the grave seriousness that warranted
their presence here. She became acutely aware of the diaphanous gown Nesta had insisted she wear
and not to mention, the ridiculous underthings that more resembled mere straps and scraps of silk
than what was necessary.

A teasing smile made its way to her features, masking the sorrow underneath, “So, husband …”

And by the Cauldron, if she didn’t love the word that was meant to be a joke.

But there was nothing teasing returned in his gaze, only gilded fire, scorching and direct. The kind
that coaxed white-hot heat to flourish in her depths and her stomach to flip over itself in
anticipation. Azriel’s voice was gravelly, as though it had been pulled from his throat as he replied,
“Yes, wife?”

Mother above, this male was making taking a mission seriously very difficult indeed. Especially
when he was glancing at her as though he could see exactly what she looked like without this
stupid gown on.

Her smile widened as she prowled towards him, reaching him and placing a palm on the hard
muscle of his chest, “Perhaps I should call you Mr Berdara, since I don’t know your last name.”
An omittance she chalked down to the association with his father and though Gwyn enjoyed
knowing all the facts, it was for this reason only, she did not pry.

He cocked a brow, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, “You can call me whatever you
like, Mrs. Berdara.” He raised a scarred hand to trace the exposed ledge of her collarbone, hooking
his finger at the strap of her gown and feeling the softness of the silk slide between his fingers. She
wanted him to rip the damn thing off, wanted him to take those gentle hands and-

“I meant what I said earlier, you know…” Azriel admitted, his voice a low, velvet tone that gave
darkness sound.

Her heart galloped as she shook her head, murmuring, “You don’t need to-”

“You’re beautiful Gwyn…” He cut her off, his fingers ascending to explore the tender flesh of her
neck. The touch was slow and deliberate, as he felt the smooth, freckled skin beneath his scarred
fingertips. His roaming touch skated over her jugular, where she swore he could feel her pulse
pounding and thrashing beneath.
Taking her chin, he tilted it to the side, admiring her from the new position. “And if you are as
smart as I know you are, you’ll believe me when I say that.”

It would be so easy to lean in and press her own lips to his. So easy to push him down onto the blue
velvet chaise just inches away and get to her knees in front of him, taste him once more, make him
moan and growl for her the way he did in the cabin… They had, after all, unfinished business
regarding the concept of ‘edging’ to attend to. But just as she had turned away from the prospect of
dipping her feet into the ocean, she couldn’t allow herself the brief reprieve of his touch. Even if
her very bones called for it.

Even if she felt the aching in her breasts shoot down her spine and swell knotted heat in her core.

Even if, somehow, in throes of a mission, her body seemed to hunger him even more.

No.

Not now that the stakes were so high. Not when they had work to do to ensure a war wasn’t about
to ravage Prythian and claim countless innocent lives.

But the way he was looking at her… The way his body was warm to touch and his other hand had
come up to stroke her own that rested upon his rapidly beating chest.

Abruptly, Gwyn drew away and hurried over to her travelling case. In a calm voice that betrayed
none of her brewing frustration, she declared, “We should get to work…”

Azriel only observed her for a few, lonely heartbeats, his eyes heavy, before nodding and taking a
seat. His tone was clear once again, absent of that dark, longing when he finally spoke. “When we
get to the palace people may have questions. We’ll need to have a cover story to make the marriage
appear believable… A story that seems plausible yet, not detailed enough to seem contrived. A
good lie is always best delivered as the closest thing to the truth.”

Gwyn gave an agreeing nod. If the shadows that trailed her footsteps noted the sorrowful
expression etched into her features as she was turned and distracted herself by drawing some
papers from her bag, they didn’t inform their Master. She extended a hand, patting the slithering
thing lightly in thanks. And in return, it wrapped around her arm, coiling like a doting pet cobra.

“Tarquin trusts us, but after the war, he’s grown weary of outsiders and heeds the advice of his
speculative council more freely. Just as we walked through the old town, I noted two spies
observing our movements, there will be more in the official residence.”

“What?” She quickly turned on her heel, eyes widened and her voice in a low whisper as though
those very spies could be just outside the door, “We’re being watched? ”

But he didn’t seem at all worried. “Of course. Don't take it personally, any foreign visitors of
importance are trailed in the name of standard security measures…” Azriel leaned forward, his
hands clasped together as he continued, “But that just means that wherever we are in the palace, no
matter if we think we’re alone or not, people will be watching and reporting our behaviour… The
shadows will be at work observing the courtiers for potentially suspicious conduct so we need to
be on guard for ourselves. ”

Gwyn nodded, thanking the Mother that her job seemed to be dependent on the one thing she could
actually achieve, loving the Shadowsinger. But admittedly, she had little comprehension of how to
act ‘married’, save for the romance novels that delved into such events.

The only example she could draw inspiration from was Nesta and Cassian, who took the ‘newly
mated’ stereotype to a whole new level. And fucking in public spaces with little regard for anyone
else was not going to be plausible for her and Azriel.

“...Marriage for the High Fae is often transactional, especially in the more traditional circles of the
Summer Court. Its purpose is usually just for the solidification of alliances between families, to
strengthen bloodlines and keep them ‘pure’.”

Gwyn couldn’t help but grimace at the idea. “But we can’t draw that card, can we?” It was little
secret that there were no grounds for maintaining purity of blood between an Illyrian and a part-
nymph with no title to her name. Even if she really was somehow related to the Vanserra line as
The High Lord and Lady had seemed to propose, she was still as penniless and untitled as the next
acolyte.

“No,” Azriel’s mouth spread into a smile that tinged slightly, as if it were brought on by regret, but
it quickly subsided as his mouth contorted into a wider grin, “I’m afraid you’ll have to take on the
difficult task of pretending I’ve captured your heart.”

“Oh no,” Gwyn fought the smile that threatened to curl on her own lips as she sat opposite him,
“how will I ever manage that?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and offering her a stack of reports his spies had gathered on the
powerful figures in Tarquin’s Court.

In the mid-morning glaze of buttery sunlight, the Summer Court palace felt as if it was built of
storybook pages and straight from the whims of a dream. Azriel and Gwyn walked hand in hand
through the grand entrance to the imposing receiving room, where a gilled steward took their things
and gestured for them to follow. The castle was a feat of spiral staircases and large windows that
permitted the influx of the salt-licked sea breeze, every inch, brightly lit by the sun and intricately
designed with carvings of old sea gods, embellished with precious jewels and shells.

Gwyn had never seen anything like it before. And though she had heard the Night Court hosted
many homes that rivalled such grandeur, the House of Wind was the closest she had come to the
luxury she found herself embroiled in now.

Such wealth on overt display, such power defined in every corner, every detail. In her research, she
had read that the Summer fae were seasoned sailors. Their ancestors had trawled the world for its
finery and excess and that history was evident as the steward opened the shell-marked door to
reveal an ornate suite.

“Your room, Sir… The High Lord extends his congratulations on your nuptials and asks you stay
as long as you please,” the steward fumbled, and Gwyn was once again reminded that some were
scared of the Shadowsinger, who had adopted his usual mask of cold indifference as they entered.
Azriel merely nodded in dismissal, he too, had a persona to keep.

Gwyn gave the male a wide smile, one that dripped of newlywed enthusiasm as she thanked him
and he left with scuttling quickness.

She couldn’t help it. When the door clicked shut, Gwyn let out a squeaking array of giggles,
spinning around and then running over to the enormous bed, falling back upon the soft sheets with
a bounce. When she closed her eyes, the symphonic sound of the waves crashing against the shore
found her and she hummed in sheer delight. “Let’s always do missions in palaces…”

Azriel walked over, and smiled down at her. His gaze running down her white-clad form
appreciatively. “Here I was thinking you wanted remote camping and off-grid work…”

“Mmm, I’m re-evaluating…”

“Well don’t get too comfortable,” he sighed, turning to inspect the room for exits and threats the
way he did the night before. As Azriel opened a cupboard and a shadow scattered within it to
check the contents, he went on, “Tarquin has invited us to dinner tonight. Court dinners are usually
attended by those closest to the High Lord, I expect Pontus will be there and I want to assess who
Tarquin holds close council with…”

Gwyn nodded, filing the words away for her own plan of action as she sprung up from the bed and
explored the suite. Through a stone archway lit by shards of golden light, she found a decadent
bathing pool, large enough for a host of bathers that looked out upon an undisturbed view of the
glittering ocean.

Large jars of oils and flower petals were stocked above and next to the tub, sat a bottle of
champagne, two glasses and a bowl of plump strawberries. She was suddenly reminded that the
real purpose of a honeymoon was not simply to holiday in lavish luxury. That detail her books
made crystal clear, and often took many toe-curling, lip-bitingly long pages to explain.

A honeymoon was for sex. A time for the couple to consummate their vows and begin to try for a
child.

Her mind reacted before her sense could and she pictured Azriel naked in the shell-coloured bath,
his wings extended in content relaxation as she lowered herself onto his lap, her knees flanking his
thighs. She wondered what it would feel like to have him inside her, wondered how it would feel
for his thick pulsing length to slide into her wetness as the steam of the bath ghosted around them
and enveloped their heavily breathing forms.

She could see it now. Azriel would raise a hand to her hip and guide her to make rolling
movements on him, while his other hand came to massage her breast. She imagined his hot, wet
tongue swirling around her nipple, his mouth sucking and slightly biting as she rocked against him.
In and out. Her cries would echo across the bathroom and would meet with the sound of his own
deep throaty growls. She might even take a fingernail to his wing and…

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew her from the depths of her filthy mind and back
into the reality of the situation.

Mother above.

She turned to see Azriel leaning in the archway with a brow cocked in silent question. It didn’t take
long for his nostrils to flare and for his jaw to clamp shut as he swallowed down the realisation that
she was aroused. The edge of his wings seemed to react too, a shiver running through them as they
extended slightly outwards. Something primal flickered through the embers of his gaze and her
body reciprocated that very feeling deep below.

Gwyn wanted him and she wanted him in the most wild, untamed way one could want someone
else's flesh.

It was at that moment that lashing heat coiled in her belly, causing her to take in a ragged breath
and grip the edge of the basin.
What in Mother’s name was wrong with her?

Gwyn bit her lip, slightly hazed with the flood of wanting and pushed past him, “I… I’m going for
a walk.”

“Can I-”

She cut off the request to join her. No. His presence was the absolute opposite of what she needed
right now. “That’s okay, you bathe for dinner and I’ll be back. I uh… I just need some fresh air.”

To her surprise, Azriel didn’t protest. But of course, A shadow followed her as she exited the grand
suite and began aimlessly for the palace gardens, wherever they were.

She needed air.

She needed sense.

The gown Nesta had packed for their Court dinner was every bit as ridiculously extravagant as she
would expect it to be. The almost sheer fabric was embellished with tiny white crystals that shone
like stars and refracted the most blinding arrays of light when it hit the dying hue of the sunset. It
dipped into a deep V that nestled tightly between the valley of her small breasts and belted at her
waist before flourishing out in a spray of iridescent wonder to the floor.

Gwyn had never worn anything quite so… exposing and yet wholly beautiful in her entire life and
though Azriel had seen her bare flesh in nothing but scraps of lace before, her arms hesitantly
wrapped around her body as she left the closet.

Azriel was sprawled across the tufted sofa, dressed head to toe in tailored black suiting. His wings
were extended out beneath him, stretched as they were when he was relaxed. When his gaze turned
to greet her, his hazel eyes widened, then raked down every inch of her, drinking in the glittering
splendour she embodied. And if Gwyn had ever seen a man struck with hellish want, it was now.

A shadow curled into his ear, others opting to abandon their master entirely and scatter to Gwyn’s
skirts. They lapped in the sprawl of the fine fabric and played with the shards of light it omitted as
she moved nervously from one foot to the next.

Swallowing down the silence that had overcome him, he stood and brushed off invisible creases
from his suiting as he said casually, “I’m not sure going to dinner is the best idea…”

A frown found Gwyn’s brow. “What? Why? I thought it was our first point of reference to scope
out Pontus…” Not to mention it took her a bloody hour to do her hair, which was not as half as
lovely as the way Nesta had done it yesterday.

Azriel drained the remaining whiskey that dwindled in his glass before walking towards her. She
watched with a raised brow as he approached, his footfalls silent as a whisper. His form was always
so imposing when he was this close and when he raised a hand to her chin and stroked her bottom
lip with his thumb, she felt even smaller.

“Because I don’t know how I’m going to get through this evening without thinking about what it
would be like to taste you again.” The brutal honesty, the dark desire folded into those words hit
her like a symphony of sharpened arrows, each one triggering a cascade of heat to trickle down her
spine and light the depths of her aflame.

Gwyn raised a brow, summoning what little rationale she had left within her as she asked, “Are you
calling me a distraction, Shadowsinger?”

His eyes dipped to her lips and the scent of his rich, smoky arousal met her senses like the first hint
of petrichor after a drought. The thumb on her lip pressed in slightly and she placed a chaste kiss
on it before taking it into her mouth and sucking it slightly. Her tongue lapped around the uneven
notches of scar tissue, exploring and he watched with nigh-on animalistic focus as her cheeks
slightly hollowed around him.

He smirked, all devil-wrapped beauty. The kind of beauty you only see from the darkest, most
dangerous of things. The kind that devours you. “I’m saying…”

Gwyn’s back found the wall as she released his thumb, wet and warm from her mouth.

“...That in the entirety of my agonisingly long life, Gwyneth Berdara, you are the only female that
could have me so distracted with desire on such an important mission as this.” His broad hand
gripped her jaw lightly as she pressed her hips into his, not being able to help the flood of need
rushing through her blood and spiking her common sense.

She met the challenge of his smirk with her own, “Does this mean the infamous Shadowsinger of
the Night Court has let himself be honey trapped?” Her hand raised to stroke the beating thing in
his chest.

“I think it means that you’re the most dangerous person I’ve ever met.”

The tension pulled taut between them, like every fibre of her being was strung to his and nothing
would satiate it until their bare flesh met. She felt the hardness of him even through the layers of
fabric of her dress and she pressed her hips further into it. The air was hot and thick with the
arousal that seemed to be pulsing around them.

Gwyn let out a low, silky laugh, “Don’t we make a good couple then?”

His gaze once again dipped lower to her mouth and she could tell he was under just as much
pressure to lean in and claim her as she was him. Instead, a low thundering growl murmured from
his throat, a display of just how much he was restraining himself.

“I can smell how wet you are…”

“Good because…” She leaned in to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. A small allowance to assuage
the need that demanded to be met. Gwyn started for the door, only opting to look over her shoulder
at him as she finished, “...I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“Well if it isn’t the famed Shadowsinger…” Tarquin’s low baritone, warm, yet brimming with
Lordly power called from the head of the table as they entered the elaborate dining room. They
were met with a sea of stares. Some kind, some cold, but all were intrigued.

Azriel’s lips parted in a suggestion of a smile as he dipped his head slightly in greeting, “My Lord.”
Gwyn watched from Azriel’s side as Tarquin, dressed and crowned in gilded finery, strode to
welcome them from the long table of guests, whose eyes were continuing to survey them, now with
equal parts intrigue and suspicion.

The High Lord of Summer wore a menacingly handsome grin, a perfect row of white teeth flashing
from his parted lips as he reached forward to pat him on the back, as though they were old friends.
The war with Hybern had made them companions of sorts and though he didn’t trust the High Lord
entirely, Gwyn could tell Azriel actually liked him.

And if she had to admit it, Tarquin of Summer wasn’t just handsome. No, he was beautiful…
Strikingly so, with those crystal blue eyes, that seemed to rebelliously defy the rich, dark hue of his
skin. When those very eyes slid from the Shadowsinger to Gwyn and dipped down her form in
indulgent appraisal, she felt as if a force more powerful than the ocean itself had plundered and
pierced through her.

“May I introduce my wife…” Though Azriel delivered the introduction with well-practised courtly
prowess that seemed to ooze from his consistent, calm disposition, Gwyn still noted the edge in his
voice. “Gwyneth Berdara.”

A chill ran down her spine as she dipped into a curtsy with a delicate smile. Not the smile of a
Valkyrie, but a saccharine one of a doting wife. But that sensation along her spine wasn’t the cold
creep of a chill, no, it was a shadow that had slithered up the column of her back and now rested
protectively and claiming on her shoulders. She resisted the urge to half-heartedly flick the
defensive things.

“Gwyneth Berdara…” Tarquin said the words low and unhurriedly, as though they were sweet
butter melting in his mouth. According to her research and Azriel’s reports, Tarquin was a male
with a keen appreciation for females and had garnered quite the reputation for his dalliances.
Looking at him now, she understood exactly why those famed exploits of his had been so
successful.

They had spoken about this last night of course, Azriel had taken the time to outline that females
were his weakness and made it clear that the High Lord would likely take a shine to her. To
Azriel’s supreme dismay, Gwyn had been all but too keen on planning to capitalise on that
weakness in order to gain whatever advantage in intel his company would deliver. Reluctantly, he
agreed to her plan. She would entertain Tarquin’s sweet words and distract him with questions
about the Court and its members while Azriel conducted his own, more thorough widescale vetting
of the other guests.

The High Lord extended out his palm in offering to her, and she placed her own hand, dainty in
comparison, within the broad width of his. Tarquin’s eyes twinkled like a sun-bathed, glittering sea
as he dipped down and kissed her knuckles, the very act something out of a romance book. She felt
the warmth that flared in her cheeks compound and knew without a doubt, it had spread to the tips
of her ears.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, My Lord,” Gwyn said, adopting a silky voice that she
had never used before. “Thank you for hosting us in your beautiful home, we are grateful for your
generosity..”

“It’s a pleasure, Gwyneth. Entertaining my friends is somewhat of a favourite avocation of mine.”

Tarquin’s gaze flittered back and forth from her to the Shadowsinger and then stilled, as he noted
the shadow curled possessively at Gwyn’s neck. His lips twitched, those eyes sparkling with the
amusement of a male that enjoyed eliciting such reactions. “Come and meet the denizens of my
Court…”
There were at least twenty people at the High Lord’s table, all immaculately dressed and suitably
curious when Tarquin offered Gwyn his elbow and allowed her to sit at his right-hand side. It
didn’t go unnoticed that the place she currently occupied was a seat typically reserved for the guest
of honour. She only grinned, her features wrapped in nothing but lovely delight at the offer.

The gesture didn’t seem to escape Azriel either and as he took a seat next to her, she felt a large
hand come down to rest casually on her thigh. The assertiveness in the touch, the claiming in it
made her head momentarily whirl. The large span of his hand covered the width of her leg and just
the mere feel of that contact had Gwyn taking a deep sip of the wine in front of her for desperate
distraction. Her walk and cold bath had done nothing to assuage the need that boiled in her blood.

“So you must tell me,” Tarquin crooned, leaning to speak softly to her as the plentiful feast of
seafood materialised on the table and cutlery began excitedly clinkering. “How such a lovely thing
as yourself came to meet the elusive Shadowsinger of the Night Court… It must be quite a story.”

Azriel had taken up conversation with the staunchly stoic male beside him, surely the first
machinations of his plan to gather intel and decipher the people they were surrounded with. But
Gwyn knew as the thumb of the hand which still lay on her thigh, began to rub small circles, he
was listening to her own conversation.

“He trained me actually… In combat.” Gwyn began, allowing the same twinkle of mirth to greet
her azure eyes, “I was originally a researcher for the Night Court. But, I signed up for a program
run by Nesta Archeron - the High Lady’s elder sister…” Tarquin nodded in recognition, a shudder
running down his back from the memory of Nesta. “...and before I knew it, Cassian and Azriel
were teaching me how to defend myself.”

Genuine interest sparked in Tarquin’s eyes now as he took a long sip of his wine, “And it was love
at first dagger throw?”

Gwyn let out an easy laugh, careful to toe the dangerous line of charm and flirtation, truth and lie.
“Oh no, he didn’t look twice at me for months.”

“I find that difficult to believe…”

Gwyn’s cheeks warmed. She wasn’t used to such brazen attention, especially from a High Lord.
Her breathing hitched slightly as the hand on her thigh rose ever so slightly upwards. Her hand
came down on top of his, squeezing it in a silent plea.

Shrugging off the flirtation she merely replied, “The heart works in mysterious ways…”

“Indeed it does.” Tarquin agreed. “So why Summer then? You could honeymoon anywhere. The
rolling hills of the Day Court, the pristine lakes of Dawn, the meadows of Spring… Not to mention
the vast lands of the Night Court to choose from.”

Her pulse quickened ever so slightly at the question. It was delivered so casually, his tone so
effortlessly conversational. And yet, there was an air of conspiracy, sharp and not entirely trusting,
that boiled beneath those tepid seas for eyes. It was only natural, she supposed, to question their
motives and only a fool would try such questioning on the Shadowsinger beside her.

She recalled a piece of advice from her lessons with Azriel.

When interrogated, it’s best to stick as closely to the truth as possible. Only veer from the truth
when it is absolutely necessary. It’s much more difficult to detect one lie amongst eight truths than
the other way around. It’s also easier to remember the exact details of your story, if you should
ever have to retell it again.

Gwyn’s features softened into a bashful sort of grin, sheepish and blushed, as she replied, “I wish I
could tell you I had a particular interest in the naval history or the beautiful Revellian period
architecture of this town… But admittedly, when we were planning our honeymoon, I asked Azriel
if he would take me to the Coves of Seraphina…”

The High Lord, despite his collected ease, looked slightly taken aback by that confession as though
he didn’t expect such an answer from her.

She carried on explaining, “When I was younger, about ten, my Mother passed away. But before
she did, every night she would read to us before we went to bed. And every night, it was the same
book series, one by Erasmus Havellyn, called ‘The Wa-”

“Wanderers…” The High Lord finished for her, voice slightly stooped in astonishment.

It was Gwyn’s turn to be surprised, a genuine grin broke out on her face as she asked, “You know
the ‘The Wanderers’ books?”

His grin mirrored her own as he gave her a nod, “My own dear Mother used to read them to me
too… I was obsessed.”

As he said the words, a cool wisp began to curl up her leg. She shifted in her chair as she felt the
exploratory shadow inch higher and higher. Her hand, still covering his gripped tighter.

Tarquin gave out a laugh, too lost in his own humour to realise the change in her disposition. “In
fact, I was so obsessed with those damn books that when I was a boy, I spent the entirety of my
afternoons looking for buried treasure on Calliope’s island after I read ‘The Curse of Crows’.”

She inhaled a sharp breath as the cold talon of shadow snaked between her thighs, lapping at the
sensitive flesh there. To disguise the sound, Gwyn let out a laugh, her voice twisting into a
harmonic melody as she made a show of shaking her head in disbelief. “I dreamt of nothing but
visiting the Coves of Seraphina for my entire childhood after reading ‘When a Siren Sings’...”

Her words faltered, but only for a heartbeat, as she felt the brush of a cold, wisped tendril, against
her centre. It felt as though a charge of electricity had run up the length of her still-damp slit, and
shit, she really wasn’t wearing underwear. Nothing stood between the feeling of the slowly
undulating force and the most sensitive part of her. Gwyn pressed her thighs together as she
continued, “It was a favourite of mine...So here I am, finally on my way to see it.”

The wine found her lips as the sensation brushed against her again and she desperately hoped it
would dull the growing fire that scorched there.

“Well…” Tarquin relaxed into his chair, completely unaware of her indecent distractions. A lazy
grin stretched across his face as he reached forward to extend his wine glass in the air between
them, “To ‘The Wanderers’, the treasure we remember and the dreams that come true.”

She lightly clinked her glass into his own and repeated the sentiment. The shadow became more
wicked with its tantalising contact this time, pressing slightly harder into the bundle of nerves
Gwyn desperately needed him to tend to.

She only hoped the shadows were masking the scent of her arousal because by now, it was surely
flooding the room. It was all too much. Just as the rolling, near-vibrational pressure was about to
push her over the edge, it ceased.
Cauldron boil her. Was this payback for the edging stunt she had pulled a couple of days ago? She
knew the answer.

As Gwyn snuck a breathless look in Azriel’s direction, she found him engaged in a very casual
discussion about something that occurred during the war with a few high-ranking members of the
Summer Court. The only evidence of his amusement lay in the torturously soft strokes of his
rhythmic thumb, still planted on her thigh.

Mother above, what had she started?

And how would it end?

Her depths knotted and flipped over themselves just thinking about that prospect. So wrong. So
incredibly irresponsible. And yet…

“So…” Gwyn breathed, summoning the will to capitalise on the High Lord’s attention, “Won’t you
introduce me to your lovely friends, here?”

The dinner went on and on… and on. Each minute, more agonising than the last as she was politely
introduced to the nearest males and females of Tarquin’s company. Gwyn remained convincingly
aloof as she asked them in light conversation what they did for the Court and in an effort to commit
to their rouse, peppered in questions about what attractions they would recommend Gwyn and
Azriel see while in the city.

The issue was, of course, that the male beside her had taken it upon himself to rile her up to the
point of madness. In fact, throughout the course of the dinner, she had come to know exactly how
Azriel had earned the role as Torture Master of the Night Court, because she was thoroughly and
wholly on the precipice of breaking under the clandestine teasing. Just as the roaring tides crashed
and retreated below the large bay windows, her pleasure was being expertly drawn and rescinded.
Over and over.

And every time it ceased, she felt her common sense and the resolution to keep this mission
professional, dwindle a bit more.

Nothing but pure innocence shone in the Shadowsingers deceptive, hazel eyes as he turned to her
with a perfectly adoring hint of a smile - the closest he would let any person at this table see of his
emotions. And perhaps in that moment, she equally despised and loved him for it.

Finally, dessert was served. And upon the fourth time those shadows had ventured under her skirts
and discontinued their pleasuring just as she was about to find release, Gwyn snapped. Her hand
casually extended to lightly graze over the tips of his shoulder blades as she leaned in to whisper to
him, so softly that anyone would think it were a mere moment of sharing a lover’s secret, “I hope
you know how much trouble you’re in, Shadowsinger…”

His hazel eyes flickered with heated amusement as he leaned in closer, “I’m sure you won’t be
saying that when my mouth is between those lovely legs, later on, Berdara.”

Those words struck something deep within her and she rolled forward slightly as heat pooled in her
core.

His voice was taunting and smooth as he asked, “Would you like that?”

Mother above.

“I have my own ideas for your retribution…” As though in vengeance for his toe-curling games,
ever so lightly, she ran a fingertip over the inner part of his wing.

Azriel went preternaturally still and she could’ve beamed in victorious joy at how clearly he was
summoning all his willpower not to react. Gwyn watched with hungry eyes as the tendons in his
neck strained and he clenched his jaw shut under the sensation, the pressure of his own arousal.

“You’re playing a dangerous game…” He warned her a few long heartbeats later, the loud chatter
of the dinner party lost to the intensity of their sparked desire. But she paid their overt display of
intimacy no mind. As with all High Fae, when the drinks kept flowing, the inhibitions of the other
guests had well and truly scattered to the salted winds. Many courtiers had already left, sometimes
with two, or three companions, making no secret of their midnight desires to crowd their bed.

Besides, it was all part of the act. They had to appear as believable honeymooners, after all.

Gwyn smirked, repeating the action, this time a little harder with the tip of her fingernail. “Well,
it’s a good thing you’re suitably trained for such perilous exploits…” Another stroke, longer and
scratching this time. She savoured the feeling of the shudder her touch elicited from him. “Isn’t
that your job, after all, Shadowsinger?”

His chin tilted towards her, as the full power of his blazing gaze fell upon hers - and she might have
cracked into a thousand pieces and burst into flames for the sheer, violent craving that she found
there.

The merciless appetite.

The primal need.

The very same starvation echoed in her own bones, boiled her blood and set her heart rapidly
thundering. Perhaps it was some dark, indecent fascination with the danger they found themselves
in. Sitting at a table with war-waging enemies, trading lies that tasted like sweet champagne on her
tongue and touches that sunk as deep as blades. Gwyn was drunk with it.

The danger.

The risk.

The need .

“Would you like to find out just how suitably trained for danger I am, Gwyneth?” It seemed,
Azriel was drunk with it too. She licked her lips. His eyes tracked the movement expertly.

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a promise.”

A delicious threat. The wine had subdued the part of her that would’ve blushed at the implication
of his words and instead, she simply cocked a challenging brow, before turning to Tarquin,
seemingly dismissing him completely. She knew that would only rile him up more, push him
further from that state of control he gripped onto.

The whisper that transpired between Gwyn and the High Lord was so low, not even the shadows
could hear it. Whether it was through the connection of the bond, or simply their shared lust, she
felt the tension rise and coil in him as though he too were about to snap and simply ravish her on
the table in front of all to see.
 A moment of quiet conversation later, the High Lord of Summer burst into laughter and nodded,
planting an indulgent kiss on Gwyn’s knuckles before she stood and farewelled the other guests,
who had somehow shed their weariness and become extremely partial to the female in the time
span of two hours.

Without even a glance in her mates direction, she began to stride out of the dining room an
invitation lacing her lazy footsteps…

And sure enough, the deliberately audible footfalls, of Azriel’s boots echoed in the corridor behind
her as she walked. Heart thundering, breasts aching and core pulsing, she bit her lip and picked up
the pace.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome to the Summer Court, where the tensions are high, war is waged and blood
boils in ways that both draw swords and drop panties. Sorry about the cliffhanger, feel
free to yell at me in the comments, it was mean of me and I love it.
There's something special about the Summer Court, it's a place that represents high
stakes and steamy desire in the original books and I wanted to carry that theme into
this fic. It works so well with the element of sexy espionage that Gwyn and Az's story
inherently delivers to the plot and I can't wait to write how that manifests in times of
tension and danger.

Something I love about their coupling is that Azriel is such a control freak and Gwyn
coming into his life simply destroys all the time-forged walls of control and power
over his emotions he has worked so hard to build over the years. I feel like this would
manifest particularly strongly in the field of spywork, because the connection and need
that drives their mating bond is becoming stronger and we see the repercussions for
this, even in dangerous and pressure-driven situations.
Though she initially tries to repress her desires, I think because of how adaptive Gwyn
has become to danger and dangerous situations, she would find some kind of dark
fascination in sexualising that high-stakes environment. One because she is giving
herself permission to be sexual when she is danger (something that due to her trauma
she has never felt before) and two, because she is naturally curious and would
probably find comfort in the trusted physical touch that she has forged with Azriel as a
response to the heightening pressure and risk. I also think it's healthy for Azriel to find
a healthy outlet for the stress he must feel on missions and engage in physical touch
with Gwyn as a remedy.

I'd love to hear your opinions on how you're finding the turn that this fic has taken
plot-wise. I tried to not derail the fic with the change in setting, but I felt like the
Sumemr Court and the added element of their marriage rouse would add extra layers
of tension to the mission ahead.

Lou x
 Beguiled Bonds
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW / Smut

Big thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship who not only beta-read and edited
this chapter, but also dealt with me asking her a million questions about BDSM in the
commitment to accuracy. She really is the sweetest angel, straight from depths of hell
and I adore her.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Once, when she was eight, Gwyneth Berdara had a crippling fear of heights. That fear ate at her,
gnawed at the pride in her heart and set her ambition on fire.

One day, she found herself staring up at the elder oak tree that towered over the woodlands at the
border of the temple grounds. Her soft hands found the roughened bark, her silk shoes met the
knobs of the trunk and her weak muscles pushed her up and up. With bloodied knees and dirtied
robes, she fell from the branches three times. But every time she fell, her determination was
sharpened, as a blade would on a whetstone.

At the strike of the twilight hour, when the sun began to bow to the great starry cloak of night,
Gwyn emerged to the tree's peak, her free-flowing copper hair dancing in the breeze, and sat at the
fork of the highest branch until that fear of heights turned into a flood of euphoric joy. Until that
latent dread of looking down was replaced by an appreciation for the Godly vantage point.

It was the first time she had conquered something and not the last.

Striding through the grandeur of the Summer Palace’s corridors recalled that buried feeling to her
mind. Desire and the prospect of pleasures of the flesh had once been such terrifying things and
yet, now all she felt was that same euphoria. The same conquering rush. But this time, it was
spiked with something deeper, darker, and more electrifying.

Every footfall of Azriel’s boots that sounded behind her, echoed three-fold in the beating pit of her
chest.

Her breathing was a war of ragged intakes and rough exhales that she knew he was listening too,
counting, savouring. She held onto the sound of his respiration in return, but it was nothing save for
the calm breathing of a male who was biding his time. Who crept in the shadows as though he
owned them and hid in their veil for a living. A male who knew what he wanted and would gladly
resort to exertion to chase it.

The blood that now coursed through her veins had turned as wild and tempestuous as the sea that
crashed and thundered upon the shore outside the palace gates.

There was no denying it, the evidence of his slow torment during dinner was now dripping down
her thighs. And she knew he could scent it. Like a bloodhound, Gwyn knew it tempted him, led
him, lured him further.
The rational, more sensical side of her mind might have told her giving in to such heated
distractions was wrong and violated so many vows she had so recently sworn to herself. And yet,
that voice in her mind, the everpresent agent of reason which usually won over, it had gone silent.
As though this desire, this need , was some kind of physiological baseline, that not even logic could
defy.

Azriel kept an agonisingly casual distance away, but as they neared their guest suite she knew he
was inching closer. And a cruel, vicious part of her was glad for the evidence of his lapse in
control.

When Gwyn’s fingers finally grazed the gilded doorknob, she dared to glance at him. A dark
angel, shrouded in shadows walking with purpose in his deliberately slowed pace. His eyes, heavy
and hooded yet, lit with flames to rival those of Hel and flecked with the darkness that bowed to
him. A look that promised a kind of perdition you pray to the Mother for. A look that would bring
even the most devout Priestess to her knees.

Reverence, the darkest most indecent kind, quaked in her bones. She opened the door and wandered
into their room.

When Azriel walked through the threshold a few long heartbeats later, his gaze pinned her right to
where she had sat upon the edge of the enormous bed. Gwyn watched him with a lazy, salacious
sort of grin that hid all the urgency her body craved.

His footwork was not too dissimilar to that of the way he approached the ring when he was
fighting Cassian. Calculated yet unhurried and entirely arrogant, as though he were a time-rich
predator who found entertainment in watching his prey succumb to their fate. War was its own
dance and Azriel was indeed a master.

His voice was low and rasped as he took to leaning against the wall and finally asked, “What do
you want, Gwyneth?”

She wanted every dark and scarred part of him touching every anguished and haunted part of her.
She wanted release. She wanted to see him come undone as she had that night in the cabin. Maybe
she wasn’t entirely ready for everything, but she was ready for more.

“I want you to show me more of what you like.” Gwyn thought back to the conversation they
shared in the parlour all those weeks ago. Her eyes dipped to the shadows that undulated in
anticipation, their hue darker and more sinister in the rich, golden candlelight that fell over the
room.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He began to shrug off his jacket. “Pick a safe word.”

She almost shivered in bemused delight, biting her lip and looking in pause at the ornate ceiling.
The shadows slithered around her form as she hummed in deep thought. Finally, as though it flew
in with the salted breeze, it came to her.

“Pegasus.”

Azriel’s chin tilted to glance sidelong at her as he hung up the night-black suit jacket. A small
breath of a laugh left his lips as he contemplated it. “Alright,” He nodded, lips curving devilishly,
“Pegasus it is.”
The tension that settled between them, fierce and thick as a rolling storm, sent another electrifying
flip to her depths. She pushed her thighs together in response and his shrewd gaze tracked the
movement. That white-hot desire only compounded when he licked his lips a moment later.

Scarred fingers, expertly dextrous, began undoing the cuffs of his black shirt. “What about a non-
verbal signal? Something you can do if your mouth is preoccupied,” A wicked grin, “or you find
that you can’t speak.”

Gwyn’s gaze dipped to her hands and slowly she brought them up, clicking her fingers in show.

“Good girl.” The buttons of his dress shirt were entirely undone now, revealing the war-honed
muscle and tattoos that lay beneath.

Azriel sat down on the sofa that faced the bed, gesturing with curled fingers for her to come to
him. Her strides matched the infuriating pace of his as she approached him, the embellished tulle of
her gown hissing against the floorboards.

“Take it off.” The command was soft but somehow carried a firm undertone.

Gwyn’s eyes never left his, the ferocious ocean of teal blue waging a brutal war against the
scorching hazel flames of his own, as she reached around to untie the dress. Azriel watched her
with primal focus as he leaned back casually against the cushions, his wings flared proudly behind
him. With a final slip of the glittering straps down her arms, the gown slid to the floor.

And just like that, she stood entirely naked before him - save for the strappy heels still clasped to
her feet.

It was only then that he allowed his gaze to wander from her eyes. Descending slowly, his attention
fell to appreciate the delicate carving of her collarbones, the pinked perks of her nipples, the swell
of her creamy breasts, the flat muscled plain of her torso and then... to the apex of her thighs.

Rich spice and smoked cedar wafted through the air on the salt-licked breeze as she breathed in the
scent of his arousal. That scent and the intensity of his gaze pushed her over some invisible edge,
one that seemed to rid her inhibitions and fears. One that made her take every ounce of his
appreciative stare and forge it into confidence. Enough confidence to lower herself down onto the
sofa and straddle him.

Her mouth found his in a soft kiss, one so at odds with the fiery lust that cracked and wove through
the air. She tasted every last drop of his desire on her tongue, ravenous and demanding. The kiss
deepened and she fell further into him, her hands gripping the loose collar of his shirt, his own,
coming to cup her ass and skirting great strokes along her exposed back.

“Is this my punishment then?” She asked breathlessly into the air as he took to devouring her neck,
the flesh that hid her pounding jugular. Gwyn gave a panting laugh, all mockery. “Kisses and
cuddles?”

In answer, she felt his teeth sink into the tender flesh of her neck and she couldn’t help but moan at
the acute burst of pleasure that pain gave her. Hot, wet strokes of his tongue lapped up the hurt that
lingered there, before he answered, “Impatience won’t get you anywhere.”

As if to prove him wrong, she rolled her hips into his. The movement caused the pulsing bundle of
nerves there to quiver and shoot heated pleasure through her. In a moment of victory, Azriel’s eyes
fluttered closed.

Hands came down to wrap around her waist, stilling the rocking motion she had begun to chase her
pleasure with. A whimper fell from her lips as her mind and body clawed and ached for release.

“You should have seen the way Tarquin was looking at you tonight…”

Gwyn’s chest panted as the impatient need in her began to reduce her to a whimpering mess.

“I was distracting him, as we planned.”

“No,” His hands moved her hips only once against his own hardness. A moment of sheer pleasure
that left her needing more. “No, you were flirting with him.”

Despite the agony of being so wound up, her features contorted into a wicked grin, “Does it bother
you that another male thought about having me this way, Shadowsinger?”

With silken-soft lips, Gwyn placed a litany of kisses over his jugular, the tip of her tongue tracing
the ink that was etched into the golden skin, like shadowed ivy. A hand extended to reach past his
broad shoulder, her fingernail meeting with his wing once again. She felt him harden against her,
his length pressing against the fabric of his trousers. That self-control, so dangerously close to
fracturing completely as she watched him clench his jaw shut while the tendons in his neck
strained.

“I could honeytrap him, you know, for information. Something tells me he’d be easy to break.”

And there it was. From where she sat on his lap, Gwyn saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch. The
final remaining thread of his control snapped and eddied away into the candlelit darkness.

Voice deep and gravelled, he replied, “You’re acting like a brat, Berdara.” Her lips twitched into a
smile as his fingers clasped her chin, “Do you know what happens to brats?”

His answer cut off the snide remark she began to voice. “They get punished.”

A wave of excitement and dark arousal washed through her, the blood in her veins turning electric
and wild.

In a fluid movement that was all strength and unsurprising grace, Gwyn was flipped into the sofa
face first so she lay across his sitting form. Her cheek found the soft cushion and she couldn’t help
but be conscious of the fact that her ass was currently right in front of Azriel’s line of sight.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Yes,” she breathed, the anticipation robbing her of words.

Azriel apparently didn’t fail to realise where her ass had been positioned either, because a second
later, a hand came down onto it, swift and stinging.

Oh.

Oh, Mother above.

How could such pain be so pleasurable? Gwyn didn’t know how the sharp contact of his calloused
and scarred palm translated as though it were a salacious caress, and in the heat of the moment, her
depths knotted and pulse racing - she didn’t much care.

Gwyn writhed from where she lay sprawled across him, heat finding the exact place his palm had
come into contact with. That large, capable hand rubbed away the soft sting that lingered, a small
reminder of how safe she was with him, how cared for.
She didn’t know why she said it, but the mockery flowed from her lips like silk as she admitted, “I
enjoyed it... Flirting with him, letting him kiss my hand-” Making you watch was the words she
was about to say, but another smack came down upon her behind before she could. The sweet pain
rang some kind of illicit satisfaction from deep within her. Gwyn bit her lip, withholding the moan
that threatened to escape.

“You’re a lying brat.”

“And you’re not as heavy-handed as I thought you’d be.”

Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Or, perhaps it was the right thing, because another
tantalising whip of his palm met her ass cheek a moment later, harder and the resulting burn,
brighter than before. This time, no amount of lip-biting could prevent the pleasurable moan that
fell from her as her core clenched tight at the contact.

“Don’t forget your safe word.”

Gwyn nodded, her tone turning whined as she requested, “More…”

“More, what?”

This male was going to be the death of her. “More, please .”

Another, the sharp pain edging her further into maddening desire. She clenched her teeth,
savouring the sensation as he rubbed it away with an attentive hand.

“Good girl.”

A breathy laugh fell from her pink lips, “You know… I think Tarquin would’ve said the exact
same thing.”

The abrupt lashing of the next spank left her whimpering into the cushions, digging her knees into
the softness and tensing. His punishment came down hard and relentlessly onto her pinked skin.
Perhaps that comment was a little too far, but in the heat of the moment, it felt appropriate to deal
him some medicine of his own.

Azriel’s hand remained gripped on her ass cheek as he leant down low to reply, “I don’t want to
hear another males name from your mouth. By the end of this, I want you to only be able to
remember my name, my hands, and my lips on your body. You understand me, Berdara?”

The analytical part of her mind would usually have taken keen interest in the possessive mate
behaviour he was exhibiting, but her mind was too preoccupied to care. She was drowning in the
need to be touched. The need for him, those perfect hands, that Mother-sent body.

“I was under the impression there were no other males names worth remembering…”

She practically heard the smirk that came to his features, the content of her mockery all but
forgotten.

“Your ass is second to none, you know that?”

Another smack. She bit her lip. Another and then another. And after every one, his hand rubbed
away the burn of it in massaging circular motions.

He kneaded the reddened flesh, the smirk evident in his tone as he admitted, “I’ve spent a good
deal of time thinking about this perfect ass… When we trained together, I had a hard time keeping
my gaze honourable.”

"I'll remember that next time we're training..." Gwyn smirked, "Perhaps I'll see how many times I
can derail your perfect focus for sport."

The resulting slap had her exhaling a ragged whimper and shifting in his lap, desperate for more
contact. Aching for another bout of pleasurable pain.

"Such a menace."

"Only for you."

The edge she was dancing upon, the pull of her riled nerves, it was becoming too much. The
searing desire clawing at her flesh as it became too tight for her bones became maddening.

“Azriel…” She whimpered, “Please… I need…”

Release.

She needed release.

As though knowing exactly what she was asking, in a swift movement, she was being lifted from
the sofa, strong arms curling around her knees and waist and carrying her to the bed.

She landed upon the soft sheets with a bounce and despite being so bare, so utterly exposed, only
thrill sparked anticipation found her.

Azriel bent a knee at the foot of the bed, taking hold of one of her ankles and extending it upwards.
With doting, careful hands, he unclasped the buckle of her ridiculously high shoes and slid them
off one at a time. His shirt had been fully discarded to the floor now, and she was pleased to sink
her eyes into that chest she had come to marvel at. The strange urge to trace her tongue along the
swirls of ink that were painted across it as though she were a cartographer mapping the inked
planes of his body, flashed through her mind.

When the shoes were removed and she had been completely undressed, he took to resting her ankle
in the crook of his shoulder. With his chin tilted to place a kiss on the side of her foot, his hands
stroked down the smooth skin of her shin, her thigh.

She could only stare as he did it, some kind of awe crossing her azure eyes. It was a lover’s touch,
so doting and intimate. A touch reserved for secret moments under the moonlight, such as this.

Voice hoarse as though it had been dragged across hot coals, Azriel asked, “What do you want,
Gwyn?”

There was that question again.

Asking. Always asking. Never assuming or acting without permission. The wildly beating thing
nestled in her ribcage faltered a little as it leapt. Even in such a vulnerable position, she felt the
warm blanket of safety as those words wrapped around her.

Gathering the courage to ask, she brought her hands together, holding them up to him and locking
her wrists. Sending an expectant look straight for him, Gwyn replied, “I want you to bind me with
the shadows… Like you did that night in the parlour.”
Something carnal flickered in his gaze as she said the words and he nodded. As though they heeded
her request themselves, the shadows enthusiastically undulated down his bare chest and crept up
the length of her prone body to her hands. They lapped at her skin, their cool touch sending shivers
down her spine before forging into obsidian manacles; the form of them was soft and so at odds
with their undeniably solid weight.

There was something wickedly intriguing about being bound like that. It felt dangerous, yes, but
she knew in her bones that she was entirely safe. That she could stop this at any moment and was in
complete control. That knowledge had her depths knotting further.

Azriel gestured with a dip of his chin to the headboard and Gwyn obligingly threw her hands above
her head, offering the bare flesh of her up to him. The thrill of his quiet stare, so drenched in
masculine satisfaction, was enough to have her back arching into the mattress.

Her thoughts were distracted by the trail of wet kisses Azriel had begun planting along her ankle,
her calf. Gwyn released a ragged breath as he reached the sensitive skin on the underside of her
knee, stretching the limb lightly and testing those pliable bones she had come to appreciate having
in training.

Slowly, Azriel lowered himself on top of her, never letting go of his grip on her leg as it flexed
back and revealed her deprived core, dripping with hot need, desperately ready for him.

His mouth found hers and their tongues met a moment later. The taste of him, the feel of him, had
her rolling her hips to meet with his. A growl escaped his lips at the contact, at how the most
tender part of her rubbed against the pulsing hardness of him. Gwyn swallowed down that growl as
if it were a holy sacrament and moaned herself as his mouth trailed down to her breasts.

A shiver ran down her spine as his tongue lapped at her rosy pink perked nipple and she sucked in
a tight breath as he playfully took it between his teeth. “Az… Please , I need you to touch me.”

Sharp canines flashed in an arrogant grin as the pleading fell from her lips. “Touch you, where,
Berdara?”

He knew damn well where. Gwyn writhed against the shadows that bound her wrists and ground
her hips into his one more time. If she wasn’t so riled up, perhaps she would have levelled a
colourful curse at him but all she could manage was a choked whimper.

“Use your words,” Azriel reprimanded, biting down lightly on the sharp peak of her nipple, teeth
grazing the sensitive pink flesh.

“D…” There was a sharp squeeze to her other breast, the aching there met with a lick of pleasure
shooting down her spine. “Down there.”

Azriel hummed something dark and wicked broiling in his voice, “You’re going to have to be more
specific, baby.” His mouth lifted to her clavicle, planting small kisses along it, caressingly
torturous fingers dipping to tease the inside of her thighs.

What was left of her pride had completely shattered with the brutal hours of overstimulation.
Gwyn’s voice was a strained sum of all of that waiting as she finally confessed, “I… I want your
fingers in me and then…” A slight brush of his thumb down her slit had her gasping, “...and then
your mouth.”

Azriel looked up at her then, burning hazel eyes pinning her to the mattress from the curtain of his
messed black hair. Every drawn curve of his mouth, every crevice of his handsome face was
painted with the finest sin. The kind Princes of Hel themselves would be envious of.

She wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers in that thick ebony hair and tug it. The bonds
around her wrists tightened slightly at the thought and unexpectedly, felt as though they had been
latched to the headboard by a phantom tether.

And by the Mother, that harsh denial, so cruel and teasing, pushed her further into need. Into
madness.

“If they're too tight…” He began to say, gaze darting to her shadowed bonds.

“Did I tell you they were too tight, Shadowsinger?” Gwyn hastily retorted, the feral desperation
charging through her eating away at any patience she once possessed.

Strong fingers found her slit a moment later and an indolent groan left Azriel’s lips as he felt the
product of his vicious teasing.

A deep sigh left his mouth a moment later as his eyes fluttered shut. “I love how wet you get for
me…” His index finger slid in so easily against her slick tightness and Gwyn cursed at the contact,
at the war of relief and anguish that barrelled through her.

Warm breath came to the shell of his ear as his other hand drifted to cup her breast. “You want
another one?”He asked, slowly and deliberately pumping in and out of her as his thumb came to
graze her pulsing clit.

“Yes… please.”

A kiss to her lips, the fingers at her breast pinching slightly at the sharply peaked nipple, still
glistening from the devout attention of his mouth. A prayer, choked and almost pitched to whining,
fell from hers a moment later.

“Good girl.”

As he pumped another finger in, Gwyn couldn’t help bucking her hips against the pressure building
there. The need was savage, and it drew tears from her eyes as he expertly massaged that sensitive
bundle of nerves that called for him. Ached for him. Notches of scar tissue that graced his fingers
brushed against her rapidly quivering walls and pushed her closer and closer.

“Az…” Her warning was nothing but a staccato shriek, “Azriel, I’m going to-” Gwyn’s eyes
clenched shut in overwhelmed ecstasy.

His hand ascended from her breast to lightly grip her neck as he growled, “Open your eyes,
Berdara. I want to watch you come undone.”

Those words had her gaze anchoring into the depths of his as she fell off that glorious peak and the
orgasm savagely washed through her. Hitting like a tidal wave, her body went taut and loose all at
once at the euphoric release.

“That’s it, baby… Come for me. I’ve got you. Give it all to me.”

Gwyn knew he was watching every inch of her features contort as stars graced her vision, her toes
curled and her back arched sharply. He even chuckled in amusement as she cursed his name to Hel
and followed it with a temple-worthy prayer to the Mother.

Her cheeks were wet with tears as she came down from the high of pleasure. As her legs ceased
shaking, slowly Gwyn’s blurred vision returned enough to find smouldering embers that flared in
Azriel’s own. Not removing his eyes from hers for a moment, he brought his fingers to his lips and
tasted her creamy wetness on his tongue. And she knew just from that hungry, almost starved,
expression which overtook his features that this would not be the last time she came tonight. And
thank the Mother for that, because what he had just done to her did nothing to satiate the desire that
swelled once more as she watched him lick his fingers.

The glow of her skin lit his dark features and chased the shadows from them, revealing just how
handsome he was in the reflecting light of her luminescent afterglow. Seeing him like that, eyes
hooded and skin golden, had her grinning up at him triumphantly.

In one sharp move that was straight out of one of their late-night grappling lessons, she had hooked
her legs around his form and flipped Azriel onto his back, his wings coming down to spread along
the sheets and stretch to their entirety. And seeing him like that, trapped under the flanks of
Gwyn’s strong thighs, pinned and looking up at her.. maybe she was ready for him to be inside
her.

Her depths flipped and knotted at the thought.

Yes.

As a matter of fact, she wanted him.

All of him.

Right now .

Her bound hands anchored on the muscles of his bare chest. Tentatively, she gave a roll of her hips
over where the hardness had persevered in his trousers. That motion hit her clit in the most
tantalising way and the sheer length of him once again reminded her of her concerns with actually
how he would fit inside her.

“Az…” Her voice was all honey-laden sweetness, like the saccharine taste of forbidden fruit, as she
rocked against him. Eyes turning darker, sultry shades of periwinkle in the dimming light of her
glow.

He cocked a brow, a mixture between arousal and intrigue flickering his gaze, “Yes, Gwyneth…”

Leaning down, she kissed him as she never had done before. Devouring, hard and claiming. “Az, I
want to…” She panted, kissing him again. “I want you .”

It was hard to ignore the fact he went preternaturally still under her. That there seemed to be a war
to rival none occurring behind his now darkened, scorch-raging eyes. She knew that conflict all too
well, saw the pure heat of it flicker and the heaviness of it wane against the stronghold of his
control.

She wanted to see that control burnt to cinders, nothing but ash in its wake. And if that wouldn’t
work, she would flood it, drown it in everything she had.

“Not tonight…” It seemed as though it pained him to say the words, but he still managed them
somehow.

“No?” She frowned, sitting up again and grinding on him once more as if it would convince him
otherwise. But she knew the male had the stubbornness of a devil and the self-control of a God and
though his eyes rolled back as she did, he just pressed his lips together in well-practised resilience
and gave a sharp nod.

“Why not?”

Azriel released a long ragged breath, his features revealing five hundred years of patience as he
propped himself up on his elbows. The new angle pressed into her clit even more, and she bit her
pouting lip in response, the claws of her nails digging into his smooth pecks.

He smirked at the mischievous effort she was giving to seduce him to her will, eyes softening as he
said, “Baby steps, Berdara.”

Maybe it was the lingering bliss of the shattering orgasm or the plentiful wine that had wet and
loosened her tongue as she quietly mumbled, “I know why you don’t want to…”

Genuine shock and amusement littered over Azriel’s features. His lips twitched, “And what reason
could you possibly think I have for me not wanting to fuck you senseless, Gwyneth?”

“Because you won’t fit!” She gave a great huff of bashful annoyance as she looked down to where
her core met with his trousers… “You don’t have to keep lying to me, I know now… I mean, I’ve
seen you for Mother’s sake.”

Azriel’s brows pushed to his hairline in a rare moment of astonishment, before he descended into a
low symphony of laughter that made him shake beneath her. The reverberation signalled something
white-hot that knotted and pooled in her depths again.

“Trust me…” He laughed again, “When the time comes for it, I’ll fit.”

“And when will that be?”

Azriel was sitting up on his hands now, their bodies flush together as her hair fell around them in a
coppery-draped curtain. He caught the strands that fell in front of her eyes and tucked them behind
her delicately-pointed ear, “When I don’t have something else to tick off your list first.”

Gwyn’s brows pinched before he grinned something wicked and devilish. His hips thrust up into
her, creating friction and overwhelming, Mother-damning tension right where she needed it. Her
mouth went slack, another gasp falling from it as he said, low and rasped, “I may have taken the
liberty of reading that filthy book on your nightstand.”

Cauldron boil her.

She pressed down into him, her hips rolling in a way that came naturally to the growing urge.

“W…Which…” A ragged breath escaped her mouth as he hit just the right spot, her eyes
momentarily closing. “Which one are you referring to?.”

“Lady Spring and her dashingly dark Prince of Hel…” He prompted, rising a dark brow, “There
was a page you had dutifully marked. One that involved…”

Oh shit . Gwyn was sure her cheeks were a terrible shade of crimson as she realised through the
haze of desire what he was referring to.

Azriel’s hands came to still her hips, or summon them, she wasn’t sure. He went on, eyes blazing,
“The male feasting on his lady as she rode his face like a mare…”

Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip and the answering shiver that ran down the column of
her spine and roused the white-hot heat to pool one more there had her breathless.

Azriel wanted her to… sit … on his face.

“I’ll crush you…”

His answering grin told her that there was only one outcome this would end in, and in that moment
she knew it was indeed, her screaming his name as she rode his hot, wet mouth. “I’m near-on
immortal Gwyneth…” Arrogance dripped through every low, velvet-wrapped word, “I’ve trained
in an Illyrian war camp since I was eight. I’ve fought in wars, been captured and tortured,” she
grimaced at the thought, “and I’ve found I’m quite hard to break.”

There was a long pause before her arousal and curiosity won over any proprietary concerns she
may have held… Slowly she nodded.

“I need to hear you say it…” Azriel said quietly, “I want you to tell me it's what you want.”

“Fine,” she huffed, letting her embarrassment dissipate to the moonlight breeze that peeked
through their curtains, “Shadowsinger, I want you to lick me as I ride you…”

Azriel was sinking beneath the bridge of her legs a moment later, wiggling so his face was directly
under her. Gwyn only watched, still breathless at the utterly indecent sight of him so directly
below. The line of sight he currently held would surely vex her to no end later on, but she had no
capacity for such thoughts now.

“You might want to hold on to the headboard…” He recommended with a wicked grin.

When his lips found her centre, wet and aching again for his attention, a growl, so animalistic and
feral crawled from his throat. The reverberation of it had her indeed flying forward and gripping
the headboard for dear life. Expertly, his tongue began swirling and teasing in slow practised licks
as though he were committed to tasting every inch. Azriel held her solidly at the hips, encouraging
her to move on him and Gwyn couldn't help the growing urge to succumb to that impulse.
Knuckles turning white as she clutched the headboard, she rolled onto the heavenly pressure of his
mouth. Her head tilted back to the ceiling in newfound rapture as his tongue flicked over her clit in
astute approval.

And a moment later, the only thing she remembered, the only thing that she could voice from her
mouth, was his name.
A religious chant, echoing and sacred, making this palatial suite her own temple.
The three syllables fell from her trembling lips over and over, before her mouth briefly curved into
a conquering smile.
Chapter End Notes

How are we all doing folks? Time for a cold shower?

This chapter is a love letter to Azriel's dark proclivities and Gwyn's curious nature. Its
themes are a direct continuation of those discussed in Chapter 28: The Eleventh Hour,
where Azriel opens up about his tastes in the bedroom and an open line of
communication is established between them in the vein of intimacy and trust.

I think the main purpose of this chapter was to explore how their character
development and subsequent dealing with unresolved trauma influences how they can
be physically and emotionally connected. There is something really beautiful about
bondage in this way, because I see it as both physically and symbolically binding
yourself to someone's will and trusting them enough to give them control - and to have
the confidence and faith in that person to take pleasure from that. We see binding in
many romantic contexts, one of which being 'handfasting' during mating/wedding
ceremonies and I see bondage as a darker/more sexual connotation of that principle.

In this chapter, Gwyn is showing Azriel she trusts him and isn't afraid of him -
referencing a clear issue that has plagued him in the past and forced him into
unhealthy habits and unfulfilling intimacy. Whereas, in turn, Azriel is allowing Gwyn
to explore her curiosity for losing control within a safe space. I hope with this
justification, this chapter doesn't come across as surface-level, smutty click bating and
gratuitously sexual because I truly think these moments are cornerstones for their
relationship.

Let me know what you think. I was really apprehensive to post this so I would
appreciate your feedback.

x Lou
 Veils of Truth
Chapter Notes

Thank you to the greatest beta reader and editor to exist @captain-of-the-gwynriel-
ship for taking the time to proof this chapter during her Mexican holiday! That’s
commitment.

Minor NSFW warning

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

As with all things in the complex duality of life, a deep understanding of pain - how to yield,
compound and fortify it - came with an overwhelmingly thorough knowledge of pleasure. In his
dark line of work where he had become second-to-none in skill, Azriel had come to know the most
tender regions of the body, the most sensitive way to stimulate them and even how to manipulate
the very nerve endings that seemed to fire stronger, harder than the rest.

Pleasure and pain were, after all, two sides of the same very visceral coin. And tonight, as Azriel
laid feast on Gwyn while she rode his face like a first-place equestrian, he was so fucking thankful
for that intriguing dichotomy.

“Azriel,” she sobbed through clenched teeth, “Az… I’m going to…”

True to the nature of his feared title, the torture master of the Night Court’s devoted mouth slowed
on her centre, earning a frustrated whimper above.

He liked ringing her out like this. Loved that pretty sound of getting her to the edge, and lived for
the way she would whine when he rescinded the orgasm that had begun to brew.

“P…please…”

The only downside of this glorious position was that he was robbed of seeing Gwyn’s face as she
begged. Pulling away from the apex of her thighs for a moment, Azriel indulged in a look at her.

Beautiful and devoured.

Gwyn was glowing like the sun itself as tears streamed down her rosy cheeks and a heavy pant set
into her chest. If only Feyre could paint that .

Fuck, she was beautiful. Even now, when she was glaring down at him.

“If you don’t finish what you started Shadowsinger, I’m going to have to roll over and do it
myself.”

She was getting excellent at wielding threats. A mix of pride and arousal struck him like a
branding iron as he nipped at the sensitive inner flesh of her thigh.
When Gwyn made to lift off his face with determination etched into her frantic features, his
scarred hands came to grip at her hips like a vice, anchoring her back down onto him.

There was nothing but that same brutal threat she had embodied lacing his tone as he replied, “Only
I get to touch you tonight.” Then, he was back to licking her, making sure to tend to the bundle of
nerves that pulsed for him as his fingers worked in tandem.

Needless to say, she was right back to revering him with a string of moans and devilish prayers.

Despite the salacious scene they painted, he couldn’t help but feel something warm and divine
unfurl in his thundering chest.

There was a religion to be found in Gwyneth Berdara, some old forgotten, God-spun magic that the
mystics had pledged themselves to and Azriel, damned though he was, was intent to worship and
pray to her until he drew his conclusive breath.

That theology was new, at least as far as his dealings with Gwyneth Berdara was concerned and
Azriel’s body seemed to know that truth too.

Possibly, it was hearing the sound of her desperately pleading for more in that symphonic melody
of a voice when his hand painted her ass cheek a perfect shade of crimson.

Maybe it was seeing the trust, so genuine and deep, flare in those bewitching azure eyes as his
shadows bound her wrists.

Or perhaps, it was tasting her pleasure as her innermost walls clenched and spasmed.

Whatever it was, it awakened something primal and dormant within him. A beast that became
untamed and hellbent on caring about nothing but the beautiful female above him.

With a soft bite to her clit, Gwyn came for the third time on his tongue. He lapped up every bit of
that orgasm while she rode through the bliss with a cry halfway between pleading exhaustion and
wild euphoria. In fact, if the shadows hadn’t warded their suite against the onslaught of heretical
sounds, this entire fucking city would surely be kept awake.

Usually, Azriel wouldn’t be opposed to publicly exhibiting his adept nature at pleasuring a female.
But for her, he was a selfish male and he would sooner purge himself into flames than share her
with the patrons of the Summer Court. How could he ever possibly share this beautiful, sacred gift
of a female? The thought of it sent a violent impulse, possessive and claiming, to rush through his
viciously pumping bloodstream, descending straight to his throbbing cock that twitched and
strained with every moan, with every bit of pleasure he was drawing from her.

The sound of her lips delivering his name like it was a holy prayer had become a potent drug.
Every time the muscles of her legs seized and the motions of her hips became raggedly wild, the
sweet taste of her undoing became more addictive. Admittedly, he would’ve kept going for a fourth
if she had not stilled above him, beseeching for mercy.

Her voice was rasped with overuse as she finally pleaded, “P…Pegasus!”

Immediately, Azriel ceased his perilous pursuit and the shadows released her hands from their
bounds, before she breathlessly tumbled down to the crumpled sheets on shaky legs. Gwyn
whispered a thank you to the shadows and he had to stop himself from beaming at how impossibly
cute it was that she even thought to thank the things that usually scared everyone off.

They lay panting and sated, lit only by the gilded hue of the candlelight as words became entirely
impossible in the wake of what they had just done.

A shadow curled into his ear as he maintained his composure.

Shadows were right when they suggested our sweet Valkyrie would share your indecent
proclivities.

He rolled his eyes, ‘Boasting is not your job.’

She is interested in blindfolds too.

‘Wait, what?’

Shadows are at her service.

A mess of copper-hair came to his chest, followed by a leg that hooked over his waist. And then…
and then delicate fingers were reaching into his trousers.

Mother have mercy.

It took all the Cauldron’s strength to still the hand that had begun to take a grip of the base of his
rock-hard cock like it was the hilt of a dagger. Azure eyes, still hazed with the lingering ecstasy
riling through her, met his. A moment later confusion began to cloud them.

“I want to give you what you just gave me…” Her gaze dipped in nervous and anticipatory
thought, “Well…” She amended, “I want to try.”

Azriel’s chest tugged as if his ribcage were latched to a rope. He could see the exhaustion in her
features, the need for relaxation after the marathon of pleasure she had just dutifully completed.

“Tonight was about you,” he explained with an appreciative smile. A scarred hand reached up to
tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear.

“But what about you?” She spared a glance down to his steeled erection, determination set in her
tone.

“Believe it or not, I derive just as much pleasure from making you unravel over and over again…”
Azriel debated whether or not to admit to her the next part, but he didn’t want there to be any
secrets between them. Not even one as embarrassing as this. “I came twice in my trousers,
Gwyneth.” That adorable look of piqued curiosity whirled in her eyes, his lips twitched. “And
believe me, that is not something I have done in a very long time. You made me do that, just by
enjoying yourself.”

“Oh…” Was all she could say, wide-eyed and contemplative. Her voice was distant, the additional
musing almost so quiet, it was almost like it meant solely for her thoughts, “A giving kink…”

“There are other less charming terms for it…” He replied, not able to wipe the amused smile
settling into the curve of his mouth, “But yes, precisely.”

She nodded, her chin resting on the smooth muscle of his chest as the rhythmic beat of her heart
slowed to a steady thump. The tip of her index finger rose to trace the inked swirl of the tattoo on
his clavicle. He watched every single movement as though his view were some kind of rare
painting moving in time.

“You like them…” His voice was whisper soft, the observation almost meant just for him.
Gwyn blushed, that pretty pink glow spreading across her freckled cheeks as she gave a nod. “They
suit you…” Her finger continued tracing from his neck, past the muscled ridge of his peck and
down to his ribs. Azriel shivered, goosebumps planting in the wake of her exploration.

“What does this one mean?”

He could barely get the words out as he said, “I’m sure you’ve read a few hundred books on
symbolism… How about you guess.”

“Hmmm,” Gwyn pondered and began to talk utter nonsense with a wickedly sweet grin about how
it meant rainbows and butterflies and cupcakes. She was adorable, even when she was being a total
brat.

His heart raced under her touch, the rhythm hastening as she dipped her chin to drag her hot tongue
across the swift curl of ink that stretched across his carved torso. She followed the movements
with a train of soft kisses, her swollen lips lapping up the wet indulgently. Azriel had gone entirely
still, his breath lost somewhere between his tight lungs and closed throat. No one had ever done
that to him before. Kissed him so intimately, touched him with such unhurried reverence as though
he might be some kind of thing to worship. Azriel couldn’t look away as she continued her sermon
on his scarred and bruised body.

Gwyneth Berdara was mesmerising.

Hypnotising.

Her teal eyes were hued darker in the candlelight but still glimmered somehow, like a mystical
ocean lit from within. Gwyn was beautiful. Almost cruelly so. The kind of beauty that puts the sun
and stars to shame. The kind that made shadows bow and the seas part. And he had no doubt it was
even the kind that could kill as easily as it inspired grand poetic ballads. Azriel’s heart was still
thundering wildly, his ability to take a breath, all but a relic of the past. She glanced up and smiled
at him, and something tightened in his chest as if it were gripped in the loveliest vice. He let
himself hope that she never let go of that scarred heart which beat for her.

He reached up to play with the friendship bracelet on her wrist, near identical to his own. Little
wisps of shadow danced around his fingers as he did, like they were taking the chance to appreciate
the gesture of the gift too.

Sending the other shadows off to run them a bath, Azriel closed his eyes. Just for a moment. And
though war loomed on the dark horizon and he was pretty sure he had well and truly used up all his
second chances from the Mother, he took the moment to feel the peace that sailed through his sated
body.

“Bath?”

Gwyn made a noise that was halfway between lament and dismissal, twisting her body slowly with
a wince as she closed her own eyes. “Mmmm no, I’m practically paralysed…” She snuggled
further down into his chest, giving a little yawn, “...maybe tomorrow.”

He didn’t know whether to feel triumphant or guilty at being the source of that discomfort for her,
but what he did know was that they both needed to bathe. Azriel sat up in refusal, lips twitching as
her groans of annoyance met his ears. He paused, taking in the sight of her perfect body, naked and
moonglazed, before he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bathing chamber.

A flood of sweet lavender and citrus filled the steamy air as he put Gwyn down on shaky legs and
steadied her. The bath was covered in a thick layer of plush bubbles and littered with rose petals.

“Did you guys do this for me?” Gwyn asked the over attentive shadow curled at her wrist. Ignoring
the huff of irritation from the winged male behind them, the shadow gave a nod and he once again
found himself flawed at how they spoke to her.

“Well that’s very kind… Thank you.” She gave the shadow a doting pat, scratching it with her
index finger as though it were a cat with invisible ears. The other shadows raced to her, desperate
for her attention.

Never before in his five-hundred and forty one years had they done that with another person. Never
had they so easily abandoned him for anothers company. If it didn’t give him the peace of mind
that she always had an extra layer of protection when he wasn’t there, perhaps he’d be more
disturbed by it.

Azriel didn’t have the decency to not be proud when Gwyn’s gaze caught a little too long on his
naked body as he sank into the steamy depths of the bathing pool. He was well past the point of
propriety when he didn’t refrain from appreciating the crimson splash of hand marks printed on the
pale cheeks of her delightful ass as she submerged herself in the cradle of his body.

And there it was, he was hard again.

Fuck.

Gwyn didn’t seem to mind, though. She only reached for the bowl of plump strawberries and began
to devour them down as her feet waded out in front of them.

He wrapped his arms protectively around her waist and slid her closer as she leaned back into him.
And of course, she fit against him perfectly, like a puzzle piece slipping into its long-lost place.

“You know…” She broke the silence, “this is probably going to sound stupid, but I really thought
those smutty books were exaggerating about females being able to orgasm multiple times.”

Azriel snorted, male pride warming his chest and tugging at the edges of his lips. “Well, I’m glad I
could assist in proving another one of your academic theories, Berdara,” He replied with no
shortage of smug arrogance. She only hummed in response, as he took to reaching for the
champagne that sat in the bucket beside them, popping the cork and pouring her a fizzling glass.

A delighted sigh left Gwyn’s lips as she tasted the fine wine. “When did you lose your virginity?”

The question bounced off the echoing walls of the bathroom and, as usual, took him by complete
surprise. The shadows coiled up in inquiry from where they had been dancing in the water at
Gwyn’s feet. He had never actually told anyone how he claimed his manhood. Cassian and Rhys
knew not to pry and he knew far better than to give them years' worth of ragging material by telling
them the details. But as was the case whenever it came to Gwyneth Berdara, the well-guarded truth
fell from his tongue easily.

“When I was sixteen…”

Her chin turned to his chest as she glanced up at him with those magnificent sea-born eyes. Her
fingers laced through his at her waist as she asked, “Did you have a girlfriend?”

“Ah…” Fuck. How was he meant to tell this beautiful creature that his first two-hundred years
were committed to a thorough study of debauchery and violence? Days spent fucking strangers for
a quick fix and fighting Illyrians for long-needed retribution was not exactly something to be proud
of. Azriel felt his cheeks heat and though they had abandoned their post, he could hear the shadows
laughing at him from afar. “No, not exactly.”

But there was no judgment gleaming in Gwyn’s gaze, only soft curiosity and gentle warmth as she
waited for him to elaborate. He knew why she was asking, of course. He knew that despite the
unspeakable thing that had happened to her in Sangravah, Gwyn had decided - by equal measures
insanity and blessing - that her first time would be with him. And perhaps it was comforting to
hear his own experience.

The memory was uprooted before he could even think twice. “She was the butcher's daughter…
Her name was Orla.” A long-forgotten face resurfaced in his mind. Long onyx hair, braided at the
nape of her neck and interwoven with purple ribbon. Eyes the colour of the autumn-hued earth. The
scent of thyme. A moonish scar trailing down her right eye and severing the length of her
cheekbone. Not beautiful, but still lovely, like a forest in the wake of dawn.

“Did you charm her with that mysterious gaze and those cute dimples?” Gwyn grinned, taking to
pressing her index finger into the summoned dimple in his cheek.

“Mother no…” Azriel laughed, pulling her in closer. “No, she actually sought me out. I wasn’t
exactly outgoing back then…”

“Shocker.”

It was true, when he began to reach maturity, he had indeed noticed the long stares he garnered
from Windhaven’s females. And though his masculine pride was thoroughly sated by the attention,
Azriel never actually spoke to them like Cassian and Rhys so effortlessly did. Maybe they thought
he was shy, but the truth was, he couldn’t fathom touching a sweet-faced female with his scarred
hands. Couldn’t reconcile the possibility they would shirk away from his touch, or upturn their
nose at the rough texture. But Orla had scars as well, and perhaps that drew him to her in the way
one is attracted to someone they fundamentally understand on the basis of pain.

“She cornered me one night at the tavern after training one evening and pretty much dragged me
into the alleyway…” Mouth curling into a nostalgic grin, he admitted, “I had no idea what I was
doing. It was sloppy and so quick… I came in three seconds. I was so shocked by the whole event,
I barely registered when she slapped me across the face for wasting her time...”

Gwyn gave an amused giggle, and he could’ve sworn relief shone in the depths of those beautiful
eyes. Relief… Azriel realised, because his honesty had reminded her that once even he had been an
amateur. Something gripped mercilessly at the beating thing in his chest at that realisation. But of
course. Of course know-it-all, first-prize winning, naturally talented Gwyneth Berdara needed that
reassurance.

Leaning forward, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead and she nestled into the crook of his neck.

He had never bathed with a female before, and in that moment when her soft and supple skin met
his in the steamy waters, he was glad Gwyneth Berdara was the first.

Gwyn

Tarquin’s hospitality was seemingly as immense as the sprawling beauty of his sun-licked lands.

The following day, a trolley carrying fresh fruit, honeyed pastries, sourdough toast and an
abundance of jams and marmalades appeared at their door. Gwyn demanded they devour their
breakfast from the comfort of the soft sheets, something which had become a favoured pastime of
hers, and Azriel had to admit that he was enjoying it as well.

In an effort to play their role well as heart-eyed honeymooners, they had ventured from the palace
after filling their bellies to explore the seaside docks, hand in hand.

Gwyn’s eyes were lit with untapped wonder as they drifted in and out of the small shops that lined
the seashore. After a long evening spent giving in to their midnight desires, she couldn’t help but
notice Azriel seemed lighter, slightly more relaxed. He indulged her every wish, happily bought
her the little trinkets she happened to spare a glance at and stopped to surrender to her demands for
creamy strawberry gelato and iced lemon tea as they people-watched.

It was the easiest thing in the world to pretend to be married to him. Easy to laugh at his dry wit
and sneak kisses in the shadows. She almost forgot they were being watched.

Almost.

Despite the warm breeze, goosebumps prickled at her skin. The feeling of being observed was an
odd, invasive one and it had her nerves riled enough that she tightened the grip on Azriel’s hand.

As always, he gave her hand a comforting squeeze in return.

“Are you planning for children?’ Cressida’s question had Gwyn pausing mid-bite, it took
everything in her not to choke on the buttered crab that she had just swallowed down.

The Princess mistook Gwyn’s silence for something else as her gaze dipped to Gwyn’s belly, “Or
perhaps,” she mused out loud, the sweetness of her tone disguising the churlish turn of her words,
“You are with child already… Would explain that appetite.” With a dip of her chin to the full
contents of Gwyn’s plate she gave a teasing laugh.

Gwyn recovered after a moment's pause, offering the busybody of a female a saccharine smile
instead of the hard smack she should have received, “I don’t believe so, your Grace…”

She didn’t have to look at her mate to know he had gone preternaturally still, a shadow curling to
whisper secrets into the shell of his ear.

“You’d be surprised…” She sang with a menacing smile laced into her plump lips, “The magic that
rules this Court does wonders for the womb…” Her crystalline eyes shot back to the Shadowsinger
as though sharing a crude joke with him, “Makes us females rather parched in more ways than one.
Something about the salt intake, I think.”

Gwyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Salt had nothing to do with fertility nor the capability of
womb, she had read enough books on gestation and anatomy to easily know that was just another
wives' tale built on nonsense

“I assure you, your Grace,” The storm of a mounting challenge rose in her gaze, “I don’t require
salt to maintain sufficiently inspired to bed my husband.”

Azriel had only cocked a brow at her, the ghost of humour etching across his mouth, though his
eyes held some withdrawn melancholy she wasn’t sure how to place. Something distant and
haunted.

Tarquin choked on the honey wine he had been guzzling down, a laugh, so unencumbered and
genuine falling from his lips. Cressida’s brows rose in surprise, something like approval flickering
through her gaze as she grinned back. Trying to keep the amused smile from her lips, she rose the
glass of wine to her lips and drank.

Cressida appeared unconvinced as she turned to Azriel and asked, “How many children do you
want, Shadowsinger? You Illyrians breed like rabbits I hear.”

“Cousin…” Tarquin chided her, his voice an exasperated drawl that only close family could muster
for one another.

“What?” The Princess gave an uncaring shrug, “It’s true, Varian told me.”

Tarquin only gave a great sigh, as though he had well and truly grown sick of dealing with her
impertinent nature over the years.

Azriel’s gaze flickered from the Princess to Gwyn, taking in the heat that rose to her neck and
flooded her cheeks, a splash of pink biting even at the tips of her ears, before turning back to her. “I
would be honoured with any children my wife gave me… But such things are not a concern of ours
for now.” Ever the diplomat, those soothing words over such a private question told Gwyn he was
well-practised in the art of conversation when he needed to be. And perhaps they were just
falsehoods to appease the Princess of Summer’s prying, but she couldn’t help but feel a strange
warmth eddy into her at the words.

“Indeed,” she agreed, “I can’t help but see that life becomes such a bore with them constantly
crying and nagging…”

Cressida’s snobbish rants faded into the background as Gwyn gazed over to Azriel who had
become swallowed by the chasm of his own thoughts. His eyes had glazed over, staring unseeingly
at the far wall as he clenched his fork slightly tighter. The tensing in his jaw made her frown
slightly, and all she wanted was to reach over for him.

To touch him.

As though it were her own, Gwyn detected the frosted change in Azriel’s demeanour and she
couldn’t help but let that roiling bitterness that had risen in the flames of his eyes, press onto her
own chest and dull the warm joy settling there.

“I might agree with you…” Tarquin responded from the far end of the table, “If I hadn’t become so
adept at dealing with your own crying and nagging over the years. I dare say if I sired any children
of my own, even their worst would be a reprieve from you.”

Gwyn glanced away from her troubled mate and sent the High Lord a grateful smile, one which he
returned with a wink that might have been inappropriate in any other circumstance. Cressida barked
out a sour laugh and a war of sharp-tongued quips disguised as jeers ensued moments later.

Azriel remained silent for the rest of the lunch and didn’t spare a second glance towards Gwyn, nor
did he turn to her when Cressida invited her to take tea with her that afternoon. When they had
finished with the splendour of lavish seafood, he simply rose and followed Tarquin to his study.

They had made plans to talk on a peace agreement Rhys had been proposing to the allied Courts in
the wake of the war with Hybern. A new treaty, that offered free movement for all fae, whether
they be of lesser or high birth, between the allied Courts, as well as less restrictions on trade and a
meeting every year to communicate security threats and other safety concerns to Prythian’s
leaders. A rather superfluous notion, considering the war that had loomed on the glittering horizon,
yet Azriel insisted such talks would reveal more of Pontus and their motives to their own cause.
As always, a shadow had dutifully taken post in her lap, its undulating form caressing her lightly,
as if it knew how it hurt to watch him walk away so silently.

The truth was that Gwyn had always wished for children, and though her past had prevented her
from seeing that wish as a reality, she was still willing to dream. And perhaps it was a silly
machination of her girlish whims, but a vision flashed into her mind as though it were carried in
with the warm afternoon breeze.

Three figures sat in an armchair by a burning hearth. It was flanked by enormous bookcases, filled
to the brim with her favourite tomes and novels, their colourful spines illuminated by the soft light.
The gentle melody of an old piano carried through the low-lit sitting room and the scent of fresh
cinnamon and clove was roaming in the air. There, safely atop the crackling golden flames of the
fire, were four expertly knitted stockings hung evenly on its mantle. In shades of blue, dangled two
larger stockings, next to two smaller ones.

She didn’t know why the scene came to mind. Nor did she know what cobwebbed crevice of her
consciousness had created it, but she could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye. Feel the warmth it
gave her, thump in the depths of her chest.

There was a tall pine tree, expertly decorated with sparkling teal and cobalt ornaments and
sprinkled in buttery flecks of glowing fae light. The onset of laughing met her pointed ears, gurgled
and sweet in their pitched tones. Her gaze caught on large, scarred hands, tentatively holding small,
trusting ones as the babes balanced on the strong seat of each of Azriel’s broad thighs. She could
see the source of that divine symphony of joyous sound so plainly, as though it were a cherished
memory.

Twin babes. One with the eyes of the most ember-hued hazel and tufts of gilded copper hair. The
other, with tiny leathery wings, a gaze as blue as the summer sea and hair as dark as the wintered
shadows that wrapped around their plump forms protectively.

Their faces were so lovely, their mouths curled into small crescent moon smiles. They were happy
and safe. A perfect mix of day and night, gracing every plump, tiny feature. Their symphony of
giggles were met with a soft baritone chuckle she knew all too well, one that evoked rich, velvety
darkness. Deep dimples carved into the Shadowsinger’s cheeks, and as three pairs of beautiful eyes
looked up at her staring form, her own vision had become lined with silver and her heart may as
well have ceased to beat for the silence that overtook her chest.

A family.

A home.

A life she had never known, but one that pulled so violently on the strings of her heart that she
wondered if the bond had been forged strong enough that Azriel could see it too. Her sight cleared
and found the back of her mate, who was walking purposefully with Tarquin to the door. But she
saw it, in the rigid set on his shoulders and heard it in the way he had held his breath.

He had seen it too, somehow.

Whether it was the same vision or something similar, she didn’t know. But somehow, this bridge
between their souls had momentarily struck them.

Gwyn watched as he receded into the corridor and didn’t look back. She blinked away the well of
salted tears that had blurred her vision and excused herself.
A wave of guilt and sadness churned within her like acid as she thought of Azriel’s childhood, the
vicious pang of that awful cruelty roiling below. She thought of the way he held Nyx, as though
the small babe were made of delicate paper and he was nothing but an amalgamation of sharpened
blades. Gwyn wondered if he would ever see himself as anything other than a bloodied weapon
used at a crime scene. If Azriel would ever allow himself the joy of being a father without thinking
of the brutality of his own. If he would ever look in the mirror and not see the male that locked him
in that cellar staring back.

The tears once again fell freely to her cheeks and down the edge of her jaw. Such profound pain
ran deep and Gwyn didn’t know if even she could reach that far-

One minute, she was stalking through the sunlit corridor and the next, a gigantic hand, unfamiliar
and smooth, was wrapped around her mouth. Gwyn gasped, her stance going rigid and her heart
beating something fierce as the sharp tip of a blade reached around to sketch her jugular.

The distant ringing of temple bells tolled from somewhere in her mind as a body, cold and hard,
pressed up against her back. Sweat slicked at her palms as she clenched them shut.

“Don’t even think about crying out for help,” A voice, smooth and soft like a ghostly curse
slithered into her ear. The sound sent a violent shiver down the ram rod straight column of her
spine and set a jolt of unease into the tips of her toes. “Come with me and all will be well.”

An obvious lie. Perhaps it was the surge of acidic adrenaline that charged through her veins, but
she gave a scoff into the stifling hand that covered her mouth.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, her spine locking to alert. Once there was a time when
Gwyn’s stomach would have been churned with fear and horror at the prospect of a male
restraining her and uttering threats such as these. But that time had long passed and she had been
trained well. The body behind her was muscular and strong, but she was nimble and fast. For a
brief moment, her breathing stilled to calm and her bones braced as her muscles filled with hellfire.

Then, she unleashed herself on the male.

Her palm shot up, grasping his thick wrist as the ball of her foot came back to crash into the fragile
point of his tibia. A terribly satisfying snapping sound followed the movement as she bit down on
the fingers that were clasped around her mouth.

A low, agonised growl filled the air, pitched with unwitting surprise. His grip loosened
immediately, the blade in his hand pushing and stabbing towards her without focused intention, but
she held the pressure off easily as she grounded her footing to the floor. Without hesitation, the
sharp edge of her elbow drove into the fleshy space beneath his sternum, directly hitting the
assailant's diaphragm with strength that the billowy pink sleeves of her diaphanous gown hid so
perfectly.

“You know…” The answering sound of his wheezing made her smirk. “Something tells me I won’t
be the one crying here…”

She whirled around to meet a strange-looking blonde male with skin the colour of rich mahogany,
his lips twisted into a vicious snarl. The attacker clearly had no idea Gwyn had been trained so
thoroughly, as another wheezing growl left his throat and shock infiltrated his dilated pupils.

Disabling him so quickly made his attempts at fighting back feeble. In one perfectly executed
manoeuvre, Gwyn had him rolled over in a choked groan, blood pouring freely from his freshly
shattered nose as he desperately clutched his blown-in stomach.
Just as Cassian had taught her over and over again, her knee drove up into the soft organs of his
torso and then, to the sensitive area of his groin, every kick was brutal with force as they were
perfectly placed.

His only response was a gavelled mess of curses and insults typical of a male who had just been
bested by a female in a pretty dress. “You fucking... witchen cunt... Cauldron damn you to Hel...”

A triumphant grin came to covet her pretty mouth, as she watched her companion of a shadow bind
his hands around his back so tightly, that the blood had begun to blanch in his violently shaking
fingers.

In a move that would have even Azriel grinning from ear to ear, she had him pressed into the stone
wall, newfound pressure driving into his already broken nose as his unused blade clambered to the
ground. Rivulets of thick crimson trickled from his nose to paint the walls and dribble down to the
terracotta floors. With a quick swipe of her nimble leg, she kicked the knife out of sight, not risking
the moment of reprieve it would give him if she bent down for it.

Her lips found his ear as she returned the threat he had so naively given her before. “If you even
think about laying a hand on me again...” Gwyn pushed his head harder into the unforgiving stone
wall and another crack sounded from his nose, signalling it had been completely severed from his
skull. “I will shatter your nose so thoroughly you’ll be swallowing it down until Solstice, got it?”

Only a pathetic whimper fell from his mouth in response.

Despite forsaking her heavy combat boots for the delicately heeled footwear of the Summer gentry,
she found no issue in kicking the centre of his spine so he fell forward into the nearby guest room.
The assailant’s forehead landed onto the carpet with a loud smack tht would surely rid him of
momentary consciousness as she sauntered through and closed the doors to isolate them from any
other courtiers.

Gwyn’s mind sprang into action, her gaze flitted around the room until she found thick ropes that
were used to tie back the lush silken curtains as well as a wooden chair, that was tucked into the
small desk.

After they returned from the Blood Rite, Azriel had began to teach them how to tie knots and
though the curtain ties were much thicker than the jute rope they practised with, she managed to tie
down the male to the chair with ease.

With a slash of the males blade, Gwyn ripped the hem of her skirt and tied it around the male's
mouth to gag him. His consciousness was returning and she needed to act fast.

“Go and get Azriel…” Her voice was a soft whisper to the shadow that had bound his wrists -
which were now securely tied with rope. It didn’t so much as stay to nod as it raced under the slit
of the door to find its Master.

Gwyn perched on the desk, her eyes never leaving the bloodied male that had tried to hurt her as
she waited. There was sweat beading at his brow, and a nervous shake set into his body as he
writhed and attempted to scream through the thick material of the gag. Whoever this male was,
whatever terrible person he served, Gwyn knew he was no friend. There was that bitter tang of
hatred that wafted around him, palpable in the air despite even the summer breeze. And just by his
attack alone, it was evident that she was not likely the first female he had attempted to abduct with
force. Her grip grew tighter on the blade, the patience stilling her running thin.

Azriel winnowed into the room a moment later in a crackling plume of shadows. The air turned
thick with violence as his eyes wildly scanned the space and assessed every inch of Gwyn, before
settling on the male that squirmed and shrieked against his bonds in front of them. The hazel
flames in his eyes had all but charred into dark pits of fury as he sank the ice-cold weight of his
gaze to the male in the chair.

The male visibly paled, his skin turning the off colour of death as he gave a pathetic wail of fear.
The scent of urine filled the air a moment later and Gwyn couldn’t help but draw some kind of
macabre satisfaction from that display of supreme dread.

Quietly, as though even the softness of his voice was being held on a tight leash, Azriel turned and
asked, “Are you hurt?”

Her heart felt as if it had executed a triple flip in her chest as she saw the anxiety, the fear and rage
which boiled down into every crevice of his features. His jaw was tightly clenched, a muscle
quivering through it as he once again, raked his gaze down her form checking for any sign of
injury. The shadows were doing the same, frantically fussing around her skirts, her arms, and
checking her pulse point.

Gwyn stood up with a shake of her head, walking over to stand by his side. Tentatively, she
reached for his hand as though they were alone and not about to conduct an interrogation on a
rogue aggressor. Gwyn almost flinched when his skin came into contact with her own. It was as
cold as a sun-robbed winter's morning. Giving it a squeeze and rubbing her thumb along his
scarred knuckles, she consoled him with a small smile, “No, I’m fine, promise.”

Azriel gave a quick nod, the murderous promise of his glare landing back on the staunchly terrified
male once more. In a voice as deadly as an airless night, he said through slightly clenched teeth,
“Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences when you attempted to attack my wife ?”

The only response was a desperate shriek, a sound, so coated in abject fear that irony made her
blood boil to a temperature that was scorching. She knew what was to come next. Knew the price
this male would pay for his actions would likely be the torturous violence her mate was so well
acquainted with. Whoever had employed this male to take Gwyn knew the risks and did it anyway.
They needed to know who was behind this and fast.

“We can’t do this here…” Gwyn’s voice was a careful whisper as she watched Azriel unsheath
Truth Teller with a wave of primal anger flashing in his cold eyes.

He stilled, the rage subsiding slightly from her words as he glanced back at her. A long moment
came and by as he fought every urge in his body to rip the male apart right there until he was
nothing but ashen regret and wrangled strips of bloody flesh.

“You stay here-”

“There’s no way I’m staying here, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn quickly cut him off, defiance set into the
sharp tone of her voice. “I’m coming with you.”

Azriel shook his head with absolution, “No-”

“Yes,” she shot back, “I am just as much a part of this mission as you are and when someone
attacks me…” Gwyn directed her own deathly glare towards the male who looked as if he were
about to pass out from fear alone, “I am entitled to finding out why. Do not rob me of that, Azriel.”

Conflict waged in his gaze as he glanced between Gwyn and the perfectly restrained, terrified male.
Her eyes dipped to watch his hands ball into fists and then flex repeatedly, the only physical sign
 of stress he ever exhibited.

And though that solid mask of cool indifference had fallen over his features, she knew. Gwyn
knew exactly what war was silently being fought in the dark crevices of his mind. She sensed the
long forged barriers of self-loathing and hatred rise. The bond between them had gone heavy and
taut and she felt the ache of his fear shoot down to grip at her chest with an iron fist. But she would
not let him think for a moment that she was afraid. That he could do anything that would ever turn
her away.

Taking a confident step towards him, she whispered so only he could hear, “Winnow us to Hewn
City… We need answers. The whole war depends on it.”

Chapter End Notes

Merry Christmas to all my divine readers! Wishing you a safe and happy holidays. I
hope you enjoyed the little Gwynriel baby/Solstice moment, that was my gift to you,
haha!

This chapter introduces the themes of future and truth, the latter of which will come to
the forefront of this story in this part of the story.
Fatherhood in ACOTAR is generally a theme that earns negative framing from the
perspective character experience.
I believe the concept of future family/fatherhood will be the final frontier for Azriel to
conquer on his journey of development and growth. Here, we see him begin to
contend with the concept of children (and by extension, his past trauma) and his
deepening relationship with Gwyn (ie. the call of the strengthening bond). I can’t wait
to flesh out this tension more because I think it’s a really important point of conflict for
him to overcome.

Let me know what you think!

Lou x
 Redemption of Souls
Chapter Notes

Warning: Depiction of torture and gore, this chapter includes violent themes that some
readers may find uncomfortable.

As always, thank you to my precious @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for beta reading

and editing.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Azriel

Even under the thick layer of his leathers, Azriel’s skin prickled and the pulsing river of his blood
seemed to freeze over. The shadows that engulfed them thinned into whirls of fine smoke and then
cleared to reveal the palatial stone walls he was all too familiar with. His jaw was clenched, his fist
wrapped in the jacket material of Gwyn’s attacker so hard it had ripped. The fucker had passed out
as they winnowed from the Summer Court, but he wouldn’t be gifted the reprieve from
consciousness for long.

Azriel felt the creeping sensation of being in the Hewn City amongst the worst of the worst wash
through him like an unwelcome wave of chilled sea, salted and burning.

With his shadows and dark, twisted mind, he fit in here. The monsters welcomed him as one of
their own. They could scent violence and brutality like a hound could detect fresh blood and they
were not wrong to find a kindred spirit in him. Nor were the residents of this Court wrong to cower
in fear when he stalked the hallowed halls.

Glancing over to Gwyn, Azriel grimaced. She had changed into her leathers upon his request.
There was no fucking way he was letting her anywhere near this cursed mountain dressed in pink
chiffon and heels like a Summer plum picked fresh from the branch to be devoured.

She was so calm . His chest tightened further as his stomach knotted itself with a pang of cutting
nausea. She shouldn’t be here. Amongst the facade of grey stone, amidst the cretins that called this
place home, it was a disgrace for him to have brought someone like her here.

And yet, she insisted and he begrudgingly agreed.

Curious teal eyes absent of any fear scanned the gothic grandeur of the bedroom, its stone columns
bisecting the room like a temple chamber. Her gaze landed on the grand bed dressed in slick silken
sheets the colour of midnight coal. She was the first female he had ever had in his chambers at the
Court of Nightmares, as this was not a place for dalliances. He only used this room when his work
called for week-long interrogations, sometimes involving multiple prisoners. But at least here, in
his own rooms, she was safe.

Here she would be protected.

A war ensued in his mind, guilt and resolution battling as his heart and good sense warred for
victory. She would be angry, furious even at what he was about to do. But Azriel would sooner
take Truth Teller to his own throat than ever see Gwyneth Berdara step foot in his Interrogation
Chambers. Some truths were too dark and some acts were too violent and bloody for him to share.

“Stay here.”

Gwyn whipped around from where she had strayed over to his ornate weapon collection braced to
the wall, the hue of her copper hair catching in the steel of the blades. The seas in those beautiful
fucking eyes had turned to storm-filled anger as she demanded, “No, you can’t-”

But he had already winnowed away before she could finish the refusal, a lone shadow lingering at
her boots to keep an eye on her.

Gwyn had seen what monsters males can manifest into, but the thought of that perfect face curling
into fearful shock and her eyes welling with tears as she watched him carve up the son-of-a-bitch
beside him, made Azriel the worst beast of them all.

Maybe he was a coward for not trusting her enough to see all of him. Perhaps he was selfish for
robbing her of a lesson on interrogation.

Azriel didn’t care. He would not taint her, he would not ruin her as he had been ruined.

Gwyn was not a monster or a weapon. She was fair and kind and perfect and because of that, he
would take the weight that interrogation left permanently pressed onto his shoulders alone so
Gwyn would never have to bear that heaviness.

Torture was every bit a psychological game as it was a physical test of the body's endurance;
Azriel had learnt that lesson young. Sometimes the worst agony possible could not be drawn from
the sharp edge of a blade but from the crevices of the mind.

He watched from the shadows in the far corner as the attacker’s neck slowly rollled and
consciousness crept back into his body. He always let them think they were alone when they woke
in his workroom.

Azriel inherited the stone chambers of the Court’s seventh-floor basement level during the first war
with Hybern when the spymaster of the Night Court was captured and burnt alive by the enemy's
forces for treason. With its minimal furnishings, cold stone floors, and the wall of mirrors that
wrapped around the room, it seemed to be designed by a sadist who liked elaborate circuses as
much as he enjoyed asylums. Sometimes Rhys and Cassian would stand outside the room and
watch through the mirror as Azriel pried the answers from some poor treacherous bastards' flesh,
and sometimes they joined in. But admittedly, he did his best work alone here. Away from the
innocent eyes and soft hearts that weren’t so accustomed to his sophisticated yet brutal methods.

From his hidden vantage point, he noted the sickly pallor of realisation that painted the male's
blanched features. The scent of fear filled the cold, stark air and Azriel took it in like it was a
delicacy.

Torture required control and precision, patience and attention. But all he wanted to do was rip that
mother fucker apart with his hands and teeth until he was nothing but shredded flesh, torn muscle
and shattered bone.

When the shadows had alerted him of Gwyn’s attack, a primal rage had taken residence in his
chest. A fit of anger that burnt like scorching flames while somehow freezing like winter’s coldest
ice. That urge had him winnowing faster than he ever had before to her, had even him - the lost
cause without salvation - saying a prayer to the Mother for Gwyn’s safety. It was an odd sort of
fury, one that crackled and reverberated like lightning down his limbs and coaxed violence at his
fingertips and mercilessness from his toes.

And it had not subsided.

It had never been so difficult for Azriel to remain controlled and composed, to leash that rare,
animalistic urge to annihilate.

No.

He would not give the fucker an easy death by giving into those feral delights. This would be a
lesson in regret, an education in pain, and a journey of vengeance. He clenched his fists tight, the
scarred knuckles going white at the tension.

The fear was setting in now. He could see it in the way the male's face whipped from side to side,
desperately looking for an exit or reprieve from what was to come. He could scent it in the way a
puddle of fresh urine dripped onto the floor. He could find it in the skittishly useless tugs and
yanks the male gave to the rope that tied his hands and feet to the iron chair.

Azriel let the fear stew in the male for an excruciatingly long half an hour. Every minute that went
by, the assailant grew more manic, more terrified as his mind conjured situation after horrific
situation that he may find himself in.

Finally, when Azriel let the fear and hopelessness settle in, the shadows smothered the only flames
that lit the room and plunged them into complete darkness.

A terrified wail sounded a moment later and a satisfied grin found its way onto his features.

The dark frightened many people. There is something unsettling about being robbed of a
fundamental mode of sense that sets the heart racing and the palms sweating. It makes every
sound, every scent, more dangerous. But Azriel had spent his entire childhood in that chasm of
oblivion, his eyesight had adapted very early on to see well without the aid of light.

The horror compounded as the male began to thrash in his chair and pleading began.

“P… Please!” A gurgled sob broke from his bloodied mouth. Gwyn had fucked up his nose
perfectly, an expert hit upwards into the nasal cavity that he couldn’t help but admire the strength
of. She truly was a beautifully dangerous thing. “I’ll tell you anything. Anything …” A pitched
scream had delivered the words now. “Just please… Please have mercy.”

As they had many times before in this very room, the Shadows swarmed into the air like a throng
of bees that sought only blood. The male screamed in horror as the obsidian cloud slithered to his
form and engulfed him in another bout of undulating darkness. This was the way of the
Shadowsinger, if Azriel was the blade, the Shadows were a whetstone. They worked in tandem
cruelty, equal parts strategy and nightmare and were only as effective as the other allowed.

This was the Shadowsinger people were right to fear.

This was the male Gwyn could not see.

This was the darkness of the cellar, the silence of loneliness and the mercilessness of his father's
fists.

“No!” He begged,”No, not the Shadows!” The tendrils of night would slither into each crevice, the
ears, the mouth, and would steal air, vision, sound, while planting fear.

The begging never failed to entertain Azriel. It was such a useless pursuit that everyone seemed to
cave to - regardless of the abject futility of it. His prisoners knew deep down that they would never
walk out of this cursed room alive, and yet they still implored for clemency, still tried for amnesty.

Azriel remained in the corner behind the male as he broke his silence. “Why did you attack
Gwyneth Berdara?”

The male nearly passed out from the sudden sound of his voice. The words were delivered in a low,
calm tone, one that disturbed the mind in its contradictory nature.

“Pl…Please!” He begged again, “Please, I did-”

“Answer the question,” Azriel barked, breaking that ode to control.

Sobbing ensued, messy and manic. “I was hired to…”

“Who hired you?”

The silence was deafening, but even in the darkness, Azriel could see the male shake with fear.
“He’ll kill my family…”

A shadow curled at Azriel’s ear with a hiss and a lick of wintered air.

He has already killed his family with gambling debt…

‘Pontus was his debtor perhaps?’

Most likely. His two babes were left starved for his losses and owings.

Azriel sneered.

When the debtors came, he attempted to sail for the continent and his wife was beaten for his
cowardice. This job was the price for his freedom, not hers.

A face flashed into his mind at the Shadow's tellings. His mother, swollen-faced and purpled. Her
wings, shredded and snapped. That was the one image, the one memory, that never failed to plague
his nightmares. The stories of weak men punishing their females for their lack of power never
failed to tip Azriel’s patience over the perilous edge of reason.

He let out a laboured sigh and gripped the table next to him. With no care for the screeching sound
the legs made as they clawed across the stone floor, Azriel dragged the table over to the chair. The
shadows lifted the darkness that had engulfed the room, revealing Azriel’s murderous glare as he
casually leaned on the table in front of him.

The fear was practically palpable now, every corner of the male's richly hued skin twisted and
contorted into flagrant terror as he beheld the Shadowsinger of the Night Court in all his monstrous
glory. Vomit poured from the male's mouth as his gaze dipped to the table, the sour stench filling
the cold air. Twenty-five tools, each one more viciously brutal in design than the last, lay before
them.

“I’ll ask again…” Azriel offered evenly, “Why did you attack Gwyneth Berdara?”

“Please…” He wailed, “It’s my wife… she’s ill and I need the money for the healers…”
The Shadows hissed something damning.

Lies. He tells lies.

Punish him.

Flay him.

Azriel only blinked at him as though he hadn’t uttered a word in response. As far as he was
concerned, Azriel would not bother to extend any care for this male's wife when his own was so
willingly attacked.

The reminder struck through him like violent bolts of lightning and the answering cower from the
assailant's face told him he wore the fury on his features like a lethal threat.

Thoughtfully, his hazel eyes turned to the objects on the table, lazily surveying them. If he had
more time, he would have left the fucker in the cell for a few days to starve, maybe set the starved
rats loose to nibble on his fingers or drip water from the ceiling to lull him into madness. But time
was of the essence and those luxuries were not possible with the shadow of war cast down upon
them.

His hand skirted over the saw, the hammer and then… settled on the large silver pliers, earning a
whimper of fear that bubbled pathetically from the male's mouth.

“You’re in the Royal Summer Navy, aren’t you?”

He gave a whimpered confirmation.

“I trust you’ve been trained to withstand torture?”

A weak and measly flick of his sweating head was the only nod he could muster in response..

A cold smirk found the curve of the Shadowsinger’s mouth. “I’ll enjoy that little challenge then…”

Azriel had learnt the art of interrogation through a messy process of trial and error in the war.
Rhys’ father had noted his propensity for blades and lack of baulking when faced with scenes that
would turn even the most seasoned warriors green and entrusted him with interrogations in his
espionage. It was a long-winded, often self-driven education that he developed on the job.

He learnt to never use scalding water, nor freezing, for it numbs the skin and renders the ability to
feel pain inert. Azriel discovered the value of starting small, for example pulling off the fingernails
and then, moving on to severing toes or extracting eyeballs from their sockets and only then
moving to the complex art of flaying. And above all else, he had learnt to capitalise on the mind's
ability to harbour and feed fear, the worst pain is always the kind we create ourselves in our heads.
No tool can match that agony.

Taking the pliers, he aligned the clamp onto one of the male's fingernails - the index was always
the most painful, he found - and yanked it clean off.

The scream was deafening, fresh blood pooling at the tenderly torn skin where the nail used to be.
He took a moment to survey the fleshy nail still gripped in the pliers with a feigned look of
condolence.

“Now that you’re hopefully seeing some sense, maybe you’ll be more open to being honest with
me…” Azriel began, lining the pliers up to the next nail as his fingers twitched and wagged in
refusal. The shadows snaked around his hand and held them in place. “Tell me why you were
assigned to attack Gwyneth Berdara.”

The male bit his lip, the duress whirling in his tear-welled eyes as Azriel, once again, ripped off
another nail. He allowed himself to be sloppier this time, making sure to peel off the sensitive skin
attached to the nail bed too. A jagged layer of muscle was revealed beneath, the tip of his bone
slightly visible where he had been particularly careless.

A series of sobbed curses so colourful they could only come from the mouth of a seasoned sailor
filled his ears.

Another strategy he had learnt over the years was how to elicit pain without the subject of his
interrogation bleeding out. When a subject lost blood, they were useless, forgetful and
discombobulated. The arms of the chair were tilted at a slightly upward angle to ensure this
wouldn’t happen, and the bonds around his wrists were tight, reducing the blood flow to the
extremity entirely. The nerves, however, the very things that transmitted pain, were still
wonderfully intact.

At the male's silence, he clipped the mauled nailless finger between the pliers and began to press
down and down. This was usually the point where people began to break. It was one thing to rip
off nails and skin, but it was another to crush bone and tissue.

“He knows you’re here spying…” The male’s resistance finally shattered, “He… He..”

“He what?”

“He wanted me to find out what you were looking for by…” The confession died on his trembling
lips as Azriel reached for the severing shearers and the shadows began to unlace his boots.

“By what?”

“By…” He swallowed, sweat dripping from his brow. He watched in muted horror as the
Shadowsinger aligned the shearers with his big toe. “No! Please!”

Azriel stilled his efforts in wait.

“...By interrogating her for answers…”

The sickening visual injected into his mind, Gwyn tied to a chair of her own, bleeding and
screaming. It had violence sparking and crackling in his veins like an electrified current. His heart
beat irregularly. Azriel clenched down on his jaw, his eyes turning the dark hue of burnt-out
embers. The shadows coiled around his shoulders and grew tall, like lethal cobras ready to strike.

With agonising slowness, the shearers cut through the flesh and knobby bone of his toe. The
barbaric sound of crunching and then snapping of bone were muffled by the male's screams and
cries.

“You placed a hand on my wife…” Azriel knew the semantics of their charade wasn’t needed in
the hours before this asshole met his untimely death, but that word just felt right on his tongue.
Especially now.

“No…”

“You grabbed her in the corridor when she was unarmed and alone…” The shearers came down on
his pinky toe and cut it clean from his foot. The little lump of flesh fell to the floor in a bloody
mess. “You put your filthy hands on her...”

He held a knife to her throat, the Shadow’s seethed.

Azriel grit his teeth.

Master would revile at the unspeakable horrors this vermin had planned for our Valkyrie. The navy
has its own ways of dealing pain. Wicked ways only conjured by lonely, sea-crazed men.

Azriel couldn’t bare the thought of it. Bile rose in his throat, the sour taste coating his tongue.

Shadows found the abandoned ship he planned to interrogate from. He had salted whips, rusted
knives, whale oil burners and drowning buckets.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her! I wasn’t going to-”

Deceit!

The lies were silenced by the shearers being raised to sever his thumb, and the meaty phalange was
left hanging from his hand by a thread of bloodied flesh. More choked screams filled the air.

Azriel’s voice was that of the cold conviction of death as he said, “You planned to hurt her.”

Truth Teller’s blade flashed in the glow of the faelight, as Azriel lightly ran it over his Achilles
tendon. The famed dagger had met many anatomical structures in its life, but its shape and edge
seemed to be perfectly crafted for severing the toughest of tendons.

“And for that, you will suffer. But not before you tell me everything you know about Pontus…”

It went on for hours.

In fact, Azriel didn’t know if it was day or night when the male finally took his remaining gargled
breath. He got the answers he needed in the first two hours, the remaining time spent at work was
for the purposes of pure vengeance.

The shadows, darker and thicker in their hallowed home of the interrogation chambers skittered
over the botched corpse. He was covered in blood and Mother knows what else. In the far distance,
he heard the feral beasts below on the eighth sublevel rattle and rouse in their filthy dens. They
could smell the rigor mortis that had set in on the fresh corpse from even the thickest slab of stone
that separated them.

The body was less a body and more a collection of splayed organs and dismembered and flayed
limbs now. That primal fury had taken over him, made him cruel and slow about his task.

Nothing prepared him for what happened next. The soft sound that pattered on the disguised door
sounded like a… knock. But every sordid creature in this Mother-forsaken Court knew he was not
to be interrupted during his work.

Azriel froze as Gwyn came through the door, her unreadable gaze dropping down to the mattered
pile of a corpse and then ascending to meet his shocked stare. Undiluted fear and horror, the kind
no tool or torturer could ever summon flooded through him at the realisation that she had been
watching.

Fuck.
He took a step back, as though he was a feral animal jilted and scared. Gwyn, with nothing but
clarity and calm in the unwavering seas of her eyes, only took a step forward.

“How much did you see?” His voice was hoarse, as though the words were clawed from his throat.

“Most of it.”

It didn’t take powers of masterful deduction to find the source of his betrayal. An accusing glare
was aimed at the shadow, which guiltily hung around Gwyn’s arm like some kind of over-fussed
pet snake. It only lapped at Gwyn’s hand in return with a spindly tendril.

“Gwyn-”

“You promised we were a team in this…” Her voice held nothing but the harsh weight of the truth
as it was levelled at him, “You promised in Autumn you wouldn’t coddle me, that I would have
the agency to partake in every aspect of this job.”

His eyes fluttered shut, every harsh emotion that had fuelled his prior violence draining from him
as guilt struck. It was a long moment before he could find the words to reply. “I didn’t want you to
see that.”

“Why?” Gwyn snapped, her anger, white-hot like a brandishing iron. “Because you think I can’t
handle the blood?” Her arms waved in a gesture to the body on the floor, “Because you’re under
the impression I’m scared of what manner of violence justice can call for? Tell me Azriel, because
I’m perplexed.”

“Because…” His voice was nothing but a soft whisper, an aching confession, “I’m scared that you
will never be able to look at me again the same way after seeing...that.”

He didn’t dare open his eyes to gauge her reaction, couldn’t gather the strength to stop his bottom
lip from quivering as he continued, “Because I’m a coward, Gwyneth.”

“No…” She shook her head, a bitter refusal painting her features as she did. “You don’t get to
decide what I can and cannot handle. There is nothing-”

“Spare me the pitying lies!” The words came out louder and more harshly than they were intended,
but she didn’t baulk, didn’t even blink at the anger laced in them. Something wild had snapped
within him, ripped down his final walls and opened the floodgates of his greatest insecurities.

She gritted her teeth, “I’m not lying to you.”

“This is who I am, Gwyn.” Azriel gestured to his blood-covered leathers with the bloodstained
blade of Truth Teller as he yelled. “I know you think otherwise. I know you’re convinced I am
salvageable, that this odious side of me is some kind of forgivable lapse in character. That the
Priestess in you can lead me into the fucking light.”

“No…” She shook her head, tears welling to match his own. “How dare you, you have no right to
assume-”

“I am a monster… And it was my mistake to be so selfish in convincing you that I was anything
but.”

“You’re not…” Her voice cracked an octave higher as she pleaded in exasperation, “Don’t say
that.”
Azriel gave a bitter laugh, stepping forward with a maniacal glaze in his hazel eyes.

The same anger seemed to have splintered in Gwyn, because her sharp tone matched his as she bit
back, “There is nothing you could ever do to turn me away. Nothing. When will you finally accept
that? When will you fucking see the truth?”

“You want the truth, Gwyn?” He felt feral, wild and untamed and the next words tore something
tender from his chest, but they had to be said. “I can’t give you the life you want Gwyn. I can’t
keep you safe the way you deserve. I can’t be a husband like Rhys or a stronghold like Cassian.
And I wish…” He shook his head, staring up at the ceiling as he ran a stressed hand through his
hair, “I wish I could fucking be that for you. I wish I could vow to give up this and give you the
children I know you want and the life you fucking deserve…”

Gwyn stood her ground in abject rejection of his words, “I’m not asking for anything you don’t
want to give…”

“You think I don’t want those things?” His gaze met hers in a cold mix of incredulity and
bewilderment. “You think it didn’t kill me to give you my Mother’s ring for some war-time
political charade instead of the way I planned to? The way I wanted to in our own time? You think
it doesn’t fucking stab me in the heart when you half-heartedly call me your husband with lies
lacing the word? It’s agony, Gwyn. But I will not taint you. I can’t.”

Gwyn just stared at him and stared at him, like she had never seen him before. His heart was
beating wildly in his chest, his ribcage pulling him forward as if it were hooked by some invisible
force. Yanking. If he was thinking half-decently, perhaps he would consider he was having a heart
attack.

But all he could see was her.

All he could smell was her.

All he could ever want was her.

Gwyn’s breathing had all but ceased, her own heart, thundering to a strange shared beat between
them. She seemed to be waiting for something, searching for something in his madness, his fury.

“You want to know why I left you upstairs, Berdara?”

Fuck it. She was going to leave him anyway, right? He owed her the pathetic truth.

She swallowed, her legs seemingly locked into place and her gaze anchored into his own.

There was no response, but he spoke anyway out of somewhere between sheer desperation and the
most primal form of insanity. “Because I couldn’t bare for the female I love to see who I really
fucking am.” Azriel stepped forward, “Because I finally had something of my own and you’re so
perfect…And I am so unbelievably undeserving of that perfection that it’s almost comical. And I
know how this ends… I know you’re going to wake up one day and finally figure out you want
someone better and it’s gonna ruin me Berdara. It’s gonna fucking ruin me.” The tears streamed
freely down his face, his pride completely dispersed with his good sense.

Azriel let out a deep breath, completely unaware of the fact he had moved directly in front of her
and his hands had found their way to clutch her cheeks. “And you know what? I don’t care. When
that day comes, I want you to ruin me so thoroughly that there’s even less left of me than that
motherfucker on the floor. When you ruin me, Gwyneth, I’ll go like a martyr and-”
“You love me?” Her eyes were so bright, they were like an ocean-lit beacon to his own lost and
wayward soul.

He didn’t hesitate in answer, couldn’t muster the ability to give anything but the raw, honest truth.
“With all the heart I have left.” Even if it was just a scarred ghost of a once beating thing, whatever
still remained in his chest, remained for her.

And that love … that terrifying, awfully uncomfortable, completely wonderful thing was probably
the only force that prevented him from becoming the vile and decrepit male his father was. So he
latched onto it. Let it take over every inch of his flesh, every corner of his mind.

A dainty hand found his chest, her fingers resting above the very thing that beat just for her.
Gwyn’s voice was quiet as she commanded, “Say it.”

Confusion overtook him for a brief moment before he realised what she was asking him to do,
what buried truth she was wanting him to uproot and finally give voice to.

And maybe he was a damn fool for it, and he knew saying it would just make the end hurt even
more, but Azriel’s voice was cracked as his tongue tasted the unsaid words, “I love you, Gwyneth
Berdara.”

Her eyes fluttered shut like the confession were some kind of tidal wave. “Say it again.”

Azriel’s forehead found hers as he dipped his chin to meet her height. He said it again.

And again.

And again.

Like a damned male chanting prayers for salvation, he told her over and over.

Until they weren’t in the seventh sub-level of the Court of Nightmares. Until there wasn’t a
carved-up, dead male lying at their feet. Until he wasn’t covered in blood and she wasn’t
trembling.

Until it was just them, their scars and the shadows that bound them.

There was something breathless about her reply, like she had the air stolen from her lungs, as she
finally said, “I love you too, Azriel.”

He didn’t even realise he was crying, there were only those five words echoing like the toll of
sacred bells in his mind. It was the honesty in them. The brutal candour of it that had him aghast.
She really did love him, monster and all. Gwyn had seen the worst side of him and had not run, had
not even taken a step back.

She never had.

She never would.

His mouth was on hers not a second later, their tongues fighting to taste the lingering confessions
that laced their lips.

And just for a moment, Azriel let her annihilate him, body and soul - as that devotion crept through
every crevice of his dark, twisted mind and kissed the most filthy, vile parts of it as if it were
divine. Her love was as sharp as a dagger, piercing through the harsh flesh and bone of his ribcage
 and severing his heart from the confines of his chest. His love was a song, laced with both the
insatiable depths of Hel's wrath and the euphoric harmony of heaven's gates. Maybe they were not
the heroes with kind hearts and noble causes they desperately wanted to be. Maybe they were
always going to be broken. But somehow, that didn't matter, because in that moment, their scars
glinted with the silver of stars and their bond hummed to a symphony deep in their bones. And that
darkness they swallowed from each other's souls, tasted perfect on their tongues.

Chapter End Notes

Firstly, I really love the marriage of extremely dark and light themes ( aka pain and
love) in books and I really wanted to play around with that approach in this chapter
because I think that duality really encapsulates Gwyn and Az.

Secondly, I think the Hewn City represents everything Azriel hates about himself. It’s
dark, violent and merciless. A place for the worst in his Court.
Throughout the fic, we see Azriel liken himself to a creature or a monster of some sort
and I believe that ‘monster’ is how he ultimately conceptualises his father. I think the
root of Azriel’s issues is that he blames himself for the treatment his mother endured
for his birth and by extension, aligns himself with his father as being complicit for her
pain.
His work as torture master and spy master speak to his need to reject traditions or
accepted practices, take justice into his own hands and to maintain control over
political and personal situations that he never had before.
It is here in Hewn City where he has to contend with the legacies of pain and abuse his
father has left him to carry. He sees himself as tethered to his father through his natural
affinity for strategic violence. And as long as he fears himself (aka sees himself as his
father’s son) he will never forgive himself or accept love that he deserves.
I think this is why their confession of love had to be so dramatic. Throughout the
story, I’ve tried to illustrate the theme of self worth Gwyn and Az both struggle with.
Azriel needs someone who sees every part of him and loves him anyway. In reference
to the text, Azriel’s outbursts of protectiveness and violence are always met with
rejection and coldness from Mor.
I wanted to create a scene where it was gory and truthful to his dark side. Gwyn
needed to see all of him just as he needed to see all of her for them to finally be able to
love each other fully.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts! I’d love to hear
them.

Lou x
 The Art of Giving
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW 18+, Brief mention of SA and trauma

Thank you to the endlessly wonderful @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for editing and

beta-reading this chapter even when she was sick.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Part V

Revelation

The breeze of the night swept past their flushed cheeks and swollen lips as their feet met the
ground. It was a balmy evening, and Azriel had winnowed them to the quiet cove that dwelled
beneath the splendour of the Summer palace.

The body of Pontus’ assassin was left bleeding and dismembered on the floor of Azriel’s
interrogation chambers. Azriel had sent word to Rhys about their compromised state along with the
declaration that both he and Gwyn were committed to seeing the mission through despite the
egregious risk.

“Where do you want to go?” He had asked her, cheeks still wet with the foreign lick of tears,
throat still numb with his confession.

No one had ever asked her that before, Gwyn realised. There was never an option, a choice
offered. For so long she had been carrying around a weight compounded with pain and guilt and
for all that time that weight had burrowed something hollow in her heart.

She didn’t want walls like the stone ones around her in the Hewn City, so similar to those of the
library. They had both hidden and buried themselves around walls, beneath the ground and in the
dark for so long.

“To the sea.”

Hand in hand, they walked along the desolate beach, lit only by the pearlescent moonlight and the
glittering stars. Azriel apologised for the blood still on his hand and Gwyn only squeezed it harder,
as if wanting to share the stain.

They talked about nothing and everything, and though war loomed, though violence lingered, they
had a mutual agreement that tonight was for them. He pocketed the shells she collected on their
journey. Some were silver, some chalky white. Some were perfectly shaped and smooth, and some,
half-eaten by the sea - yet, all beautiful, Gwyn insisted. All worth collecting, she pressed.
Azriel’s pockets were filled quickly, but he didn’t complain.

“I knew you’d want to come here.”

Gwyn raised a brow, “How?”

The night did nothing to disguise his blush, “You once told me that if you could fly anywhere you
would go to the Coves of Seraphina. I figured you’d never seen the sea up close.”

She looked out to the calm waters that shimmered with the reflection of the night sky. With a grin,
Gwyn turned back to him asking, “Can you swim?”

Azriel only grinned back, the dimples burrowing into his cheeks as he did.

In all her years, Gwyneth Berdara would never have thought she would strip to her underthings - in
front of a male, no less - and swim beneath the stars. And yet, here she was, with no ounce of fear
nor drop of trepidation in her veins.

They waded out to where her feet could just touch the sandy floor and then, wrapped in Azriel's
safe arms, went further until nothing but warm skin and salted sea touched her skin.

Her eyes widened, mesmerised by the cloak of fate and mystery that covered the sky. She had
never seen a night sky so clear. Gwyn took to identifying all the constellations above them. She
went through a particularly obsessive astrology phase in her childhood at Sangravah and had
consumed nearly every book on the art of star gazing and the complex world of celestial
mythology. It made her feel less alone in the world, as though her nights were spent in the
company of the moon and planets.

And yet, of all the stars burning bright in the night sky and of all their mirrored sisters reflected in
the softly waving water around them, Azriel was looking at her .

Gwyn’s mattering about the cluster of stars that remarkably formed a depiction of a winged horse
fell to silence as she noted something like sheer awe flickered in the flames of Azriel’s eyes.

Awe and longing and love.

There wasn’t a word in any dictionary for that expression of his, but in that perfect moment, Gwyn
wished that there was one. He was a male that deserved a whole dictionary of new words, each one
equally complex as they were utterly striking. And yet, she wasn’t sure there was a language ever
spoken in the history of time that could manage such a task.

“Do you remember the day I first took you into Velaris?” Azriel asked, his voice hushed and
velvet-soft in the night air, “We went to Aislinn's for tea and I taught you about practising the
Taigh Sàbhailte ?”

A content smile found Gwyn’s lips as her head fell back into the stronghold of his chest, “I
remember.”

It seemed so long ago, yet it had only been a matter of months. Time was a strange beast that
seemed to slow when the heart quickened. Perhaps that’s why it dragged all those years spent
alone in the library. “You never told me what yours was.”

One of the hands that were dutifully wrapped around her waist came up to caress the pale skin of
her shoulder, tracing the cluster of freckles there. The grin was evident in his voice when he
replied, “It’s this. Floating in a calm night sea.”
She couldn’t help but hold her breath as she realised the connection he was drawing. He had told
her that Taigh Sàbhailte was the old Illyrian word for ‘safe house’, some long-forgotten, mind-
stilling practice that transported your consciousness to a place of refuge when under duress. Hers
was under the sea and his… his was right above it.

“When you told me that day that yours was floating beneath the sea…” He took a moment to
swallow what was probably the habit of silencing his true, innermost thoughts, “I think I loved you
then, but I didn’t see it. I was… lost.”

“Me too.”

Maybe, without even knowing it, they had been each other's safe house longer than they cared to
admit. Because as long as they were together, she would never drown and he would never be lost.

Her hand rose to his where their fingers intertwined, knitting perfectly together. Gently, Gwyn
submerged them into the salted sea and with careful strokes, cleaned the remanence of dried blood
from them. She didn't stop until they were perfect again.

“When I was young, I would see my Mother on her weekly visit…” Something bitter and painful
panged in Gwyn’s tender chest. “She would tell me that whenever I was sad, I should say a prayer
to the Mother and find my Taigh Sàbhailte .”

“How did you know about the sea? If you had never been, I mean.”

“When the hour was up and the guards came to get me from her arms, I would cry and she would
always sing me an old folk song about birds following ships at sea. I spent my days imagining the
ocean, imagining those birds and what it would be like to fly away.”

Gwyn blinked back the tears in her eyes as she glanced sidelong at the wings which softly stretched
out at their side. The wings he had been forbidden from using. She gripped his hand tighter in
hers.

“I can’t bear it...” She whispered, struggling to voice the words as her throat was thick with rising
emotions.

“What?”

“The thought of you in that cell.”

There was a long silence, one full of the gentle lick of waves and the smooth sail of the breeze. “It
was worth it…” He finally replied, “All of it was worth it, every ounce of pain and loneliness was
worth it to be here with you.”

Gwyn found her heavy heart echoing the sentiment. Because it was worth it. Every moment of
solitude and suffering from Sangravah to Ramiel. Every sleepless night and bone-shattering
nightmare. She would do it all again, if it meant being here, with him.

Her love.

Her mate.

She turned in his arms, indulging in a glance at his face which was somehow made more handsome
in the glow of the moonlight above. And Gwyn was sure that in that moment she had the same
mixture of awe, longing and love plastered over her own features.
She would tell him the secret when the war was over and when they were safe. No good would
come of such truths now. Tonight, they would indulge in each other for love, not because of the
hands of fate pressing down upon them but for their hearts.

“You once told me that you would give me anything I wanted…”

Azriel cocked a brow, the edges of his lips twitching as he pulled her closer into him. “I did.”

Her arms snaked around his neck, while her legs wrapped around his torso.

“Take us back to our room…” A delicate hand came to cup his jaw as she leaned in to place a soft
kiss on the edge of his mouth, “Az, Take us back so I can give you everything I have to give.”

“Gwyn-”

“Pontus knows we’re onto him and by the time dawn rises, war will come with it and you know it.
Give me this one thing… Let me have this one night with you before tomorrow comes.”

She didn’t want to voice the fatalistic words that came to her mind. Didn’t want her mind to linger
on the prospect of war and death. But the look of understanding in Azriel’s eyes told her she didn’t
need to say those words.

His voice was thick and rasped, so at odds with the calm sea around them as he asked, “You’re
sure?”

Her lips found his for a symphony of shared heartbeats and then breathlessly with swollen lips she
smiled up at him. “Yes.”

Gwyn had always loved the midnight hours.

When she was younger, they were spent by a singular burning flame as she greedily read the pages
of her newly borrowed book. When she found herself working in the library years later, those hours
when sleep had been robbed from her and nightmares had plagued her even in consciousness, the
midnight hours were spent researching and learning things she never thought possible.

But now, as Azriel and Gwyn materialised into their chambers and the tall candles hued the room a
shadowed golden, she knew these dark, intimate hours were opportune for other pursuits that had
nothing to do with literature or academia.

A shiver ran down the column of her spine as Azriel took to running a delicate finger over her
collarbone and down the baby-blue lace strap of her bra, still wet from the sea. Midnights like
these, where the breeze was gentle and the moonlight flooded through the windows, were for
sharing secret touches in quiet rooms and for indulging in salacious desires.

These hours, few though they were, were theirs and she knew she would spend the rest of her life
wishing these few hours could be lengthened into a lifetime as he leaned down to press a kiss on
her shoulder.

Tomorrow there may be war, but tonight, there will be peace. Peace and maybe some kind of
healing they desperately needed. After all, Nesta had once said sex was like medicine. Through all
the chaos and pain they had been thrust into, Gwyn knew she could take his hand and for a few
moments, he would settle her mind and calm her heart.

Without so much as a tremble in her hands, she hooked the fingers into his underwear and pulled
gently on the waistband. Azriel continued his mouth’s exploration of her neck as his wet
undergarments fell to the ground, entirely unbothered about being naked before her.

Vulnerable.

Her heart felt so full it may burst.

Gwyn pulled back from him and couldn’t help but stare. Of course, she had seen him naked before,
but somehow it felt as though it was for the first time. Her eyes trailed from the inked swirls on his
neck down to his pecs and towards his muscular biceps that lay beside them. His carved torso and
the golden ‘V’ that descended further was a feat of anatomical mastery in itself. Mother, it was like
he was sculpted by a masterful artist just for the eyes of the most devout. The very image of a war-
honed God.

Her appreciative glance swept to his hips and the long, already hard length that stood to attention
between his thickly toned thighs. The shadows had left their usual stations and slithered over to the
door, surely locking it and adeptly soundproofing the chambers from Gwyn’s usual symphonies.
Without them he looked even more bare, like a layer of his flesh had been stripped clean and his
soul shone a little brighter from within.

Their mouths met again fiercely as she reached around to unclasp her bra. The scent of his arousal
permeated through the thickening air and met her own. She took it in, all of it. Until her lungs
knew nothing else.

Every need, every desire, crackled like a brewing Summer storm around them and she pushed him
towards the bed, wasting no time.

They would do this, now . She had never before felt the burning need, so ravenous and brutal,
radiating from him as she did now.

Suddenly, a soft grip stilled her hands of their efforts to undress as Azriel’s lips were unlatched
from her own. Gwyn glanced up to him with a question brimming in her starlit eyes and frustration
etched into her lonesome mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you rushing me, Berdara?”

“I…” She frowned up at him, a crease carving between her brows as she said, “You don’t want to
have sex with me?”

Mother above, she didn’t know what she would do if he were to refuse her now. Perhaps fling
herself from the window?

Azriel made a sound that was halfway between astonishment and a snort, “There is nothing I want
more in my entire life.” He tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her pointed ear as the amusement
on his features softened to buttery warm affection. “I’ve fucked a lot of females, Gwyneth...”

“I know and-”

He cut her off before she could continue. “...But I’ve never made love to one before…”

Oh.

“...and I intend to make you the first and only one that I do that with.”
Oh.

A blush crept up her neck and painted her freckled cheeks a flushed rose colour. Yes. Tonight
would not only be a first for her but for him as well. Her nerves seemed to calm at that realisation,
her joints loosening.

Azriel must have mistaken her expression for disappointment because he whispered into her ear a
heartbeat later as his thumbs stroked the embarrassment staining her cheeks, “Make no mistake, I
will dedicate the next millennia to fucking you senseless if you let me.” The warmth spread to the
tips of her ears at the low, velvet-toned promise and heat pooled in the wake of the images that
flooded with it. Nothing but undiluted adoration and longing hued his gaze as Azriel pulled back to
look at her and add, “But tonight, we go slow. Good sex is about connection, but great sex? That’s
dependent on foreplay.”

She nodded, some small remaining fact-loving, rational part of her appreciating the words. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

Azriel wore nothing but serene patience as he ran a scarred hand over her waist and waited for
Gwyn to make the next move.

But seeing him like this, so bare and vulnerable in front of her… Feeling the need to double down
within her own body and finally knowing it would be met… Well, honestly, it had her momentarily
stunted.

“Talk to me, Berdara. This is only gonna work if you communicate with me.”

“I, uh…” Gwyn bit down on her lip, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I want to touch you. Can I…
Can I touch you?”

She had touched him before in the mountain cabin, but her hands had never roamed free on his
naked flesh. And it was important. It was important for some reason to her, that she knew his body
well and asked to know it more deeply.

Azriel’s hand came up to hers and he placed her palm on the beating place of his chest. The place
her hand seemed to always find some kind of home in. It was a silent approval, but as always, he
voiced it anyway. “You can do whatever you like.”

And he meant it too. If she wanted to coat him in chocolate cream and have him on her tongue for
dessert he wouldn’t object. If Gwyn wanted to take a rope to his hands and bind his scarred wrists
as he had done to her, he wouldn’t even blink. Something warm fluttered in her heart, like a flock
of butterflies on the dawn of summer.

That trust, that pure devotion was something like a drug that had her stepping closer and running
her hand gently, appreciatively over his chest.

He was a male whose body had been forged by wars and looked as if he was sculpted by both the
glory and gore of it. All power, ink and pain. Gwyn would never tire of looking at him like this.
Her fingertips found every scar, every obsidian swirl of his tattoos, the ridge of every muscle and
traced it like her mind was sketching the masterpiece to memory. No amount of skill, nor pencils or
paper could ever do him justice.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut as she circled around and her exploration continued to his back. Gwyn’s
delicate fingers ran down the muscular valley that sculpted the centre between his wings. The
answering shiver down in his spine that she felt beneath the pads of her fingertips reverberated in
her bones. He let her familiarise herself with every curve, crevice and point of him.

Azriel had hidden for so long behind indifferent stares, armour and shadows. And yet nothing but
truth and the hue of the candlelight shrouded him now.

Her angel of death had never been so…

“ Beautiful …” Gwyn didn’t mean to say the words out loud, or, at least she didn’t mean for him to
hear them. And perhaps the heat that rushed to her cheeks were the beginnings of embarrassment
for it, but when she glanced up to see the rare flourish of blush on his own cheeks and neck, she
couldn’t manage to regret it for a second. It was a reaction that said only one thing - that no one had
ever looked at the whole of him and told him those words.

She made a vow in from that moment on to remind him of that sadly unspoken fact, and often.

“I mean it…” She returned to face him as she placed a kiss on his wing and then, to the knuckles of
his scarred hand, “...every part.”

Words had been stolen right from Azriel’s throat as he intently looked at her and swallowed down
hard. Emotion, deep and uprooted soaked every syllable as he breathed, “Thank you.”

Then, he was pinching the fine scraps of lace between his fingers as he asked, “Can I take these
off?”

Gwyn nodded, the answering cocked brow from Azriel prompting her to voice her agreeance.
“Yes.”

There was a devastating softness to him as he removed her bra, planting kisses in the valley of her
breasts as it fell to the floor. His mouth continued its devotion down her stomach until he was
gracefully on his knees before her. Gwyn couldn’t help but indulge in the view.

A male at worship.

The angel of death, brought to his knees by a priestess.

Azriel kissed the high points of her hip bone as though they were sacred and slid down her
underwear with a tantalisingly slow pace. She felt every bit of tender skin that lace touched as it
was coaxed down.

One day she would let him rip them off her and take her on the floor like in the crimson pages of
The Knights’ Nemesis , but tonight was not for such harsh things. That would come later.

“Mother save me…” His voice was harsh, gravelled, as he said, “You’re dripping, Berdara.” It was
true, the hot ache that burned and knotted deep within her had left a slick sensation of honeyed
wetness between her thighs. A whimper fell from her lips as he lapped up some of her pleasure
with his index and middle finger.

“Who makes you wet like this?”

It was overwhelming. The indecency of his words, the anticipation curling in her fingertips and
toes. She voiced something incoherent in response as he tasted her on his fingers as one may
sample a fine wine. Slow, attentive and indulgent.

“Use your words, Berdara. I asked you a question.”

“Yo- Oh .”

Oh.

A hot tongue ran across her seam and she forgot everything entirely. The grip on the back of her
thighs grew tighter and the white-hot heat that coiled deep within her belly followed suit.

“Who?”

“You.”

“Good girl.” The smirk was evident in his wickedly satisfied tone and that made it all the worse.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth as he softly bit the untouched flesh of her thighs, the
areas she never thought any male would pay ode to as he was now. His tongue licked away the
remnants of pain and her mind became hazed as he placed one, gentle kiss to the apex of her thighs,
already wet and glistening.

Her back found the wall as it arched in a feline curl and his hand had lifted her thigh expertly so it
hooked around the broad width of his shoulder.

“Y…You don’t have to-”

One hand was anchored at her hips, while the other, was dedicated to splaying apart her pink folds
for him to see.

“...If you don’t want to, I mean… Since you did the other day…” She finished, somewhat
breathless.

Azriel ripped his keen gaze upwards to meet her own, flustered one.

“Do I strike you as someone who makes a habit of doing things I don’t want to do, Berdara?”

The sight of him, on his knees with her bare, thrumming centre not inches from his swollen lips
silenced her.

“No.”

Azriel raised a brow, “And do you intend to interrupt me again?”

The arrogance lining his words had her irreverently shrugging as though they weren’t in an entirely
salacious position in a foreign Court on the brink of war. “That depends.”

A smile twitched at his wicked lips, “Depends on what?”

“On if I get bored.”

“ Bored ?” He said the syllables of the word low and intently, as though he were interrogating
them.

Gwyn tried to keep the grin from her face as she said, “Shadowsinger, I was under the impression
we were going to have sex, not-”

Her words were choked by a sudden gasp of air as his avenging mouth found her slit. The hot point
of his tongue made a sport of dipping in and out of her entrance, tasting the lie for what it was. The
victory fell from her face as her features contorted into a mix of shock and euphoria. Azriel was
relentless in proving his point, a moment later, his tongue was flat on her pulsing clit. Slowly, he
pressed down on the aching bundle of nerves, coaxing pleasure and fire to rake up her spine and
her depths to flip and squirm.

Mother above.

“You don’t taste very bored, Berdara.” The tenor of his baritone reverberated on the tender flesh
and forced her hips to buck forward. Her body was moving of its own accord. No reason or sense
to it.

“Well…” She breathed, trying desperately to maintain her nonchalance, “call me unenthused then.”

“Mmm… Funny…” There was a delighted mockery in his tone as his teeth grazed her clit and she
sucked in a hiss of air, “You don’t sound very unenthused.”

Her eyes clenched shut as her chin tipped upwards, her head finding the back of the wall. It took an
embarrassingly long moment to respond between her panting breaths. “It’s all…” Gwyn tried not to
whimper as a thick finger slipped too easily into her and her treacherous walls clenched around it,
“r… rather tedious, actually.”

Without removing his mouth from teasing her clit, Azriel chuckled, something dark and wicked
that promised retribution brewing in the sound. “You can lie to me in as many smartass synonyms
as you like…” His finger curled into her, stroking a sensitive wall that had her biting down on her
bottom lip to silence a moan. “But I bet you by the time you’re coming on my tongue, you’ll be
screaming all the words for an apology.”

Azriel was, unfortunately, agitatingly, wonderfully right.

In no less than two minutes the knot in her depths was exponentially tightening, her toes were
curling and a string of yes! , oh, Mother, yes 's were being screamed as she rolled her hips into his
merciless mouth and tormentingly dexterous fingers.

And then… he pulled away.

Gwyn was a panting, sweaty mess. Halfway gone already. It took a moment to realise in the abrupt
cessation of reaching that peak of pleasure, what had actually happened. The torturing game he had
begun. She glanced down with a desperate sort of whimper falling from her lips.

He was grinning.

Grinning like he had won a game of Chess and had taken home a small fortune in winnings.

“Wha… what are you doing?” She knew exactly what he was doing, but she asked anyway, as,
through her mounting orgasm, her brain and mouth were somehow not relaying at the usual speed.

“Oh, I’m waiting.” He made a show of glancing innocently up at her through his lashes while
licking the edges of his lips and swallowing down whatever taste remained of her on them.

Her mouth fell open in aghast. Azriel’s grin widened.

The frustration of being brought to the edge and then being left there was gnawing at her patience,
her sanity.

“I’m…” She let out a huff of disbelief, “...I’m sorry.”

Azriel rewarded her with a shallow lap of his tongue. “For what?”

“Az..” She whined, arching into him.

“For what are you apologising for, Berdara?” He bit down gently on her clit. She let out a sob.

“For, oh …” Her dignity had been left somewhere between the sand and the sea beyond the palace
walls, so she found herself saying, “For lying.”

“And…”

“And being a brat.”

The answering digit that pressed into her had her clenching down on her teeth and knotting her
hands in his hair.

“Say it.”

A frown etched into her features as she contemplated his words. What was he… Oh. He wanted
her to say that .

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

Azriel’s grip on her thigh tightened and then, he was devouring her again.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Tears streamed down her face as she cried, “I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Two fingers were mercilessly pumping in and out of her slick center, hooking and then
stroking her sensitively spasming walls. His lips were sucking on her pounding clit and then
latching down with his teeth in a wicked rhythm that would put a Prince of Hel to shame.

She came with those three words on her lips and nothing else in her head but stars and shadows,
dragging her over that peak and into euphoria. And maybe Azriel had been right about the
foreplay, her limbs were loosened and her desire had been set aflame.

Azriel languishingly lapped at the remaining evidence of her pleasure, the creamy saltiness
swallowed down with a content groan of approval. The shaking that had taken over her legs
subsided and with a satiated grin, he rose.

Her palms found his chest and nudged him backward. Azriel’s feet followed his legs finding the
plush edge of the bed.

Slowly and without removing his gaze from hers, he sank to sit on the edge of the bed. Gwyn came
down with him a moment later, her knees finding the sides of his thighs, his hands at her waist and
cupping her ass.

She blinked and then grinned at him. Grinned so wide that it threatened to twitch the edges of his
own mouth upwards. Her lips found his a moment later. There was nothing innocent about the kiss,
it was obsessive and feverish, as though they were trying to memorise the taste and texture of each
other, steal a bit of each other to keep forever.
And then, her hand fell to grasp the evidence of his arousal. Azriel growled into her mouth as she
fisted his thick length, and began slowly pumping it. Her pace was unhurried, something that
seemed to push him over the edge even more. He hardened into solid granite under her touch, his
heartbeat pounding faster as she found a natural rhythm.

“Fuck…” A devilish symphony of curses began pouring from his mouth as Gwyn’s hand
quickened in pace and her thumb raised to stroke the textured underside of his head.

“Like this?” She squeezed a little, earning a groan of pure masculine desire that had her wanting to
clench her own thighs.

“Y… Yes…”

Her hungry mouth swallowed his rare moment of discomposure, it tasted saccharine and divine on
her tongue.

A drop of creamed wetness pooled at his tip as Azriel began to jerk his hips into her grip and she
took the opportunity to grind down onto his thigh.

He was already close and Gwyn’s core was dripping and aching for him.

In one fluid movement, Azriel had flipped her back onto the mattress and came down to reunite
with her mouth.

And then it happened. As all of her naked body met flush with his, she froze. Her spine went rigid,
her blood turning cold. A creeping nostalgia, tendrils of the past feeling like unforgiving hands.
Gripping. Taking.

No.

No.

This couldn’t happen. This shouldn’t be happening.

Gwyn was ready for this. She had attended the countless hours of therapy and read every book on
trauma, she had cried the tears and trained her body not to flinch at the feeling of touch. And yet…

The beating of her heart accelerated as the tolling of temple bells rang somewhere in a buried
fissure of her mind. And then she was falling.

There was the smashing of plates, the sound of burly, unkind laughter and the feel of a roughened,
wooden table. Her fingernails even seemed to recall the way they desperately clawed into the
timbered ridges, her hips remembered the feeling of bone meeting the ledge, over and over.

Hands. Unfamiliar, large and smooth held her waist in a serpentine vice.

“You okay?” Someone called from a distance. A voice, low and soft like midnight velvet, familiar
and soothing. The sound reached for her, reached all the way down into the vicious memory that
had swallowed her whole.

“Gwyn…” Something on top of her shifted away, a warm touch to her face following the
answering silence.

The table, the kitchen, the temple bells, grew blurred and faded. Smoked cedar, rich spice and the
enrapturing scent of wintered wind found her lungs and suddenly she could breathe again, but only
just. How long had she been holding her breath?

“Gwyneth, baby, you’re scaring me.”

It was only then that she realised her eyes were clenched shut, her arms wrapped protectively
around her trembling form.

Cold, she was so cold. And it had nothing to do with the wisps of cool shadow wrapping around
her feet and caressing her arms.

Her eyes opened slowly to find him staring back.

Him.

Azriel.

Hers.

Gwyn searched the hazel eyes she had come to revere as though they were some kind of flame of a
lighthouse. No matter the storm. No matter the current. She was the rock in which the surf crashes
and he was the beacon she found in the darkest of nights.

The concern scorched in his worried gaze and it took her a long moment to realise she was the
source of it.

“I uh…” Gwyn swallowed, her heart hadn’t gained any reprieve from its galloping pace. Glancing
down to where her flesh had met his, she found the sight that finally set her chest to slow. Her arms
unravelled from clutching her body and took hold of one of his hands.

“Sorry I… I just need a moment.”

Gwyn’s fingers traced the scars on his knuckles as though she were committing them to memory
for the thousandth time. Her thumb brushed the perfectly uneven texture of his palms and the relief
she felt when they scooped her up for the first time flooded through her veins. These were not the
hands that hurt her. Because salvation was etched into every rivulet, every coarse and irregular
ridge.

Safe.

She was safe.

Azriel’s voice was so soft as he asked, “What happened, what did I do?”

“I…” She inhaled deeply, shaking her head, “You did nothing. I think I need to see your hands…”

A crease found the centre of his brow, “Gwyn, I don’t-”

“Please…” The word was half a whimper as she brought their clasped hands between them. There
was a satisfying, calming way the tanned scar tissue met her freckled, pale skin. “I want to do this.
But I… In Sangravah, your hands made me safe. They feel safe.”

His gaze softened, “Baby, you owe me nothing tonight and you have nothing to prove.” His hand
rose to delicately touch her bottom lip as one would feel the petal of a fine rose. “So much has
happened today and it’s almost one in the morning, let’s-”

“No.” She shook her head, determination storming in her gaze. “I don’t want to sleep and I know I
have nothing to prove… But trust me when I say I want you Azriel. I want everything. And even
though I may be a little broken still-”

“No…”

“I need you, Az. I need this .” Gwyn’s eyes, like pools of sunlit ocean, were flooded with
earnestness as she said, “Give me a memory to replace it with.”

Azriel took an agonising while to debate his response. She could practically hear the well-rounded
argument he was making for them to stop.

But she didn’t want to dance around the yearning and longing for him anymore and from the
conflicted look in his eyes, Gwyn knew he didn’t either.

“Please.”

That word seemed to break apart every responsible refusal he had carefully been constructing in his
mind. Azriel released a long sigh, the heavy weight of concern still flickering in the gilded embers
of his eyes. “Whatever you need just tell me, we can do this however you like. But I need you to
speak to me.”

Gwyn nodded, relief flooding her as she gave him a small peck on the lips. “I need you to have
your hands on me, somewhere I can feel them, so I always know it's you.”

Azriel glanced to where she held his hand as though it was a lifeline, a buoy in the vast ocean. His
eyes lingered there for a heartbeat or few too long and she wondered if Azriel finally understood
what those hands meant to her. What unrivalled kind of peace his scars bore.

He glanced back to her, eyes slightly welled, and nodded.

Gwyn watched as he sat up and moved himself to sit against the large headboard carved of the
most iridescent mother of pearl. Extending a patient hand out to her, he said, “Come here.”

There was a momentary skip in the beat of her heart as she went on her hands and knees up the
giant bed to meet him. With surprisingly steady hands, she took his and crawled astride him.

“If we start like this…” Azriel’s voice was thick and gravelled, “You can control how much of me
to take.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll put my hands where you can see them, or you can even touch them if you need to. And if at
any point you need to stop, if it gets too painful, just say.”

Gwyn glanced down at the position, his hands, and then looked back to him, and every ounce of
that gut-wrenching fear that had been dredged from her memories just melted away. Her limbs felt
lighter than they had in years, her mind clear, as though nothing but this moment existed.

Her mate.

“I love you.” It was a vow stronger than any other she had ever made. Every inch of her body
seemed to echo those three words. Her depths had begun to ache and a white-hot heat burned to life
where she needed him most.

“I love you too.”

Then, they were kissing, his heady scent flooding every crevice of her lungs. She lifted her hips up,
her core grazing the rock-hard tip of his length. It was a feat of magnetism, the way his head had
found her dripping entrance.

Hovering there, she deepened the kiss, and swallowed the arousal and anticipation that seemed to
coat their tongues. Very gently, Gwyn lowered herself onto him. She took a moment to lather him
in her slick arousal, before taking in the first inch and shifting to adjust to his sheer size.

Azriel’s grip tightened slightly on her as she sucked in a shaky breath and she swore he wasn’t even
breathing for how quiet he had become.

Control. His features were schooled into a painting of a male warring with every nerve in his
body.

“Am I hurting you?”

“You could never hurt me, Az.”

Truthfully, it stung a little. Or perhaps more than a little, as his girth continued to stretch her
tightness. But all manner of pains were not the same and the sheer thrill of it, having a male that
she loved and trusted inside her, had Gwyn squeezing his broad shoulders and moving her hips
forward to accommodate more.

“Fuck, Gwyn…” Eyes clenched shut in concentration, she watched as Azriel exercised his
penchant for restraint. She knew just by the strained tone of his gravelled voice that his every
instinct was begging to thrust up into her, to flip her over and seat himself so far inside her that they
were one. But he didn’t. He only clenched his jaw and waited patiently. Waited for her to move.

It almost brought tears to her eyes. The love and devotion that shone through his gaze had the
heated knot in her stomach pulling tighter, distracting her from the hurt.

“That’s it, baby,” Azriel cooed with a rasp grating his gentle voice, “take your time.”

The heat that twisted and pooled in her depths simmered at his words, at the feel of his scars on her
waist and hips.

Gwyn let out a ragged breath as she sunk down further onto him. An uncomfortable pain
ricocheted through her as her tender walls stretched to adjust more of his impossibly large length.

“If you roll your hips,” Azriel’s hand lightly squeezed the tender flesh above her hip bone, “it will
feel better for you.”

Biting down on her lip, she followed his direction and arched her back, the motion rolling her hips
forward into him. And through that initial sting of pain, flared something else. A wave of pleasure,
so much more deep and consuming, chased the movement.

The knot within her tightened and she gasped at that small hit of pure ecstasy.

“L… Like this?”

“Yes.” Gone was the Shadowsinger who masked his emotions. Now, in this moment, with only
skin between skin and their heartbeats thrumming as one, Gwyn saw every bit of pleasure and need
etched into his beautiful face. “Exactly like that, Berdara.”

A moan fell from her lips as she rolled her hips again and took more of him. The surge of rhapsody
had her moaning something between a prayer and a curse. Azriel’s answering growl, such a primal,
guttural sound from deep within, told her that he felt it too.

His lips found the tender spot just above her jugular, leaving a kiss that had Gwyn gripping harder
at the muscles of his broad shoulders. That innocent sensation was replaced by his teeth grazing
her pounding pulse, biting down lightly and then lapping at the sting.

Her vision blurred as the insatiable desire shot down her spine and forced her hips forward again.
With that, their hips met and she was entirely seated on him.

Gwyn stilled, glancing down at where they were joined entirely. Perhaps, if she wasn’t so flooded
with arousal she would be thanking the Mother for the miracle that his cock actually fit. But she
was far too preoccupied with the mounting frustration that compounded with every moment her
body didn’t move on his.

Her eyes travelled upwards to meet Azriel’s gaze, it burned as if his iris’ were forging a new metal.
“You feel so fucking divine… So tight and wet.”

His words were like a drug that had her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She rolled
onto him again.

Oh.

Oh fuck .

The movement had her pulsing clit hitting just the right angle and it caused her to gasp suddenly
for robbed air.

Mother above.

“Is this what you imagined?” He asked, “When you had your pretty hands between your thighs at
night?”

“Yes.” Better even. How could she have comprehended this kind of touch? Every inch of him met
her skin like a branding iron and Gwyn hoped he would thoroughly leave his mark.

Azriel had one hand anchored to her hip, the other, now dedicated to kneading her perked breast.
His fingers pinched her sensitive nipple and the rapid-fire stimulation shooting through her had
Gwyn biting a pleading moan from escaping her lips.

A breathless pant left Azriel’s swollen lips as he experimentally thrust up into her while she moved
again. The feeling of him driving up into her, the way his cock hit a wall never touched before, had
Gwyn scratching at the bony ridge where his shoulder blades met his wings, something which
tested the strength of Azriel’s already precariously hanging self-control.

“Do that again…” He warned, “...and this will be over in a minute.”

She gave a symphonic laugh, the motion easing her hips forward and back in longer, more
rhythmic strokes. “Are you saying you can’t handle it, Shadowsinger?”

“I’m saying…” His hips drove up into her earning a whimpered cry in return, “I didn’t wait five
hundred and forty-one years for this moment…” Azriel thrust upwards again, knowing the power
behind the movement would rub that bundle of nerves just the right way, “...to be ruined by an
impatient brat.”
Defiance flickered through Gwyn’s azure eyes as her palms fell to his chest. “What happened to all
that famed Illyrian endurance?”

"My self-restraint ends where you begin, Berdara. I thought you would've realised that by now."

Using his thundering heartbeat as a guiding rhythm, she moved deeper, faster. Nothing but
rapacious hunger reverberated between them as she chased the mounting pleasure scorching and
building within.

The column of Azriel's neck was revealed as his head tipped back in euphoria, muttering something
about how he ‘should have known better than to make this a competition .’

A whimper fell from her lips as she tipped her head forward from the sensation of her clit
massaging his pelvic bone. Her reverent lips found his neck. She tasted the harsh swirls of ink that
were painted above the strong tendons and devoured the spot that had him thrusting harshly
upwards again. There was nothing but her and him and the ravenous need to chase that electrifying
pleasure again and again.

“Az..” His name was half a whine as it filled the hot air. He was still leashed underneath her, his
hips moving too slowly, as though he were scared to do anything else. “Az, please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was low and strained, like he too was fighting the urge to just
let go.

As if to torture him a little more, she ground down into him, feeling her walls clench around his
cock like a vice. Azriel’s jaw locked, his eyes blazing with animalistic hunger. A need to devour.

“You won’t…” A kiss, so wicked and teasing found his lips, “I want it all… please .”

There was that word again. The one, somehow voiced with the innocence of a Priestess and the
dark desires of a devil. It struck him like a perfectly shot arrow, right to the left-hand cavity of his
chest.

Gwyn watched with no shortage of victorious pride as the remaining threads of his damned self-
control went taut and snapped as she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down lightly.

All of it.

She wanted all of it, with him. The pain of firsts and the promises of forever.

His hips snapped up violently into her, the abrupt movement causing her sweat-glazed form to fall
forward onto his hard chest.

She couldn’t help but moan his name as that singular powerful movement had his cock twitching
against her sensitive walls.

Another growl slipped from his lips, feral and untamed. Beads of sweat coated Azriel’s brow,
strands of ebony hair drifting to his eyes as he drove in and out at a pace Gwyn no longer had the
stamina for.

“You...”

Every thrust of his had her rising to that peak of toe-clenching euphoria.

“...feel so…”
Her walls spasmed and clenched around his hard, pulsing cock and Azriel bit down on his molars
to savour the feeling of that heaven.

“... fucking good," He declared roughly.

Their hot breath danced in the air between them as Azriel flipped her onto her back. Gwyn almost
sobbed at the abrupt absence of him before he mercifully slid back into her slick folds again. This
time, there was no pain, only the incessant need to have him moving in her again. The new position
hit at a different angle, one that had her reaching to feel the scar tissue of his hand.

The knot within her depths was so tautly pulled, every nerve stroked from his body's worship. As
burning hazel eyes met with her own, she found herself wanting to drown in the flames. The only
word that seemed to break through the fire and flood of ecstasy was yes .

Oh, yes.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Every movement he made in her, seemed to fill her, seal her to completion. There was a song laced
through the rhythm of their devoted bodies, one that she had known the tune to for a very long
time. A hymn that seemed to be coaxed from the marrow of her bones, echoed by the shadows
entwining them. Every stroke, every kiss, said;

Don’t worry.

I love you.

You’re safe now.

I love you.

You’re safe with me.

I love you.

Gwyn wondered if he heard that symphony too. The one that could have rattled the stars and
shaken the planets anew. And when she looked at him, brow littered with droplets of sweat, hazel
eyes aflame and features contorted into some kind of divine pleasure, she knew he had.

“Az… I’m gonna…” Her back arched, the movement deepening the force of his hips as they met
her own. Azriel’s movements were becoming more erratic, the power of his war-honed body
working every inch of him into her.

“Wait.”

Gwyn whimpered, her vision threatening to blur as she clenched her eyes shut, her nails clawing
viciously at the muscular flesh beneath his wings.

“Look at me…” Azriel ground out, “I want to watch you come.”

The sheer hunger in his eyes, the burning reverence, had her struck with unparalleled rapture.

“Az, please.”
“Come for me, Berdara.”

She hit her orgasm with tears streaming down her face, and those three holy words on her lips. It
felt as if stars were dancing on her skin and shadows were swimming in her veins.

Saying that vow in return, Azriel followed and tumbled into bliss a moment later, her undoing
triggering his own. He came with a roar, his wings contracting tightly in a shiver before spreading
out around them.

Gwyn felt the heat of his seed spill inside her as his strokes turned languid and slowed. The softly
hued glow of her skin lit where they lay and illuminated their mouths as they met in a gentle kiss.
Their ragged breathing and the distant crash of waves against the rocky cliff were the only sounds
to be heard.

She wanted this moment to last forever. Her mind took to savouring the feel of him filling her.
Knowing, that whatever ever happened, whatever tomorrow brought, she was once whole, with
him. It was only then that she realised her lips were parted in a wide smile, tears still pooling in her
eyes and staining her cheeks.

Azriel fell to the sheets next to her, his chest panting wildly. When Gwyn turned to her side to face
him, features still contorted in that glorious smile, she noted the mixture of bewilderment and quiet
joy on his face.

“Did you…” She searched for the words, “Was that okay… for you?”

Without a word, he reached over and pulled her still shaking body into his. Placing a kiss into her
hair, Azriel admitted hoarsely, “It was the best sex I’ve ever had, actually.”

Her lips twitched, “Me too.”

“Smartass.” Azriel’s answering chuckle reverberated through his chest. Gwyn’s answering
laughter met his, turning the sound into a joyful melody of dark and light.

The room turned quiet as Gwyn cuddled into him. He smelled of rich spice, smoked cedar and
sweat, it was wholly delicious and entirely addictive.

“Thank you,” he whispered sometime later, his hands taking pause from rubbing indulgent circles
across her back.

Gwyn crooked her head up to him as she placed a string of kisses on the collected scars that carved
his chest, “For what?”

"For trusting me... " his voice became clouded with emotion, "For loving me."

The vital thing in her chest squeezed tight, planting a dull ache there. Her throat struggled with the
words as she placed a soft kiss on his heart, the fast rhythm beating beneath her lips. "Loving you
is not a burden Azriel. It's the easiest thing I've ever done."

He nodded, eyes welled and then a moment later, pulled her tighter in his embrace, as though he
were scared to let go.

Even as they lay tangled in each other, Gwyn’s glow quietly burning and Azriel’s shadows dancing
in its light, they both heard the song that laced their souls together. Five words woven through the
rhythm of their thunderous heartbeats and the chant of their melodic breathing and the distantly
symphonic hum of their bond.
 I love you. You’re safe

He may have even said them out loud. She may have even said them back. It was hard to discern
what was being voiced and what was echoing in the ether between them. Because in those
midnight hours, between the shadows and the light, they had found refuge in each other.

He was her safe house and she was his.

See the amazing art 'Safe House' by artist Ene commissioned for this chapter of ACOSAS
here

Chapter End Notes

Sorry about the delay on getting this one out, I wanted to get it right. This one was a
real labour of love and I hope you love it as much as I do.

I knew at the beginning of writing this story that I wanted to create the slowest of slow
burns, because I think it lends to the depth and complexity of Gwyn and Az's
relationship.
There are a lot of key themes I tried to address in this chapter because to me it feels
like a landmark chapter of the fic. The main ones were safety, growth and intimacy.

This chapter is titled The Art of Giving which is in part a reference to Chapter 11 titled
The Art of Taking - where we see Gwyn and Az really first begin to trust each other on
an emotional level. In this chapter, Azriel says, “I’m not…” He began, swallowing
down whatever discomfort was holding him back, “I don’t know how to take...And…”
A deep exhale, “And there are certain things about me that I don’t think anyone would
necessarily want to take.” There was a flicker of painful acceptance in his eyes as he
made the confession like he expected her to get up and leave if she truly knew him.
To which Gwyn replies, “Have you ever given someone the opportunity to decide that
for themselves?” This Chapter is a mirror to that earlier chapter, hence the paired
names, because we see the net product of Az and Gwyn's growth and the trust that
forms there.

They were always going to have to become friends and begin to work through their
trauma first before any physical intimacy occurred between them.
Something captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship and I spoke about a lot is that even though it
is Gwyn's first time having consensual sex, it's also Az's first time having sex with
someone he loves. And so, even though he has a lot of experience with physical sex, he
has never had sex with that emotional connection - which he shares so brilliantly with
Gwyn. I really tried to capture the intimacy of that distinction between fucking and
making love and I hope it reads true for you. It was difficult to find the balance
between their personalities being competitive and witty while still adding gravitas to
the moment they share finally sleeping together.

I attempted to tie in some of the key moments they shared early to demonstrate just
how far they had come together. Azriel's Taigh Sàbhailte being similar or 'matched' to
Gwyn's was something I knew when I wrote Chapter 9. It's one of those little
metaphorical secrets I love planting as I learn to become a more intentional writer with
my characters and I hope you enjoyed it.
I think my favourite line from this chapter is “It was worth it…All of it was worth it,
every ounce of pain and loneliness was worth it to be here with you.” Because I really
wanted Azriel to get to a point where his self worth finally was mended enough to be
honest and to give into voicing his feelings for Gwyn.
Also! 'Don't worry, you're safe now. You're safe with me' were the first words he said
to her in Sangravah and I thought it would be a nice full circle to integrate them into
this chapter.

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter, I'm anxious to hear them. I know a lot of
people prefer to just read and not comment but I do love hearing all the aspects readers
like/pick up, it makes my heart burst.
 Secrets and Masks
Chapter Notes

As always thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for beta reading, editing and

contributing to this chapter.

And thank you to everyone who left lovely comments on the previous chapter, I was
so nervous to post it and you were all so kind.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It was difficult to wake on the morning of war when nothing but peace seemed to flow in their
veins.

Gwyn felt the warmth of buttery sunlight stroke her bare flesh as she roused from sleep. There was
a dull ache between her thighs that had flared as she stretched, and her limbs were heavy as though
she had gone to training the evening before. But she didn’t mind that one bit. In fact, Gwyn was
happy to have a reminder of last night's event; a reminder that she had come so far from the girl she
was just months ago.

Her eyes fluttered open to welcome the gilded hue of dawn's light, and they landed on Azriel who
was still sound asleep beside her. She couldn’t help but stare at him as he dozed. The features she
had come to adore, his sharp jawline, the cut of his cheekbones and his full, pink lips were
different as he slept, softer and almost angelic. Resisting the urge to run her fingertip over the lines
of his face she had memorised like those on a well-worn map, Gwyn smiled.

After dozing off for an hour last night in exhaustion, they bathed together. She washed the sweat
and salt from him and he returned the favour, slowly and gently with care.

Azriel brushed and plaited her messed hair, claiming he had learnt to do so from growing up in
Windhaven with Rhys’ sister. Surprisingly, he had a great talent for braids, something Gwyn
would not forget the next time she was making friendship bracelets.

And then after falling into bed again, they ate a feast of honey cake and dark chocolate before
falling asleep in each other's arms, wrapped in the cocoon of his wings.

The shadows slithered up the covers in greeting and she quietly laughed as they lapped wispy
kisses at her cheeks and snuggled into the crook of her neck. Leaning forward, Gwyn placed gentle
kisses on her mate’s chest, making sure to pay extra attention to the scars that peppered his skin.

In that small moment of perfect time, she silently prayed to the Mother for more mornings just like
this one. Where Azriel slept soundly, the sweep of peace found his handsome features and she
couldn’t help the content thrumming of her heart.

That invisible force of gilded fate that laced them together seemed stronger now. Deeper and
heavier. It thrummed and sang, echoing in her rib cage and embedding into the fissures of her
mind. The bond felt like it was climbing, reaching for something.

Gwyn couldn’t help but liken it a hymn that she sung at the temple services, the strength of it
gathering momentum, pitch and depth - as it neared the end, to a divine crescendo.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it was rude to stare?” His voice was rasped and gravelled from a
night of deep sleep. She savoured that wonderful sound as one would the tune of a hymn. Azriel
hadn’t opened his eyes yet as he said the words, so he missed seeing the blush that rose to her
cheeks.

“I’m a spy, aren’t I?” She paused to kiss an old scar along his ribs, “… Staring is part of the job.”

Gwyn looked up to him as his eyes cracked open, freshly lit flames of hazel greeting her azure
ones. The dimples she loved so much were carved into his cheeks as he smiled at her. “Are you
telling me I’m a subject of interest?”

Gwyn dipped her head low again to place a heated kiss on his muscle-sculpted torso, “Yes, I’m
very suspicious of you actually.”

“Mmm…” Azriel’s smile widened as he reached down to stroke her hair. “And what have I done to
garner such suspicion?”

Another sinful kiss, lower this time. “It’ll all be in my report.”

He chuckled, the sound low and deeply rich. “If this has all been a honey-trapping ruse and you’re
working for Pontus, I’ll be very angry.”

“Oh no, you’ve found me out…” Gwyn trailed her mouth down to the ‘V’ of his stomach, nipping
slightly at the flesh there and then lapping her tongue over the bite. “...Guess it's the wrong time to
tell you those shadows of yours have switched allegiance too.”

As if going along with her teasing, they all abandoned their long-held posts and united on Gwyn’s
bare back. The feeling was enrapturing, the licks of cool air giving a reprieve to her flushed skin.
The way they gathered and peeked from her shoulders in menacing, smoke-like shards, felt as
though she had her own wings.

“Is that so?” His eyes became molten flame as he watched, the black specks in them becoming
darker. His heavy scent, thick with rich spice and smoked cedar flooded the air around them.
Perhaps in that moment he saw her as she had always seen him, a dark angel. One impossible not to
revere.

Azriel sat up, interrupting her menacing efforts by disconnecting her lips from the tender flesh just
above his already-hardened cock. His hand came to her chin, fingers brushing her jaw as he leaned
forward. “Leave the betrayal for later…” He said as he kissed her deeply, in a way that seemed too
indecent for daylight. “...I’m not done with you yet.”

She smirked, their shared arousal brewing and thundering like a wild storm in the air between
them. Then, she was underneath him and he was devouring her like a male starved. Gwyn made
sure to sate his hunger thoroughly.

It might have been avoidant of them to haul up in their chambers until the midday hour, but it was
so easy to get lost in desire. Eventually, their grumbling bellies pulled them from the sheets after a
morning spent thoroughly indulging in each other.

Gwyn watched languidly from where she sipped her tea on the armchair as Azriel dressed in his
black court garb. His fine suit was tailored to perfection and completely unlike his Illyrian lighting
leathers, making him look like some dark Prince of Hel. Although admittedly, she liked him best in
the casual clothes he wore around the house back home.

As she stared down at her tea, a thought, pressing and urgent, surfaced into her unusually subdued
mind.

“Are you taking contraception?”

His gaze widened in shock, as though remembering the important detail at the same time she had.
“I take the monthly tonic… But, you should know, it’s not one hundred percent effective.”

A sour tang rose on her tongue as her gaze fell back to her cup, “I’ve only ever taken the
contraceptive tea once…” The taste of it was bitter, like sprigs of mugwort and strong to swallow
like the sap of fresh valerian. Just thinking about it, about how she couldn’t keep it down the
morning she woke in the infirmary after the attack on Sangravah… About how many times the
healers made her drink the foul liquid, only for her to throw it up…It churned her stomach into
something vile.

“It's your decision.” His gaze roamed over her features which had turned fraught with displeasure.
“But…” he paused, swallowing deeply, “...after seeing Feyre… watching her go through that …”
The High Lady had a gruesome delivery. Nesta had told her what had happened in those moments
when she thought her sister was going to die, and along with her the newly born babe and the High
Lord. Azriel looked pale, as if he too, were remembering that day, like he remembered the exact
shade of crimson that stained the sheets. Voice hollowed and warning, he finally said, “Gwyn, I
would never forgive myself if-”

“I’m part Nymph, Az…” Her hands found the tips of her hips in a sweeping gesture she hoped
would reassure the worry that had bloomed on his face. “These bones will stretch.” Gaze softening,
she put down her coffee cup and made her way over to where he stood rigidly. Taking his hand,
she said, “But we can talk about all that later. I’ll try the tea with breakfast, maybe it will go down
better with a croissant… Especially since I might need to familiarise myself with taking it now.”

He hesitated and then nodded, offering her a squeeze of his hand and then making his way to the
door - probably in pursuit of the palace apothecary.

“You would be a wonderful father Azriel…” She added quietly, so much so it was almost a
whisper. “If it ever came to it.”

Azriel stilled, turning halfway to face her. Voice thick he asked, “You think so?”

“I know it.”

He only gave a nod and disappeared in a cloud of shadow and smoke. That image she had a few
days ago resurfaced in her mind and a warm sensation spread in her chest.

Two twin babies, cradled by their loving father. Whether it was a premonition or a momentary
delve into mindless fantasy, it still brought a tear to her eye all the same. A shadow crept up her
skirts and curled at her palm, as though comforting her. She gave it a loving stroke in return.

The downward direction of her glance had her eying Azriel’s discarded leathers, a few shells she
insisted on collecting the night before still sprawled out on the floor.

Something shiny and silvered glinted in the morning light and she squinted to get a better look at it.
Kneeling, her fingers found the shell that shimmered differently to the rest. Not a shell… but a key .

It was peculiarly shaped, as though it were an ancient relic lost in time - so easy to mistake for a
broken shell in the moonlight. There was a reverberation that emulated from it, like a sentient
heartbeat. And in the breeze, the key seemed to carry a frequency of sound so quiet to the ear, but
not silent enough to miss. An ethereal song, not meant for the tuning of fae ears. Such a sound and
sensation only meant one thing.

Magic, the powerful sort.

The dangerous and beautiful kind that inspired books about quests and mysteries.

Gwyn’s eyes widened as the key began to glow at her touch. The tendril of shadow wrapped
around her wrist, peered down at it curiously, before scattering up to her neck and hiding in the
curtain of her copper hair.

An important detail uprooted from a deep fissure in her mind, a memory.

Prometheus,

The key is where all things are lost and found.

The lock is where all things are born and die.

The search in Summer has begun, the spring tide will bring salted fire to the shore.

-Pontus

The sea - where all things are lost and found. If the Autumn Court was looking for an amulet,
which Pontus referred to as a lock and the Summer Court was looking for a key… Gwyn gasped,
almost dropping the missing item of the dread trove.

Azriel stared hard at the key, the cogs in his mind working at a pace that not even Gwyn could
comprehend. She gnawed at the inside of her cheek, desperately flipping through the theories that
she was quickly forming in her mind.

“Perhaps we were wrong in assuming that the amulet and the key are separate entities…” He
began, voice deep in thought. “Maybe they are two parts to one piece of the trove…”

Gwyn gave a distant nod, “A failsafe… Something to ensure the immense power is difficult to
obtain.” A frown drew a crease between her brows as she wondered out loud, “But why did I find it
in such an inconspicuous place?” She recalled the way the silver glinted in the calm wave crashing
to the shore. The way it drifted and tumbled with the water, only to be left as the wave receded.

A shadow curled at Azriel's ear and his eyes immediately landed upon her in a way that made it
obvious their silent conversation was about Gwyn. But he didn’t share the content of the shadows
words, only swallowed deeply, before saying somewhat cryptically, “Like calls to like.”

A scoffed, “Because I’m a Lightsinger I’m apparently powerful enough to summon the trove?”

He shrugged casually. Too casually. “Perhaps.”

Gwyn knew the male in front of her enough to know that he was omitting something, but whatever
it was, she didn’t quite know if she wanted to find out. Instead, she turned her focus to the letter
from Pontus they had found in Autumn. “If the sea is where all things are lost and found… Where
do all things go to be born and die?”
Eris had claimed the Autumn Court was looking for the amulet in the Noctus, a vast river that ran
through the Night Court territory. Her mind scanned through all that she knew about the region,
the mythology and stories she had read about it. And then… after a few minutes of deafening
silence, she stilled.

“The amulet… I know where it is.” Azriel’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. Gwyn rushed towards
him, heart thundering as her mind raced. “When we first met with Eris, he said that there was a
rumour of a magic pendant tossed into the Noctus after a lover’s squabble… The lover was Aila,
the first Nymph that Rhysand spoke of.”

His eyes widened as he waited patiently for her to continue with her theory.

“I researched Aila after Rhysand and Amren told me about her at the River House that day. After
she gave birth to the Lightsinger babe, she and her lover had a lethal row at Lake Elmer…”

“Lake Elmer…” Azriel breathed, the mystery suddenly subsiding in his mind.

Gwyn nodded, “In the altercation, she accidentally killed him and then brought him back to life.
There is a myth that all the creatures in that lake die and are reborn again over and over because of
that magic… That’s why Lake Elmer is also called-”

“ The Lake of Rebirth … Where things are born and die.”

A large exhale fell from her lips as she felt the sudden gravity of their discovery weigh upon her
shoulders.

Suddenly, Azriel was in front of Gwyn, hands clasped around her face and lips crashing into hers.
The kiss was fast, passionate, and needy. She gave a laugh, despite it all, and he pulled away their
noses grazing. “You are the most incredible, intelligent, and perceptive person I’ve ever met, did
you know that?”

Her heart fluttered and she kissed him again before he sent word to Rhysand to travel to Lake
Elmer, where all things are born and die.

“Mother save me…” Gwyn murmured from the bathing chamber. It was the afternoon and no
inquiry had been made on the murder of the Summer male they had taken to the Hewn City. But
the day was too lovely, too peaceful, and too eerily quiet to not be concerning.

Finding the key by chance surely had awoken some tension in the air, an object of the trove with
such power can be sensed easily. For now, it was guarded by a dutiful shadow and hidden in the
depths of her travelling case. Gwyn wondered if perhaps they were in the eye of the storm, if the
blue sky and gentle waves were only a masked reprieve from the chaos and destruction about to
befall.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel called from the room, “Are you hurt?”

She rolled her eyes, gaze going back to the mirror she stood in front of. “No, but Nesta will be
when we get back to Velaris. This dress is…. scandalous .”

As per High Fae tradition, Gwyn had worn white for the three days following her ‘wedding’, and
had spent the rest of her time in Summer in varying shades of a deep sunset as per the Summer
fashion. But now, no such feminine hues met her vision as she eyed the obsidian masterpiece that
wrapped her body like an enticing confection.
Every dip and curve of her body was expertly hugged by richly woven black silk, the kind of
expensive fabric that Gwyn’s purse could never afford. It was a garment that could have only been
given by the General her best friend was born to be, the cut and shape drawing a strategically thin
line between elegant and wholly seductive.

“If you’re worried about propriety, you should know the Summer Litha is known for its
hedonism…” Azriel called out, voice closer to the door, “There may be fae there that are
completely naked… well, except for the mask that is.”

Gwyn scoffed, shaking her head. Her eyes drifted over to the vanity, where a mask sat upon the
bed of fine cloth. Apparently, she had Emerie to thank for the refined black and gold creation. It
was masterful in its design, made out of a sultry lace-like material with ornate wings flanking its
sides. To those who did not know the priestess, the wings were just a boisterous decoration aimed
to woo the crowd and delight their hunger for the ostentatious. But, to those in the know, the wings
were a reminder of the pegasi that the valkyries once rode into battle on. Because this night was a
battle in its own regard, the kind where words are weapons and decadent masks are armour. In
gifting her this mask, her found sister would not let her forget the strength that they had forged
together - a reminder of the very threat she had become.

Litha, or what the Night Court would call the Summer Solstice, was an occasion of masked revelry.
The nature of the masquerade was a somewhat apt celebration for a crowd of beautiful liars
disguising ugly secrets. The philosophy of the evening was clear, to commit debauchery under the
glaze of the full moon without the worry of being held accountable for one's lapse in morality.

She slid the mask onto her face and tied the ribbon, the dark colour of it drawing out the bright
azure hue of her eyes.

A mask was many things. Some might say it tells us more than a face ever could, because what
else does it reveal, but one of the deepest secrets: how we like to hide. In that moment as she
peered through the dark fabric, it felt as if she were donning the final piece in her battle armour.

Dressed and ready for war.

Azriel went preternaturally still as Gwyn entered their room, his mouth falling slightly agape. He
hadn’t yet donned his mask, also courtesy of Nesta, a half-faced creation that gleamed like
treasured onyx.

With no hint of decorum or apology in his scorching eyes, they raked over her form, as though
drinking the sight of her in.

“Is this hedonistic enough for you, Shadowsinger?”

He didn’t answer for a few long heartbeats before recovering and promptly taking in a large inhale
of breath like she had stolen the very air from him the moment she walked through the door. His
voice was choked as he asked, “Do you have anything else?”

Gwyn’s face fell, “No… Don’t you like it?”

A frown found his features, something agonised and tortured flickering through them as he rubbed
his mouth and his jaw. “I like it far too much…”

Those words, the way he was looking at her… It had her body instantly reacting, her depths
flipped and warm heat pooled between her thighs. His nostrils flared and she knew he could scent
it, the flood of her arousal mixing with his in the balmy afternoon breeze.
Azriel closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as though reining himself in. “Do you have the dagger
I gave you?”

“Of course, it’s on the-”

Before she could finish the words, he was stalking to the chest of drawers that she had haphazardly
left the shiny weapon on last night. Snatching it, Azriel came to face her and then, knelt at the feet
of her skirts.

“What are you-”

Without warning, he took the blade and cut a deep slit up the thigh of her gown. Gwyn gasped, the
brutality of the action mixed with her heightened need for him activated a primal instinct in Gwyn
that left her heart racing with need.

“Let me make one thing very clear…” Azriel began his voice a velvet-soft warning that pricked
goosebumps onto her flesh. “If anyone except me touches you tonight…” He slid the blade into the
sheath and then tapped her exposed leg expectantly. In instinct, she held it out for him as he slid a
black holster up the creamy pale length of her thigh. His capable hands fastened it easily so it
wouldn't slip. “...No, actually, if anyone even looks at you…” Eyes that carried the warring
darkness of ember and the scorch of flame rose to look up at her, “You kill them.”

Gwyn swallowed. He was so close to her centre, the one that was surely dripping for him and
soaking through her under things.

“And if I don’t?”

He cocked a brow, his grip on her thighs tightening slightly.

“If I let them touch me… look at me? What then?”

Azriel’s features contorted into a wicked grin, “Then I will kill them and make no mistake: mission
or not, I will take great pleasure in doing so.”

The threat, so violent and full of wicked truth, probably should have scared her, but instead, it had
the opposite effect. That familiar pouring of honeyed heat pooled in Gwyn’s belly as she pulled her
bottom lip between her teeth.

He must have seen the feral desire bloom in her gaze, as Azriel rose and placed a chaste kiss on her
lips. His mouth travelled to her ear as he whispered, “When all this is done and we’re home safe,
I’m going to need a month with you, alone .”

“Where will we go?” The question was nothing but a symphony of panting breaths.

“Wherever you like. The mountains, the sea, the fucking continent for all I care….” A kiss to her
jugular, “As long as it’s private enough that I can make you scream my name at the top of your
lungs over and over again.”

Gwyn took in a sharp breath as his hot tongue met the lobe of her ear, followed by his teeth. She
gathered herself enough to reply, “Perhaps when all this is done…” A smirk met her lips, “you will
be screaming my name, Shadowsinger.”

“Well, well…” A far too familiar, aristocratic tone cooed from behind her as she strolled through
the grand corridor. “I must say marriage becomes you, Gwyneth of House Forest.”
Gwyn grit her teeth, the diaphanous skirts of her gown hissing on the floor as she turned to see the
smirking face of none other than Eris Vanserra. He wore a mask forged of bronze flames, the
colour matching his amber eyes perfectly. “What are you doing here?” She couldn’t keep the
agitation from her voice.

The High Lord’s heir merely chuckled as though she had shared a joke and stepped closer. His
amber gaze dragged unencumbered down her form and then rose to meet her narrowed eyes. “I
love a party… Especially ones where people wear masks and pretend to be things they're not.”

“That’s every party.”

Something twinkled in his eye, “ Exactly , Lady Autumn.”

Gwyn made to move past him, shoving her shoulder against his, “You can stop calling me that,
I’m no Lady.”

She didn’t get far, as his hand came down to grip her wrist, stilling her at his side. His flesh was
hot, as though flames ran in the valley of his veins. The distance between them was too close, far
too intimate for her liking. Eris seemed thrilled at their shared breaths.

“Are you sure about that?”

Her eyes became sharp, the roiling seas within them turning to storm, “Believe it or not, the
heritage of my blood is no concern of mine. I judge people on the content of their character, not
which family they hail from.”

“Clearly,” Eris quipped and immediately she stiffened at the obvious dig at Azriel’s lineage. “But I
can I see it in your eyes, the lie you just told.” She frowned, her expression betraying her as he went
on, “Knowledge is currency for people like you and me…” He tucked a strand of copper hair
behind her ear, appreciating the hue of it with an impish glance, “It’s an obsession I think we share,
knowing things. The facts.”

He was dangling a carrot in front of her and she couldn’t help but feel the urge to bite. There was
truth to his assertion, knowledge was the first weapon Gwyn had become acquainted with and in
the library, she had armed herself to the teeth. It bothered her how right he was, that even though
her lineage didn’t matter to her, the mystery of it gnawed at something tender in her mind.

The wickedly rakish smile on Eris’s mouth grew wider as he seemed to read the train of her
thoughts. “You want to know how I know? How I knew from the moment I met you that day in
Autumn?”

She did, she really did. But, Gwyn also knew the way of males like Eris. Mischievous and
calculating, like cats that preferred to play with their food before eating it and she knew that every
bit of perceived kindness would have a price attached. Ripping her arm out of his grip, she gave
him a bitter smile, “No, I don’t.”

His voice chased her as she took a few steps away, “There is a poem written about my mother by
the Autumn Court reveller, Silas Gadron… I won’t offend and assume you haven’t read it…”

Mother damn her, the mention of the poet had Gwyn stopping in her tracks. Her mind worked
independently to her will, flipping through the poems she had read of his as though they were
organised in some kind of filing cabinet. Gwyn had read the poem before in the library and she
remembered liking it… liking it because …

“Isla, Isla, with hair like burnished fire…” Eris began reciting, voice melodic and silky, “Freckled
like a fox, who spent too much time in the locks and eyes of sea blue and sapphire…”

Gwyn turned again, suspicion brimming in her eyes. There was more to the poem but his assertion
was loud and clear and still, she held no ounce of trust for him. “That describes half of Autumn’s
females, I hardly see how it’s relevant.”

“It’s relevant,” Eris said, irritation now peeking through his endlessly calm demeanour as he
stepped closer, “Because the first time I saw you, I thought for a moment that the Shadowsinger
had somehow charmed a companion into looking exactly like my Mother.”

“What are you saying, Eris? That I’m your daughter?”

He snorted, “Dear Mother, no… I am careful with my dalliances and I would never leave a litter of
pups untended.”

Gwyn wondered if untended meant killed or cared for, either way, a shiver ran down her spine and
settled uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

“Though I wouldn’t be opposed to you calling me daddy if you ever felt inclined…”

Her cheeks heated, but with a stare that could bring lesser men to their feet, she replied, “I’d rather
be set on fire.”

“Oh darling…” A fiendish grin curved his mouth, “Some beg me to set them on fire…”

Gwyn only scowled in response, even as the raw heat that he seemed to emulate pricked at her
skin.

“Unfortunately, in the way of my own cautious dalliances, I can’t speak the same for my rather
wayward brothers…” His gaze ran over her complexion, this time absent of any hint of
appreciation. The amber eyes set upon her were filled only with harsh regard, as though he were
dissecting every feature mentally. “...Especially the brother who makes a sporting habit of lying
with lesser folk.”

That comment struck her like the back of a hand, Gwyn would not abide by bigotry. She raised her
hand and slapped him clean on the chiselled face. The resounding sound echoed in the corridor and
a perfectly savage red mark was left on his pale skin in its wake.

But Eris did not even flinch or seem remotely worried about the violation. No. Instead, he smiled,
as if the act had proven a silent theory of his.

“Interesting…”

“The only interesting thing here is that you are in my way and I have thinning patience.”

His smile widened into a menacingly proud grin. “You even sound like her, you know… Bossy
and wonderfully mean when you need to be.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Gwyn shook her head, “That you’re openly flirting with a female
married to the Shadowsinger of the Night Court or that you are doing so with the knowledge I may
be your niece.”

Eris smirked, intentionally leaning in again. “If you think this is flirting, I pity you for the
Shadowsinger’s lack in romancing you properly.”
“And I almost pity you for the arrogance that will undoubtedly sign your death warrant one day.”
Gwyn leaned in further in an attempt to intimidate him, but only delight met his features. “Careful
Eris, there are eyes everywhere and some in this Court might call you a scoundrel.”

“And what does that make you?” His eyes glittered like freshly polished amber, “A vixen
perhaps?”

She bristled against the unwanted title, “Don't call me that.”

“But it suits you so well…” Eris made a sweeping gesture to her, as though the gown she wore
evidenced his claim. “Besides, you can call me whatever you like.”

“I think scoundrel sums it up without delving into indelicate curses,” Gwyn gritted out.

Eris grinned at that, gazing at the limited space between them for a moment. “You’re awfully close
for someone who isn’t interested in tasting the fine wine of adultery.”

Abruptly, she shoved him back, uncaring that the act against a High Lord’s heir could lay reason
for her arrest, “And you’re awfully stupid to think I would cheat on my husband.”

“Husband?” He mused with wicked humour, “Is that what you’re calling him now…”

She froze. He couldn’t possibly detect the mating bond, could he? Gwyn’s demeanour was less
composed than she wanted it to be when she replied. “Yes.”

“Funny, for someone who loves facts, you do like to keep them concealed when it comes to your
mate .”

Fuck.

Fucking fuck.

If there was one person in this land Gwyneth Berdara did not want knowing her personal,
potentially explosive, business, it was Eris Vanserra.

He seemed to read the content of her thoughts because Eris let out a cruel breathy laugh at her
expense. “Don’t worry little Vixen, I won’t tell… You’ll find the penchant for secrecy runs high in
Vanserra blood.”

“Don’t give me any more reason to spill it then.” She huffed, finally breaking free of his grasp to
stride away.

The sound of his laughter, warm and full of delight, chased her all the way to the ballroom.

In Sangravah, the Priestesses of the temple would celebrate Litha by decorating the trees in the
neighbouring woodland with bows of fine ribbon, brewing honeysuckle mead and dancing barefoot
in the village till dawn. But in the Summer Court? Litha was a celebration that could be likened
more to a full blown bacchanal.

The Ballroom glittered as though it was painted in pure gold. Candles floated above them, their
flames illuminating tables sprawled with sweet fruits, nuts and cheeses. Music, merry and wild,
glared from the orchestra and ornately dressed fae, all dripped in gilded finery danced, kissed and
laughed.

Walking through the elaborate spectacle, she noted barely dressed females and males were perched
on the laps of the gentry, pouring them wine that sparkled with the rich colour of sunsets. Some
danced in ways that made Gwyn blush, and others moved in with partners in rhythm to time-
honoured choreography - dances that she desperately wanted to learn.

Gwyn found Azriel unsurprisingly brooding in the corner of the ornate celebration, sipping a glass
of clean whiskey and surveying the crowd. The shape of his mask, which cut down the middle of
his face and tapered to show his decadent mouth, seemed to be expertly crafted for him. With his
wings flared behind him and half his handsome features shrouded, he looked half devil, half angel
and wholly beautiful. The picture of dark elegance and haunting mystery that inspired moonish
poets and eternally broken hearts was made corporeal by Azriel.

She swayed over to him and her heart fluttered as his intent stare was now solely on her. It felt as if
he could see through the black silk of her gown, through the devilishly thin lace of her underwear
and see her completely naked, as he did last night. Her mask surely did nothing to disguise the
blush that had risen up her neck and travelled to heat her cheeks.

Gwyn greeted him with an embrace worthy of the indecent celebration that glittered and blurred
around them. Her arms wrapped around his muscular form, hands settling on both his neck and the
valley between his wings.

A claiming of sorts.

Her lips came to press a sultry kiss to his jugular, before she whispered into his ear, “Eris is here.”

His gaze sharpened, flitting over her agitated expression before replying, “The Shadows informed
me of his arrival this afternoon. It seems he made the decision to attend last-minute. ..” He
discreetly gestured to the dancefloor as though he were admiring the splendour, “The ballroom is
full of Autumn Court gentry.”

Gwyn surveyed the elaborate crowd with the perfect disguise of excitement brimming in her
features. It was easy to see who hailed from Autumn and who was native to the city. There was a
small group of males offering wicked grins and indecent smiles to passing females. They were
dressed in varying shades of crimson, bronze and gold. Others roamed through the crowd, their
eyes, scrutinising the crowd like hounds on the hunt.

An odd sort of unease began to drip into her veins, but whether it was premonition or worry, she
did not know. However, she found herself whispering anyway, “This isn’t right.”

Azriel clenched his jaw and gave a curt nod. His own hands came to wrap protectively around her,
lips grazing her hair. By the salacious position his hands found on her form, anyone watching
would simply think it was a lovers embrace.

“What do we do?” She whispered.

“I’ve sent word to Rhys…” He pointed at the candles as though they were the topic of
conversation, “If they attack tonight, we need to isolate Pontus and cut the snake off at the head by
taking him to the Hewn City. Without a General, any battle plans tend to disintegrate into
disorganisation.”

Gwyn nodded, taking a deep inhale and smiling at what he was pointing at above them. She
couldn’t help but push herself further into his warmth. “And Tarquin?”

Hazel eyes met hers, “Do you trust him?”

“Yes…” Gwyn said immediately, “If he saw the evidence he would act for his people. But what if
they intend to assassinate him? Coups are generally the product of chaos, it’s the only sure way to
take the reins.”

Azriel made a sound of agreement. He was staring someone down at the end of the ballroom,
nothing in his gaze but cold chips of ice where embers had once flared. It was the feared Hand of
the High Lord of Autumn, Harwin Foulton and another blonde-haired male beside him, skinnier
and sickly looking. It appeared as if they were having a row.

Gwyn frowned, looking away to take a glass of strawberry champagne from a roaming waiter.
Directing a glance to a particularly jubilant couple on the dancefloor, Gwyn whispered, “Who is
that, beside the Hand?”

“Taranis Sparrow…” Azriel replied a moment later, his gaze following Gwyn’s in feigned
admiration of the twirl the dances had engaged in. “Summer’s Master of Coin.”

“What are they fighting about?” She knew the dutiful shadows were hard at work tonight, hiding
in the darkness that the great rock-carved columns cast and in the light-robbed corners where
secrets were told and lovers came together.

He didn’t reply immediately, as a shadow had curled at his ear to whisper in answer, “They’re
talking about something that’s gone missing. Stolen from one of Autumn’s gentry, apparently. The
Master of Coin is trying to assuage the Hand’s anger.”

“Is he…” She left the pseudonym silent, it was dangerous enough to be talking in a room full of
enemies.

“I didn’t think so…” A deep crease formed between Azriel’s brows, “The motives don’t make
sense. By all accounts, Taranis is docile. Varian said nothing to account for his involvement, nor
have my spy network flagged him as suspicious.”

Something clicked in Gwyn’s mind, a scratch that wouldn’t subside, “Where is Varian? Wasn’t he
meant to attend tonight?”

Azriel rose the glass of whiskey to his lips as he absorbed her words. “Yes… No sign of him. The
Shadows haven’t found him either.”

Gwyn couldn’t help but taste the bitterness on her tongue as bile crawled up her throat. This was
bad. At garnering the attention of some nearby fae, she leaned in and kissed him. Half to console
her growing unease and half to keep up the act that they were playing as lovestruck newlyweds.
His lips tasted like the honeyed liquor, she savoured it on her tongue as it replaced the bitterness.

“There’s Tarquin…” Gwyn gestured to the handsome High Lord who was draped in fine gold
velvet and crowned in a wreath of forged sea shells. He made his way through the crowd, a pretty,
scantily-clad female on either side of him. Gwyn narrowed her eyes at the sight of the High Lord as
they walked, he was naturally nimble and impeccably elegant… but tonight, he appeared drunk .
So much so, that the paramours he kept the company of were supporting his weight as he swayed
from side to side.

“He’s not usually a drinker…” Azriel commented, glancing to an on-looking shadow.

“Can the shadows smell?”

He frowned, “They can’t smell per se but they can detect scents if they are strong enough, by
assessing the content of the air.”
Tarquin stumbled again, earning a glare from his cousin who appeared entirely bored of the
celebration. “Ask them to check for poisons. I once read about a poison that made the victim
appear drunk, the only telling was the scent of juniper…”

Nodding, a shadow skittered off to investigate and Tarquin’s burly laughter echoed even across the
grand orchestra that played merry tunes.

“You should go and guard him.”

Azriel rose a brow, the hand on her back tightening its hold, “What about you?”

Her features were schooled into careful confidence as she dismissed his undeserved notion of
worry. “I’ll keep watch on Taranis… If Tarquin’s been poisoned he needs a healer, fast - and it will
look even more suspicious if I escort him out.”

A familiar expression of warring indecision flickered in Azriel’s hazel gaze. Apparently, between
the stern command laced through the upwards point of her brow and the solid reasoning in her
plan, the urge to resist and stay to unnecessarily protect her was thwarted.

Good.

He gently reached for her hand. His gaze dipped to where a scarred thumb began tracing over
where his Mother’s ring sat proudly on her finger. It was a lover's touch, a reminder, a reassurance
perhaps, that she was his. And although simple, it sent a thousand butterflies free in her stomach.

“Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t engage with anyone suspicious until I return…” Azriel
glanced around the room, his surveying disguised as a sweeping appreciative glance of the
splendour, “... And if anything happens I’ll meet you on the beach. As soon as any hint of violence
occurs, grab the key and then get out of the Palace.”

Gwyn nodded, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his cheek, as though he were only leaving
momentarily to grab more of the strawberry champagne that flowed freely from the bar.

As per usual, a defensive shadow lingered behind, disguising itself in the black silk of her skirts as
she roamed about the room in an aimless, unhurried pace. She offered polite smiles to the guests
that leered in piqued curiosity at The Shadowsinger’s new wife and blushed at the compliments
whispered to her despite not caring for them.

Summer was a land of gossiping tongues and their presence had caused quite a stir. Both males and
females turned their attention to Gwyn as she made her way through the crowd, the treasure-loving
fae of Adriata seemed to cherish rare and unusually beautiful things and apparently with her ivory
skin and copper hair, Gwyn was just that.

A group of Autumn gentry were huddled in the far corner, their heads dipped low as one of them
dealt out cards. It may have been an honest moment of intense card playing, but with a quick
whisper, she sent her shadow off to investigate them anyway. Walking around the dancefloor, she
took note of those who crowded in groups and stood suspiciously alone in the midst of the lively
revel.

“Mrs Donnall…” A whispery voice slithered into her ear. Gwyn gasped, taking a moment to step
back from the male that had silently begun walking beside her.

Oh fuck.

Taranis Sparrow, the very male Azriel had warned her against engaging with, peered down at her
 with a soft smile that seemed to contend with his serpentine-like eyes. The mask of feather and
scale that the Master of Coin wore did nothing to hide his true identity. He was an older gentleman,
although how much older she could not say. It was difficult to discern with the fae. But a hint of
silver hueing his chin-length hair and an odd air of muted superiority in his demeanour that only
someone who has lived many years could have, gave it away.

“I’m sorry…” Gwyn smiled with what she hoped was believable propriety, “I think you must be
mistaken.”

“I’m rarely mistaken, Gwyneth…” His smile grew, the gesture gutting every ounce of ease from
her disposition. “But it appears you are…”

“Is that so?”

“Tell me, did your husband not bother to inform you of his family name when you wed?”

Donnall . That was Azriel’s surname, the one thing that she couldn’t bring herself to ask of him.
The revelation left an oily sensation in her mouth like she had swallowed something she never
wished to taste.

When Gwyn didn’t answer and only levelled him a hardened gaze, he chuckled. The sound crept
into her ears like a hoard of hatching spiders and a shiver ran down her spine at the feeling it left in
its wake. “I make it my business to know the names of interesting visitors to the Court… It’s
wondrous what fascinating information one can gather when doing a little research, isn’t it
Gwyneth?”

She held his stare as the rhetorical question faded awkwardly into the air without a polite response.
Her eyes drilled into his as she summoned all the cold, unyielding fury she had seen Azriel master.
This male may be older and unassuming but it was clear he is a wolf in sheep's clothing.

“Well…” Gwyn irreverently said, gaze flittering over the crowd to search for large wings and a
brooding face, “It was delightful to make your acquaintance but-”

“Won’t you treat an old lonely male like me to a dance, Mrs Donnall?” His invitation cut off her
dismissal as though she had never uttered the words.

She glanced down at his hand, papery thin and wrinkled. Perhaps if she danced with him there
would be a way of getting answers. If he confirmed he was Pontus, she still had her dagger braced
conveniently close. Cut off the head of the snake , Azriel had said.

Gwyn could do that. After all, what was a male like Taranis compared to the ones she had already
survived?

She took his hand with a muttering of unenthused agreement as he herded her to the floor. Taranis
may have known her name, but what he didn’t know was that out of all the masked figures in the
room, hers hid the greatest secret. For Taranis would not only be dancing with Mrs Donnall, but a
Valkyrie.

Armed and trained to kill.

Chapter End Notes

Only 5 chapters left!

*Spoiler* (kind of)

Throughout the fic you may have noticed growing inferences to Gwyn's ability to
detect magic and exhibit power that is not proportional to her rank or blood status (as
we know it). If you haven't already guessed, this fic adopts the theory that Gwyn is
Lucien's daughter. I know this is a contentious topic, but I did my research and
although there are other compelling arguments for Eris and even Tamlin the one I
believe holds the most canon accuracy is Lucien. There's a really comprehensive
Tumblr post that backs this theory up which I will try and find and link here later on
but trust me when I say the evidence is there. I honestly just want Gwyn to be
showered in love, affection and a healthy support network so I really don't mind who it
is but for the sake of the plot I decided to take this route as most of the fics I've read
opt for Eris or hint at Tamlin.

In other new, Eris is back by popular demand. Like literally popular demand. I had
comments and messages telling me how much they loved his character and wanted to
see more of him. He's one of my favourite character's in the ACOTAR books and I
think its because he's truly an enigma that is extremely layered and complex. One of
my headcanons is that Gwyn and Eris eventually become really good friends and they
have this teasing/eye roll/ride-or-die relationship later on. This headcanon has no
foundation in the books but it is a hill that I will die on that Eris would adore the fire in
her.
You can thank @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for the nickname Eris gives Gwyn
(Vixen) - And for those who didn't pick it up, 'vixen' is actually the term for a female
fox. And what is Lucien constantly referred to in the series? You guessed it. This is
classic Eris using his intelligence and wit to drop veiled truth bombs and I'm in love
with it.

Also, I will absolutely need to commission art of Azriel in a Phantom of the Opera
style mask dancing the waltz with Gwyn in a Valkyrie mask because I absolutely need
that visual burnt into my brain.
Let me know what you thought of the chapter, as hinted, the bond is VERY close to
snapping. I promise it will be worth the wait when it does.

Lou x
 The Beacon
Chapter Notes

Thank you for your patience as I worked through this chapter. There was a lot of
ground to cover in this one and I wanted time to get it right.
As per usual, thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for beta reading and editing
this one, you are simply the best and I don't know what I would do without you. Go
and follow her on Tumblr for all things Gwynriel.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite the crowd descending into a blur of revelry, the ballroom fell to a quiet hum as Gwyn was
led onto the dancefloor. The onlookers parted for them, sharing whispers and spinning gossip that
would surely make for curled-lipped questions of her fidelity.

But Gwyn kept her chin high, shoulders relaxed and her features set into unflinching indifference
as Taranis grinned like a shark in return for the attention.

Every inch of skin that touched his hand felt as though it were grating on her nerves. There was a
glint in the unsettling depths of the Master of Coin’s eye as he stepped back to dramatically bow to
her and then, that roiling feeling returned as he placed his hand on her waist. Not daring to break
her composure, Gwyn finally served him a violent smile that showed her perfectly white teeth as
she took his hand in turn and placed her palm lightly on his shoulder.

This man had to be Pontus. Her every instinct was screaming the truth at her. It was, after all, the
case in all her most loved mystery novels that the unsuspecting subject was somehow the grand
orchestrator of destruction.

At Rosehall Manor, Gwyn recalled observing that dance was a lot like fighting an opponent in the
training ring. It required focus, masterful footwork and unyielding precision. But most of all, it
demanded unrelenting command of the body and the ability to predict and respond to any
movement your partner made - all while maintaining that tight leash on control.

‘Dance is a silent conversation,’ Maia would say as Azriel led Gwyn’s lithe form around the
wooden floor, ‘every movement must both tell a truth and mask a secret. And it starts with the
eyes.’ She remembered how her gaze burned at the intensity of Azriel’s. The way she worried he
could read all her secrets as their gazes forged a silent yet somehow screaming bridge in the space
between them.

But now, her eyes locked onto the murky blue of her opponents, and as his dark pupils slid to hers,
the declaration of war seemed to echo from her gaze to his. This dancefloor was a battlefield that
she had been on before and now, as she stared Taranis dead in the eye, she hoped he saw that too.
Willed him to see she had no white flags to wave or punches to pull.

The orchestra in the blurred distance of her periphery began the first notes of a sweeping
symphony. Gwyn thanked the Mother above when she realised it was the familiar tune that
Azriel’s mother had played while teaching her the waltz.
The wisdom-soaked voice of Azriel’s mother sounded through her mind as they took the first
tentative steps. ‘There are three steps to the rhythm, just remember 1-2-3, or, slow-quick-quick.
The waltz is about the heart, the very rhythm is a reminder of how it beats when we find someone
to dance through life with.’

In one fluid movement, they were spinning and Gwyn was brought back into reality. She kept her
hard gaze locked onto Taranis but Maia’s instructions replayed in her mind as they began their first
set of whirls around the dancefloor.

1-2-3.

Slow-quick-quick.

Her back was ramrod straight, her shoulders soft and her chin high as he levered her out and she
spun. It was the only opportunity Gwyn could take to survey the crowd. And although she usually
would have shrunk at the thought that all eyes were on her, it was a relief to gauge anything out of
the ordinary amongst the guests.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” Taranis began, his voice was a jarring slither that sent a violent shudder down
the column of her spine. “All these masked courtiers are hiding secrets and yet, with a few glasses
of faerie wine and someone sitting on their lap, their deepest desires are revealed.”

With a nod of his chin, he gestured to a spot in the crowd. Gwyn stole a look, playing along. She
found a male in a bird mask kneeling before another, his neck leashed in a gilded belt. The male
was being fed strawberries and next to them on a nearby armchair, a female watched as the
kneeling male with a carnal hunger in her eyes.

The last thing she wanted to do was entertain the musings of a creepy male that had surely been
behind her attempted attack. In fact, Gwyn wanted to spit in Taranis’ face and bury her dagger deep
into his gut right then and there. But she would have to get answers before she committed to his
death; that’s what Azriel would do.

Gwyn knew the stakes, and she was playing this game to win.

Her face was trained into an almost bored expression as she shrugged. “I believe Claudius Phenus
once wrote, ‘ask a male to tell the truth and you will receive a lie, but ask him to lie and he will
spill his secrets’ .”

“Indeed he did.” A wispy chuckle left his mouth as he grinned wider and picked up the pace of
their spinning. “But you probably don’t know that he also wrote that ‘birds with the cleanest
feathers have the bloodiest beaks’ .”

Actually, she did know that, because she had read the Philosophical Annals of Phenus four times.
But Gwyn only quirked her brow, as though his reply did nothing to entertain her interest.

“For example,” he went on, “you arrive at the Summer Court a blushing bride…” Taranis’ gaze
raked down her silk-clad form as his grip on her waist tightened. “And yet here you are, draped in
black, looking like a prime assassin .”

“And here you are, Lord Sparrow…” Gwyn countered without a second beat, “Once the humble
servant to the High Lord and yet tonight, you walk around as if that pretty dais belongs to you.”
She allowed her eyes to sharpen slightly, “I suppose we all fall prey to embodying those little
philosophies once in a while.”

They took a moment to smile at each other, eyes glaring and assessing. As they whirled around the
floor again, Taranis remarked, “You’re smarter than they give you credit for, Gwyneth. You ought
to be working for a master that appreciates your potential.”

All remaining facade fell from her features as she leaned in to whisper into his ear, “Smart people
don’t have masters, Sparrow.”

Another deep chuckle as his hand slid lower to her hip. “Is that so… Mrs Donnall.”

The use of Azriel’s surname soured her mood even further, it was an effort to contain her disdain as
she replied, “It is.”

“Well, it might interest you to know that I have a friend across the sea who would appreciate
your…” Taranis took the liberty of indulging in a long sweeping appraisal of her lips and chest
before continuing, “ skillset . He’s somewhat of a collector for females like you.”

The assertion that she was an object to be snatched had a tension pressing down on her chest. It
was hot and made her finger twitch, as though it were itching for the blade on her thigh. Gwyn
ground her teeth, willing the control to stay leashed in her grip for a few moments longer. “And
what skillset is it that deems me worthy of this male's special collection?”

“Oh don’t play me for a fool sweetheart,” he cooed, “I can practically feel the power radiating from
you…” With a great sniff, he took in the scent of her neck. “Smell it even… and I bet I could even
taste it too.” Taranis made a show of licking his thin lips.

The anger that had slowly been coiling and scorching in her chest seemed to compound.

Gwyn swallowed down the curse that sat at the tip of her tongue.

Enough was enough.

“Tell me…” Her voice was silky despite her razor-edged tongue. “Since you appear to know so
many people’s secrets, Pontus… is Prometheus here?”

The moment of realisation registered on his face as they turned sharper around the bend. The
movements become faster. “Clever girl.” He sang out the praise as though he were a loving teacher,
but the bloodlust that glinted in the depths of his eyes betrayed him. “Oh yes, he’ll like you very
much. In fact, you might become his favourite pet.”

“I am no one’s pet. Whatever you’re planning,” Gwyn warned, “Know that you have already lost.
You may have friends across the sea but we have friends much closer and their patience for your
interference has come to an end.”

The music was building to the final crescendo and her heart thumped in time to the mounting sound
as Taranis frowned. Leaning in with a mockery of concern on his face, he asked, “Where is Mr
Donnall? He’s been gone an awfully long time, hasn’t he?”

Gwyn tried not to give away the surge of diluted panic that rose in her, as the words found their
target.

Fuck.

Where was Azriel?

Instead, she took the last remaining threads of her self-control and replied coolly, “You need not
concern yourself with my husband, Lord Sparrow. Those that do tend to find themselves deeply
regretful… and six feet under.”

The final notes of the waltz played as Gwyn executed the last remaining move with lethal
precision.

Taranis took the moment of the crowd's thundering applause to whisper, “If you want to see him
again you will bring me the key you stole.”

Her hand was skirting down the side of her thigh as she took a step further into him. Just as the
fabric had parted and the pommel of the dagger was in her hand, the orchestra that was readying
for another song exploded into a thousand pieces and half the lights blew out.

In instinct, Gwyn had clenched her eyes shut and then suddenly, Pontus was gone. By the time she
had cracked them open, he was slinking away through the destruction… and grinning.

Her first thought in that moment of surprise and fear was of hazel eyes that scorched like flames
and hands that felt like home.

Her second thought was… well she wasn’t exactly thinking. Mind ringing and caught on a loop
between urgency and Azriel, she reeled for focus. The explosion had injected a thick layer of
gunpowder and smoke into the air, the aftershocks of it still shaking the foundations as she
clutched down on her ears.

In all the material Gwyn had read, war was framed through the lens of strategy or glory. But no
one ever mentioned the sheer survival of it all. The disorder of conflict and the luck involved in
living through it.

As chaos erupted left right and centre, Gwyn stumbled. She faltered right in her place and froze.
For a moment, there is no telling who the enemy is and who the victims are. They are moving too
fast, the smoke too thick to discern right from wrong or good from evil. Everyone is screaming.
Fire burns the drapery covering the walls, water is flooding the ground. Some fight, some run, and
some even hide under the messed feasting tables or lavish chaise lounges. At the moment, it’s hard
to find a strategy or reason. It’s difficult to formulate a plan.

There is only survival. Luckily, Gwyneth Berdara was an expert in survival.

She spun, her hand gripping the dagger, ready to strike.

Pontus had fled to the northern aspect of the ballroom, where the orchestra was now reduced to
nothing but chunks of dismembered limbs and splinters of what used to be fiddles and drums.

Azriel would undoubtedly be mauling through the crowd, on his way to her, but Gwyn couldn’t
wait to find him. Not when she knew he would be okay. Not when Pontus was the key to ending
all of this.

She ripped the mask off her face and it fell to the puddled floor. Through the haze of smoke, she
saw a glimmer of feather and scale, the very same glint of Pontus’ mask. Then, she was running.

Autumn Court soldiers found her before she could leap over the pile of dismembered musicians
and broken furniture. It was the same four that she had seen earlier in the night, leering at every
female that walked by. Her dagger was drawn and even in her heels, Gwyn was poised to fight.

Just as she lurched forward, a blazing stream of fire catapulted into the four masked soldiers and
their forms went up in brutal flames. Gwyn’s eyes widened as they screamed and fled in agonising
pain, before inevitably tripping on a body and falling to the flooded ground.
A strong hand had gripped around Gwyn’s forearm and Eris Vanserra was hauling her to a side
door, pushing over the other screeching guests as he went.

“Winnow us out?” Gwyn suggested hoarsely.

“Do you think we’d still be in this sad excuse for a palace if I could?” She levelled him a glare that
demanded a proper response. He sighed, “Already tried. There are wards - and strong ones at that.”

If they weren’t currently running for their lives, perhaps she would have stopped to consider that
fact. Eris himself had said in the past that even the strongest of wards can be broken or at least
fractured with the right magic. Even so, in the back of her racing mind, she wondered what kind of
dark magic would have been too strong for Eris or Tarquin.

Who had that magic come from?

Gwyn cursed as they hurried out of the corridor and into the large foyer where Summer soldiers
were killing anyone in their way. All she could think of was Azriel.

“This way!” Gwyn had taken his hand, still hot from whatever unholy power he had scorched his
own men with and tugged him up the staircase. He gripped it back, allowing her to lead him.
Unsurprisingly, when they arrived at the corridor which led to the exterior gardens, they were
greeted by a legion of weapon-clad soldiers.

Eris didn’t hesitate, filling the entire corridor with lethal clouds of flame as the burly males ran at
them with gritted teeth. Her eyes widened as the explosion of heat and light poured freely from his
hands and doused every corner with unrelenting power.

“Where the fuck is Rhysand?” The venom in his voice was palpable as he reduced a male to
steaming ash in front of them.

Gwyn parried from another Summer sentry who had dodged the lethal blaze, her blade swiping
clean across his throat a moment later.

Ignoring the spray of atrial blood that met her face, she replied, “Looking for the amulet. He’ll be
here soon.”

“You didn’t think to tell me that earlier?” With a menacing eruption of flame, Eris carved a
scorching barrier between them and the soldiers. Their screams and the foul stench of burnt flesh
and hair filled the smoke-laden corridor.

Gwyn slumped to retch as the last of the screams died off. In between her gags, she retorted, “I was
in a rush and you were pissing me off.”

Eris let out a gruff rumble of frustration and began pulling her around the corner, muttering
something about trying to help her .

Their backs found the cold wall as they took a moment to catch their breath. Eris panted, raising a
brow at her while Gwyn cleaned the fresh blood off her blade with the now filthy black fabric of
her dress. “He’s not going to find the amulet…”

“We know where it is now it’s-”

“...Because I have it.”

Gwyn gaped, “What?!”

“I ha-”

Another ten sentries, armed with tridents and jagged swords appeared at the other end of the
tunnel. Despite it all, Gwyn couldn’t help but ask, “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

Eris still managed to shrug arrogantly as they drew their weapons and readied for the armada
sprinting towards them. The blaze of pure fire shone in her periphery, flames licking down his
newly drawn sword. “Same reason you didn’t tell me about the key, you don’t trust me because of
the egregious smear campaign the Night Court has conducted about me over the years…”

Gwyn scoffed as she narrowly dodged the swipe of a male whose body was being consumed by
flame.

“... and I didn’t trust you because you’re in bed with Shadowboy, who’s - by the way - in bed with
your violet-eyed wonder Lord…” He made no effort to keep his distaste for the High Lord of the
Night Court hidden, “...and before you ask, no, I don’t trust Rhysand or fucking Feyre Archeron for
that matter.”

Gwyn buried the hilt of her blade into the back of a soldier that had crept up on Eris, “Well, you
can trust me.”

Eris let out a hoarse laugh, summoning a ball of fire and hurling it at a soldier that was taking aim
at Gwyn, “You’re forgetting the first rule of being in our family.”

“What’s that?”

They were back to back now, finishing off the stragglers that lingered with injuries, “Never trust a
Vanserra.”

“Well, I’m a Berdara…” Gwyn huffed, ducking and then slicing through the femoral artery of an
attacking sentry.

Eris called back, “No darling, you’re a Vixen.”

She didn’t know what made her accept the words but she found herself rolling her eyes and
shouting back, “And you’re a Scoundrel,” before cutting down another rogue attacker.

He winked, “Only for you Lady Autumn.”

Trading insults and a few thinly veiled compliments along the way, they managed to climb out of a
second-floor window and scale the wall to the roof of the stables. Gwyn had ditched her high heels
the moment she could and begrudgingly sliced the train from her gown to make running without
catching alight more feasible.

After being reassured that Taranis was bluffing when he said he had Azriel, Eris winnowed them
away from the sprawl of violence that had infiltrated the palace. In his infinite wisdom, Azriel had
diligently organised a safe house before their mission commenced, a disclosed location for
emergencies. Before leaving for the Litha ball, they agreed that if anything should go awry, they
would meet there.

And he would be there.

Because he was safe, she assured herself.

Nothing would ever part them.

The little cottage was nestled into a curtain of palm trees swaying in the midnight breeze. It was
seemingly vacant when they arrived, lit only by the moon above and the neighbouring waves the
only sound for miles. It was difficult to believe that not too far away, war was being waged in the
city of Adriata and that the serene palace Gwyn had come to adore, was likely consumed in
flames.

The weatherboard door opened with a smooth click at Gwyn’s touch on the handle, and faelight
came alive to light the cosy space. It was simple but decidedly quaint. There was a queen-sized bed
on one end of the small room, a basic kitchen in the other and a door that likely led to a bathing
room beyond where the fireplace crackled to life at Eris’ command.

It really was a handy power.

“Please tell me this isn’t where Shadowboy took you for your honeymoon…”

Gwyn rolled her eyes, ignoring Eris’ impossibly arrogant remark he felt the need to make at a time
like this. It seemed that even in the throes of war, the heir to the Autumn Court still had enough in
him to be his usual asshole self.

“Why? Are you jealous?” Gwyn shot back over her shoulder as she found her and Azriel’s
travelling case at the foot of the bed.

“Of this…” He gestured pompously to the humble abode, “...barely thatched shanty?”

“No,” she gave a cruel smile, “of actually having a person that warrants a honeymoon in the first
place.”

“Oh, I’m just a little mad I wasn’t invited to the big day.” The muted sound of Eris’ smooth retort
filled the air as she rifled through her case and pulled out a pair of leathers. “That’s assuming this
wedding business isn’t all some elaborate ruse of political intrigue to disguise an even greater
secret… of course.”

“My mistake,” Gwyn turned around, smiling bitterly at him, “I was under the impression you were
all too familiar with the concept of matrimony for the purpose of politics.”

Just as he was about to level a witty reply back at her, a plume of shadows and smoke engulfed the
far corner of the room. A sudden rush of violent relief flooded through Gwyn as Azriel appeared,
eyes locking onto hers - and slumped into his side, was a completely comatose Tarquin.

The High Lord’s clothes were covered in vomit, the stench of the acidic alcohol and juniper filling
the small room as Azriel dragged him forward.

A bitter realisation flooded into her mind, Tarquin was poisoned .

“Mother's sake…” Eris sneered at the sight of Tarquin, completely robbed of consciousness and
drooling on Azriel’s now filthy suit. “Now that’s just embarrassing.”

Gwyn was by his side in a moment, her lips pressing to his. Her fingers gripped into his lapels,
their shared relief drenched in the meeting of their mouths.

The sound of Eris’ silent disgust contended with the loud crash of waves just beyond the treeline.

But she didn’t pay it any mind, not when he had dropped Tarquin to the floor and was pulling back,
scanning every inch of her form for injury. Azriel’s eyes were darker than they ever had been
before, as if those flames that lived in them had been smothered by the past few hours of being
apart.

When he was satisfied with her state of menial injury, he turned to Eris, jaw clenched as though his
body was fighting the words now brimming in his throat. “Thank you.”

Even in the dark cottage, Gwyn noted the surprise that lit the heir of Autumn's features, which was
quickly replaced with a smug, endlessly amused shrug. “It’s good to know the Shadowsinger of the
Night Court now owes me a favour.”

“How many soldiers do you have at your command?” Azriel asked, dismissing the moment that
had just transpired as though it never happened.

Eris grinned, a stunning frightening expression. “As soon as I kill my father, every soldier in
Autumn's army.”

“And when exactly will that be?”

He helped himself to a glass of rum, apparently unworried about making himself any more
flammable than he already was. As though there was no hurry to the evening, he took a sip,
heaving an unimpressed sigh at the taste of the cheap liquor. Finally, he answered, “An hour, give
or take… given Beron’s about to winnow to the bay and his whole army is parked outside the city
gates.”

After laying out a surprisingly thorough plan despite the limited timing, Eris turned to Gwyn,
dismissing Azriel as though he were nothing but a now-expired interest. There was a glint in his
amber eyes, one that usually told her he was about to say something equally damning as it was
entirely rakish. But instead, he reached for the sheathed dagger at his side and handed it to her.

Azriel was watching the interaction intently, but she saw the tells of surprise that were littered
across his almost inscrutable features.

“Your ever-so-charming Nesta probably would want you to have this…” Gwyn’s eyes widened as
she took in the blade. Simple and deadly, it was the dwarfed twin to Ataraxia.

The dagger of Nesta’s death forged trove .

“Why would you give this to me?” Her rational mind couldn’t compute the gesture. Being the
custodian of a piece of such magic was to hold indescribable power.

Eris gave another shrug, as though he couldn’t care less, “You may never be able to trust a
Vanserra, but you can always count on them to invest in what they deem valuable.”

She gaped, eyes still fixed on the blade. It was the most backwardly kind, wickedly unsentimental
way of saying, welcome to the family. And perhaps that glint in his eye which flashed as quickly as
it went said, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before.

“Thank you…” To both of their surprise, Gwyn engulfed the heir of Autumn in a hug. It was
admittedly stiff, his surprise firmly set in the rigidity of his form. And Eris’ discomfort was even
evident in his uncharacteristically off-guard tone as he tapped her back and said, “Vanserra’s also
aren’t keen on physical affection.”

Gwyn pulled away and her lips parted into a grin, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m a Berdara.”

A smirk found his features, all traces of that warmth firmly set under his usual mask. “Give them
hell, Vixen.”
“See you on the other side, Scoundrel.”

Moments later, he vanished in a cloud of smoke that smelled like the earth of a dry forest.

Azriel’s brows were raised to high points on his brow. It was a look that said she had a lot of
explaining to do when all this was done. Gwyn only gave out a sound halfway between exhaustion
and amusement as she turned back to her case.

The key felt heavy as she laced it through a thin chain and clasped it around her neck. As the metal
came into contact with the soft skin of her sternum, that same distant hum of frequency sang up to
her through the quiet air.

They had decided leaving a piece of the trove in an abandoned cottage while all of Summer and
Autumn were apparently looking for it was unwise. But, Azriel still wore that same discontented
worry on his face when she stole a look at him.

“I don’t like this.”

She sighed, “The magical signature will be muddled by the surrounding exertion of magic. There’s
no way they’ll detect it.”

Guilt roiled in her gut for the omission that slid so deftly passed her lips. There was no way in Hel
Gwyn was going to admit to Azriel that Taranis knew that she had the key. They had already
argued after he insisted on being the one to wear the key. It had taken a long conversation of
strategically hurling rational fact after reasonable justification for him to give in. She structured her
argument so well, Azriel’s only defence was that he wanted to bear the brunt of the risk in her
stead. He already had enough of a target on his back as it was and she wasn’t about to give into his
martyrdom complex, so Gwyn dug her heels in and he reluctantly gave in.

As the bathroom door clicked closed, Gwyn’s eyes caught on the blue glimmer at the bottom of her
case.

Catrin’s invoking stone.

Her shaky hands reached down to touch the cold blue stone and she could’ve sworn it glowed in
response, shimmering slightly in the gilded faelight of the room.

Catrin’s voice barrelled through every ounce of worry, stress and calculation that was spinning and
whirling in her mind. She closed her eyes for just a moment and saw her sister’s perfectly moonish
beauty staring back at her, she could hear her melodic voice as she said…

“Dangerous things are what make life exciting. Otherwise, there would be no stories to tell or
books to read… Perhaps someone will write about us one day…”

Gwyn squeezed the stone to her beating heart, as though somehow a piece of Catrin could still be
forged within its sapphire walls. She couldn’t bear to leave it behind - leave her behind. And now,
as she was about to step onto a battlefield, she couldn’t help pocketing it.

Because Gwyn had fought many monsters and won.

She had survived, despite it all.

She had climbed the perilous face of Ramiel and killed to protect her friends.

She had conquered the table and mastered her fears.

She was a Priestess, a researcher, a Valkyrie and a spy of the Night Court.

But most of all, Gwyneth Berdara was worthy.

In the far distance, Catrin’s laugh, a lovely mix of equal parts mischief and delight rang through the
caverns of her memory. Warmth spread through her chest and settled something long aching there.
A familiar pain smoothed over somehow. It was as if just touching that stone and taking it,
claiming it, had managed to heal an old wound that was slow to scar on the inside of her heart.

“We don’t have much time,” Azriel said, emerging from the bathroom as she zipped the stone
securely in the pocket at her chest, right above her beating heart. It was here that Catrin would
always live. He was in leathers, Truth Teller strapped to his thigh, another menacing sword
hanging at the adjacent hip. “But, I have something for you…”

Gwyn frowned as she buckled the last clasp of her leathers, the shadows whirling around and
tightening the straps, fixing the poorly tied knots. “If you’re going to propose to me,
Shadowsinger, I’m already wearing your mother's ring.”

His lips twitched despite it all, “We’ll talk about that later, when we have our month off.”

A brilliant smile met her lips as she loosened a much-needed laugh, “I didn’t think there would be
much talking involved.”

“With you Berdara, I could talk for days.”

She felt another wave of warmth unfurl from her collarbones, her rib cage and lower. As though
with that confession, he had released a million butterflies straight from the sun to colonise every
part of her. It subdued the unease, even just for a moment.

“Well, I hope you’re good at multitasking.”

Azriel chuckled as he rummaged through his port and then, stepped closer, something white and
silky clasped in his hands. Her eyes narrowed, a crease forming between her brows. As he opened
his fingers to reveal it, she couldn’t help the gasp that fell from her mouth.

The ribbon.

The very one she had thought was lost. The one she obsessed over and worked at every day until
finally, she sliced it down the middle. The frayed edges that evidenced her victory seemed to flood
her eyes with tears.

“I was going to give it back to you when we finished this mission, but…” He swallowed deeply, “I
think you deserve it now.”

“You took it…” Gwyn breathed, moving closer to close the distance between them, her eyes unable
to leave the unfurled bit of white silk.

A smirk found his lips, “Consider it your prize, I know you wanted one.”

“I came back up to look for it…” She blinked back the tears but it was no use, “... and it was gone.”

Azriel’s index finger hooked below her chin and tugged it upwards so their eyes met. His were
flooded with silver too.

“The day you cut the ribbon,” he began, voice carrying a rasp, “was the day I finally realised you
were a force to be reckoned with. I’ll never forget that moment, or the look on your face when you
realised you had done it. I was so fucking proud of you. You proved me wrong, Berdara, and…”
Azriel swallowed down the knot in his throat, “... And maybe I loved you even then, I don’t know.
But please keep proving arrogant bastards wrong. Take this and let it remind you that you can slice
through everything that stands in your way.”

She took the ribbon from his hand with shaky fingers and clutched it. “Thank you.”

“The gift is conditional.”

She choked out a laugh despite the knot in her throat, “On what?”

“That you take care of yourself and don’t do anything reckless…” He began, a lone tear streaming
down his sooty cheek. “That you fight hard like you always have and never stop. That I’ll find you
and that ribbon in one piece when all this is done.”

“I promise…” She was fighting back the stream of tears, “I promise we’ll find each other. I swear
to the Mother I’ll always find you and come back to you, just as you have always done for me.”

Just as she made that vow, a tingling sensation jolted through her bones. Magic seemed to flood her
bloodstream and it travelled in electric waves, rushing and sparking down to her left hip. It rose,
sizzling and crackling on the surface of the skin there.

Gwyn gasped, unlacing her leathers just enough to see the fresh ink etched over her hip bone.
There, lay a bird taking flight, its form inked in slithers of dark shadow. She looked over to Azriel,
whose own gaze was anchored onto that newly painted, freckled skin.

“Did you just…”

“Looks like I can’t betray you after all, Shadowsinger.” She smirked.

His palm was flat on his own hip, as though he had felt the exact sensation rush through him. And
Gwyn knew then that if they had the time, Azriel would strip off those leathers and a tattoo, the
twin to hers, would be on his hip too.

She laced up the leathers again and then, tied the silk ribbon around her forehead, as she had read
about the Valkyrie’s doing all those years ago.

Smiling through the flood of tears, she said, “See you later, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel nodded as they were brought back to reality, “You will.”

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Gwyn slipped into the juncture between consciousness and not while stilling her mind. She
summoned the midnight breeze that wafted by to rein in her nerves and conjured the ground
beneath her feet to fortify her strength. Only the sound of her heartbeat remained, a rhythm
reminiscent of a war drum beginning its song.

Azriel had joined Eris at the bay, where the fighting was the thickest. The Summer navy that
Pontus had usurped control of had laid siege to the last remaining loyal soldiers.

The Valkyrie were stationed at the bridge which controlled entry to the city. Autumn’s covert
forces had been hiding in the outskirts until a signal was given to raid the city. Sparrow was
nowhere to be found and Beron had made his arrival clear as clouds of flame and smoke began
rising from the cliffs above the bay like clouds straight from Hel.

Gwyn panted, sweat coating her ribboned brow, a dull ache in her lower back as Nesta and Emerie
appeared in a cloud of Night in front of her. She only saw a wisp of Morrigan’s golden hair before
she winnowed away again.

For the second time that evening, Gwyn’s vision blurred and her eyes itched with tears. She didn’t
even realise she was running towards her chosen sisters, didn’t realise they were running towards
her, until they clashed in a barrage of hard leather and the clang of meeting weapons.

Despite it all, they laughed and gave each other warm grins as they did when they entered training.

“I missed you…” Gwyn choked out.

Emerie smiled, brushing the dirt and soot from her face. Nesta nodded, a stream of tears meeting
her own.

“We’re armed, we have the higher ground…” Nesta began, and behind her in a cloud of whirling
obsidian appeared Deidre and then Roslin. A few moments after that, Ananke and Ilana and then,
Lorelei. All dressed in leathers, all armed to the teeth with swords, daggers and bows. Valkyrie in
the flesh. “...And we’re not alone.”

Emerie had taken Morrigan’s hand and Gwyn looked away from the private moment between
them. But the night air carried the words Mor whispered into Emerie’s ear. The promise was
heavy, as though it was spoken from the heart itself and was drenched in an emotion Gwyn was all
too familiar with.

“Until the end.”

“No…” Emerie vowed in return, “You won’t get rid of me that easily. Until even after that.
Always.”

“Always.”

She only met Nesta’s eyes as they exchanged a look halfway between excitement for their friend
and the beginnings of quiet determination. A brand of determination they had forged on the slope
of Ramiel, one made of blood, sweat and tears.

“You ready for this, Berdara?”

Gwyn gave her a resolute grin. “I’m always ready to follow you, General.”

The Valkyrie had no more time to spare for greetings as the distant shouts of approaching soldiers
from the thicket had them snapping into action.

Swiftly, their small legion fell into the formation of a sharp arrow point. With Nesta at the helm
and Gwyn and Emerie flanking at the sides, they were the very stars above the mountain they had
conquered just months ago. A lifetime ago, all things considered. It could have just been the nerves
or the adrenaline running through her bloodstream, but Gwyn swore she felt the ground reverberate
at that moment. Even the trees had ceased their swaying in the balmy wind and the stars above
seemed to shine brighter, as though wanting to illuminate the sight beneath. Just as it had when she
cut the very ribbon resting on her brow. The signal of the dawn of a new era.

The Valkyries reborn.

Gwyn’s sweaty palm gripped her trusted dagger in one hand and Eris’s Made dagger in her other.
A sword was strapped to her side as well thanks to Azriel. Just in case, he had reasoned.

By some divine fortitude, Rhysand had gifted the other piece of Nesta’s trove to Emerie. A sword,
which she had taken to carving Illyrian symbols on. And of course, Ataraxis, Nesta’s death-forged
longsword glinted with the promise of violence as it was raised behind her head.

And then, it began.

A symphony of steel clashing, arrows whistling through the wind and blades slicing through
muscle and flesh. It was a song of skill. The sound, an ancient hymn that spoke of fierce grit and
sheer mastery. Their hearts beat as one deafening war drum as they stood strong and defended the
line. The sound of every swipe of Gwyn’s dagger that sliced through jugulars, the singing swing of
Nesta’s sword carving males into two, and the sinking of Emerie’s lethal blow propelled them
forward. It sharpened their collisions and quickened the movements that had become muscle
memory at this point.

Gwyn had contemplated what it would be like to kill in a war. She had ended lives in the Blood
Rite, but something about this felt different. As a screaming male, with a curved blade held to
strike sprinted straight for Gwyn, it became less philosophical.

She ducked from his swing and then used her lithe speed to wrap around him. Before he could even
struggle, or manage to hurl another misogynistic slur, Gwyn had pushed her blade through the back
of his ribs and stifled the beat of his heart.

It was easy to forget that Illyrian training had made her body a weapon in itself. These males might
wield swords and spit hate, but Azriel and Cassian had taught them well and as she ran her blade
through another, and another, she was glad to be a weapon.

They just kept coming.

And coming.

Gwyn heaved in pants and attempted to wipe the blood from her hands that were slipping around
the handles of her daggers. More and more Autumn soldiers were emerging from the woods and
stepping onto the bridge to greet their strong-held border.

Sparking a glance behind her, Gwyn grimaced. Deidre had taken a hit to the shoulder that had her
faltering and Emerie had resorted to picking up another weapon, stealing a shield and striking with
blunt force before using her blood-soaked sword. There were bodies everywhere, making tripping
during the fight more likely than getting sliced by an opponent's weapon. But still, they held
strong.

Still, they did not yield.

Not when Lorelei fell and took a kick to the stomach. Not when Ilana had a vicious slice down her
forearm.

Nesta and Roslin had strategically begun making a barricade with the bodies, using spare moments
to stack the absently staring soldiers on the sides in order to make the entry point more narrow. For
a brief moment, she silently prayed to the Mother for Eris on the beach; he must be so close to
ending Beron by now.

“Fall back!” Nesta’s voice hurled over the screaming clangs of iron and the grunts and cries of
death. Gwyn finished off a soldier, stabbing him square in the neck before twisting and disarming
another, then slashing him across the gut.

The movement was messy, temporarily knocking her from her balance and her hand flew up to the
key around her neck to make sure it was still there. Having the key so close made Gwyn anxious.
Every so often, when a reprieve from stabbing and parrying, kicking and punching occurred, the
ethereal hum of magic pitched in her ears and her jaw clenched down at the sound of it.

And now, as Emerie shouted those words and Gwyn looked up to greet a new hoard of soldiers
running towards them, teeth bared and swords glinting in the moonlight, it rang louder .

Whatever magic it was forged with must have been able to sense danger, because in the centre of
that chaos which had a fresh legion sprinting towards them… was Taranis Sparrow. With undiluted
attention, those serpentine eyes were staring right at her.

The key.

He’d come for the key.

And in that moment, Gwyn had regretted not agreeing to train whatever dormant powers lay
slumbering within her. Even as she attempted to draw from that imperceptible well Rhysand and
Amren were sure she possessed, there was nothing.

And then, Taranis was closer, his boot gracing the plank of the bridge.

The sight of him had robbed Gwyn of her focus for a single moment, and in those few precious
seconds, she felt a sharp blow to the thigh that knocked her backwards.

Gwyn flew through the chaos, limbs wailing and when she landed, she let out a scream of
frustration. Searing pain found her leg as she landed awkwardly on the fresh cut down her thigh.
The soldier didn’t hesitate as he smiled and ran for where she was on the ground.

Gritting her teeth, Gwyn crawled to her feet. Ignoring the wound, she readied her daggers in each
blood-soaked hand and widened her feet for the onslaught of the towering soldier's attack.

But he never made it to the cruel point of her dagger.

Time seemed to slow as there was a flare of bright light that erupted from a few feet away and
then… a deafening crack ricocheted through the air.

A bomb.

The sudden sound of the explosion cracked through her eardrums and rattled her bones, chattering
her teeth, as she made to turn and run from the fallout. But the impact of the blast had swept her off
her feet, off the bridge and falling through nothing but air and night.

The last thing she remembered was the stars above and that pitched frequency of the key ringing in
contention with the lingering blow in her ears.

And then, oblivion swallowed her whole.

Consciousness came back to her in harsh waves of viciously muffled sound and sudden bursts of
fiery pain shooting down her leg. A whimper left her lips as the keen sensation of being submerged
in cold water seemed to compound as the seconds passed, her legs screaming in protest.

She blinked the dust and smoke from her eyes as a thousand questions began folding through her
awakening mind, each one louder than the last.

How was she alive?

How long had she been out?

Time seemed as elusive as the prospect of victory at this point.

Gwyn gave out a large cough, heaving for air that refused to quench her desperate lungs. A feral
wheezing sound escaped from deep in her chest and had her hunching over the shallow pool. A
violent ache ran through her knee and shot like forks of lightning up her thigh. Wincing, Gwyn
realised it was the kind of pain that made walking near impossible.

There was no one coming to save her this time.

Although the explosion had hit Gwyn’s side, the impact of it meant Nesta and Emerie were
probably down too and maybe Roslin, who was already compromised. Azriel was on the beach,
likely fighting eleven people at once. The other Valkyrie, if alive, would be picking up the slack
left in her absence.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Looking around the high walls of stone that encompassed her, Gwyn realised she had fallen into
what appeared to be the remnants of an old mote, the water that had broken her fall was murky.
The torchlight that was fixed to the top of the stone wall illuminated the mossy sea water which
had been brought in from a rusted grate in the distance.

Her only way out.

Despite the pain shooting through her thigh and gripping at her knee, despite her mouth still
panting and heaving for air, she waded through the foul water to the grate.

Gripping the rusted bars and gritting her teeth she yanked on them, pulled them and tried to kick
them in with her good leg. But it was all to no avail. Not even her dagger could cut through the
iron or unscrew the bolts that held it in place. By the end of her efforts, her arms ached and her
hands were cut and bloodied from the jagged rust.

She contemplated shouting for help, but the noise that erupted from above would surely muffle any
attempt. She even tried to scale the stone wall, but every time she fell, the pain in her knee grew
more and more unbearable and the next climb was less and less successful. Her leg was bleeding
and Gwyn knew that she only had a short amount of time to clot the wound before it turned into a
grave injury.

An odd sinking feeling found her chest.

This was it.

She was going to die in a sodden mote while her friends, her family and her mate were fighting for
their lives. Whether it was the pain, panic or the sheer thought of not keeping her word to Azriel, it
made her sick. She hurled forward, throwing up in the torch-lit waters.

There was only ever one time Gwyn had felt this desperate, this alone. Not even in the forests of
Illyria did she feel this way. The kind of resignation, the kind of harsh realisation of her own
mortality could only be compared to Sangravah.

So, Gwyn did the only thing she could do. The thing she did in Sangravah when all else failed. She
prayed.

The mother had given her many second chances and many joys. So, she didn’t pray for herself, she
prayed for Emerie and Nesta. She prayed for the Valkyrie, for the Inner Circle that employed her
and even Eris. But most of all, she prayed for Azriel.

She prayed for his safety, for harm not to come to him and for the Mother to keep him intact. And
when she finally bled out and her heart stopped, she prayed that he would be okay. That he
wouldn’t resent her for not telling him that they were mates. That he would still be able to accept
the love he deserves.

A sound cut through her end-of-the-line worship.

Her chin rose to the unfamiliar sound as though it was descending from the heavens themselves. It
sounded like… like the beating of wings… but not the same as the ones she had become so familiar
with. There was a ruffled huff from above and a dark shadow falling as it grew closer and closer
until that shadow ate up the sight of the stars and the moon and she was cast in complete darkness.

Gwyn lurched for the stone wall, biting down the hiss that rose to her lips as her leg screamed in
protest. She said one more prayer to the Mother that whatever it was, whoever it was, would not
find her if they meant her harm.

The beating of wings grew louder, the huffs turning to off-kilter shrieks. No, not shrieks, but
whinnies …

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the curious thing was finally lit in the torchlight and came to
land elegantly in the murky waters in front of her.

Because what had arrived was not a bird, not just any animal, but a pegasus.

Her mouth fell open, all the pain and worry ebbing away with the cool water.

It was a pegasus .

A real pegasus .

Unless of course, she was hallucinating. Which, according to the array of healers' texts she had
read and memorised was extremely likely. But it looked so real as its form slowly trotted through
the shallow waters towards her.

A pegasus.

Her mind kept replaying the word, as though attempting to convince itself it wasn’t crazy.

As it neared closer, Gwyn couldn’t help but stare in awe at the gleaming white coat that clad its
muscular form and the large wings of alabaster feathers, which looked as though they belonged to
an angel. The pegasus had eyes the colour of the sun-drenched sea and a snout that was now
extending forward, sniffing for her.

It was likely all it would scent would be her blood, which was quickly draining from some vital
artery in her leg and contaminating the water around them. But that didn’t seem to deter the
pegasus.
Gwyn couldn’t help it, she shrieked. Despite the morbidity of her situation, despite the death and
shock, she was definitely hallucinating. It was an indelicate sound, halfway between pure
astonishment and utter joy. The beast didn’t baulk from her voice, no, it seemed to be drawn to it
and even gave a huffing neigh in reply.

Tentatively, her bloodied hand reached towards its shiny snout and in return, it bowed its head, as
though giving permission for her to stroke it.

It was, at a surface level, completely idiotic to do such a thing. Gwyn knew that animals were
inherently untrustworthy on account of being guided by a completely different set of morals and
drives. But somehow, somehow , she had the feeling that the pegasus was here for her. Maybe it
was the rapid blood loss draining her mind of sense, perhaps it was the final remnants of optimism
that seemed to linger in her soul. But there was that feeling.

The feeling that it was good .

That something good and pure could be found even in the throes of war, if only one asked for it.
Prayed for it.

A gift from the Mother herself.

When her hand came into contact with its velvety nose, she let out a laugh as it cheerily indulged in
her touch and nuzzled into her further. A warmth spread through her chest, displacing the cold grip
that had taken hold of her heart. And from that touch, where her fingertips and palm met the
pegasus’ velveteen fur, spurred a glow.

She gaped as the luminance grew and spread across the animal's face, neck and large muscular
body until it appeared as though soft faelight had been lit beneath its pelt. She knew then that it
wasn’t just a pegasus in that moment.

No.

It was a beacon.

A beacon of hope, of justice, of love.

Chapter End Notes

Wow! That was an intense one to write. I had a lot of ground to cover and to be honest
with you I don't feel very comfortable writing fight scenes or war so this was super
hard for me.

Ever since beginning this fic I knew war would be featured in one of the final chapters.
It's clear from the books that Hybern wasn't the last of it and that Koschei is going to
become some kind of Thanos level threat that brings the universes together. I wanted
to create a stage for conflict that hinted to Koschei but was still at a manageable
smaller scale and suited the espionage field. I wanted to use the war as a setting to
illustrate Gwyn's growth as a character throughout the fic.

In these ridiculously long chapter notes I often talk about the central theme of self-
worth in Gwyn and Azriel's personal journey and in this chapter we see both of them
finally get to the point where they see value in themselves. Firstly, Gwyn reflects on
her sister and the tribulations and trials that have brought her to the battlefield and
thus, she ends up claiming the invoking stone - the one thing she never felt worthy of.
Secondly, we've seen Azriel in the books behave as though he is dispensible in war - a
reflection of his own lack of self-worth. Here, we see him promise Gwyn he will make
it through to see her, because he has found his reason to find himself worthy of living.

The ribbon symbolises persistence and perseverance despite all odds. I held off on
introducing the ribbon to the story for this exact moment because I wanted it to hit
emotionally. Gwyn only received the ribbon she cut when she was finally ready to
accept herself as a Valkyrie. She always had the skill, but I think she never had the
confidence after Ramiel to believe that she was a warrior in her own right. What I
really wanted to get across here was that Azriel may feel protective of her going into
war, but at the end of the day he knows she proves everyone wrong and comes out of a
fight stronger and by giving her the ribbon, I wanted her to have that reassurance.

The Valkyrie!!! Oh god, I love them all. I just could read a whole book on Nesta's
found sisters and that plot line of finding strength through a bond of sisterhood and
empathy was my favourite part of ACOSF. Before they inevitably get their winged
counterparts, I wanted to see the Valkyrie fight on the ground. I wanted to see them get
hit and get back up again, because that is what they are better than everyone else at -
surviving and persevering. @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship and I spoke about Nesta's
trove of weapons and it was her idea to have them returned to people Nesta would
actually have wanted them to go to as that was something I really wanted to see
resolved in ACOSF but just didn't happen. Also I just love the idea of Gwyn tandem
fighting with a trove dagger and the menacing dagger Azriel gifted her.

And finally, the pegasus. The moment I had been waiting for, for the whole damn fic.
I wrote about this on Tumblr, but if you missed it... I love the mythology that
surrounds the pegasus. In Greek mythology, a pegasus was born from the spilled blood
of Medusa. Due to the nature of her tragedy, Medusa has become a symbol of SA
survival in the last few decades and is often symbolic of female strength. So I think
within the context of that background, there's an underlying emotional connection
between the pegasi and the Valkyrie - and especially Gwyn - that really warms my
heart. You may have noted the pegasus reacting to Gwyn's blood spilled in the water,
this was intentionally showing that it was detecting her Day Court origins. I have this
headcanon that pegasi that are loyal to Day have this sixth sense of sorts to protect the
Day Court bloodline and so that was my justification for it showing up out of nowhere
to find her.

Ps. I hoped you liked my low-key fluffy Eris moment. I will continue to be an Eris
apologist until I draw my last breath and if I must ride the 'Eris and Gwyn have best
friend energy' train myself then I will lol.

As always, please let me know in the comments what you liked, what you didn't like
and whatever else. I'm sorry if you've commented on the last two chapters and I
haven't responded, I just haven't had the time, but thank you so much - I will get to
you!

Lou x
 The Invoking of Truth
Chapter Notes

Thank you to @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for beta reading, editing and contributing

to this chapter. Your mind amazes me and I'm so lucky to have you help me draw this
wonderful journey to a close.

And now... for the moment people have been asking me for since like chapter 10...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Gwyn’s leg had already begun to heal by the time she strode over to the shiny flank of her new
acquaintance. With a gentle hand, she caressed its velveteen pelt, a silent question laced in the
movement.

The beast turned its alabaster snout to gaze at her. Eyes like a clear winter sky bore into her own
and she suddenly had the keen feeling that those eyes were ancient. That perhaps they had seen
many wars and found many girls just like her.

She offered the pegasus a smile and watched as the overhanging moonlight reflected in the depths
of its all-seeing gaze. It was the same smile she gave Priestesses at the library, gentle yet reassured,
a semblance of trust glimmering there.

Some may have baulked from the creature, from the sheer intensity of being under its attention, but
not Gwyn. She had always been able to find goodness in even the darkest and most dangerous of
things.

“I need your help…” It felt incredibly stupid speaking to an animal, but she found herself
explaining anyway, “I fell into this moat from the bridge and I hurt my leg badly…” The fluffy
ears of her companion twitched as they took in her words. “I was wondering if I could get a lift out
of here. My friends up there need my help.”

For a few heartbeats, the pegasus only stared at her. Assessing and contemplating. Gwyn watched
in awe as its gaze sunk down to her leg, as though it had understood the content of words. And
then, as it did the moment they met, its thick neck fell into a graceful bow.

Permission.

Gwyn grinned, giving it a scratch around the ear in thanks. Leaning in affectionately, she
whispered, “All of the best heroes have names… I think I’ll call you Medusa.”

The pegasus gave a whinnied huff in appreciation, its soft radiance glowing brighter at the words.
In a swift movement, Medusa knelt in the waters, wings swooping down to allow Gwyn space to
mount.
She ignored the rational part of her brain that was shouting one hundred logistical and sensible
questions, such as ‘how do you actually fly a pegasus?’ and perhaps more importantly, ‘how do
you not fall off without a saddle?’.

With a swing of her good leg, she slid easily onto its soft back. The curved divot in its spine made
for a perfect seat. Her thighs squeezed tight on the animal's muscular flanks and she gripped its
lush mane to station herself properly.

“Take me to the Valkyrie…”

The pegasus rose, its wings rising high beside Gwyn's form. Then, with a movement of undiluted
power and elegance, the beast took flight.

An awestruck laugh escaped her lips as she felt the wind whip in her hair and blow cool wind
against her soaked leathers.

An answering whinny sounded from in front of her, as though her new friend was joining in on the
flood of excitement.

The high walls of stone quickly disappeared as they rose through the smoky haze left in wake of
the bomb and there they were. From the distant shadows, Gwyn watched as the Valkyrie pushed
the insurgent forces out. Still fighting, they had reclaimed the bridge and sent the soldiers
retreating to the tree line.

If ever there was a shred of hope that lay burning bright in the darkness, it was lit by the sight of
her sisters, alive and victorious. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed to where Nesta and Emerie were both
fending off Taranis, Nesta’s sword sparking against his own as Emerie parried back from a swipe
of a dagger. The male was surprisingly strong, his vicious sword swings becoming more savage
against their lethargic assault.

It was then Gwyn knew that she had one singular shot at ending this once and for all. She needed
the element of surprise and a few miracles from the Mother to pull it off, but she was game.

Leaning forward, she whispered into the Pegasus’ ear and instead of barrelling forward to attack
head-on, they turned right and flew out into the forest to breach from behind. The mask of night,
though quickly fading to a navy hue of morning, disguised the winged beast as it soared towards
the fight.

Azriel

The bay had been swallowed by a thick cloud of smoke as dawn approached the horizon. He had
well and truly lost count of the kills that he had sustained under the thick cloak of night. But as the
rising sun painted the thick haze of war red, it slowly began to illuminate the sea of death and
destruction lying at their feet.

In the distance, a wave roared and the splintering cracks that sounded a moment later, were as if it
had swallowed a ship whole. The sound of heavy wings and the clash of steel had hollowed out his
ears.

Summer’s navy had completely been usurped by Taranis, the Illyrian legion arrived only an hour
ago and it wasn’t a second too soon. That was the issue with aerial forces, it took time to fly to the
fight. And now, with the smoke masking the forces at hand, they were at a strategic disadvantage.

His siphons blared. Truth Teller cut mercilessly through the throats of two soldiers in a singular
swinging motion as he heard Cassian somewhere ahead plough through the onslaught.

Sometimes Azriel forgot how deadly Cassian really was. The glare of red siphons shone through
the thick smoke that lathered the beach, leaving nothing but fresh blood pouring into the damp
sand in his wake.

Rhys was in the water fending off the incoming ships. The reverberation of his unholy power
quaked the sandy floor with every heart he stopped and sail he drowned. Feyre and Mor took to the
east, guarding the cliff steps - the only entry to the city proper.

The coup would only be successful if Autumn and the covert Summer forces held the castle
grounds and between the ruthless swing of Mor’s sword and Feyre’s water wolves, the shadows
had reported they were failing miserably. Lucien was somewhere fighting on the beach, and his
mate had been charged with guarding Tarquin at the cottage, while Amren was searching high and
low for where Taranis had locked up Varian. And the Valkyrie…

He gritted his teeth as Truth Teller found the soft spine of an unsuspecting Autumn soldier. Azriel
tried not to think about the danger Gwyn was in.

Distraction was the greatest killer in a fight, he knew that well. But he would be a liar if he didn’t
admit that this whole evening had been spent killing to get one step closer to her. In fact, every
time his blade lethally sunk into the flesh of another soldier, he told himself it was one less threat
to Gwyn. One less thing standing in between them. And he would kill them all if it meant there was
less distance that carved them apart. Would flay entire armies, and fend off any manner of beast to
see her, touch her, smell her again.

Gwyn Gwyn Gwyn

His shadows sang the symphony of her name like a devout prayer. Egging him on. Pushing his
tired limbs forward as he mercilessly obliterated anyone that found themselves in his presence.

And yet, the lingering anxiety still itched at him, gnawing at his focus. Knowing she was in danger
was the singular most maddening reality Azriel had ever been subjected to. It was as though his
very being had been wired to protect her, to be beside her. Somehow though, he knew deep down
she was okay. He knew. By some divine force he neither comprehended nor experienced before,
Azriel knew .

An eruption of fire blasted from the western shore, it was met with the screams of males that were
burning alive in the flaming throes of it. Eris and Beron had been fighting for hours and for the
first time in his existence, Azriel hoped Eris would come out on top.

On your left, the shadows warned, their slithering figures obscuring his form in the haze like a
walking black hole.

Azriel ducked, narrowly missing the arrow shot aimlessly from somewhere beyond and then
returned to cut the male he was fighting, down with a sharp kick to the throat and a lethal blow at
the heart.

Towards the end of a battle, the fighting always became wilder and increasingly brutal. There was
no more energy for grace or honour. Exertion in the face of extreme violence always managed to
turn even the most practised soldier into a beast. The end - yours or the war, it didn't really matter -
it made you hungry, desperate.

Arrows flew as brute strength waned and a sudden feeling of endlessness struck him dead in his
place. They had been fighting for hours and the attack was not letting up.

It didn’t make sense- why would Autumn and Summer put their whole defence force on the line to
just displace one High Lord? The irrationality of it ate at him as he ploughed forward, his boots
narrowly missing the sprawled bodies that were so easy to trip over.

Azriel shot to the sky in an effort to gauge the bloodied beach in the light of the newly risen dawn.
The muscles bolstering his wings strained under the heavy beats that catapulted him up into the
smoke-laden haze. Everything hurt. He had a gash in his stomach that was slowly healing and his
head pounded from coming into contact with the sharp end of a trident.

And yet all he could think of, all that was running through his mind was…

Gwyn Gwyn Gwyn

Azriel narrowed his gaze as he rose, it was difficult to tell how much of the navy was left, or how
many of Beron’s covert forces he brought with him to the shore were still standing. The entire
beach was still painted in reddened smog, but the smoke at the rocks was clear enough to
illuminate the crimson hue the seawater had taken on.

Like a crack of lightning, he was met with the sound of a cannon being fired in the distance. Azriel
heard the woosh of the ball of fire as it hurled through the air towards him. The shadows
whispered in warning, as he ducked out of its way.

Strategically, the Illyrians were at an unusual disadvantage fighting in the sea. Summer had
weapons made for aerial strikes and they rarely lost a fight in their own waters. Azriel had lost
count of how many Illyrian warriors had been blasted to Hel by their fire canons, poison-arrowed
crossbows and perfectly shot sea spears. The skies had become more dangerous than the ground.
He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

Surveying the fight below, Azriel’s shrewd gaze caught on the glimmer of burnished hair that
reflected in the fog. A jolt of terror ran through his veins, turning them to ice. It was as though his
body had been conditioned to search for her . Azriel descended closer to the sand and crane his
neck to see.

Not her.

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed as he watched Lucien Vanserra expertly fend off three Autumn soldiers,
a dagger in one hand and a ball of fiery light in the other.

His fire was different from Eris’. Where the heir’s power could only be explained as the summoned
hell of rage and scorching flames, Lucien’s fire was that of sunlight itself. As though it had been
poured from the burning star above and into his palms.

Light, pure and white. The very same glowing hue as…

He had his suspicions about Lucien being Gwyn’s father. That first day Azriel entered the training
ring and saw her standing there- in Illyrian leathers no less- he truly got to look at her. He
remembered her, even two years after that awful night. And there she was that day, drenched in
sunlight at the training ring. Alive, beautiful even. Azriel was too blind to acknowledge it then. But
he could have sworn even then that her face looked so familiar - like he had seen it somewhere
before.
There was something different about her and even Azriel’s shadows felt it. In fact, there was a file
dedicated to her lineage in his bottom cabinet. He told himself first it was a simple curiosity, that it
was information that may be valuable to know.

But Azriel couldn’t bring himself to tell her without solid evidence. Not when she had overcome so
much in such a short amount of time and certainly, not when she had accepted there was no family
left for her. The very last thing he wanted was to carve open a wound that had only just healed
over.

And now, the truth was glaringly obvious, even through the thick smoke of war.

Azriel couldn’t help but see it, the way his lithe form sliced elegantly through the line of attack.
The way Lucien strategically used his opponent's strengths against them.

From what he had gathered about the male of Autumn, he was indeed the sly and cunning fox that
the courtly gossips painted him as. But there was an intelligence that such traits required. Azriel
saw the fierce loyalty that Autumn's stray showed to Tamlin despite it all - and it mirrored perfectly
the unrelenting dedication Gwyn harboured for those who stood by her.

He didn’t like Lucien. But, truth be told, he never tried to know the male beyond the basics.
Perhaps if Azriel found enough of Gwyn in him, he could learn to tolerate the male. Perhaps he
would try to mend the broken bridges between them.

For Gwyn’s sake.

Releasing a deep sigh, Azriel landed on the ground and plunged his dagger through the male that
was about to drive a spear through his future father-in-law’s head.

Fuck, if this wasn't awkward.

Azriel’s jaw snapped back as a mighty howl echoed over the bay. In the distance, the blood-stained
water rippled, as though the sound shook the very ground they fought upon. The air was heavily
charged and Azriel’s heart raced with the undiluted magic that pulsed through it.

He had only felt this calibre of magic once before.

The bay fell silent as it washed over the blood-spattered soldiers, some even falling to their knees
at the force of it.

The detonation was no bomb or weapon, but a transfer. The aftershocks of a High Lord’s power
being released and then captured once more.

It only meant one thing.

Beron was dead.

A triumphant combustion of fire and fury marked Eris’ victory, and Azriel only hoped that with his
new title, he was a better male than his father. That whatever redemption Gwyn had uprooted
within him could still be found that now he had the political power he had been fighting for, for so
many years.

With plundering speed, Azriel dove back into the thick of the fight. Face sprayed with blood,
Cassian was fighting off four males at once. His descent was marked by the heel of Azriel’s boot
finding the curve of a swinging soldier's spine. The answering crack had the male going limp and
falling to the floor as the bones of his back peaked unnaturally.

Cassian’s voice was nothing but a hoarse grunt as he asked, “Beron?”

“Dead.” Truth Teller's blade sang through the air as it sliced the taut muscle and flesh of another
soldier's throat.

The General nodded, wiping his brow of the blood and grime that had made a home there. Azriel
wondered how he was so calm, knowing Nesta was fending off forces not too far away. His friend
always had the capacity to contain his pent-up rage, this wasn’t the first time in their five-hundred
years that he envied him for that.

“How are we doing?”

Azriel swallowed, shaking his head, “I’m not sure.” Hand snapping up, he caught an arrow heading
straight for Cassian’s temple, the muscles of his arm quivered with the speed it had been flying at.
“...The smoke.”

Cassian only nodded, squinting through the thick haze of war to the waters as though searching for
a sign of Rhys. Their brotherhood was built on many moments, but none so much as those heavy
glances. Desperately stealing spare seconds in the midst of war to search for each other. The only
assurance that the reinforcement-packed boats were still arriving was the rumble of night-forged
power beyond.

Gwyn

Dawn gilded the summer sky in shards of tangerine and gold as they flew towards the stone walls
of Adriata. Gwyn’s eyes narrowed in at the figures which were illuminated at the approaching
bridge. As though reading her mind, Medusa’s flight slowed in the smoke lingering air.

Her gaze tracked the Valkyrie, Taranis and a slew of soldiers yet to be slain. Emerie was limping
and Nesta looked as though she was on the cusp of passing out. Guilt washed through her as she
saw Ilana hunch over to hurl onto the death-addled ground. They were exhausted.

The wisp of blonde hair glinting in the morning light confirmed that Taranis had somehow held off
Nesta and Emerie’s counterattack.

“Fly low…”

Just as Gwyn readied the made blade Eris had given her in a tight grip, Nesta fell to the ground.
Ataraxia was thrown along with her, clankering to the dirt too far away to reach. Now it was just
Emerie, screaming as she clashed swords with Taranis.

His slithering voice had taken on a sharp yell, as he mercilessly blocked every one of her attacks.
“Where is she?”

Her heart momentarily ceased its beating. The key, still nestled under the collar of her leathers
suddenly felt as heavy as stone and hot against her bare skin.

By a stroke of luck, an explosion fell over the bay in the distance, its thunderous blast subduing the
sound of her arrival in the tempered winds. Medusa gave a startled whinny at the deafening sound
as she began her descent to where Taranis unsuspectingly fought Emerie.
The hazel eyes of her Illyrian friend widened as they took in the sight of Gwyn’s arrival, a pegasus-
shaped shadow looming over them.

Gwyn sailed through the downdraft, blade at the ready as Taranis finally turned around to follow
Emerie’s bewildered stare. His serpentine eyes widened, the fear and shock coating his features.
There was no time for him to react, not as Gwyn’s blade met with the exposed flesh of his neck.

An electric current volted through her palm and travelled straight to her chest. It all happened so
quickly that she almost missed the flash of glowing light that spurred from the blade as it buried
into the fleshy area between his neck and shoulder. She grimaced from the crescendo of sound that
followed, a distinct ringing of the key around her neck contending with a shattering filled her ears.
Shattering , like the pitched sound of glass smashing into a million pieces.

A choked coughing sound was all that could be heard from Taranis as Medusa landed triumphantly
on the edge of the bridge. The other Valkyrie, panting and spent, came to greet her with bloodied
smiles and delighted yelps of relief.

It was only then that she realized the still-standing soldiers had all at once fallen to the ground, as
though struck with some invisible magic…

Her gaze fell to her palms, they tingled as if that electricity still lingered just beneath the flesh. A
slight glow pricked at her fingertips.

“You broke the spell, Mrs Donnall…” The familiar, slippery voice was laboured with a choke as
she turned to greet it with a furrow etched into her dirty brow. “...But you won’t win the real war.
This was just a taste of what is yet to come.”

Gwyn stalked closer to where Taranis was now kneeling at the mercy of Emerie and Nesta’s
swordpoint. The tip of her dagger protruded from the side of his neck, a perfect slice into the thick
artery there. Blood flowed generously from the wound, dripping down his armour to the earthen
floor.

“What spell?” Nesta asked, eyes demanding as she glared down at him.

His features were twisted into a sickly grin, despite being on death's door. “He is known by many
names… But you may know him as Koschei.”

Gwyn sucked in a sharp breath as Emerie shifted on her feet.

“You were compelled by Koschei with magic?” Gwyn breathed the realization, “To start this
war?”

A wicked half-laugh fell from his crimson lips, “Here I was thinking you would have been smart
enough to work it out sooner.”

“What does he want?” Emerie demanded, sword pressing into his chest.

“He’s…” Another wet cough sprayed from the dying male's mouth, but it did nothing to disguise
his amusement. “He’s coming for you all… But you,” he raised a trembling finger towards Gwyn,
“you will be his grand prize.”

Gwyn knelt before him, eyes hardened into a glare but lips curving into a bitter smile. Reaching
around to grip the hilt of the dagger, she whispered, “Then tell him we’re ready,” and then ripped
the blade out, only to plunge it directly into his windpipe a moment later.
It was that exact moment her dagger earned its name. A name that would be whispered across the
continents, written in thick tomes and spoken in long-told legends.

Spellbreaker - The blade that could one day bring death gods to their knees.

The symphony of Medusa’s whinnies broke through the stunned silence. Her wings flared, hoofs
clopping excitedly to the ground.

“What is-” Nesta’s question was cut off, her storm grey eyes widening to saucers.

Emerie’s mouth fell open as she glanced up to the sky, “Holy Gods…”

Gwyn turned to see what had stolen the Valkyrie’s attention. The sound of Medusa’s thunderous
hooves hitting the dirt faded into the background as she stood slowly and watched as six pegasi
graced the western wind before them.

Six winged shadows soared towards them.

Answering the call.

A grin so bright, so full of wonder, found Gwyn’s tired features as the winged beasts drew closer to
the bridge.

Their pelts were all of different colours, some dappled, some a striking slick of black or caramel.
All mesmerising. Their wing sizes varied and yet as they flew, they were a singular symphony of
strength and beauty. A unit of their own.

And when they landed, their hooves drenching up dust to dance in the shards of morning sunlight,
hope, swept through the air. Nesta’s eyes had filled with tears, and Emerie simply fell to the floor
in bewilderment.

Deirdre let out a squeal of undiluted glee as a pegasus the colour of mahogany sniffed her
outstretched hand. A few feet away, Roslin shyly approached the smallest one with a mane of
golden hair.

A fresh breeze swept through the woodland and greeted their bloodied faces and still-healing
wounds. Like a heavy stone settling in a pond, a strange feeling simultaneously sunk through them
all.

The battle of the night had ended and with the dawn, a new chapter of history had begun.

Azriel

One minute, he was back to back with Lucien Vanserra, fending off a hoard of Summer soldiers…
And then, they just dropped .

Azriel panted, his breathing hoarse and mouth dry from the hours of fighting. The male he was
about to kick square in the stomach had just keeled over, as though a ghostly force had beaten him
to it. Confusion clocked his features as his head whipped around to survey the situation. The
smoke had begun to finally part to the morning sun, though a thin fog still remained. The ground
was nothing but a sea of black armour, bloodied flesh and dropped steel.

“What…” Lucien had hunched over, his hands bracing his wobbling knees, “What the fuck
happened to them?”

Azriel stared in disbelief as the shadows inspected the comatose bodies. A tendril of cool night
curled at the shell of his ear.

Dead. All of them.

‘How?’

The shadows inspected the bloodied gash on a fallen soldier's cheek. Magic. The ancient kind.

‘ Someone used magic to kill them?’

Not exactly… Shadows thinks the magic was cleaved from them. A broken curse perhaps.

“I don’t know…” Azriel frowned, wiping the blood off his blade on the leather of his thigh, “some
kind of spell, I think…”

“Helion’s here?”

The shadows went rigid for a moment, Arrows on the left , they whispered.

Azriel snapped into action, picking up a shield and drawing it up to protect them both. His arms
shook as three arrowheads pierced through the wood.

More! It’s an ambush!

Arrows began flying through the air left, right and centre. There was only one shield. Lucien had
picked up a body to hide behind, an arrow narrowly escaped Azriel’s wing as he ducked and
caught them.

Another three embedded themselves into his shield as the whistling of five arrows hurled towards
them from the other side. Lucien’s back was exposed. In that millisecond, he knew that Gwyn’s
father was about to die. A male she had never had the chance to meet.

It was a split decision, one that Azriel was quick to make. Flinging the shield out to keep the firing
ahead of him at bay, he leapt in front of Lucien, who already had an arrow buried in his knee and
took the hit.

Gwyn

She could sense it as soon as the pegasus' hooves landed on the crimson sand of the bay.

A pinching at her most tender nerves.

A stirring in her gut.

It was as though someone had reached into the confines of her chest and gripped tightly at her
rapidly beating heart buried in there. Her whole body stilled, every muscle freezing to stone as the
violent tug on her ribcage had nausea creeping in.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

“Az…”

Gwyn frantically looked around at the destruction and chaos that the bay had plunged into. The
smoke was so thick, she could barely see a few feet in front of her. Her heart raced as though it
were counting down to something. And then, like it had drifted in with the bloodied shore, she felt
it.

Pain. The unimaginable kind that both seared the flesh and sank deep into the soft organs beneath.
That visceral sensation had her releasing a scream so feral and primal, it stopped the clashing of
swords and grunts of soldiers for a moment.

“Azriel!”

Then, she was running. Her mind tried to ascertain where Azriel would be, but she didn’t know
where the fight had taken him. Or, if he was still in the bay.

Sprinting aimlessly, Gwyn cut down anyone in her way, jumping over the fallen bodies and
splintered remnants of destroyed ships.

“Azriel!”

That faint tether that always bound them together seemed to dim, its grip on her loosening the more
she ran. Tears streamed wildly down her face as she screamed his name, again and again. But all
her efforts were to no avail.

Panic began to take hold of her rational mind, sending her breathing ragged and her crimson-
slicked hands sweating.

No.

This couldn’t be.

Not him.

Not now.

She called for him again. Called even for the shadows which always listened for her and yet,
nothing. And then she felt it, the light warmth at the juncture between her palm and her forearm.
Ripping open the sleeve of her leathers, a glow, so bright it was almost blinding emulated from the
blue, teal and white friendship bracelet she had woven.

Gasping for air, Gwyn followed the signal as she had done all those months ago in the Rite. Her
knees screamed in ache and every muscle in her legs strained under the speed in which she ran
across the embattled beach.

Her daggers were unrelenting at their slicing. Everyone and everything that stood in her way either
fled at the sheer sight of her or was killed in an instant.

The glow of the bracelet grew brighter until it was as if it was forged with threads of sunlight. She
knew then that he was close.

It was his scent that came first. Despite the gore and grime that coated the air and drenched the
sand, the faint waft of cedar and wind-chilled mist broke through the haze. It hit her like a canon to
the chest. A sob left Gwyn’s mouth as his scent became stronger. She tried to take it in. Tried to
breathe in the scent of him as evidence he was still here, but her wails wouldn’t allow for it.

The sand had given out to a sea of rocky pools that skirted the cliff face. Gwyn arched her neck and
squinted in search of that familiar black-clad form.

The faltering bond that tied them gave a violent tug, heaving her forward. She followed it
desperately, allowing the remnants of magic that still tethered them together to take her to him.

Gwyn almost broke down entirely when a sluggish shadow wrapped at her boot. A prayer fell from
her lips as she picked up its leaden, pale form and held it to her chest. It curled, as though pointing
to the deep craterous rocks ahead.

And then, there he was.

“Azriel!” Her stomach flipped violently, a cocktail of relief and devastation roiling in her depths.

Azriel lay there unmoving, sprawled on his back. His wings were almost hidden in the waters of
the rock pool. Waters, which seemed to be filled with what should've been running in his veins.

Blood.

So much blood.

On his face, his chest and his hands. There was a dark cavern where one of his siphons - the one
nestled just above his chest - had once shone brightly. Her blurred eyes widened in disbelief at the
sight of the five arrows that had pierced savagely through his chest.

She didn’t have to sniff the wound to know they were ash arrows, the white hue his skin had taken
on was evidence enough of the poison's effect.

Without a moment's hesitation, Gwyn climbed into the bloodied waters of the rock pool, her hands
coming up to cup his cheeks. “Az, can you hear me? Azriel?”

The silence that followed her question was the worst sound she had ever heard. Gwyn gripped at
his hand, squeezing it.

His eyes cracked open as though the touch had summoned him from unconsciousness.

“G… Gw-” The violent heaving that suddenly bellowed from his lips was laboured and crackled.

“It’s okay, Shadowsinger…” She commanded her voice not to betray the whipping anxiety that
rattled her bones. “Just… Just hold on until I can get you to a healer… Just…” Inspecting every
point of his body with a rush of her shaking hands, Gwyn desperately tried to think up a plan. To
recall all those healers' texts she had read. Her mind began analysing his injuries.

Deep puncture to the chest cavity. Five entry points, still unknown if there were any exit points.
Definite punctured right and left lung and a possible cardiac puncture given the excess of blood and
difficulty in breathing.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Azriel’s eyes, a faintly pale hazel, still managed to bore into hers as he shook his head. He reached
back for her hand, stilling her efforts to stifle the blood loss at his chest. “Gwyn…” His voice was a
thick, ragged wheeze.

“No…” She shook her head, already knowing where his words were going. They were the words of
martyrdom. Of knowing sacrifice. A violent sob fell from her as she repeated the refusal, “No.”

“It…” He wheezed again, the movement causing blood to rush from his chest at such a rate it
flooded over his slashed leathers. “It’s okay.” Azriel squeezed her hand, “It’s-”

“No Azriel, it’s not okay!” Gwyn shrieked, desperately looking to the skies for any sign of the
Pegasus. They were thick with haze and the firing of canons would disrupt the sound if she knew
how to call for it. “None of this is okay. The shadows… Send the shadows to Rhys, or… or Feyre.
Get them to get someone.”

The shadows lay lifeless over his form, shrivelled and withered. Upon being summoned, they
attempted to move but as if they too were being drained of life, they sagged. Gwyn whimpered.

Despite it all, he managed a curve of his blanched mouth, “They got me you. That’s-” Another
brutal wheeze left his chest, followed by a terrifyingly wet cough. “That’s what I want.”

“No, you don’t get to do this…” She shook her head, “What about what I want?”

“Gwyn…”

“You don’t get to… to fucking leave, not you. Not now, after everything.”

It was hard to not feel as though she had been transported back to that kitchen in Sangravah. Those
heavy seconds before Catrin died felt as though they were ticking once again. Peeling away at the
layers of her heart. Counting down. She was all too familiar with the unmistakable agony of being
completely unable to do anything to fix this terrible situation and it struck her like a kick to the
chest. Again and again.

Gwyn would not lose another.

Could not lose another.

Azriel swallowed, a scarred hand reaching up to graze her cheek and wipe the free-flowing tears. “I
love you, Berdara…” He began, and the thread that bound them faltered even more with the words,
as though it were dissolving into nothingness and disappearing into the smoke. “I want you to
promise me something…”

“No,” she cut in, something burning at her chest, “I’m not promising you anything, because you’re
going to live, I’m going to find a way. There has to be a way. There is always a way.”

“You need to look after Rhys and Cassian for me…”

Gwyn had begun aimlessly searching his wounds, inspecting the depth and severity of them. A
little too harshly, she replied, “You can look after them yourself when you’re better.”

“And when he’s older, Nyx will need less-” He coughed again, blood spluttering from his mouth,
“lessons. Teach him everything I taught you. He’s your nephew now, you know… Rhys… Rhys
knows that.” Azriel squeezed her fingers, his thumb stroking the ring that still sat on her fourth
finger. She couldn’t bear to take it off at the cottage, wouldn’t part with it.

The bond felt loose, like a ship's anchor unravelling from its rope. Plummeting to the inky depths
of a place she couldn’t find, couldn’t ever reach. That is what Azriel was to her, an anchor that held
her steady. No matter the force of the tide or the strength of the storm. And now, the tether that
tied them together was unfurling as their grip on each other loosened.

Gwyn shook from the terror.

She felt it tremble, as though the bond was hanging on the whim of singular threads, waning at the
fade of him. His heart was beating too slowly - the lethargic sound plunged like a blunt knife into
her own, it was all she could do to keep breathing.

Azriel was dying , and she couldn’t escape the feeling that her soul was going with him.

“Please…” It wasn’t so much a prayer as it was a desperate beg, “Please Mother. Save him.
Please.”

Anguished and frantic, she repeated the plea over and over, until a warmth began to take hold of
her chest. Warmth that cut through the cold, helplessness she had plunged into. It felt familiar
somehow, like a distant memory was summoning her. Glancing down through tear-flooded eyes,
she watched a slither of light reflected from the pocket of her leathers. A spark flamed into the dark
war that had overtaken her mind.

An idea.

It danced to the front of her consciousness as Azriel fell into another fit of choked coughs. With a
lightning pace, her hands whipped upwards to the pocket at her heart, as Azriel kept consoling her
through the flooding of his lungs.

She would save him.

Gwyn would save him as he had saved her.

She would not let go.

Azriel was still speaking, no, apologising . “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. We-”

The abrupt glint of the invoking stone being ripped from her leathers silenced him. Gwyn wasted
no time, slamming the stone into the cavern where his lost siphon once had been. His eyes
widened.

The stone fit perfectly.

“By the power of the Mother…” Her voice shook as she voiced the ancient words of the holy
incantation, the very one they had been taught since she was young in Sangravah. “...And her holy
cauldron, grant me the ability to invoke healing upon this male.”

Seconds passed. Then a minute. She watched as anxiety gnawed at her patience, her lips
murmuring the prayer over and over until she knew nothing else.

Just as streams of tears began to run down her cheeks, the stone began glowing faintly.

“Thank you…” She whispered frantically, her fingers clutching at Azriel’s leathers, “Oh, thank the
Mother…”

Then, her entire vision was struck with a flood of blinding, white light. For a moment, there was no
war, no beach or Summer Court. There was only Gwyn and Azriel, her hand firmly pressed to
where his heart slumped its beats.
She clenched her eyes closed as the light continued to flare from his chest, and pierced upwards to
the sky as though it was a stream of solid lightning. Azriel grunted, his body stiffening as the
power poured through him.

Gwyn reached to hold his hand, thumb caressing the scars as she repeated the prayer over and over
again. With the other sweaty fist, she took to gripping the shaft of the first arrow. Azriel screamed,
his agonized face coming back into view as the stream of light dwindled. With a quick tug, the
pointed head was uprooted from his chest.

The very act of pulling the arrow from delicate bundles of flesh and organ should have been lethal,
but the healing powers of the invoking stone had seeped into his body. Azriel’s blanched skin had
taken on a hint of life. White, iridescent liquid rose to the gaping hole in his chest and slowly,
began to stitch the wound together.

Gwyn grimaced, from the sounds of his screams, the magic had done nothing for the pain. She took
a momentary pause from chanting to console him. “I’m sorry,” she panted, “only four more.”

Azriel clamped down on his jaw, eyes fluttering closed as gave a nod for her to continue. With
trembling hands, Gwyn yanked out the next. And the next.

Her heart felt heavy and taut, as though it was being pulled on a line.

Between them, the threads of their mating bond felt as though they were mending. The magic was
perhaps healing more than just Azriel’s wounds. It seemed to reach out and knit the tether between
them tighter, into something stronger more visceral. Every moment that the healing magic poured
through his bloodstream, the melodic hum that seemed to bind them became louder.

Even the shadows seemed to notice, their serpentine forms growing darker as they too, came back
to life and began dancing around Gwyn and Azriel as she worked. Mesmerised. Drunk even on the
magic. As though they could hear that song which was being written between their souls. And
through the gathering melody, she swore those undulating shadows sang in return…

But Gwyn ignored whatever strange aftershocks the magic had conjured between them, her mind
firmly set on the task at hand. Readjusting her position over him, Gwyn withdrew the second last
arrow with a quick yank that had Azriel cursing the Mother and all her stars.

There were tears blurring her vision, as she gripped the final arrow.

But as she did, Gwyn halted. Frozen. Eyes wide, and heart thundering, she became preternaturally
still over Azriel’s form.

Despite the urgency, despite the need to heal him, the shock had taken over and froze her as she
held the arrow. Something had reached for her. As though the magnetic force that always pushed
her towards him had shattered an invisible barrier and finally made contact. Not a hand, or even a
shadow. It was a silent, yet viciously tender thing, something so powerful it felt as if it stroked the
inner flesh of her very soul.

A laboured breath left her lips as she lurched forward, almost falling into him. Warmth flooded her
chest, her throat, her cheeks and ears until they tingled at the sensation.

“Gwyn..” Azriel called breathlessly, as though shock had eaten the sound.

“It’s okay… Don’t worry, sorry I just…” She blinked a few times through the glowing haze of the
distraction. “I’m just nervous and I needed a moment…” She reassured him, banishing the feeling
that had stolen her focus and summoned herself back to reality. “Don't worry, You’re safe with
me.”

The final arrow was the deepest one yet. Gwyn gritted her teeth, her molars on the verge of
cracking under the pressure as she gripped the edge and yanked it from him. She repeated the
prayer for healing again, watching the wound slowly start to heal over.

This time, Azriel didn’t cry out in pain.

No.

In fact, he was completely silent.

The force of the movement had Gwyn knocked backwards. With an abrupt splash, she fell back
onto her palms in the water, discarding the bloodied arrow into the shallow pool as she went. An
erratic thump had taken over her heart, the tingling at her skin sizzling still as her tired lungs had
rendered her almost breathless, her prayer just a whisper now. And yet, she smiled.

Azriel was alive.

They were safe.

The war was over.

“Gwyn, baby?” The words were gravelled, as though they had been dragged from the depths of his
throat.

When she knelt forward again and met the wide, tear-filled eyes of Azriel, her smile faltered.

“Yes, Shadowsinger?”

Their hands met once more, the touch, sending a sparking jolt rushing to her spine. Their fingers
laced together as he swallowed down the hard knot in his throat. To feel him. To see him alive. It
sent ecstasy flooding through her veins.

Gwyn let out an untamed wail of relief as she bent down and pressed her lips to his heart. The
touch felt electric, like lightning had been struck between his ribs and her lips. And by the way
Azriel stiffened, she knew he had felt it too.

“You’re my mate …” He whispered, awestruck despite being on the cusp of unconsciousness.

The world felt as though it had ceased spinning as he said the words and everything fell into place.

The strange magic that lingered in her blood and gripped at her heart was not from the invoking
stone, but the bond .

The mating bond.

Her lips trembled as she tipped her chin up to look him in the eye. “W… What did you say?”

“Gwyn, you’re… you’re my…” Azriel’s words became sluggish, the revelation smothered as his
eyelids fluttered and finally sunk. The truth died on his lips as finally, the magic of the invoking
stone sent him to rest.

If she had a cloak, Gwyn would have draped it over him, but all she had was her broken and
battered body. Her arms fell around him as she let out a long withheld sob. A sob full of the agony
that had plagued her for years.
Relief, awe and shock barrelled into her like the waves that crashed ahead.

Her temple rested on his chest as her body shook from the cries that flooded from her.

Above them, the lingering fog of smoke finally cleared, making way for the gilded sun to reign
down on the bay. Sun that drenched them in light and warmth, chasing away the haze and
caressing their bloodied and broken bodies with the promise of tomorrow.

The promise of each other. Gwyn held that promise. Gripped it right as she did Azriel’s warm
body. She couldn’t escape the feeling that somehow, they were also ushering in a moment of
peace.

And there it was, singing loudly amongst the sunlit ruin of chaos and destruction. Ringing like a
chorus of symphonic melody to the twin beating of their hearts.

The song of light and dark, as divine as it was fated, entwined as one resounding force between
them. A hymn that ran freely through the marrow of their bones and bound their flesh as the
slithering shadows now did.

Their mating bond, as strong as any steel and as unbreakable as any stone, was finally forged into
place.

See the amazing art 'They Got Me You' by artist @witchlingsandwyverns made for this
chapter of ACOSAS here
Chapter End Notes

41 chapters and 206,713 words later, it finally happened! Do I get the slow burn of the
year award yet?!

Okay no seriously, here's the thing... People have been asking and theorising when the
bond will snap since very early on in this fic and I commend everyone's patience who
has held on and trusted me to make it happen when it needs to happen.
It was so tempting to make it snap for them earlier, especially in Chapter 30 and 38 -
But I exercised some rare self-restraint.
I always knew I wanted the bond to snap right at the very end of the fic. For the
relationship to be strong, I needed Gwyn and Azriel to build a solid and genuine
connection that occurred outside his knowledge of the bond. Love without the pressure
of the fates. Fated but not forced.
I love full-circle narratives, it's easily one of my favourite literary dopamine hits and
what better way to bring Gwyn and Az's journey full circle than to have the bond snap
when SHE saves HIM?
I've spoken a lot about the popular theory that Gwyn is aware of the mating bond
between them since Sangravah and I've tried to do justice to that theory in this fic. In
ACOSF there are many lines that refer to Gwyn stealing looks at Azriel and even
when Nesta first meets Gwyn she brings up 'The Shadowsinger' in reference to Truth
Teller being used to kill Hybern. I think their story is therefore a reversed Feysand -
she knows, he doesn’t - and she is allowing him time to he’s and chose for himself.
Throughout the fic, Azriel's main struggles have been self-worth and not having
something to call ‘home’. I think Gwyn risking it all to save him is a cathartic moment
for them that proves he is worth everything to her. It’s a moment that says ‘I’m here,
you’re mine and there is nothing that can take you from me’. And at the end of the
day, isn’t that what home is? A place that makes you safe and loved. A person not a
place.
It was very intentional that Gwyn tells him verbatim the words he says her on that
night in Sangravah in this key moment, I like the parallel of it, as though it's some kind
of spoken key that unlocks the bond...

'Spellbreaker'
Did everyone like the name reveal for Gwyn's dagger? You can thank @captain-of-
the-gwynriel-ship for that one. I think it’s badass!
It was important to me that in the fic, her 'glowing' and 'strange power' mentioned in
ACOSF was built upon and explained further. As this fic subscribes to the theory that
Gwyn has both Autumn and Day Court blood, I thought it would be a nice little easter
egg to hint that she could break spells and curses -- as Helion, her grandfather, is
canonically named 'Spell Cleaver'. There is definitely a magical element to Gwyn -
that much is clear - and I really hope we see her develop those powers along the way,
whether that be as a 'lightsinger' or more traditional powers that are derived from her
heritage.

The next chapter is probably my favourite, I have been writing it with the help of
@captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship for months and I can't wait for you to read it.

Please let me know your thoughts, I can't wait to hear them.

Only 3 more chapters to go now!
 Soul Bound
Chapter Notes

Warning: NSFW, Depiction of gore, violence and SA

Thank you to the wonderfully talented and endlessly supportive @captain-of-the-

gwynriel-ship for Beta reading and editing this chapter. Fun fact, we began this
chapter in November last year! How time flies. Also big thank you to @booknerd87
for her advice and kindness.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Three Years Ago

Azriel blinked up at the night-veiled ceiling for what felt like the thousandth time. Even the
shadows were restless, slithering around his crumpled sheets, twining up the bedposts like roused
serpents. The clock on his bedside table had just struck eleven and he had to be up in exactly six
hours for training with Rhys.

And yet, something felt off. Unease and disquiet pinched at his nerves and tugged at his mind.

Rubbing his itchy eyes with a scarred palm, Azriel released an exhausted sigh. The room was so
quiet, so absent of light and sound. Usually, that put him at ease, but tonight it was eerie, as though
he was meant to be somewhere else and even the House knew it.

He fisted the sheets, before ripping them off his naked body. Sweat drenched every inch of scarred
muscle that rippled through his flesh.

In the corner of his vision, Azriel saw the shadows go rigid, their undulating forms freezing in
place. His heart felt as though it dropped into the pit of his stomach, like a leaden weight.

‘What is it?’

The shadows raced to his feet, their forms becoming darker in the milky shard of moonlight that
spilled across the bedroom floor.

Alert Brother Rhysand, The shadows screamed, Sangravah is under attack.

It was as though every muscle in his form responded to the words by practically quivering with the
need to fly, to fight, to kill.

‘Where?’

The temple.

‘Who?’ He knew the answer. There was only one asshole bold enough to sack a temple.
Hybern.

Azriel had his leathers on by the time his suspicions were confirmed, Truth Teller strapped at his
side.

‘Brother Rhysand?’

Guilt twisted in his gut. It was the worst kept secret in the Night Court that Rhys was entertaining
his friend from the Spring Court - that’s what he called her anyway - at the official residence. His
brother had sacrificed so much. Given so much for them. Azriel would rather die than drag him
into a fight so early on. Not when he came back only a few months ago looking like he had been
fighting in a fifty-year war. And yet, Rhys would have his head on a spike if he didn’t inform him
out of pity.

‘Go…” He murmured to the shadows with a reluctant nod, ‘I’ll get Mor…’ Cassian was in Illyria,
Amren was pissed at him for something Cassian had done. Mor and Rhys were the only option, the
only ones he could trust to bring along with him.

The toll of the temple bells reverberated through his bones.

As they winnowed onto the moonlit hill of Sangravah, he scented it.

The fear, so thick in the air. Not just fear, but pure terror - palpable enough to choke on. That scent
had every muscle, every nerve itching for retribution.

Rhys blanched, his features painted with night-cold rage as a scream fell through the air from
beyond. A female scream. Because this wasn’t just any temple. This was a convent that took in
orphans. Innocent children and the females that spent their life in service protecting them.

The main temple had been set alight, dusting the air with hot smoke and ash. The shattering of
windows and the chorus of cries from within the flanking wings had Azriel swallowing down
rising bile.

Morrigan swore, low and spiteful.

“You take the western entrance, try and get out as many Priestesses as you can.” Rhys pointed to
where the bell tower clanged, noting the soldiers running inside and the flames that had set the
outbuilding aflame. Mor nodded, that bitter disgust still plastered on her features.

“Az, take the East.”

He gave a sharp nod, turning back to them with a warning laced through his intent stare, “Don’t kill
any of the High Commanders, keep them alive for later.” His fists clenched, fingers twitching at
the promise of violence those males would meet in the Hewn City. There would be no fast death
for them. Azriel would keep them breathing and conscious through a comprehensive journey of
pain until they begged for death.

Pleaded for it.

The truth was, Azriel was not a good male like his brothers were.

A monster crept beneath his flesh, one that was now begging to be unleashed from its cage. The
sounds of screams, the scent of terror and the sight of desecration had that feral beast itching at his
restraint. But self-control seemed impossible tonight and even the ravenous shadows seemed to
agree. The urge to give in to that beast, a part of him that was so violent and dark had never been
more tempting.

And it was then he knew that tonight, these soldiers would know the true meaning of the word
‘nightmare’ before their bodies finally gave out and death stole them from him.

Rhys disappeared on the night wind, the adamant rage swallowing him whole. Mor didn’t need any
further instruction, bolting forward in the thick cloak of the night without hesitation or second
glance. Azriel didn’t spare another second, winnowing straight into the stone-clad corridor of the
eastern wing.

The screams had momentarily ceased and yet, the guttering silence was wholly worse. Azriel knew
enough about pain to know the worst kind of torture stole your ability to scream. He had learnt that
lesson early when he watched the flesh be melted from his hands and he had perfected it in the
Coercion Chambers of the Hewn City.

A shiver ran down Azriel’s spine, as though a hoard of spiders were scattering down his vertebrae.
The hair stood up on the back of his neck and his shadows had turned frantic, almost crazed.

Something was seriously wrong with him tonight and it had nothing to do with the fact he had just
winnowed into a warzone.

No.

He had seen sackings like this before. Had seen what atrocities males were capable of when they
wanted to demonstrate power against the vulnerable. His five hundred years of wars, battles and
proxy conflicts had shown him that sickening reality far too often.

But tonight was different somehow.

Different because… Because his feet were currently moving as though they were completely
circumventing his mind. Without even realizing it, Azriel was running. Towards what he didn’t
know, but his body carried him faster than he had ever run before.

The soldiers he met in the adjacent prayer room barely had a chance to blink before Truth Teller’s
blade sliced their vital arteries while the shadows rid them of sight and choked the protests from
their airways. There must have been twelve, maybe thirteen in that room. He didn’t have time to
count. They met their end so fast that the only sound was the thud of their bodies slumping to the
floor and the spurting of blood painting the walls.

There was a small part of his mind that was still partial to reason, which noted they had been in the
process of turning over every item in the room. Searching through trunks and probing various
iconography.

Not stealing, but searching .

And yet even with that revelation, he kept moving.

Azriel’s blood pumped wildly, as though it had been spiked. And maybe it had, considering the
heavy magic that seemed to pulse throughout the temple grounds and echo to the marrow of him.
His blade plunged into each soldier's vital organs, as though it were sinking into soft butter. There
was no mercy tonight. Only rage. Rage and… something else.

Azriel ploughed through the side corridor, leaving nothing but corpses in his wake. There was a
faint scent that murmured amongst that of dusty pages, blood and fear. Salted and sweet, like a
meadow by the sea. It was unlike anything he had smelled before and for some reason, his lungs
greedily sucked it in.

Then it happened.

A crash of plates hitting tiles, shattering and then a scream… A scream so loud, a sound so
horrifying, Azriel nearly fell to his knees. His siphons roared, the glow almost blinding. As though
the sound of that voice or perhaps the magic that was thick in the air were a drug, Azriel could do
nothing but follow it. Like a bloodhound set upon with a trail, it was all he felt. All he could think
about.

His nostrils flared. There was that scent again. A scent so unmistakably familiar. Something he had
smelled somewhere before and another, almost the twin to it. That scent seemed to tip him over the
razor-sharp edge he had been teetering upon.

Another six soldiers found themselves at his mercy as he approached the large wooden door. They
didn’t yell, they didn’t scream - or if they did, Azriel couldn’t hear them. He could only hear what
sounded from in that room beyond. The cruel laughter, the desperate pleading and the nauseating
thumping that followed.

There are times in life where a singular emotion consumes you, where the body seems to be
drained of blood and pumped entirely with that one singular motivation. In that moment, as Azriel
kicked down the door and came face to face with Hybern’s Commander committing a crime that
would haunt his nights for the rest of his life, nothing but pure rage filled him. And beside the
table, was a severed head, its robe-wrapped body limp a few feet away.

Ice froze over his veins.

For once, he allowed it. That monster carefully hidden beneath his flesh was unleashed.

It was a blur of blood and organs and limbs. Not even reaching for Truth Teller, Azriel tore them
apart with his bare hands until they were merely clumps of leaking flesh piled on the floor.

So much for ‘keeping the commanders alive’.

Eyes, the blue of sapphire seas, greeted him as he turned around to face the Priestess on the kitchen
table. Her gaze flickered to the girl's severed head on the floor and back to him. Shock had seized
her body, but she didn’t seem frightened, not of him.

The sight of her cracked through his rage and thawed the heavy scowl set on his face.

She was looking at him like… like he wasn’t a monster. Like he hadn’t just shredded flesh and
bone and muscle as though it were tearing through fine paper.

He scented the air and felt the churn of nausea take root in his stomach. Remembered the way he
found her, bent over the table and silently sobbing. Saw the blood. Felt the crush of plates beneath
his boots. Recalled the screams. The laughter.

Chasing the urge to vomit, a familiar feeling rose in him, one that tasted rancid on his tongue.

Azriel wasn’t fast enough.

He wasn’t fast enough to save Mor from Kier and Eris’s cruelty.

He wasn’t fast enough to save Rhys from Amarantha.

He wasn’t fast enough to save Rhys’s mother and sister from being slaughtered.

Just like he wasn’t fast enough to save his own mother every time his father had beaten her.

He had failed, again .

Somewhere along the line he had faltered or slowed. Maybe he took too much time killing his way
through the temple, maybe he didn’t winnow fast enough. All he knew was that the girl should
hate him. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that.

Like he was redeemable.

It was only after a few heavy heartbeats that he realized she was naked. Naked and shivering.

In a swift movement, Azriel ripped the heavy cloak from his body and then moved on careful
footsteps forward to drape it around her shoulders. He kept his gaze on her own and made sure not
to appear leering at how exposed she was. He may be a monster, may have his father's blood
running through his veins, but there was a small bit of mercy left in him and Azriel would give it to
her.

With shaky hands, she took the cloak. But those eyes never left his… Those eyes .

A tempestuous sea of devastation and horror. A blue so violent yet so bright, Azriel found it hard to
tear himself from it.

The Priestess sniffled, clutching the cloak around her tightly. There were tears streaming down her
freckled cheeks and an ungodly bruise forming on the right-hand side of her eye. He didn’t even
know he was speaking until he heard his voice crack through the loud silence.

“Don’t worry… You’re safe now.” Azriel extended out a scarred hand, hating that it was all he had
to offer, “You’re safe with me. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Three years Later

A meadow of bluebells, lily of the valley and the salted winds of the sea.

It was the smell of home and it flooded his starving lungs, thick and inviting. Reaching and pulling
him from the depths of his dream.

Not a dream, but a memory that gripped at his mind in a deep sleep. It was just as visceral as it was
the night he ran through that temple in Sangravah and yet now… Now he saw it for what it was.
What that night really had been.

The fates had a fucked up sense of humour that night. Any other way, any other circumstance and
surely he would have known right away. No wonder he didn’t see the bond for what it was when
his whole body was alight with rage and anxiety for something that seemed blurred, just out of
reach.

As consciousness dripped through him, he became keenly aware of the heavy ache which had
settled into every inch of his body. A dull pain ricocheted from his muscles to every nerve ending.
It seized his back, clutched at his wings and pinched at the tender region of his chest.

The final moments of the battle came flooding back into Azriel’s mind. Even in Sangravah, he had
never seen Gwyn so distraught as she was when she had found him. It had killed Azriel to have
been the cause of that agony.

Almost as much as it killed him to say goodbye to her.

Not just because of what she was to him… But because Azriel knew whatever circle of Hel was
waiting for him would be a place Gwyneth Berdara would never find herself in. And perhaps it
was selfish. Selfish of him to think of missing her even in the afterworld. But honestly, the thought
of being apart from her terrified him.

The rustle of sheets and then, a deep breath, full of trepidation and relief sounded from just beyond
where he lay.

Slowly, Azriel’s eyes fluttered open. An unfamiliar room drenched in gilded sunlight had him
blinking, adjusting from the darkness he had just emerged from. His body, set upon with the sum
of his injuries, restlessly stretched in the silken sheets.

“Shadowsinger…” The way she whispered his nickname, so full of relief and love, had him jolting
from the final veil of sleep. Azriel turned to where that melody had sounded…

And there she was.

Her.

His.

Gwyneth Berdara sat on the edge of his bed, a hand placed over his and a careful smile soaked in
disbelief and quiet joy pulling at her perfect lips. His heart thundered so loud it echoed in his ears.

He just stared and stared at her as consciousness seeped through his veins and cleared his clouded
mind.

At that moment, there was nothing but her.

No battle, no yesterday or tomorrow.

Just Gwyneth Berdara, his mate.

His mate .

The woken shadows danced at his shoulders, curling into his temple. They whispered their greeting
in a hissed tune. Their song rang out like bells on the day of worship.

Our mate. Our mate. Our mate

He took in a deep breath, as though flooding his lungs with those two words.

So beautiful. So perfect. Made for us.

Isn’t she lovely in her white dress? Let’s take it off her.

The silence slowly thickened in the air between them, the space that carved them apart.
Gwyn’s bottom lip, marred with the lingering evidence of a wound, trembled, her eyes welling
with the dam of tears that had been slowly building since that fateful night in Sangravah.

She knew .

She had known since fuck knows when, or, maybe she had always known.

Afterall, she had always been more intelligent than him. Had always seen things no one else could.

It was written all over that beautiful face. He tracked it all with lethal focus. The sleeplessness. The
guilt, the pain and agony.

“I felt it…” She finally said through a choked cry, “I felt you slip away. I felt everything. The bond,
it went so loose, like it was slipping from my fingers. I thought it was going to be lost forever
and… And I didn’t know what to do…” A cascade of tears fell down her cheeks as she tightened
her grip on his hand. It was as though she was proving to herself he was actually there. Needed to
feel the scars that she always found comfort in. “Az, I thought you were gone.”

Words had completely escaped him, his tongue was heavy and numb. Her sorrow yanked on his
chest, the pain reverberating in his ribs and piercing something tender there, something that beat
just for her.

If there was any question about the bond, that feeling, Gwyn’s visceral pain that he felt, dissolved
any doubt.

But there could be no room for denial. Not when Azriel felt it. Now and on that fateful day on the
war-torn beach. The bond had snapped in the rockpool when he was halfway to Hel, and it felt as
though the earth had been tilted on a new axis. Like he had been seeing with partial vision and
hearing at low volume until that very moment.

As if the floodgates had finally burst open, Azriel watched Gwyn fall apart in front of him.

“I’m sorry…” She sobbed, repeating “I didn’t know what to do.” He wasn’t sure what exactly she
was apologizing for.

All Azriel could do in return was sit up and open his arms to her. Without a moment's hesitation,
she climbed into his lap, careful not to press into any of his bruises, curling into his warmth and
sobbing into his chest. His arms found their home around her body, somehow needing the
confirmation that she too was real and not some cruel illusion of death.

Although, he couldn’t help but think that if there were truly angels, there would be no doubt that
they would appear as Gwyneth Berdara. Wrapped in white, bright blue eyes glittering despite the
tears that flooded them, burnished copper hair cascading down her shoulders and chest, and a halo
of golden light shimmering around her.

A million emotions struck him at once, all equal in their devastation. Anger, burning hot in his
blood for not being told. For his ignorance. For her secrecy. Then rage, icy and cutting, for being
subjected to a life so long without her. This perfect, beautiful thing. Then came the flood of guilt,
deep and aching in his gut, for being so stupid. For putting her through his chaos and sickening
blindness. And then… like a splash of warmth, a flash of light, surprise followed by utter,
incomparable joy. That joy and surprise mellowed into something bright and beautiful, a kind of
peace Azriel had never known.

For the first time in his life, Azriel could finally see his future clearly.
He had known for a long while that there was nothing more he wanted than thousands of years
beside her. That the content of his heart was entirely made up of irreverent teasing, eyes the colour
of the sea and a voice that had his shadows singing.

But now he saw it.

And he wasn’t afraid.

Azriel could see her laughing at the dinner table with his mother.

He could see the way her hand would slip into his as they danced all night at Starfall.

His books filed neatly next to hers on a bookshelf.

Her desk facing his in their study.

And just for a moment, Azriel let himself think back to that peculiar vision that came upon him one
afternoon in the Summer Court. It was so visceral. Almost like a lost memory had been resurfaced.

A fire roaring in a cozy living room decorated with baubles, ribbon and tinsel. Gwyn playing the
piano, her melodic voice singing soft carols. And two babes, as small as they were precious,
nestled into each of his arms.

His vision blurred as the beating thing in his chest galloped and his lungs heaved in a dose of her
heavenly scent.

Gwyn’s quiet sobs slowed as she pulled away slightly, her hands coming to cup his face as she
searched the flaming hazel of his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I…” She blinked back the
residual tears as his own fell.

“Why?” The singular rasped word held all the pain, all the hurt that consumed him. Why keep it
from him?

Why lie ?

His whole life had been spent perfecting the art of gathering and honing knowledge for his personal
arsenal. Every secret he uncovered kept those he loved safer. There wasn’t a dirty secret in
Prythian he didn’t know, or a terrible scandal beyond in the continent that hadn’t been whispered to
him. Azriel knew everything.

And yet now, it was clear he had known nothing all along.

“It snapped for me the moment I saw you in Sangravah…”

Shock had him freezing in place. Gwyn waited patiently as he blinked a few times through the
revelation and took to rubbing circles with his thumb on her hand, while the other was protectively
placed on the small of her back.

“And I had no idea what it was. After what had happened, I couldn’t process it until months later.
But I felt it. I felt you,” she placed a hand over his beating heart, “I felt this . But even then, it was
just a suspicion. A silly train of thought that I couldn’t escape.”

When he didn’t say anything, she swallowed and went on. “I tried to ask after you… to find you,
but the healers told me that what I thought was the mating bond was probably just a trauma
response. That I’d crafted some ‘saviour identity’ from the memory of you.” Gwyn shook her head,
a frown carving between her brows. “And I wanted so badly to just, see you one more time. Look
at you - and then I’d know for sure. But I was too scared to leave the library and you never stayed
long enough for me to talk to you. So I resigned myself to never seeing you again. And then…
And then I met…”

“Nesta…” He finished the sentence for her as she nodded, swallowing back the emotions that had
risen in her.

“And maybe even then I knew that subconsciously she was tied to you, somehow. That even in its
dormant form, the bond was leading me back to you…” Her gaze fell, voice cracking slightly as
she continued, “And then, she invited me to train. And I went - not because I thought I’d ever see
you - but because I didn’t want to be afraid anymore. I didn’t want to be haunted by that night or
how helpless I was… You have to understand,” Imploring gaze rising to meet his own, she let out a
ragged breath. “I couldn’t escape you Az. You were in my dreams, in my thoughts…”

Azriel wanted to tell her that he dreamed of her too. There were times he desperately wanted to
visit the library to look for a book, felt the urgency of it, but then at the very last moment, thought
better of it. But he couldn’t speak. Words were impossible when a knot had formed in the base of
his throat.

“I thought maybe if I overcame my fears, if I could be stronger, then I would have the courage to
let you go…”

Azriel frowned, his head dipping into a shallow nod.

“And then you came to help one day…” A sombre smile found her lips, “I couldn’t take my eyes
off you. I was distracted the whole damn morning. By your presence, by your scent… And I knew
then that all my suspicions were right. You were my mate .”

The words had him tightening his hold on her as he let the tears stain his cheeks. The agony of it
was unbearable. His rapidly beating heart sank to the pit of his stomach.

“I couldn’t tell you. You barely looked twice at me in training - even when I spoke to you.” She
gave a half-hearted laugh. But he felt it. Felt that raw hurt the memory had uprooted in her. “I
thought maybe I would tell you if you ever showed interest… If the bond ever seemed as though it
was forming for you too.” She swallowed, eyes dropping to their interlaced fingers, taking a
moment to study where the pale skin met the scars of his. “But then, Nesta mentioned you were
caught up on someone and…”

Guilt washed over him like an ocean of burning acid, it rose in his throat and he tasted harsh regret
on his tongue. “Gwyn…”

She cut him off, even as the tears returned to flood her reddened eyes. “And all I wanted was for
you to be happy - and trust me, I was under no false pretences - you never gave me any indication
that you saw me as anything but a trainee…” She let out another sorrowful breath of laughter. The
sound pulled at his heart, as though it would burst from the ache there. “So I tried to stay away, to
let you have what you wanted, what you deserved. But I…I couldn’t.” Shaking her head, Gwyn
glanced up to his ransacked stare, “And maybe it was selfish but I couldn't bear being away from
you, Azriel. It was impossible. So after Solstice, I thought I'd reach out. I thought maybe if we
became friends… one day it might turn into something more. I’d be there for you. I’d let you
decide your feelings for yourself without knowing about the bond… And if one day you wanted
me of your volition, maybe, I would be able to tell you then. That then…” She swallowed, “...if I
was truly what you had chosen , maybe the bond would naturally snap for you and it wasn’t
broken.” The final word was nothing but a squeak.
Broken.

Gwyn had gone this whole time thinking that the tether between them was broken .

“And then… there was the idea of the frenzy…”

Of course. Fuck.

Azriel released a deep sigh, willing himself not to cry. His eyes burnt, a heavy weight forming at
the back of his throat.

Of course .

The frenzy.

“I was scared not only of how the bond snapping would affect you but…” Acid roiled in his gut.
Even now, when every fibre of his being screamed for Gwyn, Azriel would rather stick a knife in
his own heart than ever force himself on her. “...But how it would affect me. I wasn’t ready for it
to snap. I wasn’t ready for that kind of uncontrollable need to take over me. Not until-”

“I would never-”

She cut him off, eyes flooding with resolute decisiveness as she said, “But now I am. I’m ready.
For you. For everything. Now, I just… I just want you . Every bit.”

Her admission threatened to undo his last remaining thread of self-control, the final strands that
held his emotions together teetering. “Gwyn,” He felt the weight of that pent-up well falter as he
said, “I have been so blind and I…” Azriel shook his head, the rage and guilt and regret churning as
he did, “I love you and I think I always have felt you - the bond between us - deep down…”

“You don’t have to-”

“No, I do, Gwyn. And I see it now. So clearly.” Azriel let out a better laugh despite the sour turn of
subject, “I felt the bond that night in Sangravah. I felt the surge of something, I mistook it for
anger, for the siphons reacting to the magic released by the cauldron at the temple. But I see now. I
see it… You’re my mate .”

Gwyn let out something between a sob and a chuckle as she nodded, “It’s about time,
Shadowsinger.”

His own desperate sobs followed as Azriel pulled her into him. Brought her so close that there was
nothing between them but the beating of their hearts and that bond, humming loud and clear.

Azriel’s face buried in the crook of her neck, taking in a deep breath of her. Starved lungs gave into
the flood of the wild meadow and the fresh spray of salted sea. The restlessness in him dissipated
as it always did when she was around.

Gwyn held him as his free-falling tears began to paint the soft flesh of her neck with his guilt, his
rage, his utter joy.

All of it.

“Do you still want me, after everything?” Gwyn’s whispered words, so full of fear and sorrow,
sliced straight through his heart, a permanent scar surely there from the way they cut. “Even
though… even though I lied.”
He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the words, but he couldn’t even find it in himself to do that.
The notion was so ridiculous. Leaning back and taking her chin in his grip, he vowed, “I will want
you until my heart stops beating and I am just dust in the wind. And even after that…” Azriel took
her hands and gently kissed each palm, “Gwyneth Berdara, I will want you until the last star blinks
out from the night and the sun sets for the final time. I will love you until the world is flooded and
set aflame. You are my mate and I will pray to the Mother every fucking night for that gift.” His
tear-flooded eyes searched hers, anchored into the pools of sapphire sea there. “There is nothing
and no one that could make me not want you and… And I’m so sorry I ever gave you the delusion
I didn’t, but I promise that if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

Her voice was merely a squeak, such adoration and pain drenched in her tone as she replied,
“Okay…”

“It was only ever you, Gwyn.”

Azriel’s lips crashed into hers, the joining sparking a flame that sent the glowing bond between
them taut with need. “There will only ever be you.”

“And there could be no one else for me, Shadowsinger,” she swore in return, “Not ever.”

Those words, the vows in them, had unlocked something feverish. Flicked a switch. Gwyn kissed
him back with equal parts hunger and desperation. The kiss felt somehow both new and ancient,
like their souls had met before but their flesh was touching for the first time. And perhaps they had,
maybe just like they did in this one, they were bound to some higher purpose that would have him
seeking her in every life. But even so, he held her tightly, as though he was afraid someone might
take her away after everything he had gone through to get her. After all the patience and agony she
had weathered for him.

Her.

The beautiful, intelligent, irreverent Gwyneth Berdara.

His mate .

Who else? Who else could it have been?

“My mate.”

Mother, there was something so addictive about that, so utterly profound. Azriel kissed her harder,
claimed her mouth into his and gave himself over the way he should’ve done at the beginning.
Everything he was. Everything he wasn’t. Azriel gave it to Gwyn. And with the same sentiment
lacing her lips, her hands, her whole being, she did the same.

“I love you,” Azriel vowed, bringing Gwyn closer as her knees came to flank his naked thighs and
the heavenly sweep of her hips came to greet his.

Azriel had never felt so blessed. And he’d never been a male for the temple or the Mother’s
scripture, but today, in that moment, his faith was nothing short of devout. Because the Mother
must have been feeling equally as mad as she was kind the day she bound their souls together. And
he must have been a wayward fool not to realize that fact earlier.

Gwyn laughed, easy and free. The sweet sound, like delicate faerie bells ringing on a clear day. “I
love you too, Shadowsinger.” Her open palm found the space over his heart, “Always.”

The touch sent sparks through his chest, igniting the blood boiling and pumping beneath. A scarred
hand fell over her heart in return, as he promised, “Always.”

Gwyn’s features turned hard, her brow rising to the threat sparking in her eyes. “But if you ever go
and die on me again…” The hand at his heart rose to his neck, fingers wrapping around and
gripping loosely there.

A threat.

A threat that went straight to his cock. “...I will show you torture your sorry ass has never seen.”

He couldn’t help the wide grin that came to his mouth, or the laugh that barrelled through him at
the genuine threat. “I’m not going anywhere, Berdara.”

“Good.” Her hand squeezed a little harder and fuck if it didn’t have his cock hardening even more.
“Because I happen to recall that you were going to give me a month of nothing but this…” Her hips
undulated, the apex of her thighs rocking into him and stroking his throbbing length.

Mother save him.

He hissed. The shadows began darkening and binding around her arms and waist.

“I think I’m going to need to revaluate…” Azriel smirked as the threat returned to Gwyn’s features,
“...Maybe we’ll need three.”

He dragged up the white skirt of her gown as he thrust upwards, her mouth falling open at the
sudden contact.

The rapid thrum of her heartbeat echoed with his own. A rhythm he savoured. Azriel’s nostrils
flared as she drew in the scent of her arousal. Not even in millennia would he tire of that divine
scent. That body.

“Or four,” she countered with a gasp, placing a hot kiss on the flushed skin over his jugular.

His fingers dug into the roots of her thick hair, as he pressed himself into her again. Even through
the fabric of her panties, he could feel the wetness that had already begun to pool. Voice low and
gravelled, he amended, “Or five.”

“Five sounds perfect.”

Gwyn’s steady fingers reached down to the gathered hem of her alabaster gown. Nothing of Night
Court fashion. But how could he complain when the shade complimented her flushed skin and the
gold accents brought out her bright eyes perfectly. Lifting it over her head, it was quickly discarded
to the floor leaving her in nothing but her panties.

Azriel gave Gwyn a smirk that would put the Devil to shame, “Are you really about to fuck me
in…” His gaze wandered around the room again, reassessing every detail. “Remind me where we
are again?”

“We’re in the Day Court… At Helion’s palace.” Something like hesitancy flickered over her face.
Hesitancy… and worry. “There’s… Well, there’s a lot to fill you in on.”

“Did anyone die in the battle?”

“No…”

“Is the trove safe?”

“Yes…”

“Good…” For once in his life, Azriel didn’t care about anything else. “Well then, are you really
going to fuck me in another foreign Court’s palace, Gwyneth?”

The giggle that escaped her lips set him further into that sea of blissful peace.

He grinned, “Are we to check every Court off your little list?”

“Are you refusing me… mate ?”

The word struck him like a slap to the face, to the heart, to every nerve in his goddamn body. A
rush of warmth and fire licked down his spine and flitted across his wings before descending
further below. His hand travelled down to cup her sex, and he took no shortage of masculine pride
in the way she gasped at the touch. “I would never dream of it, mate.”

Gwyn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplative thought and arousal warring in her
gaze.

“What do you want, Berdara?”

Her hands came to where he had begun stoking her, teasing her, and gripped around his wrist,
stilling the motion.

“Today it’s my turn…” A small smirk pulled at her swollen lips, as she took his hands and lifted
them to the headboard above.

Azriel raised a brow as Gwyn leaned over to the bedside table. One hand still gripping his, the
other, pulling out a white ribbon from the drawer.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck yes.

His cock twitched beneath her as she let the ribbon unfurl in front of him. A pool of white silk, the
end frayed by a perfect cut.

“I did promise you I’d bring it back in one piece… So, how about we put it to good use?”

Azriel’s fingers curled into his palms, his blood now boiling and heart thundering. In all his lonely
years, he’d never been the one tied up before. But now, between the challenge rising in Gwyn’s
eyes and his throbbing cock - which was aching to be tended to - he wanted nothing more.

“You can do whatever you like to me,” he finally replied, voice hoarse with need, “as long as it
involves that pretty mouth.”

Gwyn grinned, reaching up to lace the ribbon tightly around his wrists. “Well, it’s a good thing my
mate taught me how to tie knots.”

His eyes fluttered closed as she ground against him, tying the final knot into place. Just by the feel
of bonds, he knew they were done perfectly. When had she ever been bad at anything?

Gwyn pulled back, taking a moment to relish the sight of him tied up and drenched in desire. Her
chin tipped to the side, inspecting his excited shadows that danced and lapped between them. “A
little help please shadows…” At her command, they raced up Azriel’s neck, and he stiffened as
they reinforced his tied hands to the headboard.
Another flood of arousal greeted him as his hips involuntarily bucked upwards. She smiled,
triumph glinting in every feature.

“There’s just one more thing,” she purred, leaning forward to place a trail of hot kisses down his
exposed chest.

Azriel panted, pulling on the bonds - they didn’t yield a bit.

‘Traitors,’ he whispered to the shadows above.

Shadows are at our lovely mate’s command. Shadows does her bidding as Master instructed.

‘Are you forgetting,’ Azriel winced in pleasure as Gwyn bit down on the sensitive flesh of his
chest. ‘That you actually are meant to be at my command?’

The shadows hissed in laughter. Shadows like her better, she gives us kisses and allows us in the
bath.

‘Good to know you can be bought.’

Only by her.

“Wha… What is it?” The words were a mess of heavy breaths as Gwyn sunk lower and lower,
leaving a trail of nips and kisses as she went.

Deliberately slow, her tongue lathered over the carved arrow of muscles at his hip, tracing the
indents of hard muscle. When her hot mouth found the sensitive flesh of an old scar, he sucked in a
sharp breath. The urge to break through the bonds and give in to his ravenous desire was never
more tempting.

Gwyn glanced up at him through her lashes and just the sight of her, eyes wide and mouth teasing,
had him feral. His hands curled into fists and he bit down a growl.

“What’s your safe word?”

“I… I don’t have one.”

Without removing her eyes from his, she gripped his hard length. Azriel hissed, his whole body
going rigid at the touch.

“Make one up.”

“Ah…” He panted, not able to think, not even able to see anything beyond those eyes that pierced
into his. “B… Blue.”

Her mouth quirked upwards, “Blue?”

“What did you expect? Pegasus is taken.”

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh, the exhale tickling his wet, tender flesh. “No, that’s perfect.”

Delicately, her hand pumped his cock. His hips jolted forward, the muscles in his torso clenching
as his hips reached for her. “It’s really not as good as mine though.”

Through the haze of arousal, Azriel managed to roll his eyes, her competitive streak was almost as
fucking addictive as her soft hand. The hand which had… stopped moving. Every moment without
friction was a brand of torture only Gwyneth Berdara could wield.

“Gwyn…” There was no hiding the sheer desperation in the sound of her name on his lips. He
needed her.

Now.

Innocence coveted every feature as she tipped her chin up to glance at him again. And fuck did the
sight of her like that not have him clenching down on his jaw. Gritting his teeth.

Her thumb rubbed his tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had pooled there. “Yes,
Shadowsinger.”

His features contorted into agony as he peered down at her through hooded eyes. “Baby please…”

“Please what?” The temptress had taken to planting hot kisses on the skin just beside the rock-hard
thing that needed her. “What do you want me to do for you?”

“Please…” Azriel panted, watching her tongue slide over the tender skin, “Please, suck my cock.”

Gwyn’s back arched at the request, another wave of her heady arousal flooding the air. From this
sinful angle, he had a perfect view of that lovely long spine and her blue lace underwear, which did
absolutely nothing to disguise her perfect ass. He tugged at the bonds, the shadows laughing as he
failed once again against their hold.

When those wet, hot lips finally found his cock, Azriel clenched his ass cheeks, willing himself
into not coming right there and then. The pleasure gripped him like a vice. Her pace was unhurried
yet indulgent, as though she knew exactly how much it teased him to take her time.

Gwyn released the head of his cock with a loud ‘pop’, her hand taking over as she said, “Tell me
you’ll never pull any of that bullshit you did on the beach ever again.”

“W… What?” He couldn’t think straight. Not when he was watching her hand glide over him,
squeezing slightly as it went. Pleasure shot straight to his spine as he writhed under her.

Gwyn dipped her head, but her eyes never left his as her tongue licked the sensitive spot below his
tip. And then her sweet mouth took all of him.

Fuck.

He felt it all. Felt the hot wetness of her mouth contract around his shaft. Felt her caressing tongue.
Felt his head sink deep past her tonsils.

Azriel whimpered.

Actually whimpered .

“You have a lot of apologizing to do, for taking that hit… For frightening me like that.” And
beneath her sultry words, Azriel thought perhaps she really was angry. Her rage was evident in the
way her mouth took him again relentlessly yet somehow gracefully.

Equal measures punishment and pleasure.

Azriel’s eyes threatened to flitter closed as his whole body tensed, so close to the precipice of
pleasure and stars he had held off on.
And then, she stopped.

Oh fuck.

She was edging him. He’d created a monster.

His head fell back to the headboard, the long column of his throat exposed as he panted through the
frustration. The aching desire gnawed at his every nerve ending. His cock throbbed with savage
need. It was the sweetest torture he’d ever been subjected to.

“I’m sorry…” The words were strained, breathless. “I… I was trying to do what was right. I’m
sorry.

Gwyn laughed, the silky sound skittering down his spine. “Oh, sorry’s not gonna cut it, I’m
afraid…”

“I know.”

“Tell me then.”

A crease formed between his sweaty brows, “Tell you what, Berdara?”

With a swift movement, she hopped out of the cradle of his hips and then off the mattress. Her
thumbs hooked around her underwear, slipping them down her sculpted legs in a menacingly slow
pace.

She stood naked before him, every inch of her freckled flesh on display. The scent of her arousal,
slick between her legs, was like a drug. He swallowed and let himself drink her in, gaze sweeping
from her flushed cheeks to her breasts. Those perfect rose-coloured nipples were perked and ready
for his mouth to devour.

“Berdara…”

His primal gaze fell further and locked onto the ink that had marked her hip. Through it all, he had
almost forgotten the bargain they had accidentally made before the conflict broke out. If he looked
down, he’d see the very same bird, crafted of inky slithering shadows, on his own hip bone.

A flood of masculine pride hit him hard and fast. Azriel liked that she was marked with the
evidence of him, of them. Liked knowing no other male could touch her without seeing that
reminder that she was his.

Seeing her like that, alive and drenched in golden sunlight, it had him pulling on those unyielding
bonds again. Had his hips and legs desperately writhing. He had never felt more like a caged
animal, yet his rapacious hunger was solely dedicated to the female in front of him.

Her lips curved, “Tell me you were wrong .”

Agony. Pure, unadulterated torture.

Azriel realized then, as she saw that triumphant smile that Gwyneth Berdara was in fact no saintly
angel, but a wicked thing that not even he could match. And he loved it.

He loved her, every bit.

On swift steps, she padded over to where he was tied to the bed, his naked form sprawled out on
the white sheets. Gwyn came back to straddle his thighs, deliberately skimming her wetness
against his tip.

A growl, low and feral, finally escaped his throat, the sound echoing around the lavish room.
Azriel didn’t give a fuck who heard. Didn’t care if her grandfather and her father were in the next
fucking room.

His heart thundered as Gwyn placed one hand on his jaw, stroking, and another sliding down to his
throat. His eyes almost rolled back into his head as she squeezed slightly on his carotid arteries, but
never too hard to hurt.

Perfect.

This female was fucking perfect.

“Tell me you were wrong to make that call.”

Every fibre in Azriel’s body ached to hone down on his power and to rip through the shadows and
the ribbon, and come down on top of her. But he didn’t, he would let her have this moment - just
this once.

His voice was nothing but a low rasp as he finally admitted, “I was wrong.”

Gwyn smirked, coming down to slide herself up and down his cock. Azriel tensed, fists clenching
above them.

“Why?”

“Because…” He gritted his teeth, as she sunk down onto his head, stopping when he was only just
nudged inside her.

Between her smug victory and the challenge in her eyes, there was her own flaming hunger that the
contact had brought.

Azriel smirked back at her, thrusting upwards - just a little . She was so wet it was hard to stop
himself from sliding further. “Because it was short-sighted and…”

Gwyn bit down on her lip, eyes fluttering closed as he drove into her again, “... and cruel to put you
through that.”

Her self-control was hanging on by a thread when she opened her eyes, leaning forward so her
nipples brushed against his muscle-bound chest. The touch was electrifying. “Good.”

Azriel’s muscles stiffened as she sunk down on top of him, taking him to the hilt. She was so
fucking tight. He groaned, twitching inside her at the feeling of her wet heat.

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank the Mother,” Azriel murmured back. It was at this moment he thought he should have said
some kind of prayer to the deity, but that was interrupted by the rocking movement of her hips
moments later. Every part of him was suddenly sensitive and attuned to her as if his body had been
rewired with the sole purpose to give her pleasure.

Their foreheads met as they moved together, slowly at first, as though savouring the feel of each
other. And then, their lips met and his upward thrusts became stronger. Gwyn reciprocated,
grounding down into each movement and rolling forward. A muffled cry fell from her lips as her
clit hit that perfect spot.
Again and again.

The bridge of the bond heightened their need, their fervour, as he took the bud of her pink nipple
into his mouth and slipped his tongue over the hard perk while she became lost in the rhythm
between them.

Gwyn reached upwards, a hand interlacing into his as she panted through each mounding thrust. It
didn’t take long for them to reach that peak where the carnal pleasure gripped at every nerve.

“Az… I’m gonna…”

Azriel swore something profane as he felt her walls clench tightly around him. “Come for me
baby… Let me feel you come all over my cock.”

She whimpered, a tear falling down her cheek as he drove erratically into her from below. His head
found that sweet, tender spot as she cried out, fingernails raking down his biceps, his back, his
wings. A delicate glow found her pale skin, painting her in the luminescent hue of the sun.

Feeling her walls spasm and clench around him had every primal instinct roaring within him taking
over. Wings trembling and contracting in tight, Azriel came with a series of growls and cheek-
warming curses.

The feeling of spilling his seed inside her, shouldn’t have given him as much satisfaction as it did.
He kept moving in and out of her, desperate for the feeling to last forever. It was nirvana, the way
their pleasure pooled at the place they joined and ran hot and sticky down their thighs.

“I missed you,” Gwyn panted, falling into his chest and planting lazy kisses on his neck. “That
was…”

“Fucking incredible,” he finished for her.

“Yeah, fucking incredible.”

The shadows released his wrists not a moment too soon and were it not for the sentimental value,
Azriel would have ripped that ribbon straight off. But he waited patiently as Gwyn took to uniting
the perfect knot with still trembling fingers. Her skin was still glowing from the force of their
joining.

The shadows, happy to be freed of their occupation, joyfully wrapped around them and danced
around his broad shoulders to gaze adoringly at his mate. It appeared this was a ‘shared’ bond.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her, couldn’t tear his gaze from that beautiful body, lit from within. It
blurred his vision and had him swallowing down the thickness lodged in his throat.

There they were.

The angel of death and his north star.

That’s what she was. A burning force of light in the throes of darkness and chaos, Gwyn was his
north star. A compass in the lonesome shadows and promise of war. A beacon of hope for the lost
and weary.

Azriel had spent his life lost, blinded by the darkness and then emerging from the abyss, there she
was, his mate, flaming and guiding him home.
To her.

And he would follow Gwyn into the depths of Hel and to the heights of heaven if she led him
there. He would shroud the world in his shadows just to see her shine. And as she placed another
kiss on his lips, shine she did.

The mating bond sang in bliss between them.

A symphony of euphoria, dark and light blending, forging like the sound of the obsidian cosmos
birthing a star. There was something divine about the melody, like it was sung equally by the
Princes of Hel and the Mother herself.

He felt it then, in its full life-altering force, the ribbons of shadow and light entwining them
together, their hearts beating to the rhythm of their symphony as one.

The bond, strong and true.

And for a singular moment, the entire Day court was flooded with light and shadow, the once
golden sky morphing into a symphonic sea of burning stars and wisps of slithering darkness, a
ribbon of power began linking them together, forming something that only could be the work of
the fates.

A constellation .

A constellation that told a story as old as time. A story of two souls, burnt and battered but not
broken, that found each other and never let go.

See the amazing art 'Chapter 42' by artist @witchlingsandwyverns made for this chapter of
ACOSAS here
Chapter End Notes

Wow okay. This one has me emotional.

I feel like the entire fic has been building up to this moment. A moment where we see
the sum of Gwyn and Azriel's growth manifest into love and trust and of course,
acknowledging the mating bond.
A lot of people theorise that Azriel would be angry about Gwyn not telling him about
the bond. But from my perspective, I'd like to think he went through enough
development and growth by this point to no longer resort to anger as a primary
emotion when he is overwhelmed. And with that change, I think it really symbolises
how timely the bond snapping was. It only snapped for him when he was emotionally
ready to deal with it. He did the work tackling his trauma, he was vulnerable and I'd
like to think that the bond was the ultimate payoff for that.

I knew from the start of the fic that I wanted the bond to snap and then for us to revisit
the night in Sangravah from Azriel's perspective. For me, it was really interesting to go
back into the head that 'cold rage' Az we all know from the books. I basically wanted
to attempt to explain how the bond could always have been there, but could be
ultimately misinterpreted by him due to his issues/unaddressed trauma. I'm sure a lot
of people know this, but there have been great comparisons on Tumblr between scenes
where Helion and Rhys have 'ripped apart people with their bare hands' in defence of
their mate. It seems to me this is a reoccurring 'mate' theme and if you read Gywn's
account of Sangravah in ACOSF, we see that same language being used to describe
how Azriel acted. SJM as we know is very purposeful with her language so I don't
think this is a coincidence.

Okay okay, did we like the switch scene at the end? Funnily enough, there was ever
meant to be smut in this scene, but as I was writing, it came to me really naturally and I
just went with it. I like that Azriel acknowledges she had reservations about the frenzy
and was happy to do anything that would make her feel comfortable. I love that he felt
safe enough to give up control to her. Again, this is a way I attempted to show his
character development and the spiritual depth of their connection. I've seen so much
fan art that has inspired Az being tied up with the ribbon and I just HAD to include it.
As I mentioned din a previous chapter, to me the ribbon symbolises persistence and
perseverance despite all odds. And I think that meaning being extended to their
relationship and overcoming their traumas so they can be truly safe and sexually free
together is important.

This chapter had an extra scene at the end, but after writing their joining, it felt like the
chapter came to a natural close and I really wanted to keep the strong ending I had
there. As such, there will be another chapter hopefully posted on Sunday. It will be
shorter than this, but will tie up the loose ends I left unmet in this chapter! Thank you
to all the kind people who left such lovely and uplifting comments on the last chapter.
It really does make my day, so to those who bother to comment. Thank you!

Lou x
 Golden Blood
Chapter Notes

Here it is, the final chapter (not including the epilogue). I just want to take a moment
to thank everyone who has read this story and followed along. I also want to thank the
extremely kind people who have left kudos and comments. It really does make my day
and it makes me feel so appreciated. PSA - Read the end chapter notes for a big
announcement.

As per usual, this chapter would be a flaming dumpster fire mess without @captain-
of-the-gwynriel-ship who generously beta reads, edits and contributes. She is
wonderful and kind and all the lovely things.

Warning: NSFW scene, sexual themes.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Gwyn

Despite being well acquainted with the luxury of the Night Court, the Day Court was unlike
anything Gwyn could ever imagine. Even now, after being there for days, she couldn’t help but
marvel at the sheer grandeur of it all.

Wealth coveted every surface of the sprawling Sun Palace, every inch carved from precious marble
and gilded in the finest gold. She had once read that this Court made its riches by profiting from
war, and that was made abundantly clear as she wandered the halls of the west wing. Ivy wrapped
generously around sculpted colonnades, and tapestries woven from iridescent silks decorated the
walls. Gwyn even found herself stopping every few footsteps, admiring the elaborate sculptures
depicting forgotten warriors and beautiful females.

If the House of Wind was a palace fit for a King, then the Sun Palace was made for a God.

Her delicate footfalls echoed across the sun-drenched landing. There ahead, lay the imposing door
she had been searching for, the wood carved with runic spells. But she found herself momentarily
distracted as her wide eyes glanced up at the intricate fresco painted on the ceiling. Gwyn
wondered how on earth her life had changed so thoroughly in three days.

She slept for the first day. After keeping her weeping eyes pried open, desperately watching the
healers tend to Azriel’s wounds and answering the many questions about the invoking stone still
lodged into his leathers, she finally collapsed in the armchair next to his bed.

The sleep was soundless and heavy, as though every part of her body begged for reprieve.
Whatever residual adrenaline she had kept from the battle and the panic of seeing Azriel nearly die
had eventually dwindled, leaving her drained.

However that brief reprieve from consciousness, no matter how deep, was still spent thinking of
him. Her mate. She liked that. Liked that no matter how deep the oblivion was, he was still there
reaching for her.

No darkness too deep, no shadow too blinding. Azriel would find her every time.

A small smile met her lips as she thought of how she had left her mate peacefully dozing in their
chambers. His scent fused with hers and salted sweat, his hair, mussed across the pillow and his
naked body, entwined in the sheets.

After her confession… after tying him up and claiming his body, all of one minute went by before
he was buried inside her again.

He made love to her that time. Slow and unhurried, like nothing and no one else mattered. Like
time had ceased between their touches. They traded soft promises and held each other through
every deep stroke he took inside her. And even in their joint climax, her eyes never left his and
neither did her lips.

The third time, however, Azriel wasn’t so gentle and she was glad for it. On her hands and knees,
he took her from behind as she watched in the dressing mirror. Watched as he clutched a handful of
her hair at the nape of her neck. Watched as the chiselled muscles of his arms and chest worked
symphonically to the pace he was driving into her.

Her toes curled just at the memory of that sight.

“That’s it, baby,” Azriel panted, meeting her agonised gaze in the reflection, “Look at how fucking
beautiful you are on your hands and knees for me.”

The wicked things he said to her still managed to make her blush despite it all.

“You like that?” His grip tightened in her hair and she moaned, filling the room with an echoing
cry for more.

“Watch me as I fuck you.”

She did.

The sight of it was intoxicating, the feel of how deep he was thrusting into her made her back arch
even further, drawing more and more indecency from her mouth.

Her walls clenched around his throbbing cock as their eyes met once again.

He smirked, every handsome feature dripping with masculine pride, “Tell me, Berdara.”

“You…” She whimpered, a tear sliding down her cheek as the pleasure crested its peak once
again, “...You’re my mate.”

Voicing that beautiful truth seemed to push her over the edge, stars gracing her vision as she shook
with the intensity of the orgasm. Her fists gripped the sheets as time ceased and all she knew was
them.

The feeling of him inside her.

Filling her.

She had never felt more whole.

“Fuck.” Azriel’s voice was hoarse as his fell eyes closed, savouring the feeling of her walls
clenching and quivering around him as she came undone. “Say it again.”

For a moment, words evaded her. All that pleasure coursing through her bloodstream had gripped
at her throat, her mind.

In a swift movement, Azriel had brought her up so her back was flush against his front as he
pounded into her.

“I said,” he growled, his hand coming to cup her breasts, “say it again.”

She couldn’t rip her eyes away from the salacious reflection in the mirror. The way he held her, his
hands gripping at her bare flesh. Gwyn’s voice was nothing more than a breathless chant as he
lightly pinched her nipple, “You’re my mate, Azriel.”

The claiming truth that fell from her lips seemed to have the same earth-shattering effect on him.
His thrusts became erratic, pulse thundering and breath quickening as he groaned into his release.

When they fell upon the sheets in a mess of tangled limbs and desperate breaths, Azriel laughed.
The sound made her toes curl as she savoured the rich hue of his voice, wrapping around the
sudden joy and ecstasy.

Peering up at him from her place on his chest, Gwyn asked, “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head, “Just wondering how i’m ever going to get anything done now when all I want
to do is fuck you…”

The memory of it had the depths of her stomach flipping over itself. Every single emotion that
flowed through her had been heightened since the bond snapped for him on that beach.

At first, it was pure relief, then when he was being treated by the healers, insurmountable fear and
worry took over. The kind that sat low in the gut and twisted.

But now, it was only love, lust and joy that spiked her blood and scattered heat along her cheeks,
her neck and even the sharp tips of her ears.

A familiar scent distracted her from the debauchery of her thoughts. Leather and parchment. She
took a deep breath in, flooding her lungs with that divine scent.

The soft fabric of her white gown hissed across the marble floor as she wandered aimlessly through
the grand chambers of the library. Well, it was technically a library…but that word even seemed
too menial for the stately rooms she found herself in. Because it wasn’t just any library, but the
sacred one she had read about so many times before in historical texts.

The Library of Lux held every hallowed and revered text known to fae-kind. It was a place of
untapped knowledge, a home to ancient tomes that had been scribed from the spill of the cauldron.

The bibliophile in her couldn’t help but gawk in wonder. Every so often, a sigh would fall
breathlessly from her lips as she discovered a new precious text or another hidden chamber.

Her fingers trailed lightly along the rows and rows of spines, the leather still soft and maintained
despite their considerable age.

Tall columns of marble pierced through the wide space, reaching up to the glass-panelled ceiling,
as though they were gateways to the sun itself. The flood of buttery sunlight drenched the room in
a hue of soft gold. Whoever designed the library must have been nothing short of a genius as the
influx of light painted the gilded bookshelves even brighter, illuminating their titles.

She reached the generous section aptly named ‘ Lost Languages ’ and after a short search, reached
out to pluck a book that catalogued the history of an ancient runic language called 'Wyrdmarks'.

Helion had written to her this morning, offering her the key to the library. She wasn’t ready to see
anyone yet after everything that had transpired, but, knowing her grandfather understood she had
many questions that begged to be answered did quietly warm her heart.

The creaking sound of the door had her arm stilling mid-air.

“Ah…” The male voice sounded, “I thought I’d find you in here.”

Not Azriel. No, this tone was soft, yet distinctly carried the wit of a well-practised courtesan's
drawl.

Gwyn turned to find Lucien Vanserra, dressed in white Day Court garb and clutching a parcel
between his hands. As his tanned features glowed with warmth in the halo of light above, it was
difficult to see how no one ever saw the obvious likeness he bore to his real father. Her gaze
flickered to his hair, the same burnished copper as her own.

Gwyn swallowed down the knot in her throat, resisting the urge to shuffle on her feet. He offered
her a warm smile, that golden eye of his sparkling beneath the light. Maybe one day, she would ask
him about his scars and she would tell him about hers.

“Please,” Gwyn gestured to one of the elaborate armchairs opposite her, “sit down.”

Lucien sketched a bow and made his way across the room. He attempted to disguise the languid
limp that had set into his step, still healing from the battle.

She remembered then - that was why Azriel had saved him. A fleet of arrows had ravaged his leg,
one piercing straight through his kneecap. Azriel had explained those gut-wrenching moments to
her this morning, Lucien couldn’t have moved out of the way fast enough.

Gwyn didn’t resent Azriel for keeping the knowledge of her parentage from her. How could she?
When he had sacrificed himself just so they could have this very moment.

When Helion’s forces had arrived with soldiers and emergency healers a few minutes too late to
join in on the fight, they saw each other…

And they knew.

It was like their blood sang in unison. A different connection entirely than the bond she shared with
Azriel, but almost as deep.

As Lucien neared where she now sat at the window, its pane overgrown with vines of ivy and
white flowers, her mind recalled the last time she had seen him. The first and last words he had
said to her that day.

The healer's tent was a bustling mess as they treated Azriel’s remaining injuries and marvelled at
the invoking stones' work.

It was understandable, Gwyn supposed, as no one had ever brought someone back from the last
chime before death with an invoking stone before. And yet, there was nothing she wanted less than
to make idle chit-chat about enchanted stones and prayers.

Her heart thumped erratically, eyes red and weary as she savagely watched them work. It was
stupid to be so protective, to feel so wildly panicked about others touching him. But the thought of
anyone else harming him in such a fragile state had her biting down hard on her molars and
clenching her fists until her knuckles turned white.

Screams of shared agony filled the tent. Ilana was on the bed next to them and Cassian was
nursing a nasty head wound beside her.

Azriel’s chest convulsed as the Day Court healer gave him a tonic of some sort.

Gwyn had to bite back the primal growl that rose in the back of her throat in tandem with the panic
that blossomed in her stomach.

“It’s alright lass,” the healer consoled with a gentle smile, “just the pain tonic taking effect is
all.”

Ripping her eyes away with a nod, she saw a male with red hair near the tent entrance. Elain was
dragging him across the sand towards the tent. The middle Archeron’s simple pink gown was
splashed with crimson and dirt as she held his body desperately against hers.

The wildly alarmed look in her fawnish eyes was surely mirrored in Gwyn’s own stare. It was the
kind of panic that only having a mate in danger could breed.

Lucien Vanserra. Nesta has spoken about him a few times before, mostly when voicing her
disapproval of their match.

“Only a bit further,” she reassured, grunting under his weight as they entered the shadows of the
tent.

“Careful Elain…” He somehow managed to drawl with a hazed smirk, “Someone might think you
actually care for me.”

Despite the exhaustion that drained her usually pretty features, Elain stifled a smile. “Don’t ruin
my reputation, Vanserra.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Lady Archeron.”

And then it happened, all in a split second.

Lucien glanced up to take in the chaos of the healer's tent. He took one glazed glance at Gwyn,
eyes slightly narrowed to focus and then paused as though seeing a ghost. Body rigid, he
whispered, “H… How? What?”

Elain frowned, looking between Gwyn and her mate as the healers rushed over to help him.
“That’s… That’s Gwyneth Berdara, Nesta’s friend...”

For the second time that day, everything around her seemed to slow, the noise and flurry of people
falling into a faded blur as they stared at each other.

There was something about him.

Not anything remotely physical but… in his very being.

Her heart began to beat to an untamed rhythm in her ears. The lights were too bright. The tent was
too crowded. She didn’t even notice she was clutching Azriel’s limp hand for dear life.

Lucien’s eyes never left Gwyn’s, even as he was hauled onto a bed across from them.

Voice breathless and heavy with shock, he whispered. “She’s… I think she is my daughter.”

A question and also not, as though he was asking the part of himself that innately knew - just as she
did.

Elain’s eyes widened as she took a step forward, nostrils flaring as though trying to scent them
both. “What are you…”

Gwyn wasn’t proud of what happened next. With one more glance in his direction, she turned her
attention away from them and distracted herself with Azriel and his healers. The moment between
them had severed as though she had taken Spellbreaker and cleaved their connection in half.

Perhaps it was the fact that the battle they had just fought felt as though it had gone on for three
long years. Maybe it was because she was still sweating, trembling, and blanched from watching
her mate almost die. But whatever the hell had just happened, Gwyn couldn’t handle it.

Her brain refused to acknowledge the revelation levelled with that one word he had called her.

She didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for any of it, not while Azriel was still unconscious on the
healer's bed. Not while every nerve in her body screamed in panic. Not while her hands were dry
and stiff with her mate's blood.

Moments later, they were winnowed to the Day Court infirmary, leaving Lucien Vanserra still
wide-eyed and staring after her.

“I can imagine this is quite a shock for you.”

“Which part?” Gwyn asked, taking a seat in the opposing chair. “Finding out my father is Lucien
Vanserra in a war tent? Or discovering that my grandfather is the High Lord of the Day Court?”

Saying it out loud planted goosebumps on the pointed ridges of her spine.

‘Lady Day’ everyone kept calling her.

As in… part of the Day Court royal family. Gwyn was sure at any point she would be woken from
the strange dream her life had become.

All her life she had been equally penniless as she was fatherless, and now… Well, now servants of
the Day Court palace called her ‘Lady Day.’

Nesta had filled her in on the revelation of Lucien’s true parentage. She was the only one Gwyn
had allowed to visit. She had refused every invitation to dinner and to every one of the elaborate
breakfasts and luncheons that Helion had personally invited her to. Nor had she sought out Lucien,
or particularly appreciated it when the servants of the palace bowed to her as though she was some
kind of deity.

Perhaps it was ungrateful, but it was too much to process.

She was no lady.

She was a Valkyrie and a Priestess. Gwyneth Berdara did not want a crown of gold or a legion of
finery. Not when she had fought so hard for the home and position she had made for herself.

Lucien exhaled, a crease forming between his brows. There was a long pause as his gaze set firmly
on the ground. “You have every right to be angry at me.”

She frowned and sent a puzzled look his way. “Angry?”

Nothing but sorrow and guilt flooded his gaze when it finally met her own again, “Gwyn, if I had
known about you, or your sister…”

Catrin. A distant ache squeezed at her heart, as though the mention of her scraped an old, still-
tender scar. But it wasn’t difficult to see that her sister would have easily loved the male in front of
her. Nesta had told her enough about him to know that.

Finally, it all made sense.

Catrin’s alluring charm, her calculating mind. She may have inherited the dark features from their
mother, but her personality was all Lucien.

“I’m ashamed and… and so sorry.” He shook his head, “...I would have done anything- Anything -
for you to have not gone through what you have faced.”

Ah, so he had already been told about that fateful night in Sangravah. About the night that changed
everything. It was likely Rhysand and Feyre who were the ones that shared her story with him. And
truthfully, Gwyn was glad for it. She didn’t feel like uprooting that night again. Not now that she
saw the heavy remorse that hung over Lucien’s conscience. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that.

“Do you remember my mother?” The question was equal parts curiosity and an effort to change the
conversation.

“Of course I do…” Lucien shifted in his chair, coming closer as he recollected the memory, “I met
your Mother on Calanmai…” He explained carefully, doing his best not to look uncomfortable at
discussing the joining with his daughter. Gwyn did her best to hide the amusement that rose from
his awkwardness. “It was during Amarantha’s occupation of Prythian. It was a sad time - a lot of
our hope felt lost even on that night.”

She nodded, those awful years had cast a dark time on the temple too.

“...She was hard to forget, your mother.”

“Alicent,” Gwyn added with a whisper, unsure if he knew. Probably not.

Lucien offered a sad smile, thankful and a little embarrassed for the reminder, “Alicent. She was so
beautiful and full of joy. I only knew her for a night but… I remember the way her joy was
infectious. You have to understand it was dire. The Spring Court had begun receiving more threats.
If only for a night though, she managed to make me forget that. She made me happy and that was a
very difficult feat in those times.”

Gwyn nodded, smiling at the memory of her mother. It was true, there was a real happiness that she
seemed to emulate, as if no matter what happened, she had hope. Hope that all would be well in the
end.

“When we were children, we used to ask questions about you all the time… Especially me,” she let
out a soft laugh, “but the only thing she ever told us was that you were kind to her.” The look on
Lucien’s face threatened to crack her heart in two but she said the next words anyway, “I spent my
life thinking my father was dead. Because I couldn’t imagine someone to be so kind yet so
unwanting of Catrin and I.”

Lucien grimaced, the guilt etched in every sun-kissed feature. “If she had sent a letter or…” he ran
a hand through his crimson hair, “or, came to me, I would’ve never had-”

“It is in the past now,” Gwyn offered him another comforting smile, “Catrin and I had a wonderful
childhood. We were loved very much.”

He nodded, head dipping to disguise the welling that pooled in his eyes. With a voice turned thick
with emotion he said, “That’s… very good to hear.”

It was silent for a long while before he glanced up again, reaching for the parcel in his lap. Gwyn's
eyes lit with curiosity as he extended them towards her.

Five books, all wrapped neatly in gilded twine. With a slow but sure hand, she took them.

Lucien explained slowly, “I don’t know how to be a father… I’ve never been one before and I’ve
never really had a good example to follow myself…”

Gwyn blinked back the sudden stinging sensation in her eyes as she glanced down at the lavishly
bound first editions. They were adventure novels, ones she had never read before. She took a deep
breath, suddenly desperate for the air.

“I hear you like reading books. These are my favourites.”

Gwyn swallowed down the motion that threatened to rise in her, “Thank you… but…” The
sentiment of his words was indeed lovely, but now was the time for honesty. “But I don’t need a
father figure, Lucien. I’m an adult now and I’ve gone without one for my entire life.”

Slowly, he began to nod, swallowing down the words. But before he could take them the wrong
way, Gwyn added, “What I would like though, is a family.” She leaned forward with a smile,
“Maybe that’s something we both need… Maybe, we could be each other's family.”

Lucien’s eye lit up, a faint trace of silver lining the waterline. “I would like that very much...I’m
not in any way suggesting you need my help, but I’d like to get to know you, Gwyn. Feyre has told
me all about you and your work in the library and your training as a Valkyrie. Nesta,” he grimaced
at the mention of her chosen sister, “has told me she will send me to the bog of Oorid if I upset
you…”

Despite it all, she let out a giggle, grateful for the humour as she glanced back up to him, happy to
find a smile on his face too. “I’d like to get to know you too… but…” Her eyes took in the
grandeur of the home, the weight of her blood now settling uncomfortably in her veins. “But my
home is the Night Court. I have a mate and a job there now.”

It felt good to say that. After years of feeling as though she was on her own. Gwyn had built a life
for herself. She had a mate that loved her, a purpose in her work with the Valkyrie and Azriel and a
home to look forward to at the end of a tough day.

A warmth spread through her chest at the reminder.

“Of course,” Lucien grinned glad to hear she was happy and content. “Although I’m afraid Helion
may find your preference for Velaris a little difficult to swallow.”
She laughed again, feeling that sudden weight lighten on her shoulders.

Helion had been very enthusiastic with Gwyn the moment he found out who she was. Excessive
generosity seemed to be his main channel for communication of that enthusiasm. Upon her arrival,
her wardrobe was filled with luxurious gowns of decadent silks and gossamers gold couldn’t buy.
Her chambers, perched atop one of the highest towers, were nothing short of lavish. And in his
daily letters to her - of which there were many - her grandfather had even offered her the very
library they found themselves in as what he called ‘a very late birthday gift’.

“I’ll come and visit, I promise.” Although admittedly, it would be difficult to imagine Azriel,
Gwyn, Lucien and Elain sharing a table with Helion, she would do it. Maybe it would be good for
them.

Joy lit Lucien’s sun-kissed features. “Thank you, I’d really like that.”

Gwyn couldn’t help voicing the observation that fell from her mouth moments later, “You’re so
different to Eris.”

“You’ve met my brother?”

She nodded, “I met him during my mission in Autumn with Azriel…”

Lucien cringed and Gwyn had to laugh at that. “I despised him at first, he was such an utter
asshole…But,” she sighed with a shrug, “we’re actually sort of friends now.”

The Heir to the Day Court’s eye widened in disbelief, “You and Eris are… friends?”

“Well, I’m sure if you asked him, he would call me something awful like a ‘ valuable
acquaintance’ or, ‘his favourite nemesis’ or something… But he’s saved my life twice now when
he didn’t have to and even gave me the dagger from Nesta’s trove.”

Lucien remained stunned into silence.

“I think he knew all along… who I was. We spoke again in the Summer Court before the battle
broke out. He told me that I resemble your mother.” He nodded as she continued with an eye roll,
“He even started calling me a Vixen, knowing full well that you are always referred to as a fox.
Don’t tell him I said this but he’s actually kind of sweet - in an arrogant prickish sort of way. I
don’t think he’s ever had a friend before… Maybe no one’s ever given him a chance.”

“And you would give him that chance, despite everything he’s done? Trust him?”

Gwyn thought long and hard for a moment. Would Eris still be the same person now he had the
power he’d always craved?

Her heart answered for her, “The people I love most tend to be misunderstood by the world.
Sometimes you just have to reach out your hand.”

Approximately seventy-two hours ago, Helion Spell Cleaver was under the grossly incorrect
assumption that he was in a perpetual state of romantic solitude and most importantly- completely
childless. At some point in that small window of time, all of that had changed.
Helion slumped into the dining chair carved of solid gold, a look of rare confoundment plastered
on his dark features. It was a very infrequent thing to find the High Lord of the Day Court any less
than smoothly etched with a confident grin. And yet, in the past three days, the male had endured
enough surprise to be on watch for a heart attack.

The first surprise came when his fleet of prized pegasi went missing. Only to find them hours later
already at the battle he had shown up too late to assist with.

The second, came when he took his first steps into the temporary healer's tent on the beach and
found out, rather shockingly, that he had a son.

A son, who happened to be Lucien Vanserra. Lucien Spell-Cleaver now.

The third, came a few hours after he had almost gone into cardiac arrest from the discovery of his
long-lost child. He had invited the Night Court’s Inner Circle to recover from the battle at the Sun
Palace in the Day Court, having felt obliged to provide some aid due to his tardiness in the fight.

Helion swore he was having some kind of stress-induced delusion- that’s how incredibly similar
they looked. Even with the blood and grime painting her face, she was the spitting image of his
mate and yet… younger. As though time had ceased when they had first met.

A young female, wide-eyed and exhausted, sat by the Night Court’s Shadowsinger in the palace
infirmary. He didn’t have to sniff the air to know that it was his granddaughter. His son’s child.
Not when she looked exactly like his mate and he felt that rumble of her glowing power even from
across the room.

Helion took a large sip of his sparkling wine as his gaze bounced rather wildly from his son to his
granddaughter .

The Mother indeed had a wicked sense of humour.

Rhysand watched from the other head of the table with a slight smirk as the High Lord of Day
opened his mouth to say something and faltered.

“So let me clarify this…” He finally said, “My son's mate is a seer who once was the paramour of
my granddaughter's mate who is the Shadowsinger…” From Lucien’s side, Elain blushed a deep
shade of crimson as Azriel grimaced from the other. “And my granddaughter is close friends with
her mate's past paramour's sister… Who’s other sister is my son's once-human friend from their
time in the Spring Court and is now the High Lady of the Night Court.”

When no one replied, Rhysand spoke up, his velvet tone sweeping across the decadent dining hall,
“Family is complicated.” Beside him, Feyre stifled a laugh, baby Nyx joining in despite not
knowing what his mother found humorous.

Helion took another deep sip, turning to his granddaughter. His mahogany eyes softened as they
landed on Gwyn’s gentle smile. Out of all the surprises he had been afflicted with, it was perhaps
the one he was glancing at which had brought him the most joy.

Finding a son was marvellous, but a granddaughter? He had never known he wanted something so
badly until this very moment he had it. Helion had a lot of priceless treasures but Gwyn had
quickly become the most sacred - even if yes, she had avoided him for the past three days. It only
reminded him of Isla more.

“And the pegasus really came for you when you prayed for help?”
She nodded, a crease forming between her brows as she said, “It seemed to know me. I mean,
understand me almost…”

Delight filled Helion’s intent expression as his large hand reached for hers, “You blood bonded
with her. It’s a difficult spell even for one of my best mages,” A doting grin, “I’d say I’m
impressed, but what else could I expect from a granddaughter of mine?”

“Gwyn cast a spell?” Nesta asked, her confusion mirrored in Cassian’s face beside her.

“Well of course,” Helion beamed, “Spell-casting magic runs through her blood. For us, such
enchantments can be as easy as blinking, they can occur even if we are unaware or even angry.”
The High Lord of Day sent a warning glare to Azriel, who weathered the warning without so much
as a blink. Gwyn snorted at the threat, equally amused as she was terrified at the thought of
accidentally cursing him when she was in a mood.

“Training will be needed of course,” Helion went on, gaze flickering to Lucien, “For both of you.”

Feyre nodded still deep in thought, “So, that’s why the dagger-”

“Spellbreaker,” Gwyn corrected her, hand sliding down to where it was strapped firmly to her
thigh. Helion practically beamed with pride, the same proud glint shone through Azriel’s
appraising grin.

Spellbreaker and Truth Teller, it had a ring to it.

“That’s why Spellbreaker was able to shatter the curse…” Feyre leaned forward, grey eyes alit
with wonder, “Because you unknowingly enchanted it?”

“A blade from Nesta’s trove that can break even the strongest of curses… A curse from a death
god even…” Rhysand mused, “That’s…”

“Unheard of,” Cassian whispered, eyes wide.

From the far end of the table, Amren grinned, adding, “Very valuable.”

Helion nodded, eyes dipping to the blade at Gwyn’s thigh cautiously. “Such a gift has never been
forged in a weapon before… Who knows what else it could do.”

“What else it could do?” Gwyn asked, slightly confused by the assertion that this blade had
somehow more power.

Her grandfather gave a shrug, “Theoretically, whatever magic you instilled in it could break
wards… shatter containment spells and render entire cities', maybe even kingdoms' defences void.”

Oh.

The table fell quiet.

Gwyn glanced up at Azriel, her eyes weary. By the heavy dose of severity in his gaze, she knew he
was thinking the exact same thing that was on her mind.

The Night Court.

The prison.

A shiver ran down her spine, planting unease in her gut. Such a weapon could never fall into the
wrong hands. If it did it could unleash monsters Prythian had not even remembered to fear. Could
free creatures that not even all the seven High Lords could save them from.

Azriel’s gaze softened as he all but whispered, “As long as it remains in your hands Gwyn, there
will be nothing to worry about.”

That reassurance spread a warmth through her rapidly beating heart. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

And suddenly, all she wanted was to be alone with him.

Every nerve in her body seemed to call for him. Her flesh became acutely aware of the absence of
him between her thighs as she clenched them together tightly.

A shadow wrapped playfully around her wrist as Gwyn took in the heady scent that flooded the
room. His eyes had turned molten, as though they were forging a new metal.

A cough from Lucien tore them from the moment.

“Forgive Azriel,” Cassian drawled, “Sometimes he needs a chaperone.”

Gwyn blushed, shifting in her seat and turning her attention back towards Helion as he went on,
“The power, it can manifest in different ways, but for you,” he tapped her hand lightly, “you
bonded to the pegasus because you asked it for help with a pure heart. The key may have
heightened your powers, yes, but to summon them all for your friends?” Helion gestured to Nesta
and Emerie, “Now that’s true power that only our golden blood can yield.”

Gwyn’s answering smile faltered as a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” Helion called, barely disguising his annoyance at the interruption.

A white cloaked servant entered, dark eyes somewhat weary. “You have a visitor, my Lord. From
the Autumn Court.”

Gwyn’s eyes snapped to the doorway, Eris perhaps? He had left for the Autumn Court straight after
the battle had been won to claim the Court officially.

“Another visitor?” Helion huffed, “Are we to entertain every High Lord in Prythian?”

“Sorry to disappoint…” The melodic voice called from just beyond the doorway. At the sound,
both Helion and Lucien went preternaturally still, eyes wide.

“It’s just me.” A beautiful female swept through the doors, her lithe form wrapped in gold as she
passed the servant. Her hair was burnished copper and her eyes… blue like a sapphire sea.

The Lady of Autumn.

Even Gwyn had stopped breathing.

“Isla?” All the arrogance and self-assuring confidence had abandoned the High Lord of Day’s
features. Shock gave way to tears as he stood on shaky legs.

Her pink lips parted into a smile, one that shone like the sun itself had blessed her face. “Hello,
Helion.”
 One Month Later

It was like a dream and yet, Gwyn was entirely awake.

The sun cast the sprawling meadows of Rosehall in a glittering sea of blue and white. The delicate
song of temple hymns floated through the fresh air. It was one of the songs she had sung when all
hope had seemed lost. When Gwyn thought she had no one and nothing.

How wrong she had been.

Even from inside the walls of the manor, the melody sunk into her blood and wrapped around her
bones as it had many times before at temple services. She closed her eyes and listened. Felt it. This
time was different, the hymn entwined through the sound of the distant waves that crashed upon
the rocky cliff face below.

“Ready Little Bird?”

Gwyn took a step into a shard of buttery sunlight, no longer shrouded in the threshold of the
manor. Not even her billowing veil could disguise the excitement which met her features as she
turned to her soon-to-be Mother in Law.

“I’m ready.”

The outer edges of Maia’s eyes crinkled as she extended a waifish hand out to her. The gesture, the
soft kindness in it, reminded her so much of Azriel that she could barely contain the flurry of
emotion which threatened to reduce her to a pool of soppy tears and joy.

“Well look at you…” Lucien approached them from the edge of the meadow with an excited grin.
Leaning in, he planted a kiss on her cheek, “You look beautiful, Gwyn”

She beamed, thanking him and taking his arm in her free one.

The heir of the Day Court had been so surprised when Gwyn asked him to walk her down the aisle
with Maia, but she could truly think of nothing she wanted more. Family was important and Gwyn
had spent too long without one to not cherish the gift she had been given.

And so, they went.

It was an intimate mating ceremony, the guest list perhaps as odd as it was entirely interesting. In
fact, she was sure that in no time in the history of Prythian did a wedding occur in the attendance of
three High Lords, a High Lady as well as a hoard of penniless priestesses and the Night Court’s
Inner Circle.

And yet, it was perfect.

The diaphanous lace of Gwyn’s gown shone like a beacon in the mid-morning light as they made
their way to the edge of the cliff. Even from a distance, she could see the tears glint like silver in
Nesta’s eyes and hear the joyful sobs cascade from Cassian’s throat. Emerie gripped Mor’s hand a
little tighter and Nyx excitedly babbled in his grinning mother's arms. Even Eris, cloaked in the
colour of deep bronze, appeared slightly taken aback - although he would never admit to it.

The temple melody grew louder as they approached, the voices reaching higher than the birds
flying above. Gwyn squeezed Maia’s hand as the crowd began to part.

And there he was.

Her mate.

Her angel of death.

For a moment, Gwyn’s lungs forgot to breathe. The bond between them hummed in delight as they
took each other in from the small distance of the aisle.

Every perfect inch of his muscular form was wrapped in tailored black suiting. His wings were
flared out proudly behind him and the shadows giddily danced at his shoulders.

She knew now that real angels don’t wear halos or live in the clouds above. No, they have scars
and are born from the very shadows of darkness. Those are the ones that truly save you, the ones
that turn the fire that scorches you inside out, into a glow. The ones that turn the sea that is
drowning you into a safe haven.

But it was the way he was looking at her that had her completely stilled… like she was the only
person in the world.

Like maybe, she was his angel too.

Gwyn almost threw her bouquet of meadow flowers to the ground and ran to him, but seeing her
mate like that had her feet anchored to the ground. She wanted to live in this small moment forever,
when war was briefly over and everything was right.

“If you’re having second thoughts…” Eris leaned in to whisper with a wicked grin, “I have a
palace now fit for Vixens…”

Nesta didn’t hesitate, her elbow found his ribs in the span of a second.

“That’s treason,” The High Lord of Autumn hissed, keeling over to clutch his stomach.

Nesta only glowered, “I’ll do so much worse than treason if you ruin this for her, Fireling.” From
beside them, Rhysand let out a snort of approval, muttering something about offering to hide the
body. The two of them had seemed to patch things up from their frosty past.

Overwhelmed, Gwyn let out a laugh that was halfway between a sob and a deep exhaling breath.
And with that, she let the bond between them pull her forward, as though she was finally being
drawn home.

Azriel’s cheeks were glistening with a trace of tears. The happy kind. The kind that made her heart
gallop and her soul sing.

The temple hymn gathered its momentum into a crescendo of soaring sound. The delicate white
lace of her train trailed behind them as they walked, slowing every so often when Maia’s legs grew
tired, or the muscles in her back spasmed.

Helion’s gaze dipped adoringly over his granddaughter as she passed, his mate equally proud as she
beamed from his side. He had gifted her the gown, sending the finest dressmakers in Prythian to
her door as soon as the announcement was made.

Lucien had insisted on paying for the ceremony and was honestly disappointed when he found out
it was to be a simple and ‘ outrageously inexpensive ’ affair. This morning when Elain had come to
deliver her bouquet, he had even offered to throw her a larger more elaborate ceremony when they
came to visit the Day Court.

Nesta had arranged her hair in a sweep of curls that framed her glowing complexion and Emerie
had given her the comb of silver wings that neatly slid into the side.

At some point, the hands that held her let go and she walked to the altar. To him.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave hers, a mixture of awe and adoration drenching every inch of his
handsome features.

The Priestesses' song dwindled into a soft end. Gwyn didn’t even realise her own tears until she
came face to face with him. With steady hands, Azriel lifted the veil from her face and took a
moment to wipe away the droplets that had stained her cheeks. Such a gentle gesture. She let the
feel of his scarred fingers lull her into calm.

“Azriel.”

He grinned back, dimples carving into his cheeks. “Gwyneth.”

The High Priestess stepped forth and motioned with a soft smile to their hands. The moment her
fingers grazed his and their hands entwined, everything else fell away except for him.

They said their vows as the white ribbon bound their hands together. The gleeful shadows had
joined in, winding around where the ribbon had begun to tie them as one. A low chorus of song
whispered through the wind, as though the shadows were singing to her.

Amidst that whispered music, the bond hummed in quiet approval, a symphony of their own
winding around them. Perhaps the shadows were affected by that ancient binding magic too.
Somehow, allowing Gwyn to now hear them as Azriel did.

Her heart thundered as his thumb grazed the tender inside of her palm and in turn, she squeezed his
hand a little tighter.

“By the Mother, sun, moon and stars…” The velvet caress of Azriel’s voice filled the little
meadow, “…I vow that I am hers and she is mine, from this day and until the end of my days. I
pledge to you my heart and soul.”

Gwyn repeated the vow. And in that moment, she knew only three things with absolute certainty.

The first, safety is scarred hands reaching for her freckled ones.

The second, home is the hazel-hued fire that finds her eyes in every crowd.

The last, love is the baritone melody of a laugh and the hidden dimples that follow.

There is pain and misfortune in this world, but there are no accidents. And no matter the cost, she
would do it all again to be right here, with him.

As their hands were finally bound with ribbon and shadow, they sealed their vows with a kiss. A
 chorus of cheers filled the meadow.

Something restless settled within her.

Chapter End Notes

Well, here it is. The final chapter. I really hoped you liked it!

If you can remember, this fic started with Gwyn and Azriel at a mating ceremony.
They both were severely struggling in different ways. Azriel was crippled by guilt and
lacked self-worth and Gwyn's time in the Blood Rite had resurfaced a lot of her
repressed trauma from the past. They were broken and alone. I wanted to create a full-
circle moment to end this story that illustrates just how far they had come from the
beginning.

The final line, 'Something restless settled within her' has special meaning to me and is
another full circle moment. If you've read the bonus chapter included in ACOSF,
you'll know that it includes the line "Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow,
 something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to
lounge on his shoulders and watch”. To me, this is the start of their romantic story,
where his body knows about the bond before he does. I wanted to pay homage to that
moment by ending with it in Gwyn's perspective.

The reoccurring themes of safety, home and love have played a huge role in this story.
Gwyn gains safety by forging a path for herself that gives her purpose, overcoming her
fear of males and feeling empowered enough to let one into her life. In turn, Azriel
gains safety by accepting himself, his past and ultimately allowing himself to be
worthy of love. It was important to me that through that journey of development, they
built a home from each other's strength. The mating ceremony taking place on the
Cliffs of Sabai or as they call them, 'our cliffs', is symbolic of Gwyn's mantra, "I am
the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me". I like the idea that
they're standing there strong after everything, finally at peace with their past and ready
for their furture, ie. literally standing on the rock in which the surf crashes.

Family is something that at some point in their lives, both Azriel and Gwyn have had
taken away from them. Although a big part of these books is 'found family' which I
love, I really wanted to gift them, and especially Gwyn, a real family at the end. Even
if you don't like the 'Lucien is Gwyn's Father' theory, I like that it knits four lost
people together. I also love the idea that she ultimately rejects being a 'Lady' for the
position she has fought so hard for in the Night Court. She could easily drop
everything and go and live like a princess in Day or Autumn, but at her core, she is a
warrior and a priestess and I don't think she would ever give that up - and that's why I
love her.

Finally! I am so excited to announce that @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship will be

writing a sequel to ACOSAS! After seeing what she has planned I can say the plot is
insanely good and will tie up the loose ends left open in this story as well as explore
the themes introduced here further. And btw, it's gonna be SPICY.
You can read more about it here: https://www.tumblr.com/captain-of-the-gwynriel-
ship/709602263502553088/for-the-ask-game-when-did-you-know-you-wanted-to

Don't forget about the epilogue, which will be posted later this week. I cried writing it.
Prepare yourself for ultra fluffy Gwynriel.

Thanks for reading!

Lou x

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