Azriel wondered why in Mother's name he had decided to torture himself like this.
Concealed in the shadows and hibiscus plants on the edge of the raucus party, he had slipped away just moments before Elain and her sisters approached his brothers and Helion. Azriel had not been able to look away from Elain from the moment she exited those curtains, and when she turned toward the dance floor, sauntering next to the fox, her skin-tight gown displaying her body in a way that he had never seen before...
Mother save him.
Cauldron boil him.
He was in hells.
For, to have her so near looking so ravishing, but unable to run his hands down her waist, twirl a finger in those golden curls, or even simply stand near and catch her scent... it was torture.
Azriel mused that the treatment he routinely inflicted upon his... targets... was nothing compared to the agony he was currently experiencing, watching the fox take Elain into his arms, gracefully guiding her into a waltz on the shining golden dance floor. Another wave of envy and pain coursed through his chest as he caught sight of just how good the mates looked together, Lucien and Elain dancing in perfect unison, their eyes averted from one another, his hand lightly holding her upper back, and mercifully for Azriel, barely grazing her skin.
He could at least find minor relief in the fact that he saw a warm smile slowly light up Elain's face as she swayed with the fox to the beat of the music. Her pleasure had always brought him pleasure, despite the fact that it had not come from him.
She is not yours. She is his. She has never been yours and will never be yours. She is finding her happiness. Azriel allowed the string of sentences to cycle through his mind, washing away the jealousy and reminding him of his place. Because Elain was different than Mor. She was mated. He could not sit around pining for her for centuries: he had to let her go.
The music shifted to a faster beat, the wind instruments joining with the drums, and Azriel watched as the sisters began a traditional Prythian group dance, swapping between Lucien, Rhys, and Cassian, tossing silly faces as they laughed, twirling and sparkling around one another.
The sounds of their joy carried and bounced off the surrounding guests, floating toward him like a chilling mist.
Three Powerful Made-Fae with three powerful high- status faerie males. The most powerful High Lord in history, the commander of the Illyrian armies, and a High Lord's son. Three sets of mates, and they were to be a family. The thoughts settled heavily on Azriel, sobering his mind and drawing an even heavier sense of loneliness deep within his gut. He felt himself sink further into the shadows, his despair shrouded only by the mask of indifference had had donned for centuries.
Who was he in comparison to the most powerful High Lord in history? How did he compare to a war hero... an army commander? Azriel didn't even stack up against the fireling; Lucien was Prythian royalty, even if he was a seventh son. Azriel was just a spymaster. Relegated to skulking around other courts and kingdoms, but never the one to lead one. He was a background player– a servant. Hells, for a time, Azriel had been a prisoner and a slave.
Sure, as a Shadowsinger, Azriel was magical in his own rite, but he was truly nothing compared to the mates the Cauldron had chosen for the sisters. The highest power in the known universe did not view him as worthy of Elain. And looking over from his place on the outside, watching her curls bounce to the beat of the music, her smile radiating toward her friends and family, Azriel felt himself agreeing with The Cauldron.
He wasn't good enough.
Turning away, he faded into the shadows and shot up toward the sky, now flaming orange and lilac from the setting sun. He needed to fly.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Elain could have sworn she saw a familiar dark figure swoop into the clouded sunset as she twirled with Cassian, his silly faces making her stomach muscles hurt from laughter.
"Why didn't Azriel come?" Elain asked Cassian, cocking her head up at him while trying to keep up with his surprisingly impressive and quick footwork.
Cassian looked down at her with a conspiratorial grin.
"Who says he didn't come?" He laughed before grabbing her hands and lowering her into a particularly deep dip, her shoulderblades nearing the gold-flecked dance floor. Elain let out a shriek, feeling like she was going to land on her ass in the middle of the party before Cassian hauled her back upright, laughing and twirling her again.
"Cassian! You're going to make me sick!" She gasped, steadying herself against him before glancing up into the sky again with a breathy laugh. "Is he here somewhere?"
But before the General could reply, the partners swapped, and she found herself hand in hand with Rhysand, floating across the marble.
"What questions have thee, my Lady?" Rhys purred, leading her through the choreography with ease and casual confidence. "Maybe I can be of assistance."
"Is Azriel here?" Elain asked the High Lord, her eyes open and questioning.
Rhys paused before replying, and she saw a flicker of something.. some emotion... go across his violet eyes.
"Yes, Azriel came with us." He answered in a clipped tone before releasing her and swapping partners again.
Elain spun across the marble for a breath of a moment before warm hands caught her by the elbows, steadying her. She blinked up, her eyes settling on Lucien's mechanical eye.
Elain blinked up at him, her mind scattered and darting; Rhysand's words were spinning around her head, making her feel slightly nauseated. Or maybe it was all the twirling from Cassian.
"Do you need to rest?" Lucien was staring down at her, concern wreathing his eye.
She nodded, offering him a half-smile before again looking up toward the sky.
"I think I need something to drink..." She said weakly, releasing herself from his arms and making a move toward the edge of the dance floor.
"Certainly." Lucien gave her a deep bow, reaching a nearby attendant before she did, swiping a large glass of fae wine, and handed it to her with a smile.
She took it gratefully and swallowed the entire glass in one go, breathing deeply of the scent and allowing her heartbeat, which had become erratic since learning of Azriel's presence, to calm. Her eyes involuntarily flashed upward again, scanning the sky as she felt her pulse return to normal. Lowering the glass from her lips, Elain raised her eyes toward Lucien who was still looking at her, alarm and stress raking across his forehead.
And she didn't know why, but she found herself irritated.
Was he seriously annoyed that she had downed the glass so quickly? Was she truly such a buttoned-up pretty prudish princess to him that he thought it strange that she, as an ADULT female, would want to enjoy the wine at a party thrown in HER honor? Feeling defiant and wanting to prove a point, she tossed him a smile before grabbing another glass from a nearby servant and downing that one too.
"Are you feeling okay my lady?" Lucien's concern seemed to be radiating off him, his body tensing as he glanced at the two empty glasses in her hands, and then, to her ultimate annoyance, his eye traveled over to Feyre, tossing her sister a look of worry.
Elain stepped closer to him, drawing almost chest to chest. She threw her shoulders back, tilted her head, and gave him an enormous grin.
"Never been better actually." She cooed, coking her head and shoving the empty glasses into his hands. "I just need to freshen up."
Turning on her heel, Elain rolled her eyes and marched straight through the crowding nude fae, uncaring if Lucien was watching her or not. He had some gods-damned nerve looking over at Feyre like Elain was a problem that needed to be dealt with... she felt the frustration seething off her body, her muscles tense and fists clenched.
Striding over to the far edge of the courtyard veranda, she glanced behind to see if he was still watching her. To her chagrin, Lucien's eyes were still trained on Elain, even as he guided Feyre through the next dance. She waved at him dismissively, offering a toothy grin before turning her back and resting her hands on the bordered edge of the courtyard, facing the last slivers of the setting sun.
Throwing her head back and releasing a sigh, Elain stared up at the rising moon, noticing small flecks of stars appearing above the party. The drums reverberated through her body and she felt the effects of the wine suddenly hit her. A tingling sensation began in her fingertips before travelling up her arms and down her torso, numbing and warming her skin, her mind drifting into murky lucidity.
Maybe she actually should go freshen up.
Squaring her shoulders and aiming for a nearby archway, Elain headed toward the silky billowing curtains.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Azriel had decided he needed to male up.
He had gotten through the rite. He had gotten through gods-only-knew how many bloody battles, and he had tolerated seeing Mor in dalliances with other males for five hundred years.
He could handle this.
Striding down the massive corridor of Helion's palace, passing archways and curtains, he readied himself the way he did when it was time to fight in combat. Shoulders back, chin raised, wings tucked in tightly, he curled his hands into fists and threw out his chest. His siphons began to activate, assuming Azriel was heading into some kind of altercation, and honestly... they weren't wrong.
Reaching towards a curtain at the very end of the corridor, ready to renter the party, he had just begun to drag the fabric away when he felt a small hand grab his scarred arm, and the scent of honey and jasmine absorbed him.
Instinct took over and no sooner had he set eyes on Elain had he drawn her to his chest, wrapping his wings around her, holding her tightly, his hands plunged into the naked flesh on her back beneath her gown. He heaved a breath, taking in the scent of her hair, her curls soft to his nose. He breathed deeply, arms pulling her as close to him as possible when he felt a squeak come from her, breaking him from his momentary lapse of sanity.
Azriel immediately, though reluctantly, released her, stepping backward and offering her space, though she still gripped his hand.
Softly raising a finger to her lips, Elain's eyes narrowed wickedly, her face twisted in a strange expression before gushing "shhhhh."
Something about her mannerisms felt off to him, and as she took him by the hand she was still holding, leading him away from the party and into the nearby darkness, he finally registered the heavy scent of fae wine wafting off her body.
Mother save him.