Azriel swirled the dark wine in his golden goblet, shifting his weight slightly as he leaned back on his elbow, his wings resting loosely behind him on the silk-embroidered floor pillow.
The visiting guests of the Night Court; the Valkyries, the mates, and the Shadowsinger, were dining in Helion's personal dining room, gathered around a low-set cedar table filled with elaborate cheeses and fruits. They were having yet another chaperoned dinner for the gods-forsaken courting charade Elain was torturing them all with.
Azriel had been in Patras for nearly three weeks since Calanmai, and he was beginning to feel as though these draining group dates were just her way of reminding him once and for all that she had not chosen him.
When Elain had requested Rhys for Azriel to stay in Patras, offering protection and comfort in the wake of the visions and the river fiasco, he had held out a fool's hope that amongst her courting and gardening, she had maybe also intended on dragging him into her rooms... perhaps to recreate some of the Calanmai magic. Or at the very least, to just spend time together... like they had in the past.
But, leaning his goblet into his mouth for another swig of the rich fae wine, Azriel had learned that the beautiful and oh-so frustrating female hadn't intended any such thing. Because she hadn't so much as shaken his scarred hand in greeting in the three weeks he'd been in this fucking palace, let alone spoken privately to him. In fact, it seemed as if she was intent on keeping a foot of distance between herself and him at all times, dodging his shadows, averting her eyes from his gaze.
It was madness.
But for Elain and Lucien, while not behaving as other mates Azriel had been familiar with, things had progressed to the point where they at least seemed to be more comfortable with each other.
His shadows had gleaned that the fox had indeed apologized, and she had accepted. For gods-only-knew what reasons, they were still courting, and though it was slow progress, he had noticed a shift in their interactions, almost as if the repetition and proximity had worn them both down to the point that they no longer viewed one another as total strangers. Azriel's gaze drew to the head of the table. Helion was telling Lucien a story from his youth, the drawn-out details of how he had come to inherit the Day Court. Lucien and Helion had apparently bonded throughout the summer, despite the long-held feud the High Lord seemed to nurse against Beron. But maybe that was partly why the fox and the High Lord got on so well; mutual hatred for the abusive firelord of Autumn. And while the fox and Azriel had yet to bond over anything, he no longer felt malicious fury whenever he was in the presence of Elain's mate. The two had fallen into simply ignoring one another instead.
Elain was listening quietly, her attention fluttering between Helion's story and Gwyn and Emerie's giggling chatter next to her. Azriel was at the foot of the table, across from Helion, flanked by the Valkyries. He had been tuning them out, preferring to lounge in peace, his shadows whispering and swirling around him as he nursed his wine. He had gotten quite used to tuning out Valkyrie chit-chat throughout his time training the females, and although he enjoyed their company, there was only one female here whom he desired to spend time with.
"Az," Gwyn's voice carried toward Azriel, breaking him from the privacy of his thoughts. "How does one become a Shadowsinger?"
Azriel felt the room still, Lucien's chatter pausing mid-sentence as the gathered fae peered over at him. Helion opened his mouth, presumably to answer the Priestess, but closed it again after looking at the Shadowsinger, his eyes falling to the ground. Emerie's eyes darted to Gwyn's, widening with an expression that seemed to communicate, 'you just put your foot in it.' Azriel had to assume that the older and more experienced fae in the gathered party would know exactly what it meant to become a Shadowsinger, and none had the heart to tell Gwyn about it over laughter and cheeses.
He looked down at his wine glass, struggling to form a reply when he heard a crystal clear voice ring across the cedar table.
"I wouldn't call Azriel a Shadow SINGER per say. We have yet to see him sing! Maybe he's just shadows. Period. " Elain elbowed Gwyn in the side with a laugh as her eyes drew toward Azriel, a gentle warmth creasing her lids, the memory of her sassy words in the alcove echoing in the recesses of his mind.
Relief washed over him as Gwyn flipped to Elain, laughing and elbowing her back. "You know, you're right!" Turning toward him, Gwyn narrowed her eyes. "But I bet he doesn't sing for anyone."
It seemed to be a challenge, but Azriel had no intention of taking her up on it. He nodded, a smirk breaking through his mask before he took another sip of his wine.
"But you sing, don't you Gwyn?" Elain was focused on the Priestess, expertly guiding the conversation away from the topic of Shadowsinging, and by extension... Azriel's tragic past.
"If you like to sing my dear, why don't you join my Priestesses during their worship tomorrow evening—" Helion's invitation boomed across the table as the conversation turned, happy chatter picking back up and filling the warm air.
Azriel glanced up from his wine glass, his eyes drawn to Elain who was nodding along to Helion's words, encouraging Gwyn to meet her friend Sandrielle, the High Priestess of Patras.
He had never told Elain any details of his childhood, but the way she had intervened just now... he wondered how much she knew of what it meant to be a Shadowsinger. Did she know what had happened to him? Had someone in the Inner Circle described it to her?
Perhaps she knew of his dark history.
Perhaps that is why she kept herself tied to the fox.
Because although Lucien's father was an asshole, it's not like Beron ever kept him chained up in a windowless cell, unable to fly, unable to learn, or love, or do anything a normal child could do.
Sighing, he rose from the cushion, bowing his head in farewell to the group, and grabbed another glass of wine on his way out. Shadows hissing at his ankles and up toward his shoulders, Azriel returned to his rooms alone.
So very alone.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Elain looked out across the lively marketplace, inhaling the rich spices, tangs of citrus fruits cutting through the heady smells, her nostrils flaring with the scents.
She was walking with Nuala and Cerridwen, quiet at her side through the loud Patras market, her hand trailing over the passing merchandise; leather totes, beaded bracelets, and enormous melons and fruits. She was to meet Lucien by the docks for another chaperoned date, and they were taking the scenic route, passing through the historic section of the city that had once been a site for fae prayer to the sun gods and goddesses.
Elain mused that the twins truly fit in the Day Court. Their dark gleaming skin blended with the local fae, though Elain thought the wraiths were far more beautiful than the everyday faeries visiting the booths and market stalls around them. She was still uncertain if the sisters knew the details of what had transpired on Calanmai, but she also knew that it did not matter; Nuala and Cerridwen would never betray her secret.
The weeks since Calanmai had begun to blur together as Elain floated through a basic daily routine.
Brunch in the morning across from Lucien, sipping tea in companionable silence, before afternoons in the gardens, sometimes with Sandrielle, testing her influence over plants. Preceding dinner, Gwyn and Elain researched in the library, searching for more information on botanical-related magic, the Priestess proving to be indispensable for navigating the extensive scholarly collection in Patras. Her evenings were spent with Lucien again, often attending elaborate society dinners around Patras or with the others at the palace, followed by dessert and coffee over a chaperoned game of Chess, which Elain was finding more enjoyable now that she was beginning to understand the rules, and that she was pairing the activity with coffee. Lots of coffee.
Life was predictable and repetitive, but not altogether unpleasant. Adjectives, she realized, that could also describe her relationship with Lucien. It was not romantic yet, but she had warmed to him since their conversation after Calanmai. Lucien had taken her into one of Helion's studies, all but bowing before her in apologetic shame for his behavior after the river.
And Elain forgave him.
Perhaps it was because his apology had been so dramatically sincere, but a deeper part of her knew that her forgiving heart was inspired by the severe guilt burning a hole in her chest, the memories of the Calanmai moonlight branded into her mind and body. And quite honestly, waking that morning after one of the happiest nights of her life to 'that' vision... it had split something deep within her.
She just didn't really care anymore.
She could forgive Lucien's violence. She could even keep courting him. What did it matter? What did any of it matter when she could not have what she desired most? When she could not be with Azriel?
Elain had thought that bringing Gwyn into forced proximity in the palace with the Shadowsinger would have unlocked the mating bond, maybe in the same way it had for Cassian and Nesta at the House of Wind, or Feyre and Rhys during their monthly bargain. But she had yet to see Azriel interact with the priestess beyond what she knew was platonic friendship. Because if any female on this damn continent knew what the wholly not-platonic gaze of Azriel looked like, it was Elain.
She had decided it would be best to keep a physical and emotional distance between herself and the Shadowsinger since he had come to stay but it was proving to be challenging. Because with every avoided gaze, every obvious dodge of his shadows, every evasive maneuver down a hallway she didn't need to go down, just to avoid him... it was as if she was screaming to the world, 'I can't risk even glancing into those hazel eyes for a fraction of a second, because if I do, I will sure as hells lose complete control of my body.'
And the pathetic part was it was probably true.
Because she just could not release the memories of Azriel from her mind. And it wasn't just the memories of his mouth on her neck, pinning her against the marble, moaning her name as he pleasured her... it was the memories of when he rescued her from the river, holding her tight, whispering into her hair. Running the bath for her, warming her in her bed. The tickle fight... all of it. She missed him. She gods-damned missed him, but there was nothing she could do about it because he was to be mated off any second now.
Ugh.
Why in the hells did she think it was a good idea to have him stay here? She should have tried to bring Feyre and Rhys in on the plan and send Gwyn and Azriel on some sort of Valkyrie-Spymaster mission or something. Speaking up at dinner last night to shift the subject from Shadowsinging had been about the extent of her direct interaction with him, and it had sent shivers down her spine, to gaze into those beautiful eyes.
Frustrated, she broke from her thoughts, realizing the trio had neared the end of the street, the booths of the marketplace beginning to drop off. Elain looked out across the Patras harbor, or "Helion's Harbor" as the locals lovingly referred to the bay. Massive ships and pleasure yachts rustled in the waves, anchored in the blinding sun, the water sparkling and glittering a dark cerulean blue. Passing close to the water, Elain thought again of the river and shuddered. She was unsure when she would ever go under a body of water again in her life.
Spotting Lucien's long red hair from a distance, his broad shoulders gathered in a loosely-belted linen Day Court kimono leaning against a fence and facing the ships, Elain felt herself relax. Lucien was her future. There was nothing to be worked up about, nothing to feel passionate about; just pleasant neutrality.
And after Calanmai, after 'that' vision, after her heart positively breaking into pieces... she did not mind pleasant neutrality.
ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ
Lucien was brushing down a mare as the Shadowsinger approached the stables.
Today, after returning from a date with Elain in downtown Patras, Lucien had ventured to invite Azriel to speak with him. Nuala had delivered the message only an hour ago, and the Shadowsinger could not help the curiosity from leading him to the stables.
Looking up from his mare, Lucien nodded his head in greeting, seemingly unable to smile at Azriel, but not altogether unhappy to see him approach. Azriel nodded as well, tucking his wings tightly as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame of the stables.
"You wanted to talk?" His voice drawled from the mask of casual indifference he had donned for centuries.
"Yes, uh, thanks for coming." The fox was awkward, avoiding eye contact and brushing his hands on his pants, wiping away the scent of the horse. "I just wanted to clear the air. Maybe even... mend bridges a little."
Azriel raised his brows and adjusted his stance, waiting for the speech to continue.
"Right, you don't speak much." Lucien's remark almost caused Azriel to smile, but he remained masked, staring down his nose, arms still crossed. "So, I guess I'll start then."
Striding across the stable, Lucien picked up a different comb and turned back toward the mare. His back faced to Azriel, probably due to the penetrating gaze of the Shadowsinger being more than mildly uncomfortable. "I know that you're like family to her... to Elain." He stroked the mare's back with the comb, gathering the loose hair, as he continued. "And because she and I are mates, I think it's important for us to try to get along."
Azriel coughed into his fist, his only acknowledgment of the fox's statement.
Turning toward him and setting down the wooden comb on a shelf, Lucien stepped forward. "I guess, in a way, being that the Inner Circle is like family, I feel that you're like an overprotective older brother to her."
The Shadowsinger covered the smirk on his lips in the nick of time, coughing again into his fist as images of Elain flooded his mind. Her spread thighs, inches from his face, the sound of her moaning his name as she bucked into him, his face all but buried inside her. He coughed again. No need to tell the fox how incredibly NOT like a brother Azriel was to Elain.
But he could feel the sneering smirk growing within him, so he merely nodded, his fist still covering his mouth. "Mhm."
"So I want us to come to an understanding." Lucien's eye stared into Azriel, genuine emotion cresting his face. "I know you're protective over her, and I respect that. I'm grateful for it even."
"Mhm." Azriel hummed again, nodding slightly, crossing his arms, and shifting his weight to his other leg.
"And I want to protect her too." His voice was quiet, his eye averted from the Shadowsinger.
It was that sentence that caused Azriel to break slightly, his dark wings flaring out as he pushed off his post. "So we can come to the agreement that females are not property, right?" The sneer began twisting his mouth. "Even ones we're mated to?"
Lucien whipped his head to Azriel, noticeably trying to calm himself as he took a breath. "I guess it's hard to understand when you don't have your own mating bond from the Cauldron," the jab cut Azriel slightly, but he did not allow the fox to realize. "But it's a very emotional experience."
"Is that your apology?" Azriel turned away from him, uncrossing his arms and stepping out of the stables.
"I've already apologized to her, but that's none of your business." Lucien snarled.
"Well good. I guess it's settled then. You stop treating Elain like property, and we'll have zero issues." His voice was cold and hard, his gaze penetrating Lucien's eye.
Lucien crossed his arms, his brows flaring up with exasperation. "I'm trying to mend things with you. If you're so intent on guarding her like an overgrown puppy for the rest of your immortal life, then you'll be seeing me a lot." He spat out the words with venom, turning back to the mare and snatching the comb back off the shelf to continue his grooming.
And the words from the fox hit their mark. Because Azriel had no intentions of stepping away from Elain any time soon, and that did mean he would be seeing Lucien a lot. Maybe the asshole had a point. It was probably hells for Elain to see them hating each other so viscerally every time the group was together, even if he felt that it was just ignoring.
"Fine. But Vanserra, just know that me absolutely hating your guts and me actually starting to like you don't look that different." He tossed the words toward the fox, walking away, his shadows wafting in the wind behind him.
"Uh, alright then." Lucien quipped awkwardly, surprised to realize Azriel had acquiesced.
Nodding, Azriel turned and crouched into the ground before launching up into the clouds, spreading his wings and shooting like an arrow back toward the palace.
It didn't hurt to remind the asshole that some males didn't need to mount a magical horse to soar the skies.