Ilias had shown herself to her room, after dinner. The meal had been tense. Nobody- not even Mor, or Cassian, so prone to being loud and cheerful- spoke. Not after her mother had her outburst about going home.
She sat now on her bed, touching the tender skin on her side. She'd healed enough that it wasn't bleeding in dangerous gallons, but it wasn't sealed. And if she poked at it too much it would just open again.
She winced, as she separated the skin by mistake, causing blood to trickle over the edges of the re-opened wound.
She wanted her mother. She was hurt, and confused.
Confused about Azriel, about if she wanted what seemed laid out in front of her. But at the same time felt millions of mountains away.
And she was hurt, quite literally.
But she supposed she was hurt by her thoughts of fear. She was terrified of what was happening. She wasn't home, she couldn't go home. Everything was strange and wrong and-
It hurt her, to admit that she was scared, terrified, even. But she wanted her mother there for that, too. Because her mother was never scared.
Ilias almost willed her mother into existence, concentrating on her childlike want. Jumping when a knock actually sounded on the door.
She opened it, slowly at first, carefully. To see who it was.
It was not her mother, nor anyone from home, but Azriel on the other side gave her the gentlest smile, and she finished opening the door.
He didn't look at her face, or her room, but instead his gaze stayed stuck on her side, on the deep cut he'd caused. Just as she stayed focused on the burns lining his neck.
"I'm sorry," He muttered. He cleared his throat, and said it louder. "I'm sorry, about your side. I didn't-"
"It's okay, Azriel. I burned you just as bad. Sometimes sparring can get out of hand." Ilias was quiet, calm.
She reached out, and ran her fingertips along Azriel's hand. He almost flinched away, everytime she paid too much attention to a specific scar. His hands had so many, it was hard not too.
"No- I could've killed you-"
"Would that really have been a negative? Sometimes it feels like that's what you want."
She backed up, away from him, and simply sat on her bed. She was sore, tired, she didn't want to stand anymore. And she didn't have to.
He looked shocked. His eyes widened, he stepped back until he ran back into the wall- hard, judging by the sound it made.
"No! No. I just- I love her. I just-"
She nodded, "it's okay. If you want though, you can come sit here, we can talk."
He moved beside her, and Ilias turned almost to look at him, directly beside her.
"Tell me about yourself." She murmured. "tell me about your childhood."
"I'd rather not. But you could tell me about yours?"
Ilias nodded, and swallowed.
"It was normal, pretty much. I know I'm a princess, that's not normal. But I went to school, like everyone else. And I just- I had my loving parents. Aside from that I just read, and sparred. There's nothing, really there, to talk about."
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By the time the night fully settled over the night court Ilias was asleep. Her head rested on Azriel's shoulder, but he was wide awake, almost mesmerized by the calm on her face.
Her lips were twitched up in a smile, and she'd unbraided her long hair earlier.
Azriel had almost thought they'd be okay.
They truly were mates, and she was nice. All of her rough edges where covers. She was like Rhys, and Cassain that way.
He was opening up quicker than he knew possible.
To the point where he thought maybe she was the one, and they could stay together, somehow. He'd move on from Mor, and finally be happy, finally have a family.
But when he watched her sleep, he was reminded that she was only 17, and that was far too young for him.