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ladyveravincent · 5 days

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The Song of the Wind

Excerpt from Chapter 9

Elain stumbled out of Rita’s, only to grab onto nothing as she breathed in the crisp autumn air.

“Y’know, I nev’re,” she started, but a strong arm caught her before she fell face-first into the cobblestone below.

“ Oh! ‘ound you! Shhh.. Lain, Lainey, ha! ‘ts kay, ’ El,” he struggled to contain his amusement, the two drunker with laughter than alcohol.

“Shit! Oh shit, we gotta-” she leaned in to whisper, “we gotta get home somehow- I can’t walk, no! No! No!” her protests were interrupted when Azriel hauled Elain over his shoulder, and the two squealed in delight.

“Put me down!” she laughed while her fists pounded onto his back.

“Archeron- you’re a goddamn drunk,” he slurred.

“Fuck you! You’re jealous I almos’,” she hiccuped, “won.” He swayed slightly as he walked down the cobblestone streets, the peaceful Velaris night so at odds with the rowdiness of the dance hall.

When it got too cold to swim, Az and Elain frequented Rita’s every night, trading their peaceful moments floating in the Sidra for lively reels across the dance floor. Elain was not surprised when Azriel proved to be an excellent dancer, and she swore no shadows swirled around him when music filled the room. But that night, Az made one crucial misstep. After they finished the first jig, he went to get them drinks; wine for her and whiskey for him.

“Oh thank you,” she said as her eyes widened in glee, and downed the whiskey in one gulp.

“No problem,” he murmured when she placed the empty glass in his hand.

“Whiskey is my favorite drink. I could drink it all night long.”

“If you were to do that, I think you’d be on the floor by the end of the night.” She scoffed and pinched his arm for his dry quip.

“Wanna bet? You and me, see who can drink more glasses tonight.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

“Why not.”

Almost a bottle and a half later, they were falling off their chairs, but a competitive Azriel refused to forfeit and won by one glass. Somehow, Elain ended up on top of a table, and after some protests, Az relented and joined her. But, under their shared weight, the table completely broke, and after a deeply sincere apology and three bags of gold coins, the two could not catch a breath between their tears of laughter, so they stumbled out of Rita's to start the long journey home.

“If you keep walkin’ we’re gonna break our limbs."

“Sure thing, my lady,” he chuckled and started to set her down. Suddenly, their flush faces were mere inches apart.

That autumn they both stood on a precipice that crumbled each moment they spent together. Both sought the other out; Elain often pretended to need help in the garden, and Azriel somehow always needed some rather specific herbal salve. Soon, they fell into a routine of spending their days together, praying the other was brave enough to step forward and say something.

For a moment when they stared at each other, all the world stood still, blushing and wide-eyed. It was now or never; she glanced down at his lips, he glanced down at hers, a breath between them, and then-

“Madam!” They turned their heads to see a Fae run up to them, Elain’s forgotten shawl in hand.

“Oh! Thank you.” She blushed furiously as Az set her down on the ground, and the moment rode away on the chilly autumn wind. She wrapped her shawl around her to keep out the cold and turned back at him.

“We could- we could fly home,” she said shyly. In one moment, she was in his arms. The two had flown many times before; each time lived over and over in Elain’s memory, and each time she watched him in the sky, she desperately wished to join him. When she first met Azriel, once she got over the shock of his beauty, she marveled at his wings.

One of the first things she asked him was:

“Can you truly fly?” And his gentle response opened her otherwise engaged heart.

“Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

“That’s very beautiful.” Just like you.

Elain wondered what it must be like to fly. How freeing it must feel for a body to be weightless, to leave a limiting life on Earth and escape to the skies. Through her murky and tear-stained memory, she remembered the time he took her from the House of Wind to the Townhouse. Then, there were other moments where she tried not to let her obvious attachment become apparent and often resorted to short, polite conversations to pass the time in the skies. Despite her reserved demeanor, she loved the wind in her hair, stars, and moon a fish pole’s length away. But, they hadn’t flown in many, many months, and other things had soared to new heights.

“Hold on tight,” he whispered before he shot up to the sky. Elain screamed joyfully as her hair fell out of its plait, the racing wind kissing her face.

“Close your eyes!” he cried over the singing wind. Azriel gently hooked his hands under his shoulders and locked his feet around her ankles, her body now completely horizontal in the sky.

“Open!”

She was flying.

She gasped as the wind carried them higher and higher, Velaris growing smaller and smaller below. She tasted clouds on her tongue and reached out her hand to capture their soft coolness, completely wrapped in their nimbus embrace. The wind whipped around them, its melody sweet and proud. Her body no longer held her down with such sorrows, she was weightless with joy. Something twinkled on the other side of the clouds, and as they flew higher and higher, they dove into an ocean of stars.

“I’m flying!” she marveled, the brilliant stars within her reach. She could do nothing but scream and howl, harmonizing with his own shouts.

“I’m singing the song of the wind!” she cried as tears of joy and laughter mixed on her cheeks. The garden of stars sang to the moon, and the wind hummed along.

“Look at you!” Az cried. Ever so carefully, he pulled her into his chest and guided her to crawl onto his back. As they leveled out, Elain rose to stand beneath his wings, raising her arms overhead.

I am light. I am light. I am light.

She saw the heart of the Earth, the soul of the skies, and finally heard the melody of life’s greatest gift. That was the song of the wind; utter undying freedom.

She opened her arms wide, threw her head back, and screamed. Any higher and she could kiss the stars, the moon just within grasp.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #azriel #azriel and elain #acotar #fanfic

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ladyveravincent · 10 days

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Oh, the Longing...

I found this scene that didn't make it into the final cut of the chapters, and thought... you know what. I like this!! Let's add this in. Will I ever be done editing this story? Probably not. Apologies, poor readers, I believe every time you read A Court of Bones in Bloom, it will be a different version. Anyway...

Excerpt from Chapter 7

“Elain?”

The music of laughter swelled then faded as the door to the River House was opened and then shut.

Lost in thought, again. A state of being she seemed to find herself so often these days, either through restless dreams through the murky realm, or mindless days in the garden, or over lonely cups of tea. The twins were great company, and so were her sisters, but there was an incurable ache in her chest.

“Nesta!” Elain blinked away the fog in her eyes before she turned to greet her sister. Early spring was a harsh time, but in Velaris, the stars still managed to twinkle despite the frost lingering at nighttime.

“You’ll freeze in this weather, here take mine,” In a few short steps, Nesta’s shawl found its way around Elain’s shoulders, and her elder sister sat to join her on the stone steps of the veranda.

“It seems that the edelweiss and bugloss will bloom in time for the ceremony.” A poor attempt to placate the silence. She had made a crucial mistake when Nesta and Cassian arrived at the family dinner.

“Lainey!” Cassian chuckled as he glanced up from ravishing his mate. But those sharp gray eyes glanced at the disappointment on her sister’s face as she pushed past them out onto the lawn. Throughout dinner, Nesta’s gaze watched with utter scrutiny as Elain sat next to the empty table setting, and occasionally looked out the window, urgency in her brown eyes.

“He’s not coming,” Nesta responded shortly as she helped her sister clear the dishes. When everyone went into the drawing room, Elain went to sit on the veranda to somehow try to hold the frustration and longing lodged in her chest.

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re worried the flowers won’t be ready for my ceremony?”

“I just needed some air,” she replied tightly. A few tense moments passed before Nesta cut through the poorly veiled truth.

“I’d like to think our relationship finally has healed over these past months, but the truth is, that I was absent from your life for a year. I missed out on a lot. But I’m still your older sister, and I know you. I can guess, I can gather, but unless you tell me, I can’t help you.”

“It’s not up to me.”

“Fine. Just tell me when you’re ready.” The shawl was placed back on Nesta’s shoulders as Elain dashed toward the door.

“At first I resisted it because the idea was just so… Fae. And no matter how many years we spend here, we’ll always be different.”

An owl hooted in the distance.

“It feels like nothing else like there’s nothing or no one else you’d ever want or need. That someone sees exactly who you are, and to your shock, you see them- all of them, too. It’s a connection that I often wonder what I did right to deserve it.”

“Well then, I must’ve done something wrong.”

“I always held the belief you’ll marry for love. And nothing, not even a mating bond, has changed that. And you know me, I’d never let you accept anything less.”

Her fingers ran over the metal latch’s coolness to quell the fire in her throat. Could she tell Nesta everything? How far she was lost to him, and only him? Or did she suspect?

“I’ll bring the arrangements and pastries tomorrow around noon. See you then.”

Azriel felt little satisfaction when his knife landed perfectly in the center of the wooden target. Another sleepless night spent in the training ring, somehow more favorable to the alternative, which was listening to his brother and his soon-to-be mate through the walls. Her gift proved useful, and whether or not it had, he would’ve loved it all the same.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you can’t kill a wooden beam.” Nesta stood on the balcony, arms crossed and her cold face painted with a glimmer of amusement.

He threw the knife again and hit the target with deadly precision.

“You never know,” he shrugged.

Nesta scoffed and descended the stairs to join her friend. Azriel had always liked Nesta. There was an innate understanding between the pair. The icy rage within him recognized the cold sharpness in her, and to watch her learn to trust others again was nothing short of healing. As she passed, she briefly placed a sympathetic hand on his tense shoulder.

“We missed you at dinner.” The thump of the knife in the wood signaled another perfect target. Nesta leaned against the railing of the training ring while her long hair swayed in the wind.

“Cas and I placed bets about whether or not you’ll be at the ceremony.” Az eyed Nesta, removing the knife from the block with little effort.

“I’ll be there.”

“Will you?”

“Of course, Nesta.”

“Oh good! Well, I’m now ten coins richer,” she said brightly.

“I’m surprised Cas wagered ten coins against me," he chuckled. Thump. Perfect target.

“He didn’t, he wagered five.”

“But you said you’re ten coins richer.”

“Oh I did, didn’t I? Oh, well. I guess that means Elain owes me five, too.” The knife clanged on the ground, a full foot from its missed target.

“Lucky me,” Nesta whispered in glee. She triumphantly pushed off the railing to leave but stopped to pick up the knife off the floor.

“When will you say something?” Her cold face mirrored his icy one, holding their emotions so tightly to their chests. He said nothing as he rubbed the back of his neck, earning a sigh from Nesta for his silence.

“You know me, there’s nothing I hate more than when our family plays busybody. But, it's getting harder to watch my sister set out an extra plate every family dinner.”

Azriel’s heart stopped.

“Good night, Az.”

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #azriel and elain #azriel #acotar

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ladyveravincent · 11 days

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This is one of my favorite artists of all time!! 🫀

🎨 art_by_ava.georgia

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ladyveravincent · 11 days

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ladyveravincent · 11 days

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Now this is Rosehall...

credit ~ @draculaswidow

#acotar #rosehall #pride and prejudice

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ladyveravincent · 11 days

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Something Much More than Love

Excerpt from Chapter 20

“And I think that the daises next to the- ?” The light bells of the clock chimed, causing Elain to blush as she realized the hour.

“Oh Gods! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to babble about garden plans for… three hours ?” The copious amounts of liquor caught up with her as she let out a deep infectious laugh, drunk and dizzy with delight until she fell onto a chuckling Azriel's shoulder.

Had there ever been a happier Solstice? He didn’t know. On top of the blue embroidered towels from Mor lay the headache powder, perhaps the funniest and most endearing gift he received throughout his five centuries on Earth. When he saw Mor’s gift, the old familiarity of his affection seemed duller than usual, even a pang at the memory of a male who enjoyed love from far away, so if it left, it would not hurt.

But this? This was pure. No pain, no confusion, just ease and laughter. He had pined for Elain since he met her, but two nights ago, something shifted. When she fixed his plate at dinner, it transformed his inhibitions into vulnerabilities. He didn’t want to admire from afar, he wanted to listen to any word that could pass through her lips, worried if he spoke he’d miss something important.

He had loved Mor, for centuries. But perhaps he did not know how happy love could be until he met Elain. Perhaps love did not require sacrifice and pain. Perhaps real love was the eagerness to learn anything about another soul simply because of its existence. Unconditional love was foreign to Azriel. His mother was a rare spirit, he received that undying affection from Jophiel, but he never considered that sort of love could exist romantically.

Now he knew.

But he still was a coward. He couldn’t admit what he felt for Elain, but he knew it would bloom into something very, very pure.

“No! No, keep going, I think you were getting to the oak trees by the irises-” They were laughing too hard, their noses touching, liquor on their breath, and happiness on their tongues.

Honey. Jasmine. Happiness. Peace. That’s what love was like now.

He was so happy she decided to stay.

Her head rolled slightly, sleepiness and alcohol causing the lids of her lovely brown eyes to become heavy, in a so very endearing way. Elain was a beautiful woman, but a divine Fae. Did she know how often he thought of her upon waking? That he wondered how she looked in the morning light as she breathed away her dreams? What did she look like when she brushed her curls, or when she bathed her smooth skin? Did she like warm or cold bathwater, and did she know the ways she could touch herself to bring a blush to those cheeks? Could he ever help her find out?

“You deserve more,” she said and pointed to his empty whiskey glass. How true her statement rang. He glanced at the packet of thistles that lay next to the garden plans, a gift given away from the eyes of his family. With glee, Elain exclaimed thistle was the flower she unsuccessfully searched all of Velaris for in the fall, and couldn't believe he got his hands on the seeds. He neglected to tell her he went to the continent that fall when he noted she looked for it on market stall shelves for months. It seemed so small a gift, though, she seemed not to mind, but rather, touched. If he ever got over his cowardice, he'd make sure the following Solstices were filled with gifts fit for a Lady.

The Lady in question stumbled over to the cabinet, stopped to pick her poison, and decided on a bottle of port.

“Ha!” she squealed with delight and took a large swing.

“Keep that up, and Cas and I will have to take the blame. No one will believe it was you.” She held up her hand to silence him as her gulps continued. He got up to take it from her, but she backed away, her eyes never leaving his.

“Elain, you really want to get me in trouble?” He already was in trouble.

“Mmmmh!” she kept going until he glanced up in shock.

“Oh Gods! Rhys, we’re so sorry,” She turned beet red and instantly let the bottle drop to hide it behind her skirts, and in one quick swipe, Az had the port at his lips.

“You!” she screeched in delight and beat her fists on his arms as he walked away, the bottle going down smoothly.

“Oh, sorry?” With one eye closed, he looked down the neck of the bottle. “You wanted some?” Elain raised it to her lips, and he burst out laughing when only a drop remained.

“Fine. For having to listen to me drawl about begonias for four hours.”

“I didn’t mind,” he answered truthfully.

“No male is that patient, you're just polite.”

“Well, your very thoughtful present remains unused. So you know I tell the truth,” he said. With a wide smile, she sat down on the floor against the couch.

“Good, because we all know that you’ll be using double whenever I’m around,” she replied, and he plopped next to her, very happy she let him lean into her body.

“Triple for everyone else,” he remarked and tapped her foot with his boot. After a moment's pause, she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Thank you.” He blushed bright red.

“What for?”

“Everything.” He simply nodded.

For months, Azriel sought out Elain to make sure she was still in Velaris, in the hopes his friendship would convince her to stay. He was ashamed his family assumed she would adjust to Fae life with no resistance, that their not-so-subtle teas with Lucien wouldn’t encourage her to run back to the human lands. They underestimated her fighting spirit, and wrote off her silence for acceptance, relegating her to a pitiful damsel. She was anything but.

That clever girl visited any library in Velaris and figured out in less than two months what Amren took centuries to plan. When he glanced at her notes, he was not just impressed, he was terrified. Through her detailed and thorough cursive musings, he came to realize Elain was nothing short of a genius.

While she so easily tricked each family member into thinking she was content to bake and garden, he caught the Seer studying notes under the table or saw candles aglow from her bedroom window at midnight while the shadows of a furiously scribbling quill danced on the walls. And no one was the wiser until tonight’s dinner. Even then, did they know how much she knew?

He only agreed to help because he knew what it was like to be a stranger in a strange land in an even stranger body.

“What’s your home like?” she asked.

“My home?”

“Illyria.” When she said it, his home sounded real. She had been once before, very briefly, in the haze of her early days as Fae, but by the wonder she wore upon her face, she wanted to hear about his home. Not the land itself.

“It’s-” Shouts and fists from his father and generals filled his ears, images of his mother as a starved servant flashed through his mind. But they dissipated when he saw the mountains.

“I come from a place where its people are like the mountains.” He raised her soft hand and drew several peaks into her palm.

“We bow to no God, for the mountains bow to no one, not even the wind.” He gently whistled a low ancient tune and she mimicked him.

“Ramiel is the heart of our land.” Her skin was so soft, and he relished drawing a circle over a faded cut from a thorn.

“And in the spring for one week, there are three stars above, Arktos.” How would her skin feel against his?

“Carynth.” Did she taste like honey too?

“And Oristes.” He pressed each star onto the tops of her fingers.

“That is the symbol of Night Court, the mountain with the stars.” What unknown thoughts lay inside that brilliant mind?

“Beautiful,” she said, mapping the steppes and stars on his palm. He nodded when she remembered each valley and peak.

“Illyrians are warriors. When we are very young, males are put into training camps across the land. I trained at a camp called Windhaven, which is how I met Rhys and Cas.” He took a breath to say more, but Elain started to trace the tattoos that traveled up his arm.

“What do they mean?” she asked, her large brown eyes filled with such a pure curiosity. He tried to suppress his proud smile when he rolled up his sleeve to show her more.

“They are given to warriors for luck and glory on the battlefield. I got them in honor of my mother,” he said as her finger traced an intricate swirl. No touch had ever been so divine. “I, uh, do not come from a noble background, so I wanted her to have a son that bore the marks of a Lord’s son. To know her hard work was worth something.”

“She must be very proud of you.”

“I would like to think so,” he said sheepishly. It was easier to say one’s son was a warrior than to admit they were an executioner.

“You know, Azriel,” his head jerked up in shock. She had never called him by his name. But to hear it from her lips was nothing short of life itself.

“I don’t remember much when I first came to Night Court, but I do remember your scars. And I used to think they reminded me of the bark of trees. But now,” she raised to examine them, “I see they are like the stone that forms mountains. You wear your lineage on your hands very, very well.”

“Oh, no, that’s- I um, I-” his breath came fast, and the tears of shock started to well.

“Yes, I see raises and ridges, stars, and rivers. What do you see?”

“I see,” he bit back tears but kept a stoic face, “I see a young boy whose hands were set on fire by his half-brothers, and I hear the word bastard on their lips and I feel my father’s anger and I search- I search for,” he turned toward a wide-eyed Elain, eyes full of sympathy. Not pity, but sympathy.

“I search for light,” he finished. She glanced over her shoulder as pink and orange hues filled the room, dawn around them.

“Seems like you found it,” she said.

This was something much, much more than love.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #fanfic #azriel #azriel and elain #azriel x elain #actoar

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ladyveravincent · 12 days

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A Divine, Divine Creature

Live, Elain. You don't realize how good you are at it.

Excerpt from Chapter 18

TW: Mention of Unaliving

Tomes of books scattered the floor of Elain’s bedroom, each withered page stuffed with detailed cursive notes on loose parchment leaves. During the time the autumn winds turned into winter frost, the Seer became quite the expert on shapeshifting lore. When her garden started to fade from flurries of snowflakes, she turned her attentions to baking in the morning and reading in the afternoon, and for hours her ink-stained hands would pour over any information from any library she could find in the city.

Nesta may have read for pleasure, but Elain read for knowledge. Her mind analyzed each passage on the page with scrutiny, whether it was botany, healer’s guides, mating bonds or shape-shifting. With ink-stained palms, she’d annotate each section in an attempt to memorize each page, then later condense it into shorthand notes to draw out the most important ideas that proved useful. She found it also passed the time she usually spent outside, and kept her very occupied when a certain redheaded male came to visit.

“I don’t know how he can bear it,” she overheard Feyre say to Mor one rather gray afternoon.

“They’re not ready. They both have some growing to do,” Mor replied.

Elain took great offense to their meddling statements. Growing? Is that what they called it? And what about her? How could she bear it?

That fall into winter, she fought a deep depression that she remedied by a strict schedule of baking, reading, writing, and avoiding her mate. While Nesta drank herself to rot on tavern stools, Elain worked herself to the bone, staying busy to avoid feeling nothing. The apathy was a new kind of low, for when she was despondent in the first few months as Fae, the murky realm made it difficult for her to stay grounded in reality. But, with her mind sharper than ever, she was determined to find a way out. It was the hope that someday she could return to Grayson that pushed her through terrifying visions and hushed whispers about her delicate state.

“Elain, you’ll hurt the dough’s feelings if you keep beating it like that,” Nuala said with a raised brow.

“What about my feelings?” Elain grumbled. It had not been a good day, her research had hit a rather dull plateau.

“Yes, what about her feelings, Nuala?” Cerridwen asked, grabbing a few raspberries to decorate a pastry. Elain smiled at the twins, glad their no-nonsense attitude kept her broodiness at bay.

“Oh!” Nuala scowled as the clock chimed twelve.

“We’re late!” Cerridwen moaned. Feyre had requested the twins help her with dress fittings for Solstice this year.

“You two go on, I can finish up by myself,” Elain offered.

“Thank you, Elain. See you this evening?” She nodded and the twins winnowed away.

Elain used to relish the time to sit with her thoughts, but after the Cauldron, those were not moments that offered any kindness. She hummed as she finished the pastries and cleaned up the kitchen, to distract her from the heaviness in her heart when she looked at her pearl ring or the chronic soreness of her ribs.

With a cup of tea and a honey cake, she started to sift through the notes she took earlier that day, the dried ink slightly smudged from sitting in her pocket, and with a quill, underlined anything that proved helpful.

For a soul to enter another body , one must detach completely from the needs of the flesh . Fleshly habits such as eating, emotions, or desires must be severed before a new body can be acquired-

Her humming stopped when a shadow swirled over her parchment, and she looked up into handsome hazel eyes.

“Oh! You found me,” she furiously blushed and desperately tried to hide her notes from his curious gaze. His eyes darted from the paper to her ink-stained fingers, which she quickly hid behind her back. His face was expressionless, which Elain had come to learn he did not want his opponent to know he had the upper hand.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are helping Feyre upstairs, so I can fetch them if you need them.”

“No, there’s no need. I just came by to get reports from Rhys,” he replied, motioning to a stack in his hands. In the warmer months, The Shadowsinger had lounged on the wrought iron tables in the garden (sometimes in a sleeveless shirt and sunning his gigantic wings, she recalled, and ignored the flutter in her tummy), scanning large stacks of paper with ease, and never once needing a quill to annotate. She envied his ability to memorize information without the need for notation or repetition. He was a very, very smart male, and if anyone could figure out her plan, it was Azriel. How on Earth would she distract him?

“Would you like a pastry? They’re fresh.” He moved forward as if to help her, but she motioned for him to sit.

“Thank you,” he took a seat on one of the kitchen stools and began to thumb through the reports.

“Which would you like?”

“Ah, a honey roll if you have it.” With trembling fingers, she put his plate together.

“Did you have a good birthday?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high and shaky. She had not seen him for almost two months; Azriel had been called on missions most of the fall and was not in Velaris on Samhain. His gift was quite thoughtful, but she had yet to thank him, and worse, did not get him anything for his own birthday, partly from the uncertainty of when he would be back in Velaris, but also, from the implication of such an intimate exchange. She was an engaged female for Cauldron's sake, and the guilt weighed heavy since she found him to be quite a handsome and charming male.

“Yes, I spent it with my mother.” A small part of her sighed in relief. As expected, she had recently discovered he was the apple of many beautiful females' eyes in and (she suspected) outside of Velaris.

“Oh, how lovely.” She placed the sweet in front of him.

“Yes, she is. Very witty." He thanked Elain with a smile.

“How are her roses?”

“Some are still alive, but most have faded.”

“Um, I didn’t know when you’d be back, so I didn’t get you anything for your birthday,” she shamefully admitted.

“Oh Gods no, no,” he smiled and then looked down, his gaze fixed on her hands twisting her ring. “There’s no need, I didn’t expect that of you.” Of course, he wouldn’t.

“Oh but, I wanted to. Thanks for my gift. I loved it.” He looked down bashfully.

“What’s your favorite cake?” she asked.

“All of them,” he replied.

“Are you asking me to bake every cake possible?” she laughed. There it was, that ease she had not felt in months, that they always seemed to find in each other’s presence.

“Well, I am quite old, so I’ll need lots of cakes to hold lots of candles.” Her eyebrows shot up, and then she shook a finger at him with a sly smile. He remembered what she had said all those months ago.

“Well, I do respect the elderly-”

“Oh you do now-”

“So whatever you want old ma-”

“I dare you to finish that sentence-” The two could not stop their laughter, and for the first time in months, Elain felt light. The two breathed in tandem as the laughter faded, but held on to the other's gaze.

She sighed contentedly and turned to prepare another cup of tea.

“Sit, I’ll take care of it,” he said, and put a teaspoon of honey and a lemon in her cup. Her lips parted in admiration as the realization that he remembered how she took her tea soothed the ache in her chest. As the tea warmed her throat, they fell into a comfortable silence and enjoyed each other’s company while reading through reports and notes.

“You asked me about love,” he spoke softly, so focused on the black ink settled in her lifelines.

“Back in the shed. You asked if I ever had been in love.”

“Yes. Yes, I remember,” she said, embarrassed by her breathless reply.

“I did not realize then, that I had given my heart to the wrong person.” Elain's cheeks burned with shame. He knew what was on those parchments.

Azriel was her friend, and he was not patronizing like the rest of her family, respecting her need for space and peace. But while his consolation was well-intended, it served as a warning.

“Have you ever felt like a stranger in a strange body?” Elain challenged softly.

“I have.” He rested his hands on the table allowing her to look at the scars, and turned his hands occasionally to study their pattern.

“You will learn, Elain, that being immortal means you are very hard to break, physically. But emotionally, you will endure a thousand lifetimes of disappointments and pain or thousands of lifetimes of beauty and joy. It is up to you how you wish to spend your long life on Earth.”

“I do not wish to spend a long time… on this Earth,” she admitted. She had never dared to say it out loud, her wish to simply not exist anymore. Her family had assumed since she was no longer in a fugue-like state, she had accepted her new life as a High Fae. But, it was the promise that she could return to Grayson that kept her going through each day. At least she felt something in her first months as High Fae. Now she felt absolutely nothing, and the nothingness frightened her terribly. Immortality was a curse, for now, she was further from a kind death.

When she was brave enough to look at Azriel’s face, she saw sympathy, but he simply nodded. A moment passed before he let his finger lock around hers as silent tears fell down her cheeks.

“If you go, who will bake me my 540 cakes?” he asked after her tears started to slow. She chuckled softly and then started to clean up the parchment and quill.

“Then, I’ll stay,” she whispered. He nodded, and before he stood to leave, drew something on the back of one of her notes.

“This is an Illyrian rune, used when facing death. I sometimes will draw it on my wrist or in the Earth to ground myself, or re-affirm my will to live.” She watched as he drew the simple design, a line with two branches that resembled a tree.

She took the quill from his hand to draw one next to his.

“Thank you.”

“Live, Elain. You don’t realize how good you are at it.”

What a divine, divine creature.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #fanfic #azriel #azriel and elain #acotar

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ladyveravincent · 14 days

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Found You...

Excerpt from Chapter 4

Elain readjusted the gossamer sleeves while her head peaked over the sea of bodies to search for shadows that lingered in the crowd. Thousands of guests filled the House of Wind, their laughter and lively waltzes fueled by copious amounts of wine, but she silently slunk along the edges of the ballroom, in the hopes her existence was a mere whisper among the party.

She only had to make it to the top balcony.

Her steps shamed silence itself, skirts held tightly so as not to rustle while her lips murmured the directions she practiced all week. To the left ten paces, then up the stairs three flights. Turn left, second door on the right.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she ducked into an alcove nearby. A drunken couple stumbled into the hallway, her presence unnoticed as the two frantically kissed each other, and in a matter of moments, managed to disappear behind an unlocked door to a storage room. After a sigh of relief, she resumed her quest.

The key was above the fourth lantern on the south wall, which she secured with ease. As the key was inserted, the latch clicked.

She was so close.

Before she could push open the door, a strong arm slid around her waist while another gently held her throat, and the key clanged onto the stone floor.

“Found you.” Azriel murmured into her ear.

“Oh! I was so close!” Elain exclaimed in frustration and threw his hands off of her. She had planned her victory for weeks, determined that this round she could beat him.

Elain and Azriel, unbeknownst to their family, were in dangerous territory.

Since Solstice, they were engaged in an ongoing game that constantly called for rematches. Their game was simple. When their busybody family was yelling or talking over the other, they would exchange a look to signal it was time to start. The goal was to slip out of the room and find Truth-Teller before the other did. There were only two rules: they had to be the last person to leave the room, and if they got caught by the other, they would lose. Azriel's shadows delivered hints about the location of the dagger, each tendril faithfully whispered clues into the other’s ear to remain unknown to everyone around them.

Azriel was viciously competitive, and sometimes, games were won before she even knew they had begun. To know when they started, she constantly had to watch him whenever he was in the room.

“You were close, but, I win,” Azriel chuckled triumphantly, relishing his victory. She leaned against the stone wall, and smirks were received by eye rolls and tongue tips.

“One of these days I’ll win.” Elain threatened.

“Is that a promise?” He slid the dagger into the leather sheath.

“No,” she snorted, the alcohol getting to her. “It's a proclamation!”

“Oh.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“Well, if you win-”

“When I win.”

“If you win, what is your prize?”

“This.” She took one step toward Azriel and snaked her pinky around his until they locked. Did he know her favorite game was to brush against his skin in the hopes it would encourage him to touch her back? Or, did he play that game too?

“Feyre and Nesta were so competitive, that if any of us won a game, the losers had to do this to say they accepted defeat.”

“So you want me to make a pinky promise that I accept defeat?” he asked in amusement while he admired their interlocked fingers.

“Yes.” It came out more breathless than she intended. It was no secret this game was not just a game. Elain knew she and Azriel were something, or at the very least she hoped they were something. This was the only way they could express it so as not to ruin their friendship.

“Elain Archeron,” he taunted in a singsong voice. “I'll admit defeat the day fawns hunt fanged beasts.”

And with that, he winnowed away, and the shadows announced the start of a new game.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #fanfic #azriel #azriel and elain #acotar

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ladyveravincent · 15 days

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ladyveravincent · 15 days

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Birthday Wishes

Excerpt from Chatper 19

Elain, now completely winded and worried, had frantically searched for hours and hours with no end in sight. The fire in her lungs was thoroughly kindled as she ran up and down the cobblestone streets to look in every dark corner and alley, all her efforts grossly in vain.

Where was she?

In all her years on this Earth, Nesta had never missed Elain’s birthday.

The hurt of her sister’s absence sent her into a panic, remedied through dedicating the rest of the day to find a, nowadays notably absent, Nesta. In the Seer’s naive and foolish mind, she hoped her elder sister merely planned an elaborate surprise, or perhaps lay in wait for the party at the Townhouse to die down before she sought out Elain. She clung to that hope that it was merely Cassian’s presence that warded Nesta away, instead of her own.

But she knew that was a lie.

Nesta had become a stranger after the war with Hybern and spent more time in the bottle than out of it. Elain, who attended a very delightful party with most of her family in attendance, only wished for one thing when she blew out the candles on the cake Nuala and Cerridwen so beautifully decorated:

For this nightmare to end.

Though her visions now only visited her in dreams, she had lost her father, eldest sister, and fiance, now was forced to live amongst strangers in a strange body. Not to mention that ghastly feeling that made her ribs sore.

Much to her dismay, the redhead crossed the threshold moments before cake was served, to bestow a quick but pre-meditated visit filled with good wishes and a sheepish offer of a bouquet of goldenrods.

“I was delighted to find out you were born a few days before Autumn equinox. Where I’m from, we hold a large celebration on the day, filled with lots of dancing and bonfires," he delivered with a nervous grin. All busybodies watched as he extended the bouquet to a noticeably embarrassed Elain, who found solace by fiddling with the pearl on her iron engagement ring, and offered the fox a polite nod in thanks. What a wretch she was; she couldn’t even say anything.

If Nesta was there, a sharp tongue and some frigid words would’ve put a stop to that Fae mate nonsense. She barely had two bites of lemon cake before she was out the door, the early autumn air still warm.

The brilliant star-speckled sky of Night Court marked the end of another birthday, and the hope she clung to withered and died. Her relentless pace started to slow, and finally, her lungs caught some breath outside a small Tavern on the outskirts of the city. Between the sputters for air, the call of loud, lively music and the laughter of its patrons beckoned a curious Elain closer, desperate to remedy her disappointment.

She peered into an open window to discover hundreds of scantily clad Fae females and males wildly dancing, drinking, and flirting. With red cheeks, she watched couples kiss lips and shoulders (and perhaps in other places that were best experienced behind closed doors). What a strange place. Her human sensibilities left her prudish in Velaris, for she still wore modest gowns and went to bed at dusk. The warm light from the window cast an iridescent glow on the pearl ring, and she mindlessly twisted the iron band until her finger turned red.

Grayson. She had loved him, dearly, and upon the thought of her fiance, the painful memory of the previous birthday surfaced. He had taken her to a large flower market in a neighboring village, and the lovers spent the day laughing between the orchids and dahlias, honey cakes in hand while they watched the birds soar above. Gods, if only she knew that was her last birthday as a human. Now, the years of immortality that stretched before her threatened utter oblivion. Was this the beginning of the end? To spend the rest of her life running from her mate, her family, herself? She’d rather be dead.

Elain was always well-liked but kept few friends. It was Nesta that she often spent time with, and upon that fact, a pang of guilt seared throughout her gut. Feyre and she always had a sweet and amicable relationship, but not a deep one. The past months gave the two the opportunity to grow closer, but Feyre interpreted Elain’s quiet nature as a fault. She wondered why her sister thought her demure demeanor was something that needed to be remedied rather than respected. But, she didn’t dare tell Feyre what thoughts swirled in her mind, especially what words sat in the books under her bed. All she knew, was that this unfortunate experience would, hopefully, be a very temporary roadblock to a happier life with Grayson.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a couple engaged in a rather passionate kiss moved aside to reveal the back of a slender, blonde Fae seated at the bar.

Nesta, Elain hoped. Crowds still bothered her, greatly. But, spending her birthday without her sister was worse. Without a second thought, she left the window to open the door, and the smell of liquor and sweat hit her face like a wall.

“Pardon me!” Elain tried her best to keep her gaze glued to the floor, but she failed. Twice.

“If you fuck me good, then I promise to call you whatever you want.”

Nope. Now, three times.

Cauldron on Ramiel! Was this who Nesta traded her family’s company for?

“Found you!” she cried and playfully tagged the shoulder of the blonde Fae female. A face that did not belong to her beloved older sister turned and looked at Elain in confusion.

“Oh, I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I thought- I…” Tears welled up in Elain’s eyes as she slowly started to back away from the blonde. She needed to leave, go home, and accept that Nesta did not want to be found. But before she could head towards the door, the tendrils of shadows beckoned from the corner of the room.

“There he is! Gods, he’s just as handsome as you described.”

“I know, look at those muscles! Makes you wonder what those wings can do.”

"My friend said he's quite the lover, but he stopped talking to her almost six months ago."

Three pretty Fae females whispered in glee while they admired something in the corner, which prompted Elain to push her way through the crowd of giggling females to get a better look.

Oh. Someone else who had been absent from her party.

Azriel sat on a wooden booth in the corner of the room with a sultry redheaded female in his lap, a well-endowed blonde leaning over his shoulder, and an underdressed brunette between his legs on the floor. The redhead twirled his silky raven hair in between her fingers, and the blonde let her lips brush up against the side of his ear to whisper something that caused a slight, sly smile to grace his lips.

Oh yes, he was handsome. Very handsome. But also very different in this smoky tavern than the Azriel she thought she knew.

Nesta was not the only one avoiding her after the war. The Shadowsinger, the gallant hero who had rescued her from Hybern’s camp, and gave her the dagger that brought a King to his knees, made himself scarce. Her skin crawled with embarrassment when she remembered that kiss placed on his cheek when he rescued her after she was, very foolishly, captured by the Cauldron. They exchanged polite conversations when she was a human, and in the hazy fog of her memory, recalled that he visited her every day to make her a cup of tea. And even as she gave him Truth-Teller after Hybern’s corpse fed the crows, his fingers lingered on her wrist for a slight moment. The gaze from his hazel eyes was so piercing and pretty, that Elain wondered if he saw through her poorly concealed affections and sensed she slightly fancied him. But, like a coward, she merely walked away once the dagger was safely placed into scarred hands.

When they returned to Velaris, she couldn’t put her finger on what she had done to make him so avoidant. Over the petals of summer blooms, she not so subtly stole glances at the Shadowsinger, who often liked to sun his impressive wings and biceps while his handsome face was buried in stacks of reports. He never once approached her, and whenever she started to walk toward his direction or pitifully wave hello like the wretch she was, he would clear his throat, and then scurry away. Her presence must have annoyed him, for halfway through the summer, he traded the veranda for the library to read his reports inside, so enraptured in his work he never once looked outside the windowsill where he sat.

She wondered why the male who had treated her so kindly now seemed to forget about her existence.

Well, the truth was as plain as day. She was not the kind of female that could hold his attention. He was the pinnacle of pure male prowess and energy. Silent, cocky, brooding, with a whiskey in his hand, those ethereal shadows, not to mention the large harem around him, Elain realized what a fool she was to think he even would look at her in that way.

She was too prim and naive, and probably bored him to tears with talks of pastries and flowers. If Cassian was tasked with watching Nesta, then Az must have drawn the short stick and got stuck with boring Elain. Oh dear, she was ashamed! How she wished she was more alluring, or at least not as painfully shy and bland.

Mother always said she was pretty but warned not to eat so many honey-flavored sweets or else she’d get round, and not to talk too much for she was dull and dimwitted. Unfortunately, Elain’s hips and ass reflected her sweet tooth, and her tongue remained mostly mute in the presence of males. She was not as endowed as Nesta or Feyre, or lucky enough to possess their stunning grey eyes and sharp tongues. She was so terribly plain and modest compared to the voluptuous female Faes that held Azriel’s seductive gaze.

Besides, her heart belonged to Grayson, whose jovial boyish spirit was a far better match for her than a strapping, powerful, and quite popular warrior.

Not to mention, and it intrigued her a little too greatly, his profession as an executioner. Her father was a merchant and despite the inconsistent revenue, considered quite respectable. Though she dearly loved and mourned Father, the fact remained that he was not of strong ilk. But an executioner? What sort of stuff must he be made of to be trusted to torture? He most likely scoffed at females such as she, those who floated in frilly dresses and sat in silence at mealtime, and burned for those who understood how to toe the line between danger and pleasure.

She recalled with tremendous guilt that she once thought whoever Azriel’s wife was would be a very lucky creature, and after she learned he was not married, let herself daydream about what sort of male he was behind closed doors. Now, she knew. Such a cunning male certainly would not be impressed with her or her silly pastoral pastimes.

Before she got the courage to drag herself away from the scene, a flash of red and a thud on the floor followed by a chorus:

“Oomfp! Hey! Ouch!”

And then

“Elain?” Her face was almost the color of the female’s hair that was in Azriel’s lap, now trying to stand up after being tossed onto the floor.

“AA-aahh!! HA! Ha? Ha! I guess you found me.” Oh, great giant fiddlesticks. Real subtle, Elain. Tell him you were spying or worse, ogling.

With a guilty look, her head raised to meet the handsome Shadowsinger, and suddenly recalled how tall he stood as his muscular build towered over her shaky frame.

“What are you doing here?” As usual, his face was unreadable, but his jaw slightly ticked, and a slight tremor ghosted his fingers as they slid into his pockets.

“Oh, um- I was looking for Nesta.” He merely nodded, as a sad understanding passed between them. In those closed meetings she sometimes eavesdropped on, she overheard his reports about Nesta’s whereabouts and scandalous activities.

“Sorry, I uh, I haven’t seen her.” Before Elain allowed herself to get lost in his hazel irises, the giggles of females pulled her out of her trance.

“This is a lovely place. Do you come here often?” Elain asked quickly, shocked by her forwardness and then embarrassed at how stupid her statement sounded. She knew very well why he was here. He smirked and suppressed a small laugh, his silky low voice so resonant and warm, slightly gruff from whiskey.

“Lovely? Hmm, I’d say that’s too generous. I come here sometimes, not often.” Her gaze rested on those breathtaking wings, and he stretched them wider.

The harem squealed.

Hello? Elain?! You sap, go! As usual, she had made a fool of herself, and it was time to get out of the way between Azriel and his midnight delights. Two females waved at Azriel, who followed Elain’s gaze to look in their direction.

“Oh, well, have a good evening, I didn’t mean to interrupt you and your… friends.” She turned quickly, ready to make a dash for the door in a futile attempt to save her dignity.

“Wait!”

The light brush of his scarred hand grabbed her wrist, and she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped at his soft, searing touch. His cheeks were almost as pink as her dress, and when on Earth did the music stop?

“Happy birthday,” he said gently.

“Oh, thanks.” And then she burst into tears.

“I’m sorry! I- I just,” she blubbered as he gingerly guided her to the door.

"Cauldron alive, is that your friend he stopped talking to?" murmured a Fae female.

A sea of Fae parted for the wailing female, and the laughs and scoffs from various voices grew quiet when her lungs drank in the cool night air.

“Oh Gods, I- oh, dear. No, no, I’m fine, I’m fi- waaaaahh- ne!”

In her sorrow, she did not notice that the scent of cedar and mist hailed from Azriel’s hug.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmured over and over, stroking her hair.

“I miss them!” she wailed.

“I know, I know.”

“I miss Nesta, and Father, and Gray-” she looked up, the terrible realization that she was in the very handsome Fae male’s arms who rescued her from the danger of her stupidity for crying about that same man.

“I’m sorry- I…” she pushed herself out of his grasp and quickly wiped her cheeks. He looked slightly stunned and hurt, but blinked it away and merely bowed his head.

“Don’t apologize- It’s I who should…” he cleared his throat. Oh Mother above, how pathetic she was to cry in the middle of a tavern, and be ushered out like a child.

“Um, may I walk you home?” Oh. How odd . A gentleman at heart, he was probably just being polite.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother. I already made a fool of myself in there. Oh, your friend! She’s probably waiting for you.” He suppressed a small smile.

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“If you’re sure? I wouldn’t mind.”

~~~

The first few moments of the walk were spent in peace, but it was not intentional. A panicked Azriel was mortified that of all the creatures in the Bog, Elain would be the one to discover not one but three females in his lap. What a rakish, bastardous cad he must seem in her eyes.

“I’m sorry I missed your party.”

Great, Az. Now you’re just an ass, too.

“Oh, no it's ok! I didn’t expect you to be there.”

Of course, she wouldn’t. She had a mate for Cauldron’s sake. Which led him to wonder…

“Did you at least have a good time with, um, everyone?” She scoffed.

“Oh yes,” she said curtly. He tried to contain his glee.

In an attempt to preserve his dignity, Azriel kept his distance from her once they returned to Velaris after the war. He ignored the pull toward her upon their first meeting, for she was an otherwise engaged and very mortal woman. Then, as a newly Made-Fae, he kept her company out of concern the lovely gardener who treated him with such kindness seemed to suffer alone through a silent and deadly fight. But, when he carried her over the threshold of the Townhouse, something shifted, and as they sat in the garden the day she called him beautiful, he suddenly grew self-conscious of his incredibly primitive looks and manners in the presence of a true Lady. When the war happened, he put aside pleasantries to protect her, but being back in Velaris reinstated that barrier.

His summer routine was quite rigorous; up before dawn to train rigidly for at least three hours in the ring, bathe, try to smooth his uncooperative hair, and then work up the courage to sit in the Townhouse garden. Each day he tried and miserably failed to calm his nerves while he soaked up the sunlight and stole glances at the Seer, who once or twice politely waved, but in his panic, pretended not to notice. Were his wings wide enough? He hoped they weren’t too small or droopy, a silly insecurity of his from boyhood. Would she even care about such things? Besides, she’d never consider him in that way. And usually, his cowardice got the better of him, for each time Elain trod up the garden path, he would bolt.

He read about squabbles on the continent, that Eris Vanserra often traveled to Day Court, and that Elain sunbathed after she sowed camellia seeds. One or two times during meetings with Rhys, he almost revealed too much of what he learned from those reports he studied so religiously each day.

“Any news from Spring?” Rhys asked on a particularly balmy day.

“Yes, the pe-” noies are almost at full bloom, and after the ivy leaves are pruned, there’ll be room for some tulips.

“Uh, ahem, people from Spring seem to still be leaving for either the continent or seeking asylum in Autumn.”

Two weeks into his summer routine, he caught a glance at himself in the kitchen window and crumbled in humiliation. His smoky shadows and black linens looked ridiculous against the sunshine. His gaze shifted to the reflection of sweet Elain, clad in a lavender dress with daisies in her hair, and the shame of his affections and dumb tongue made him leave the garden for good. But like the brute he was, he couldn’t stay away, so he worked in the library next to a large window that overlooked the garden.

From the iron and pearl ring on her finger to the mating bond with Vanserra, Azriel knew the female he so desperately pined for missed her family and fiance and needed her space. But, his mind often wandered to Truth-Teller triumphantly held within her grasp. Did she suspect his feelings for her?

She was probably relieved to not have his annoying and brooding presence souring her days outside. As the summer faded, long missions took him away from Velaris, and that fall he found himself unsure whether or not to celebrate her birthday.

When he heard Lucien was to attend the party, he pocketed the small gift he had bought her and decided to drown such sorrows in liquor. The females that climbed into his lap were old friends, and in a drunken haze, a poor but necessary decision was made. He needed some sort of distraction, for he had no desire to sit around in rooms for centuries to come where Elain’s lovely honey scent was ruined by Lucien’s musky oud and tobacco. Autumn Court males, and their suffocating scents, he and his shadows thought in disdain.

Despite his mother’s encouragement, he knew it was utterly hopeless to fall for a mated female. And besides, she desperately missed her fiance. Though he did not understand what about Grayson captured Elain’s heart, to watch her so loyally hold on to the hope that he would come around shattered Azriel’s blackened one. Poor, poor sweet lovely creature. She was meant to be a Lady, and here she was, in a new body in a strange land. But her undying love for such an immature and stupid man? What did Grayson do to deserve such a prize?

He was in awe at her steadfast devotion. Such a pure, tender heart she carried. Each time he watched her carefully water sunflowers, he heard the screams of those he scalded, their flesh almost as red as the berries she baked into pies. The crimes he committed, the evils that lived in Hewn City and his mind were so shameful, that she should know what lay in his heart, he hoped for her salvation she would reject his affections. Tonight was a good example of what a roguish brute he was deep inside, entertaining three females to forget about one. Gods, his head ached.

What was worse was that he had lied to her that evening. A few moments after the redhead (her name, lost) started to murmur sweet nothings into his ear, he saw Nesta Archeron at the bar in another male’s arms. The two exchanged cold glares, each raising a glass to the pain of holding someone else in their hearts. He rubbed his temples, and the stress of everything gave him a terrible headache.

“When’s your birthday?” Elain’s melodic voice interrupted his guilty thoughts.

“Oh, it's around Samhain.” She giggled.

“Makes sense.” He chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“Because of your personality.” His cheeks warmed.

“And what’s that?” he asked letting his stupid curiosity get the better of him, and she held out her hand to allow a playful shadow to swirl around her fingers.

“Dark and powerful.” He heard absolutely nothing but the blood rush to his ears. He puffed out his wings as wide as they could go, let his siphons blaze, and cleared his throat.

Azriel, you fucker. Az. No! Do. Not…

His shadows swarmed around Elain, and the night around them disappeared. Her beautiful eyes widened as they stepped into the dark and smoky void where his shadows dwelled, and the whispers surrounding them echoed off of the darkness.

“Oh, powerful then?” he teased, a hard edge in his deep tone. He was thankful the alcohol helped him find some confidence. What a poor female she was to be the object of his affection.

Her face went from shock to joy and she merely laughed and played with the swarms of his shadows. She seemed too enthralled to care she had made such a bold statement.

“You trying to get me to say it twice?” Her voice echoed, and the shadows whispered her words over and over.

Dark and Powerful

Trying, trying, trying

Say it twice

Ah, there it she was, that clever, clever girl.

“No, I just didn’t hear you the first time,” he permitted himself to indulge in her honey and jasmine scent a little longer than usual. She raised her chin to give him a sultry glance.

“Hmm, maybe your friend down at the tavern can repeat it for me.” Oh, what a perfect creature she was, for if he ever got his hands on her, he would devour those beautiful lips and that clever, witty tongue.

“Which one?” he asked with a cocky grin. She merely tipped her head back and laughed, the shadows swirled around her to catch and amplify its music until its bell-like tone rang out everywhere.

“Hmm, depends on your preference. Blondes, brunettes, or redheads,” she said cooly, but playfully.

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” he said in a husky tone, but the flirt was received with an eye roll and the tip of a perfectly pink tongue. There it was, that ease they seemed to find after the initial shock of each other's presence.

“Oh please, I bet it's first come, first serve.” Azriel knew he was fucked, and he loved it.

"What is this place?” she asked, while her outstretched hand encouraged the shadows to fall into her palm.

“It’s where my shadows dwell.” Subtly, the hand behind his back commanded the shadows to transform into birds that flew around the void, and her musical giggle rang out as they flew through her curls.

“Hello!” Elain cried and tipped her head back to hear the echo reverberate.

Thousands of hellos came back to greet her, each in various tones, some her own and some higher.

Elain! Elain! Elain!

His shadows sang over and over, happy she heard them.

“Oh, there they are again” she sighed, and suddenly, Azriel felt very hot. He had not realized she heard his shadows before. When could that have happened? His shadows often sought her out, and sang her name into his ears, sometimes to bring him the hum of her voice in the kitchen or her breathlessly reciting a garden itinerary for the day.

Could he be selfish and let her know how much his shadows looked for her? Maybe, even tell her how lovely she always looked, but especially now?

The pearl ring on her hand stopped those hopeful thoughts, and within seconds the shadows and whispers disappeared. Her eyes slightly dulled when she realized they were back at the Townhouse, and then a polite smile graced her lips.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. He nodded, and she turned to head up the path.

“Elain!” he cried, more desperate than he anticipated. As she turned around, he extended a small wrapped box to her, and her hand raised to cover her slightly parted lips.

She opened the gift to find a small bag of jasmine flower seeds, and as she examined them, she gifted him a wide wondrous smile.

“Happy birthday,” he said. She breathed out, her enchanting gaze examining his face.

“Happy early birthday to you, then.” What was she thinking behind those beautiful brown eyes?

He decided the only way to find out was to no longer stay away.

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom A03

IF YOU EVEN READ THIS FAR! Wow, hi, thank you. Secondly, what signs do you think the ACTOAR characters are (besides our Sag/Cap queen Feyre)?

#a03 fanfic #elain #elain x azriel #elriel #fanfic #azriel #azriel and elain #acotar #azriel x elain

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ladyveravincent · 16 days

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Dancing? Dancing.

Even if one's partner is barely tolerable. Meet me at Rita's if you dare...

Excerpt from Chapter 23

“Running away again are we?”

“Oh!”

The smug reflection of Cerridwen glanced at Elain as she brushed the curls of her hair into an intricate updo, suitable for an evening of reels and jigs across the dance floor at Rita’s.

“She’s not running away, she’s running straight into his arms,” teased Nuala as she appeared next to her sister.

“I used to think it was my family who were busybodies. Seems it's a Fae trait,” scowled Elain, slamming the top of her jewelry box while the twins giggled.

“Oh, we’re just having some fun,” snorted Nuala.

“If you really must know,” she began, head tilted to consider earring options, “he is my good friend. And unlike my family, or you two, he does not pry.”

“Oh, I’ve heard he can pry alright,” Cerridwen murmured with a thrust of her hips before the twins burst into laughter.

“Well, when you decide to come clean, Cerridwen and I will be waiting for the details,” Nuala laughed before the twins bid their goodbyes and winnowed away.

“Busybodies… good for nothing…” she mumbled under her breath as she grabbed her shawl and smoothed her skirts.

In her mortal years, the village’s Samhain celebrations were often a mild, uneventful affair, usually more of a gathering to give thanks for the harvest instead of a festival to honor the more tenebrous and occult energies of the Earth. The courage, whether inherent or liquid, of villagers who snuck off into the woods to conjure spirits for amusement delighted and fascinated a placid, polite Elain. But cowardice always seemed to win when she watched young girls clad in nightdresses run barefoot into the forest to dance naked beneath the yellow moon.

Oh, how close the moon was to bear witness to her bare breasts tonight.

Samhain was Azriel’s birthday, and its carnality hung in the air as a promise to those who partook would be rewarded with such pleasures, mainly the joys of imbibing in the flesh. Of course, the Prince of Hewn City would be born on such a night. Perhaps, if she were lucky, she’d get to see him at work.

Each night, the Seer and Spymaster found themselves in dance halls across Velaris, more often in each other arms than other willing and amiable Fae partners. A few weeks ago, Az took her into the skies of Velaris, and since then, the two could barely dance without liquid courage and a dip into dangerous territory.

She had two birthday gifts for Azriel: a salve for his wings, and what lay underneath her cobalt skirts.

The suspense of poorly concealed affections tortured her mercilessly, and she decided to offer herself to him because the want had bloomed into something too strong to ignore. There was always some sort of pull to Azriel, but now, she needed to know if he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

As her cobalt-slippered feet rehearsed jigs and reels on the cobblestone streets of Velaris, a voice from the shadows caused her heart to leap in terror and titillation.

“Found you,” Azriel whispered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and neck.

The marriage of a heady cedar and honey scent caused a small moan to escape from her lips, her arousal slightly intensifying when to her delight, she discovered he was already drunk.

Very drunk.

“One of these days, you won’t be able to find me,” she teased as he lifted and spun her around. When he sat her down, she finally turned to face him.

She doubted she could ever forget his face. Tonight, he was just as handsome as ever, and perhaps a bit more devilish given Cassian and Rhys celebrated all last night, and apparently, this morning, too.

“You underestimate how easy you are to find,” he taunted as he tucked a curl over her ear.

“For you,” she whispered and reached into her pocket to present his gift in her open palm. His eyes fluttered from her lips to the salve and gifted her a smile while he examined the tin.

“Happy birthday, Azriel.”

A blush crept over his cheeks while her lips faithfully formed his name, as they did so often alone under her bedsheets, and had only once before in his presence. Perhaps, if she were lucky, her throat would scream it tonight.

“For that wingspan I hear everyone talk about,” she teased.

“Careful Lain. That’s not something to joke about with an Illyrian,” his eyes darkened as a low laugh colored his warning.

“So you confess?”

“What?” he teased as he played with the ribbon that fluttered over her shoulder.

“That it's only a joke, not fact? Tsk, tsk.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Her heart raced, and suddenly she didn’t care for dancing.

“Show me then.”

In one movement she was slung over his shoulder while the two shot up into the sky.

“Big enough for you, Lady Lain?” he cried over the wind and her screams of delight.

“I guess it’ll do- AHHHH!” He shrugged as she fell from the skies, dropped for her cheekiness.

“Sorry, my wingspan wasn’t big enough for you to ride,” he sighed as he flew next to her while she fell.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You have the biggest wingspan!”

“Who has the biggest wingspan?” he questioned.

“You! You!” she screamed reaching for him, but he only gave her an evil grin.

“Azriel has the biggest wingspan!” As her hand skimmed the water of the Sidra, strong arms broke her fall, and they glided upward into the skies.

“You look very pretty by the way.” Her scowl softened for only a moment before she turned her head away.

“You’re not getting my first dance.”

“Many apologies, Lady Archeron. May I have the second?”

“Hmph.”

“What if I promise you all my dances, and I buy a bottle of whiskey?”

“Maybe.”

“What if I told you this is my favorite color on you?” he whispered into her ear.

“Two bottles of whiskey.”

“Deal.”

The crispness of the late autumn air was replaced by the smell of liquor and sweat as Elain trailed behind a towering Azriel, guided by their interlocked fingers through the crowd.

“First dance, Miss Archeron?” he asked over his shoulder as the fiddle started to play, and in response, her touch lingered on the silken skin of his wing, innocently tracing its veins as she passed.

“Only if you promise not to drop me,” she murmured. After a blissful shudder, scarred hands grabbed her waist, and her eyes were greeted by lush lips before her lashes raised to meet the Shadowsinger’s ravenous face.

“When? Dancing? Or something else?” he asked as the two started to spin fast around the room to the lively music.

“How much have you had to drink, Shadowsinger?” she teased as he lifted her into the air.

“Not nearly enough to get what I really want for my birthday.” Lids heavy and scent heady, the whiskey and cedar merged to cause the pulsing need in her belly.

“Is my present not enough?”

“Oh, Lain, I didn’t say that.” Not a drop of alcohol on her tongue but one taste, and she could be drunk.

“Maybe you just need someone to put it on you,” she drawled as she spun into him, and let her ass lewdly roll against his hips.

“Switch partners!” cried the fiddle player.

She extended a polite hand to a handsome Fae male, and shot a coy look over her shoulder, only to find she had won. Brown eyes faithfully watched the wide pupils and parted lips of her previous partner while he slowly stalked the skirts of the room to follow each spin and step she took with a new male.

“What’s your name?” cried the Fae as he spun her out.

“I’m E-”

A scarred hand grabbed her outstretched arm to pull her into his embrace, the two now still in a vast sea of dancers, and the tip of their noses touched as he leaned forward to let his lips brush the shell of her ear.

“Careful, lovely fawn. There are fanged beasts who would love nothing more than to devour you," he whispered. The gentle pull of his fingers coiled around her curls and pulled to expose her neck. Absolutely wild and ready to devour.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Offer and permission.

“Az!” The two snapped their heads to see a flash of red and blonde hair push through the crowd.

“Mor!” The warmth of his body vanished as he strode to greet the blonde.

Suddenly, the heat of the dance hall merged with a jealous fury she pushed down before joining a vibrant Azriel and bubbly Mor.

“Oh, Elain! How sweet you look tonight!” Her cheeks turned as red as Mor’s revealing dress, and suddenly the decision to wear a long-sleeved silk gown and weave bluebells into her hair seemed like the silliest idea in the world.

“Happy birthday, Az,” Mor beamed.

“Thanks, Morrigan,” he replied with an arrogant grin. She was two things: a fool and an idiot. From one glance at the cockiness that radiated off his wide wings, Elain and her stomach sunk into the floor.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Elain offered, desperate to shake the shame from her earlier actions, and turned from the pair.

“Wait! Here.” Mor grabbed her shoulder to place several gold coins in her palm.

“Thanks, Mor, just wine?”

“You know me so well! Thanks, El.”

“Just wine, Mor? If I seem to remember correctly, there was a time you liked something a little harder,” he smirked.

Azriel was a vicious, licentious, rakish flirt who was going to feel wrath like no other if he dared to-

“Whoops!”

The push of another dancing couple sent a flustered Elain tumbling onto the floor.

“Careful, Lady Lain,” Az laughed and dove to help her, but another hand reached for the fawn.

“Come here often?” Oh great, giant fiddlesticks.

“Hello, Lucien,” she gulped. The candlelight glittered off of her mate’s golden eye, his handsome smile wide as she apprehensively raised her hand to accept his help, but, the fox’s grin faded as a strong arm tightened around her too-tightly corsetted waist to lift her off the floor.

“Lucien!” Mor’s tense smile did nothing while Lucien growled at the Shadowsinger. The three stood between waltzing couples, Azriel’s arm tight around a nervous Elain and stare lethal at an infuriated Lucien.

“May I join you?” Lucien blurted out.

“It’s Azriel’s birthday,” she replied dumbly.

“It’s my birthday,” Azriel echoed with a murderous expression.

“Happy birthday,” Lucien spat at the Spymaster.

Foxes hunted fawns, but fanged beasts devoured any threats, perceived or confirmed.

On lapping lake waves in warmer months, feelings about the bond were finally unearthed when an outstretched wing drew a wince after a brush against sore ribs.

“Oh Gods, I’m sorry,” Az said quickly.

“No, no. It isn’t your fault,” she murmured between a few deep breaths.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly. Her only response was a sad nod.

“Do you know who your mate is?” Dusk lulled over the lake’s horizon as ribbons of pink hues fluttered into deep purple hazes.

“I don’t have one,” he replied after a long while.

“You’re lucky. It’s a curse,” she admitted.

She waited for him to tout Lucien’s good character, but rather, that brave confession saved her from countless unfortunate circumstances. Whispered messages would announce unprompted visits moments before a knock rapped on the door, or the tendril of a shadow would save her from tea services set with an extra saucer beside her seat. As the summer faded into fall, the Autumn Court male spent more time with the Band of Exiles than in Velaris, and her ribs softened into a welcomed silence.

But now they screamed.

This is beyond fiddlesticks, she thought.

“Elain was just getting us some drinks. She could use a hand?” Mor wondered aloud with a wink at Elain.

“Oh yes, do you like ale?” asked the fox.

“I like whiskey-”

“She likes whiskey,” Azriel interrupted. Somehow his chest was broader, height taller, and bravado even more spine-chilling in its understated delivery compared to a fiery Lucien’s blazing eyes.

“You two go ahead, we’ll wait here,” gritted Mor and pushed him away from the mates.

“Shall we go?”

Ribs weren’t supposed to ache, were they?

“What in the hells was that?” Mor chastised a brooding Azriel in the corner of the dance hall.

“Elain doesn’t like him.”

“Elain is his mate.”

Two years ago, the thought of those rich brown eyes and blonde tresses within arm’s reach at a dance hall would have been his only birthday wish. Now to welcome another year of immortality, he yearned for a pair of gentle brown eyes and honey-kissed hair. Mor was his friend, and the flame he kept alive for almost five centuries was easy to kindle when conversations skirted around awkward silences with Cassian tempering the two. He idolized her, but he never knew her, truly. Now, he realized how little his infatuation was rooted in what sort of love he ached to hold.

“I said, she doesn’t like him.”

“Well, Elain’s got some growing to do and-”

“She’s not a child, Mor. We all need to ask Elain what she wants.”

Mor’s red lips parted in surprise and annoyance at the rude quip, but a ferocious hazel stare led her to find Lucien and Elain at the bar. After a tense laugh, Elain’s gaze drifted over to Azriel, who did not hesitate to step forward.

The truth was revealed.

“Azriel. You cannot be serious.” Her red skirts swished to stop the leather-clad Spymaster.

He gave no reply.

“Cauldron, Az. She’s a mated female.”

“And?” he sneered.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted as he pushed past her.

“Azriel-” After 541 years, Mor’s hand held his, and nothing more than the heat of her warm skin sat on his scars. It did not soothe, it did not sear, it was not the touch of something very precious. It was not Elain.

“He’s a good male, Az. You and I both know that. She’s so, so young. It’s been only two years into her immortality. She might not want him in this century, or even the next, but with a bond as strong as that, it's only a matter of time.”

“And what about what she wants?”

“What about you, Az? Huh? What are you going to do if your mate shows up ten, twenty, or even two hundred years from now? Would that be fair to her?” Az looked at her hand wrapped around his wrist, the red nail polish so bright against his golden skin.

“Don’t you want to be with someone who is your equal? You deserve that-” Azriel stilled.

“You think Elain is beneath me?” came his terrifying reply.

“You need someone who will challenge you. Hells, she barely could handle being on the battlefield, she’s… she’s too soft Az.” He leaned into Mor so close her eyes widened in fear.

“I used to think there was no one else for me, but you. The battles we fought side by side, the trials we endured throughout the centuries, I was in love with you. And then, I met Elain. And in two years, I’ve felt more than I’ve ever felt in five hundred.” He dropped her hand.

“But, you aren’t Elain’s mate. Lucien is.”

Upon a look at the fox and the fawn, it dawned on him.

Azriel always loved the light, whether it was the sun’s prideful rays or the soft wicks of candles. Light cast on flesh conjured shadows, or banished blindness. It was a gift. Lucien’s aura blazed with that flame Autumn Court males warmed rooms with, their natural ease and quick wit entertaining and charming all those who basked in its glory. The two stood at the bar, the glow of their bodies bright against the crowds of Fae. Despite all the restless nights and curses at the stars, he understood. The Cauldron gave Elain to Lucien because she was the light, and Lucien could ignite. Like called to like.

They were mates, and who was he to steal her from that happiness?

Elain held his gaze, desperation in her eyes as she begged him to save her from Lucien, but he decided to save her from himself. Mor was right, they were not equals. She deserved better.

“Good night, Mor.”

“Happy birthday, Az.”

When the music of the dance hall faded into the eerie air of Samhain, Azriel took to the skies.

Another year into immortality, another year losing to fate.

A03

~ A Court of Bones in Bloom

#actoar #elain #elriel #fanfic #a03 fanfic #elain x azriel #azriel #azriel and elain

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