#dark! Amarantha
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Dark!Amarantha x Human!reader: Her New Whore[***]
A/N: man, I caved at the end, I’M SORRY.
Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, some specklings of Greek Mythology, pussy-eating, face-sitting, manipulation I guess, corruption kink? 6.4K words
Summary: After the Wall fell, the High Queen easily seized control of the human lands. Every month, a name is picked from the largest cluster of houses—the closest any of your kind have to a city. You manage to keep your head down for long enough, until your sister’s name is read aloud, condemning her—and inevitably the family she’s made—to a tragedy.
“Cynthia.”
You freeze. Eyes slide to the matching pair beside your own, locking onto her widened gaze. No. There’s mirrored terror streaking your faces, and already people are taking precautionary steps back, making sure to distance themselves from the damned.
The guards don’t even have to search for her, the steadily widening circle around your sister condemns her itself. And sure enough, clawed hands are gripping her upper arms, already beginning to drag her away, and you lunge at her, only to be shoved back. You crash to the mud, dress dirtying as the wet cold bites at you, already setting in. “Cynthia…!” You rasp, throat wet with tears, chest tight with grief. “Cynthia!” You scream, pushing up from the dirt, stumbling after your sister as she’s flung to the foot of a stage.
The High Queens’s eyes are sharp, and piercing into her with a strange look. Your sister shrinks beneath the cold, ancient eyes, hands wrapping around herself, as though it will give her a modicum of safety against the innately powerful fae. Her blood red lips open, permanently set in a cruel, hateful twist, as she intends on beginning her riddle. You scramble forward, pushing through the crowd that has gathered eagerly to watch, delighting in her misery. Because they get to live another day.
You race forward, kneeling by your sister’s side, throwing your arms over her protectively, keeping her tight to your form. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, fingers trembling. “You’re safe, I’m here, Cynth.” She presses against your side, shaking badly, cowering before the High Queen. Amarantha watches, her words halting as she takes in the act of disobedience. No one else has dared interrupt a ceremony.
You swallow, meeting her icy, taunting gaze. “Please…” you manage, voice cracking. “Please— She’s my sister, please.” The tears fall and you know you need to do better. “I beseech you, my Queen. Please. She has a family—a husband and children.” You release Cynthia, pushing away from her as you bow, pressing your hands into the mud and lowering your head in derogatory supplication. “Take—… Take me in her stead. I beg you.” Salty tears wet the earth as you shake, Cynthia weeping by your side, copying your movement, and it pains you to see her like this. Splattered with mud. Cowering before a tyrant.
“Rise.”
Immediately, you follow the command, raising beneath her amused gaze. Her long nails click against the temporary throne. She’s no longer watching Cynthia, her eyes have moved to you. “What walks on four feet in the morning, two in the afternoon, and three at night?” Terrified relief slides down your spine. She’s directing the riddle at you—not Cynthia. You could weep.
Her brow narrows, “behead the first one.”
Your eyes widen as her soldiers come forward. Cynthia grasps onto you and you to her: nails slicing into thin, worn fabric. “No! Please, my Queen! Please!” You scream, holding your sister tight as the creatures tug away from you. She’s torn from your arms, and you thrash, trying to reach her. You turn your head to the female sat atop her throne born of bloodshed, “my Queen! She’s my sister, please!” The tears are streaming down your cheeks as you writhe against the talons that slice into your skin.
Cynthia is shoved to her knees, more mud saturating the already wet fabric of her dress. The High Queen’s eyes are on yours, paying the torture of your sister no mind, as if it hardly even registers to her. You can’t look away from her.
A guard raises his blade, and ire blazes inside of you, fury at the injustice. Rage at how they’re about to cleave the gentle slope of her neck in two, sever it from her body, then leave her to rot in the piss-coated mud.
“Stop.”
Your breath catches, your chest stilling as the blade halts it’s slicing. The High Queen rises from her throne. A metallic smell crackles in the air and a rug rolls down the steps of the stage—her shoes will remain clean of the filth. She comes to a stop in front of you, and you’re petrified. The Queen, The Conquerer, is stood one pace away from you, and you’re staring into her eyes—holding her gaze as if your life depends on it.
“Release her.”
You’re close enough you can see the shape of the words cutting through her blood-red mouth clearly. Her soldiers release you, so suddenly that you crash to the floor, on your knees before her. You make no move to shift from the placement.
Slowly, she pulls the fabric of her orchid coloured gown upward, revealing a pale ankle, leading up to a creamy thigh—perfect skin. She’s flawless. The High Queen raises her foot slightly, a silent command. Your cheeks flush with hatred. Her lips lift at the edges, her eyes flicking from Cynthia, then back to you. You hang your head in shame, but blink away the tears. If she’s giving you a way to save your sister, you’ll take it.
Reluctantly, you begin to lean forward, but stop. You crane your neck to look at the High Queen, icy gaze piercing down on you. “I do this…and you’ll let my sister go?” You aren’t foolish enough to phrase it as an order. “Indeed.”
“You won’t harm her? Ever?” Her lip curls, a sign she’s already tiring of you, but you need to make sure. “Insolent,” she growls as she glares down at you. It’s difficult not to shrink from her. “If you give yourself to me—” your breath catches, “—and follow through, she will be released instantaneously. Unharmed.”
The word rings through you. Unharmed. She’ll be okay. She can return to her girls, and her husband. She’ll live.
“Whether she remains that way…” she grins, cruelty lighting her eyes, “…is up to you.” You feel the blood drain from your face. Brutality sparks in her gaze as she taps your chin provocatively with the tip of her shoe. “Make your choice, human.”
You refuse to cry. You won’t. Not in front of her.
So you grit your teeth, steel your spine, and settle your lips on the point of her shoe.
————
She didn’t waste a second—by the end of the day, you’d been shoved into the arms of one of her beasts, a weightless sensation had overtaken you, and then your surroundings had completely shifted, the air slightly tinged with a strange metallic scent. You’d been walked through cavernous hallways lit solely by flames that sent shadows flickering along the walls.
Then you were brought to a large chamber, dragged across the smooth stone floor, and tossed onto a wide, circular bed that was lined with various fur blankets and beautifully embroidered duvets. Atop lay a circular instrument, thick, opaque fabric hanging down like curtains to seal the bed from the rest of the room. They were dark velvet, such a deep red they were nearly black, with small tassels weighting the material at the edges.
An unknown amount of time later, another creature enters, dropping new clothes on the bed—night robes—for you to change into. Its eyes run over you with intrigue and barely masked hunger. You manage a quiet thank-you, along with a small dip of your head before it’s stalking from the chamber. You decide it would be best to follow their implied instructions, thankfully left by yourself while you bathe and clothe yourself.
Heat flushes your cheeks as you lift the fabric to the strange lights. It’s almost completely sheer, a failed imitation of clothing. Hardly a breath of thread. You double…triple check the pile, but there are no underthings to keep you hidden. You drop the material as if it’s stung you, taking a step away from where you had dropped it—beside the bathing pool.
“Insolent humans.”
You yelp, spinning around. The High Queen has snuck up on you, silently entering the bathing chamber. You hadn’t even heard the snick of the curtain rings slide back into place. Your hands fly to cover your naked body, stumbling back in fright. You slip, squeezing your eyes tight as you fall backward—into the pool.
When you surface, you hear her laughing, like the ringing of silver bells, warm and amused. You shiver. “I forget how uncoordinated you all are,” she grins, that cursed crimson like a blood-red slash across her mouth. Slowly, you back away in the lagoon-like pit, distancing yourself while keeping your arms across your chest.
A dainty nail points to you, then curls as she beckons you forward. “Come here.” Your arms tighten around yourself, and you’re sure that if the water wasn’t there, your legs would have given out. Her lips twitches, as if knowing exactly what she’s doing to you. “You’ve hardly been here for half a day,” she growls in warning, “and you’re already testing my rather generous patience.”
You tremble, but begin to move toward her. Her growls settle as you draw near, stopping at what you believe to be a safe distance. She almost laughs at your naïveté. She settles by the edge of the pool, “closer.” Her teeth are bared beneath the superficially gentle smile, eyes gleaming with harmful glee as you shudder, but follow her orders.
She spared your sister. She spared your sister. She spared your sister. You can do this for Cynthia. Cynthia and her girls. Cynthia and her husband. For Cynthia, you’ll manage. The High Queen’s hand raises from the carved stone, and you flinch when he cups your cheek, eyes piercing down at you: half-submerged in the pool, the water reaching just above your midriff. “There you go,” she drawls, lips quirking at the terror in your eyes. Her thumb brushes your cheek and you tremble, her sharp nails scraping beneath your lash line, as if poised to dig into the soft flesh that would rupture beneath her claw.
The High Queen must have read it across your features, as she grins wickedly, “your Cynthia is alive.” You don’t allow yourself a moment to relax, not with the Queen of the fae so close. Her brow rises, “no words of thanks? No offers to appease me?” You swallow, inhaling quietly. “Thank you, my Queen,” you manage, voice cracking from fear.
Her hand lowers, and you still as her thumb brushes over your lip, and you wonder if she’ll tear it from your body. She merely lays a surprisingly soft pat to your cheek, her eyes flicking to the mesh robe, untouched, by the pools edge. “Put it on,” she orders, quietly. You double check all of your chest is covered—as much as you can, anyway—before meeting her gaze. “My Queen?” You ask, uncertain. She wants you to wear to robe while in the water? Or to get out, dry, and then adorn it? Her fingers clasp the sheer fabric, bringing it within your reach, “did I stutter?” Her lips are still up-tilted, but ice is beginning to frost in the depth of her eyes.
With a trembling hand, you reach forward, taking the robe from her hand. Your fingers brush, and you flinch, preparing to be hit, squeezing you eyes shut. She merely watches you, marks your reaction with quiet anger. “Put. It. On.” Her voice has dropped, and you flush with shame as you lower your arms to adorn yourself in the dress. Despite being underwater, you push it down, allowing it to rest at your ankles.
The High Queen smiles, though it’s lacking something. “Keep up the obedience and you’ll be just fine.” She gets to her feet, flashing you a snippet of smooth skin as she stands and you feel dirty for looking. Instinctively, you falter a step backward, at last easing a small breath of relief.
It’s cut short as her fingers drop to the buttons of her dress, slowly unpinning them, revealing small glimpses of her porcelain skin beneath. You hurriedly turn away as she undresses, cheeks ablaze as you catch sight of her sleeve descending over a creamy shoulder. You can hear the soft wisps of chiffon falling to the floor, and flashes of soft and supple skin whisper through your mind. You pinch your forearm hard, just one mark among many.
Amarantha scowls at your turned back. Foolish human dignity. Do you not understand she could slice you up in seconds, sink her teeth into the soft flesh of your throat? She swallows, licking her lips as a slow smile lifts her edges.
Silently, she descends into the lagoon, allowing the peacefully warm water to lap over her skin. Prowling up behind your unaware form. The sweetest prey.
Your breath catches as her arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back flush against her front, and you feel the soft pressure of her breasts. She’s naked. She’s completely bare. Your mind short circuits, fire heating your body, licking over you like it’s a phantom touch. Her fingers dancing over your skin, her lips feathering over your own, her—
You dig your nails into your forearm. It must be some faerie magic. Your mind must not be your own to have such horrifically impure thoughts in it. A quiet sound of fear drags from your throat as she noses a space beneath the shell of your ear. “My Queen…?” You stammer, “what—…what are you doing?” Each breath that falls from your lips is wracked with a silent tremor.
She laughs against your skin and you subtly try to squirm away from her. Her arms wrap tighter. “You live such short lives,” she croons, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “yet you deprive yourself of the pleasures the Mother has provided.” A shiver spider-walks down your spine, her fingers beginning to trace circular patterns over the base of your sternum.
“It’s a sin,” you rasp, voice failing you under duress. “It’s an equivalent exchange. Pleasure of unity for the pain of reproduction. My Queen.” You hurriedly add on the title, a way to soften your brazen defence. “If it’s a sin, why are you craving it so badly? The mother wouldn’t wish for her creations to suffer,” she whispers, and her fingers raise higher, dancing beneath the swell of your breasts.
You turn your head, and Amarantha greedily drinks in your mortal beauty. “Is that why you spared her? My sister?” There’s a devastating spark of hope in your eye, looking to her for answer. She blinks, and you quietly await her response. “I spared Cynthia because you promised yourself to me.” Her eyes pierce into you, “equivalent exchange and all that. A life for a life. However fleeting, or pitiful.”
Your brow narrows in hurt, “our lives may be short, my Queen, but it gives us meaning. We are to make the best of ourselves, however slim our chances. It is the beauty of being human.” She smiles, settling her chin on your shoulder, feeling you stiffen. “You are, indeed, quite beautiful.”
You don’t know how to respond. Is it a concealed taunt you don’t understand? Is she using her faerie tongue to deceive you in some way? You can’t figure it out. “You…remember her name, my Queen.” She laughs, but it lacks amusement. “It is not a difficult name to remember. Neither is your bond with her.” She seems sad. A quiet wash of anguish fleeting across her gaze.
And maybe she’d been gentle enough with you, been so unexpected that you reached out. You’ve been raised that it’s a woman’s role to reach out and help others—always. Why would she be any different. You move your hands from where they’ve been suspended above the water, gingerly settling them overtop hers. “Why not?” You murmur, watching her.
The High Queen’s eyes drop to your fingers, and for a moment you’re concerned she’ll see it as an affront—for a human to touch a faerie. But they entwine with your own, keeping as much of you close to as much of her as she can. “My sister was murdered by a human. Tortured and murdered. For weeks.” She hears the quiet gasp you release, and raises her gaze to your own, shocked and wide.
“Her name was Clythia, and I cared for her more than anything. More than I should have let myself.” Her eyes seem to regain their sharpness as they drink in your features. Her arms tighten around your rib cage, “I will not be making that mistake again.” Her words are clipped; pained. You squeeze her hand, “isn’t it lonely?” Her eyes are narrow on you, a quiet warning, but allowing you to proceed. You gulp and you’re certain she can hear it. “As an immortal. With no clear end to your life? You should find yourself a love, take a husband, and—”
She snarls, lip curling back from her teeth, muscle rippling; power thrumming. Your body freezes in response, but she spins you round, roughly. Her nails dig into your hips, pulling you tight against her.
It’s so much worse.
You can see her. See the pale skin of her collar bones, the smooth skin of her shoulders, the feminine swell of her breasts, pressing against your own—
“A husband?” She snarls, watching with fury as you cower, trying to shrink away from her. Your hands land hesitantly—even as you’re terrified—over the top of her chest, attempting to push away. “I treat you as I have, and you tell me to find a husband?”
“I’m—I’m sorry—… I simply mean—” She snarls again, more viciously, cutting you off as she grips you tighter, walking you backward in the pool.
Initially, you’d been wary about bathing, not knowing how deep the pool went. You knew the depth was more staggering at the back, and being unable to swim, you’d kept far from it.
You shove your feet onto the floor, but it’s rough, and bites at the soft pads. She’s so powerfully fae, and has no trouble shoving you further and further back to that drowning depth. “My Queen!” You cry, reaching for her but she keep you at arms length. The water gets deeper, rising over your chest, and you know you’re right over the precipice. “Please! I can’t swim!” You panic, “please, my Queen! I didn’t mean to offend!”
The High Queen shoves you away, sending you off into the deep. That terror again engulfs you as you begin sinking. Your eyes go wide, latching onto her own beseechingly, just before the water’s surface swallows you. It’s suddenly no longer comforting—the peaceful warmth. It feels as the air before a storm, hot and humid, too still to be safe.
You thrash, not knowing how fast you’re descending, but you claw about. Maybe if you can reach that edge again, you can pull yourself up. You stretch out your hands, and they find the ledge. Rough and hewn, but it’s there. You could cry. But then you feel as she presses the heel of her foot down, digging your fingers into the rock and you cry out, releasing precious air as you lose your grip.
You try again, this time taking hold of her ankle, tightly—even if it enrages her. But she holds still, allowing you to touch her as you begin to pull yourself to the surface. Your lungs are burning as you reach her thigh and your hand freezes, realising where you’re going to have to go past. You take too long, strength seeping from your arms as you begin to lose conscious. You practically feel her growl thunder through the water as a force lifts you from the depths.
When you break the surface, your religious worries are far from the front of your mind. Your arms snake over her shoulders, clinging desperately as you splutter, hauling yourself over her arm as you gulp down air, tears of panic spilling over your cheeks. Your legs wrap over her hips, circling tight in fear.
Before you’ve even had the time to regulate your breath, her hand is tightening in your wet hair, pulling you back just enough for her to glare into your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you rasp, tears streaming over your already wet cheeks. “Please,” you plead, brows curving upward, “please don’t kill her.”
The High Queen’s eyes do not soften as she pulls back from the ledge, carrying you up into shallower water. You daren’t tear your eyes away for fear she’ll have a change of heart. “I hold you as I do,” she seethes, “I treat you as one of my own, instead of one of those humans. I touch you as I do— cherish you as I do—” Your lower back presses against the hewn rock of the pool, and you attempt to unwrap your legs from her hips. Her grip tightens and she snarls up at you. “—and you think a husband would please me?”
You keep your lips pressed tight, deciding it wise to not speak anymore. But her eyes pierce into your own, commanding you to respond. Whatever you say, it could be you last. “What would please you, my Queen?” You stammer, softly, trying to banish the tremors from your arms.
Her eyes flicker for a moment, and then her mouth is crushing down onto your own. You seize up, paralysed as one arm snakes up your back, between your shoulder blades, making your back curve, pressing your breasts to her own. You’re all but naked before her, save for the sheer fabric that clings to you relentlessly. A whimper claws up your throat at the sudden move.
She pulls away, eyes dragging from your mouth up to your own.
Then she’s returning, lips warring over your own, teeth biting, tongue slashing as she dominates your mouth. One hand grips your ass while the other tightens around the nape of your neck, crushing you against her, pressing between your thighs as she devours you. She gets lost in your flavour, raising both her hands to cup your jaw, pinning you to the pool’s wall with her lower body.
Her grip slackens as she takes you in, breathing shakily.
You take your chance.
You slam your hands down on the pool’s ledge, lifting yourself out as you kick away from her, panting as you scramble back. You tumble over the lip of the lagoon, falling down onto the smooth rock of the bathing chamber. The High Queen snarls from the pool and your eyes go wide as she heaves herself out of the water with such ease.
Immediately you’re scrambling back, flipping onto your front to crawl away, to stumble to your legs but she catches you on the threshold of the two rooms. Her arm wraps around your hips, once again pulling your back flush against her chest as her hand snakes up your front, gripping your throat. “I thought you wanted to protect your sister?” She snarls, so close to your ear you feel the scrape of her teeth.
You simply writhe in her grip, terror spinning and spinning until you feel dizzy. “You’re okay if she dies?” The High Queen growls, gripping tighter, and you choke. “Maybe I’ll make you watch when I kill her. Nice and slow.” You shake your head vehemently, colours swimming as you splutter. Your fingers claw at her hand but she holds fast, so much stronger than you could ever handle.
Then, she’s picking you up from the floor, your legs pulling to your chest, kicking wildly in attempts to disorientate her. It’s a pitiful attempt. She sets you on your feet before the opening to her bed, turning you around roughly. Then power crackles in the air and you’re completely dry, as if neither of you had even stepped foot in the bathing chamber.
With a hard shove, you’re falling backward, sitting on the circular mattress, clothed in only the sheer fabric and nothing else—no undergarments to conceal you from her hungry and furious gaze. You start crawling backward, but she only laughs, as if delighted by your actions. You understand why when you hit the edge of the bed. Your back collides with something solid, despite it being curtains. She laughs at your confusion. “There’s a barrier around the mattress. Once you have entered, you cannot exit unless I permit it.”
You’re trapped.
“Please,” you whimper, watching as she climbs onto the bed, the curtain shutting behind her, sealing you in a cocoon of dark red light. “Please, my Queen. This is wrong!” She simply grins, prowling closer until her hand wraps around your ankle. You don’t even try to resist as she drags you beneath her, caging you in. “There’s nothing wrong about enjoying the pleasures of life,” she snarls down at you. You shake your head weakly, “no…the first time…” Tears roll down your cheeks and she stills. “The first time should be with someone you love!” You scream at her with a fury you don’t recognise.
Her eyes change, something indiscernible flashing across her features. “Pleasure is for…for man and woman,” you cry, reciting the words that have been flung at you since you came of age. “They couple…and the woman bares his children…and—…and he works! While—…while she stays at home…raising his children, in his house, for him!” You’re sobbing, wanting to scream and kick and just lash out in some way. “It’s the wife’s duty— My duty, to serve my husband one day. And that is…that is how it should be…” you trail off, crying as you push away tears with your fists.
Her hands strangle your wrists, roughly pushing them aside as she glares down at you with renewed ferocity. “So insufferably human.”
“And you’re insufferably cruel…” you weep, though the words lack any bite. “Yes,” she snarls, “I am.” You peer up at her through teary eyes. “And do you see me crying? Do you see me being forced into something I don’t want? Do you see me serving a man in the way you believe is a duty?” You stare at her, lower lip trembling as you manage to shake your head.
“No. You don’t. Because I am High Queen of Prythian. I rule over this land. It is mine. The food, the country, the people. They’re mine. Just like you are mine. At the end of the day I do not submit to a husband, or a father, or a brother. Because I am my own keeper.” She practically spits the last part, dripping with venom as she glares down at you.
Your brow narrows at her anger. The anger that isn’t directed at you, not this rage. Not really.
Her hand again wraps around your throat as she lifts your head from the sheets. “I can fuck you better than a man ever could. Than anyone.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle as much as you can. “Open your eyes.” You refuse, screwing them shut tighter. “Open your damned eyes before I pluck them from your skull.”
Tears roll as they land on her, working every silent plea you can into your gaze. You would beg on your knees for her to stop. For her to leave Cynthia alive. “That’s more like it,” she breathes, hand loosening around your throat, allowing you to gulp down air. “Now, let me show you what you’ve been missing out on.”
Her mouth reattaches to your own, but it’s softer. Until her teeth nip at your lower lip. You flinch, and it spurs her on, canines tugging relentlessly until you whimper. “Touch me,” she commands, between kisses, “pull me closer.” You remain how you are, hands paralysed at your sides as she pulls you apart. “Reciprocate or I swear on Clythia I will shred your sister alive. Piece by piece.”
You’re trembling, shaking and on the verge of shattering, but you manage to wrap your arms around her neck, parting your thighs to hug her hips. “Now touch me like you mean it. I’m giving you one damned chance.” The snarl is more beast than faerie, but it’s for Cynthia. For Cynthia, you will put everything the High Queen has done aside. For Cynthia, you will commit this sin, that will damn you far below hell. For your sister, you will give in to those desires that have caused the crescent shaped indents in your forearms.
Your vision blurs as you shove it all away, and follow her commands.
Your mouth opens, tongue dancing with her own as she grips your hair, yanking it. A growl of innate satisfaction thunders through her chest and her free hand lands atop your breast, palming it. You want to scream, but force a moan instead. You doubt you’d be able to pull yourself back together if you started screaming.
She thumbs your nipple, and her mouth leaves your own, nipping and licking at your neck as she works lower, ignoring the quiet tears that roll back into your hair, dampening the bed. Her teeth sink into the junction of your throat and shoulder, biting down and you know it’ll bruise. It’s her way of claiming you. To have her scent entwined with yours isn’t enough. She needs to have her bite marks littering your skin, to have bruises of her fingertips blossoming over your neck, hips, thighs— everywhere she can.
Quicker than you can think, she’s tugging the erotically teasing dress up your thighs and over your head, baring you to her. The High Queen doesn’t waste a second: her mouth latches over your nipple, just over your heart, and this time you don’t have to force it. Pleasure sings through you, lighting you up as your back arches. As much as you hate it, as much as you know it’s a sin, it feels undeniably good.
You don’t want her to stop, you realise.
It brings a new wave of emotion looming in the background of your mind. But you cannot allow it to crest. So instead you thread your fingers through her beautiful silky hair, so soft to the touch, encouraging her. She growls with pleasure as she goes lower, sucking bruises into the skin of your stomach as she descends, leaving a trail of obscenity until she reaches between your thighs.
“My Queen…” you whimper earnestly, knowing what she’s planning. “That’s—” She snarls, teeth scraping over your inner thigh.
“Are you trying to stop me?” And you can hear the threatening displeasure coating the question. You hurriedly shake your head, flushing in shame. She shouldn’t be seeing you like this. It should be a man. But you meet her eyes and undeniable arousal flows through you and the possessiveness. Had anyone ever displayed such a strong instinct to protect you? Bordering on fanatic obsession. Infatuation.
“I’d feel…guilty. Not doing anything, I mean,” you manage. As soon as the words have left your tongue you realise their truth. Nausea roils in your stomach. How sick are you? Could you ever be forgiven? A dark laugh breaks you from your spiralling thoughts and it sends another wave of heat rushing between your legs. You’re practically aching for her.
“Not so innocent after all,” she drawls, and you flush.
“I simply mean—”
“I know what you said.” She snarls, crawling up your body until she’s over you, her deep red hair hanging like the deep red curtains trapping you on the bed. “You want to have your mouth between my legs, don’t you?” Shame sparks in your chest, licking between your thighs as your eyes dart away from her. She grips your jaw, forcing you to look at her. “Say it. Let me hear you beg for it. Beg for me to mount your tongue, like an animal in heat,” she snarls.
For Cynthia, you can do it. For Cynthia—
Fuck Cynthia.
“Please,” you beg, that religious yarn the priests had twisted tight, now unraveling at an alarming pace. “Please, my Queen. I need to know. Let me know what if feels like. What you taste like.” Her eyes roll as she lowers her face to the crook of your neck, burying against you, nosing at the skin as she laps over the erogenous area. Your back arches and you wish you could resist her. Wish you could return to your discipline, and your unruffled life before she came along with her chaos and her fury and her devastating beauty.
“That’s it,” she pants, pleasure flushing her cheeks. “Look at you,” she hisses, “already settling so well into your new role.” And then she’s prowling further up your body, swinging a leg over your head and your arms have already wrapped snuggly over the elegant sweep of her hips. You tug against her but she doesn’t move, keeps herself suspended above you, teasingly. You can’t stand it.
Your nails bite into the flesh of her waist and she keens, hands pushing your thighs apart. When her eyes land on your glistening heat, she growls. You’re hers. “Now, now,” she croons, “see how far you’ve come already? Dying for a taste of a female.” Your hips buck, urging her to devour you, set her mouth on you, anything. “My Queen, please. I need you. Mother above, I need you so badly.” She just laughs.
“Maybe I should punish you for taking so long to come around, hm? Maybe I should bring you to the edge, and suspend you there. Maybe I should—”
You take initiative. Your grip tightens as you raise your mouth to her cunt, lapping all over her, pressing against her hole. Anywhere you want, really. She snarls, but it’s full of pleasure and feminine satisfaction. The High Queen decides she’ll punish you later. Right now, she has you, and she’s in no mood to deny herself of you. Not after so long. She shifts her weight back at the same time she sets her mouth on you and you moan.
Her wet heat encases your mouth, and you groan as you feel her tongue lap over your centre. You flinch when her teeth nip a deliciously sensitive spot between your legs and you follow it on her, locating the small bud. You place a gentle lick to it, and her hips grind over you. Perfect. You focus on that mark, abusing it over and over, occasionally raising your tongue to her entrance, needing to refresh her flavour before diving back down.
Moans echo throughout the room and you feel a tightness in the pit of your belly. “My Queen,” you stammer, confused. She snarls, shutting you up, but the coil tightens— but it feels so good. Like an itch you can’t quite scratch. You just need her to find a spot, a spot that will just get you. Her tongue flicks over that bud and pleasure rushes your veins. You bury your face between her legs as you desperately nip, flick, suck and fuck all of her, memorising her taste as you bathe in the euphoria.
You feel her fluttering on your tongue moments later, your own high triggering hers as she sits upright, shoving you down into the soft mattress. You don’t even try to escape. You relish in her scent, in the wet heat of her, the way she encompasses you as she rides your face, moans spilling from her mouth until she’s ready to leave.
As she lifts from you, you notice threads of slick attaching your mouth to her, and you moan at the sight, already desperate for another taste, but she shifts. And her mouth is over your own. She’s ravenous, tongue licking and lapping, teeth nipping and biting as she drinks down your moans until she’s rolling off you.
Her arms circle possessively around your waist as she tugs you against her. “You’re mine,” she hisses down at you, and no matter how much it goes against the teachings, you can’t bring yourself to repent. She’s sunk her claws into you, and they run deep. Even if you wanted to, she wouldn’t let you go. You nod, pressing against her, melting into her possessive warmth.
She snarls, looking down at you. “You’ll stay here. In my bed. Warming it for me.” You nod again, and as the pleasure fades, as the adrenaline seeps from your blood, that familiar primordial dread begins to surface. You’ve promised yourself to her. You’re bound together. And you have no hope of escaping.
She bares her teeth and you hurriedly reply. “Yes, my Queen.” Her eyes soften ever so slightly. “Amarantha. I want you to call me Amarantha.” Your cheeks flush and you take the time to appreciate her beauty. The glow about her skin, the softness of her lips, the ferocity in her eyes. You feel safe. But maybe that’s just her power as High Queen. Maybe she’s gotten you so far under her spell you’ll never see her commit wrong.
“Amarantha,” you repeat, softly. A small, sane part of you screams at your compliance. But you’re too enchanted by her otherworldly beauty to pay it the necessary attention. To realise what you’ve done. What’s she’s done to you.
You reach forward, pressing your lips against hers, revelling in the plushness of them. You moan, and she’s never heard a sweeter sound. She’ll never let you leave her side. She’ll take you round on a leash if she has to, with chains decorating your wrists and ankles. Anything to ensure you stay at her side at all times. Because she’s never met someone she recognises so instinctually. Like a warped mirror.
If Clythia hadn’t been killed, if the High Queen hadn’t lost that part of herself in the war five hundred years ago, would she be as beautiful as you? She doubts it. You’re perfect. Living perfection. Crafted for her.
Her perfect new whore.
Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020
#Amarantha#amarantha x f!reader#[***]#dark! fic#dark! Amarantha#dark! Amarantha x f!reader#Amarantha smut#June#Amarantha x f!reader smut#dark! Amarantha x f!reader smut
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Can you write love letters from yandere Nesta Yandere Aramarntha and Yandere Lucien from ACOTAR ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Nesta Archeron
Dear (Y/N),
I write these words with my heart overflowing with emotion because every beat of it belongs to you. From the moment our paths intertwined, my soul found peace in his smile, and my world was illuminated by the light in his eyes. I am not lying when I say that you saved me.
Every moment by your side is a treasure that I keep with affection in the chest of my most precious memories. Your presence is the refuge where I find the strength to face any storm. Your touch is the melody that calms my restless soul.
I feel complete sharing my days, my dreams, and even my fears with you. You are the anchor that keeps my essence firm amidst the turmoil of life, the haven to which I always return, the home that I found in your embrace.
I love every trait of yours, from the small gestures to the grand displays of affection. Your every laugh is a ray of sunshine warming my being, and every moment of silence by your side is a symphony of peace that cradles my heart.
Today, more than ever, I want to express the immensity of this feeling that transcends words. You are my confidant, my most loyal friend and the love of my life.
With all my love,
Nesta.
Amarantha
Beloved (Y/N),
How can I express the extent of my love for you? Every beat of my heart is an echo of your name, every thought of mine is dominated by your presence. You are the light that illuminates my existence, the force that consumes me completely.
My dear, I am like a moth drawn to your radiant flame. I observe your every movement, every breath, every thought as if they were precious things that belong only to me. Your smile is my reason for the things I do, and your absence is an unbearable void.
My thoughts are immersed in the darkness of your being, in the sinister beauty that you emanate. I long for every fragment of your being, for the dark and secret parts that hide behind your smile. Like a predator, I pursue you in the most hidden corners of your essence.
There is no escape from my obsession with you, my love. Your secrets are the chains that bind me, your essence is the poison that flows in the veins of my existence. In the deepest abysses of my soul, you are the shadow that torments and enchants me.
You are the darkness that seduces and consumes me, you are the flame that burns in my soul. My beloved, you are my love, my eternal and insatiable passion.
With love,
Amarantha, your High Queen.
Lucien Vanserra
Dearest (Y/N),
In this darkness in which I sink, you are the only light I find. Every breath is an echo of your name, every beat of my heart cries out for your touch. In the shadows, I find my refuge, but it is in your presence that I find my redemption.
Completely in love, I watch your every step, like a lurking predator, eager to protect you, to keep you from this cruel world that insists on hurting you. Every smile of yours is a balm for my condemned soul, every tear you shed ignites in me a relentless fire of revenge.
I am a devoted servant of your essence, a specter that dances around your being, ready to sacrifice myself for you. My love and devotion is only for you, because in the depths of my being, there is only you, and for you, I will defy hell itself.
You are my destiny, my only purpose. There is nothing in this world that can stop me from being by your side, from claiming every piece of your being as mine. My love for you transcends any limit, and I am willing to do anything to ensure that we remain together forever.
If there's one thing I've never doubted, it's the love I feel for you. It is a flame that burns incessantly, fueled by the admiration, respect, and complicity we share.
With all my love,
Lucien.
#yandere love letter#love letter#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#yandere acotar#yandere a court of thorns and roses#nesta archeron x reader#yandere nesta archeron#yandere nesta archeron x reader#dark!nesta archeron#dark!nesta archeron x reader#amarantha x reader#yandere Amarantha#yandere amarantha x reader#dark!amarantha#dark!amarantha x reader#lucien vanserra x reader#yandere lucien vanserra#yandere lucien vanserra x reader#dark!lucien vanserra#dark!lucien vanserra x reader
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100% get this is not everyone’s cup of tea but I would absolutely crumble if you ever wrote an Amarantha x fem! Reader drabble or fic involving sex pollen/dub con themes where she’s just making you eat her out
(I’m so sorry if this is disturbing)
Lap Cat
~~~
Pairings: Amarantha x f!reader
Warnings: this is a dark fic, read at your own risk. smut, dark themes, dubcon, mentions of torture/killing, oral (a!recieving)
Summary: You didn’t really think you’d get away with deceiving the Queen now did you?
Word count: around 2k
a/n: this ended up being a lot longer than i expected… (not proof read)
~~~
I imagine you being the daughter of a High Lord, which one is up to you but essentially you are very well known throughout Prythian.
Maybe you’re relatively younger, like 100 years old compared to other High Lord offspring’s.
Therefore, you’ve spent your first years of adulthood under Amarantha’s reign, and as your father is a high lord the Queen prefers to keep close - you’ve also spend the first years of adulthood stuck under the mountain.
This fuels your knowledge when conspiring against her, knowing your way around, having been accustomed to the horrific displays almost every night, being paid no mind from the Queen herself…or so you thought.
You were good. Truly. Yet Amarantha was better.
And you were still too young, too naive to truly attempt to deceive her.
Those helping you were tormented and slaughtered the previous nights. Your friends, your allies. Now hanging on the walls of the throne room. Under torture, you’re sure your name would have slipped out.
Now you were just counting down the hours until your time came.
The Attor himself was sent to retrieve you, and it took every ounce of strength you had left to keep the tears at way. As your mind ran wild of the possible ways the Queen would make you suffer.
When you’re released from the Attor’s punishing grip, your knees meet soft ground. Unlike the cool stone of the throne room. Cracking your eyes open, you stare at the detailed rug beneath you. One of the last things you’ll see. You run your shaking fingers through the wool, savouring the soft feel.
“I had expected better from you.”
You don’t bother trying to defend yourself, you know you’ve been caught. Instead you force your eyes upwards, looking towards the direction her voice came from.
You’re in the Queen’s personal chambers, you realise. As you see her standing in only a robe, so purple it could be black. Her crown still sits atop her head, copper hair weaved throughout. Her eyes find yours, cold and unforgiving, that prominent smirk evident on her mouth. “Up. Drink,” She gestures to the flagon of wine sitting on the table, the lone silver cup waiting to be filled. She holds its twin in her own hand, the eye trapped within her ring darts, as if telling you to do as she says.
Rising on shaky legs, you walk to the table. You struggle to suck air into your lungs, chest tight with the impending fear of death. You put all your effort in keeping the flagon steady as you pour yourself a cup of deep red wine. It looks like blood. Mother knows you’ve watched Amarantha draw pint after pint of blood from her victims. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes.
Poison. You think as you raise the cup to your mouth, sniffing the liquid within. “If I were going to kill you, do you honestly believe I would choose poison?” She asks, obviously having noticed your hesitance. You turn to face her, watching her settle on the edge of her large bed. You find your voice, “I wouldn’t know. You’re unpredictable.” The Queen laughs at that, a heartless sort of sound, “Drink.”
You do.
As the cool, bittersweet wine coats your throat, you pick up on what she said. “If you were to kill me?” She takes a sip from her own wine, humming, and points with a sharp, pointed nail to the floor at her feet. Kneel. Her gesture tells you. Tendrils of hope encase your mind, so you slowly walk towards her and settle onto your knees at her feet.
“I should kill you,” she looks down at you, with such terrifyingly beautiful features, “but i don’t want to.” Your heart pounds, could you get out of this alive? Amarantha reaches out, long, slender fingers catching your cheeks in her grip. She tilts your head to her will, “It would be an awful shame to ruin such a pretty face or the body hiding underneath that dress.” From the way she looks at you, it was if she could truly see beneath your clothes. You gulp.
She releases your face as she continues, “Killing you would be a waste of potential,” You follow her hands as they move to the tie holding her robe together, “I believe you could prove…useful. I simply need to know who’s side you’re on.” Your breath is caught in your throat as you watch the Queen strip off her robe, exposing the smooth, pale and utterly naked skin beneath. She sighs in her fresh nudity, her full, perky breasts shifting with the movement. Dark nipples peak in the chill air. You have to drag your stare away, instead down her stomach, flexing as she moves to get comfortable, propping her feet on the bed and ultimately widening the stance of her thighs, leaving you between them. With a view of her wet cunt, slick shining in your eyesight. It’s pathetic, that you can do absolutely nothing to stop the flood of arousal igniting a fire between your own legs. Guilt and lust cloud your mind as you stare at the Queen, awaiting her next move.
She lifts her cup, tilting it to allow the wine within to drip onto her skin. Dark against her pale complexion. The droplet runs down the valley of her breasts. “So, pet. What will it be?” Amarantha asks, smugness lacing her voice. Pet. The word echoes between your ears. That’s what she wants. Though she leaves the final choice to you. Would you rather be her plaything, her puppet? Or die.
You catch the droplet of wine as it reaches her mound. The taste melting on your tongue. Looking up at her, you follow the path back up, and she grins. It’s frightening. “Smart choice.” It all she says before tipping more wine over herself. This time, the liquid coats her breasts, and like a good little plaything, you clean it up. The Queen says nothing as your tongue licks at the plump flesh of her tit, collecting the wine before swallowing it down. She tilts her head when your tongue flattens over her nipple, testing you. So you pull then taut bud into your mouth, suckling like a kitten on her mother’s tit. Amarantha moans when you do, the sound shooting straight to the pits of your tummy. It shames you almost as much as it arouses you.
You chase the droplets that escaped your searching tongue. Finding one on the very same path as the first. You kiss your way back down her stomach, eyes watching her breasts as they rise and fall with each breath, nipples glistening with your spit. Her face only shows off her amusement, yet the smell of her gives it away, she’s aroused and getting off on having you bend to her will.
Her cunt is soaking, juices dripping onto the sheets beneath her. You know there’s no going back the second you put your mouth on her. Not if you want to live, that is. The thought scares you, shames you, that you’d rather live to serve her to escape your fear of death. You try to believe that you’re forcing yourself to become aroused, as a means to make her think you enjoy this. Truth is, you’re not sure.
Long fingers find home in your hair as you kiss down the length of her, inhaling her scent and feeling her slick smear over your lips. Nails lightly rake over your scalp and you look up, meeting her gaze while your tongue licks back up. Amarantha’s lips part when you catch on her clit, hint of a moan on her breath. You give her a few more kitten licks before wrapping your lips around her bud and sucking. That earns you a groan and tight grip on your hair, “That’s more like it. Come on, don’t be shy.”
You whimper against her, worried of what she’ll do if you fail to please her. Dipping down, your tongue delves between her folds, tasting her built up arousal. Her essence explodes on your tongue, sweeter than you could have ever imagined. She tastes like fine wine, and you lap her up, finding some sick pleasure in the taste of her on your tongue.
Urged to double your efforts, you press closer, slurping on her cunt, parting her with your tongue to dip inside. Amarantha moans, hips grinding into your face as she used the right grip on your hair to pull you closer. Your nose rubs against her clit, tongue massaging her inner walls in tandem. “Fuck, pet,” She purrs, meeting each thrust of your tongue, “That mouth. I think i’ll have keep you.” She clenches around your tongue when you whine against her in response, feeling drunk off her cunt. A wave of submission washing over your body.
Her breathing picks up as you continue your ministration. Burying your face in her sex, tongue pushing inside her and exploring her soft, warm walls, searching for spots to make her tighten and moan. Your nose is pushed against her hot clit, adding to the stimulation you’re giving her. You find yourself releasing frequent sounds of pleasure, losing yourself in the taste and feel of her cunt. Amarantha relishes in you, grinning as she moans out, loud and filled with lust. She’s pulling at your hair so hard, it hurts. And her thighs close around your head, keeping you locked against her.
“Like licking cunt, don’t you?” Her words come out as a groan, yet you still depict ever ounce of mockery laced in her tone. You watch her stomach flex, feel her cunt tighten rhythmically. Along with the slick and spit dripping down your chin, your cheeks, your neck. Making a complete mess of you. “At least that’s one thing you’ll be good for,” she laughs through her moans, “Gonna make me fucking cum on that pretty face of yours, mmph fuck-”
She does. The Queen of Prythian climaxes hard, thighs trembling on either side of your face. She cries out a string of curses, drenching your chin with her juices. You fuck her through it, keeping up pace to drag her climax out for as long as possible. Your tongue glides in and out of her pulsing hole, collecting each wave of cum that escapes her.
You don’t stop until Amarantha drops her thighs and forces your head back with a sharp tug. Her hand wraps around your throat before you can suck down a breath of well needed air. You choke out a yelp, eyes widening in a mix of fear and surprise.
Amarantha leans down until the tip of her nose brushes yours, and you can feel her breath fanning across your face. Her expression has changed. No amusement lingers in her gaze. Only ice is left, serious and unforgiving. “You are mine.” Her grip tightens, “Always have been, always will be. Understood?” It’s not a question. You’re smart enough to know that.
“Yes,” your voice is a whisper, strained due to the hold she has on your throat. Her eyes darken. “Yes, my Queen.”
Satisfied, she releases her grip. “Good.” You’re finally able to breathe, dropping onto your hands until you no longer feel lightheaded. “Why don’t you pour us another drink, hm? The night is still early, and i’m not done with you yet.”
This is your life now, you realise. Utterly at your Queen’s mercy. As she said…her pet.
#dark fic#amarantha#amarantha x reader#amarantha smut#amarantha x reader smut#amarantha acotar#acotar amarantha#acotar x reader#acotar x reader smut#amarantha’s riddle#a court of thorns and roses x reader#a court of thorns and roses#a court of thorns and roses smut
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You should go check out my new UTM fic where Feysand are trapped and through an angsty, smutty, slow burn, learn to love and trust each other despite the dark circumstances they find themselves in. You will see more of Amarantha’s cruelty and abuse and learn more of how Rhys’s trauma has effected him and the way he loves Feyre. It’s on Wattpad and AO3, linked below!
#sjm smut#acotar#acotar series#acotar smut#a court of war and ruin#acotar fanfiction#a court of thorns and roses#under the mountain#amarantha#feyre x rhysand#high lord rhysand#rhysand smut#dark rhysand#rhysand#rhys acotar#rhysand x feyre#sarah j maas#sjm fanfiction#sjm multiverse#sjmaas#sjm fandom#sjm books
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Pairing: Feysand
Rating: E
Word Count: ~500
Summary: Feyre Archeron is the youngest member of the Fae nobility trapped in Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. When her father presents her to the court, intending to pay off his debts by selling her hand in marriage, she faces scrutiny on all sides: the wicked queen herself; the leaders of the rebellion against her; and the cruel High Lord of the Night Court. [An ACOTAR retelling.]
Read on AO3 here!
Prologue
She is his mate.
It is a miracle he has never seen her before. New faces are few and far between Under the Mountain.
But this one, the youngest of the minor nobles trapped Under the Mountain, is equal parts entirely unfamiliar and painfully, horribly known to him. He has never met this girl before, but he recognizes the near-translucent skin of a female who has never been exposed to a single warm moment of natural sunlight from his dreams; if he looks, he will know the blue trail of veins visible on the back of her pale right hand as well as he knows his own.
Feyre Archeron, the last of three sisters born underground, imprisoned in the dark and hidden away from the horrors of Amarantha’s court by their mother.
Until now.
Until their father drove up his gambling debts and decided to sell his daughters on the marriage market to pay them off. The idiot simpers and scrapes at the edge of the proceedings, and it is easy to pin The Prince of Fools with a single glance.
She is the last to be presented, and when she is, he feels a phantom thread between his soul and hers stretch out toward her.
She is his mate.
Fay-ruh, the Deceiver croons, testing the name and the young female before her.
Amarantha beckons the girl closer, and Feyre Archeron’s High Fae blood betrays her when she rises awkwardly from her curtsy. Nevertheless, her steps are sure and graceful as she ascends the steps of the dais to stand before the High Queen of Prythian’s throne.
Her sisters are snubbed, but this one, the one who didn’t keep her eyes fixed on the floor beneath her feet long enough, will attend a tea with Amarantha this afternoon to discuss her prospects. She accepts the invitation with a tilt of her head, but she chews on her lip absentmindedly, nervously.
His own sneer is fixed, his lip curled, but behind the mask of the Lord of Nightmares, his heart freezes.
In time, the girl and her sisters are dismissed, the pretty one cringing away from the rotting corpses pinned to the wall and the eldest baring her teeth at their father the second before the tall doors close behind them. Amarantha's new plaything seems frozen, daring a final look back into the throne room before the vicious sister grabs her and drags her away.
Amarantha laughs at the image they make and then stands, sweeping her eyes over the assembled High Lords behind her. A flick of her wrist, and they are dismissed too.
He uses the little power that remains available to him under the bitch's curse to winnow away the second that loathsome head of crimson hair disappears around the corner. He barely makes it to his private quarters before he is on his knees, retching.
She is his mate.
His mate, his mate, his mate.
#feysand#feyre archeron#rhysand#feyre x rhysand#ferrhys#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#a court of thorns and roses fic#my fics#of the archer and the dark#amarantha#acotar fic#rhys
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" half her face is a tragedy !! "
an edit of human au!feyre's scars
[ non-mutuals and personal blogs do not interact ]
#(( so basically i intended to log on and write but then this idea was bouncing around in my head and here we are#this is building on that thought i had that if amarantha hadn't killed her; then she would have been scarred instead aslkdjaslkadj ))#my edit.#❛ high lady of the night court ❜ ▬ ( freya mavor as feyre archeron. )#❛ darkness stared back ❜ ▬ ( appearance. )#au; this mortal coil (human)#❛ if she dared ❜ ▬ ( headcanon. )#❛ human heart ❜ ▬ ( body claim. )
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A Court of Mask and Life
Title: A Court of Masks and Life
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Tamlin x Female OC, Tamlin x Female OC x Other OC(s), Tamlin x Male OC, Male OC x Trans Male OC, The Inner Circle (Relationship), Feyre x Rhysand, Mor x Emorie, Azriel x Gwyn, Lucien x Elain, Nesta x Cassian, Azriel x Eris
Tags: Bisexual Awakening, Tamlin Redemption, War, Romance, LGBTQ+ , Drama
Summary:
Tamlin once almost had everything until he lost it to his anger and vanity, and most of all, his obsession with keeping a memory of what once was alive. Now, he has nothing. No Feyre. No stability in his court. No will to see himself as anything other than a beast, for despite his actions during the war with Hybern, he remains painted as the one who caused the mess.
Haunted by the voice of his deceased mate, one day, while roaming the woods, he comes upon a bright light beckoning him. And within the blink of an eye, he finds himself somewhere foreign, loud, and full of weird gadgets -- weirder than Lucien's glass eye. In other words, he finds himself in our world, specifically in the United States, Wisconsin, where a fearless woman named Ziva Schroeder finds Tamlin and takes him in. Our world is run by faeries, of which Ziva is half, and angels, which Ziva also carries in her blood.
While Tamlin gets to experience modernness through the help of Ziva and her inner circle, the tug to return to Prythian soon becomes a warning because a familiar foe plans to resurface, more potent than ever, worse than ever, and only Tamlin has such knowledge of the plans. However, he also must choose between our world and Prythian.
#ao3 fanfic#acotar#tamlin#oc lover#lgbtqia#bisexual awakening#ao3#bisexual tamlin#bisexual azriel#alternate universe#our world#alpha female#type a personality#pansexual character#hypersexuality#promiscuity#fanfic#lgbt themes#feysand#nessian#gwyn x azriel#eris vanserra#elain x lucien#amarantha#sjm#angels#dusk court#return of amarantha#dark#writeblr
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To Feel At Home
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: Angst
a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.
Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris.
Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat.
The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.
No more winnowing.
You had tried—it hadn’t worked.
As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance.
You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him.
Nothing yet.
He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check. His shadows would cross continents to find you.
But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home.
And you were here.
You had no reason to panic.
You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here…
Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him.
There were no shadows yet.
They always found you first.
You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing.
Your body would surely fail.
The last five decades had not been kind.
With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway.
A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else.
But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected.
Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips.
You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago.
“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.”
You couldn’t.
Moving was impossible.
Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out.
A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears.
But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you.
His nose pressed into your hair.
His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns.
More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth.
This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be.
You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind.
Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working.
Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack.
Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes.
Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking.
“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.”
Over and over. On a loop.
Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness.
The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky.
“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—”
A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks.
This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare.
It had to be real, it had to—
“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.”
His forehead met yours.
This was real.
You felt the shadows wisp along your skin.
You could never feel them in dreams.
“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.”
Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms.
“I’ve missed you more.”
#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel x female!reader#azriel fanfic#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#acotar fanfiction
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In This Shirt
Azriel x Rhys!Sister!Reader
Summary - It had been a distant dream, to reunite with your mate, but you never believed you'd live long enough to experience it.
Warnings - angst, depression, trauma, swearing, fluff,
Like it had happened yesterday, Azriel could remember the moment he had found out that you, his beautiful perfect mate, and the Princess of Velaris, had been trapped Under The Mountain.
It had been Cassian who had told him, he was the only one strong enough to battle against Azriel's fury and be able to walk away from it. His eyes had been brimming with anguish but Azriel already knew, he felt that last rush of love flow through his body like a current before it vanished, leaving him cold and broken.
Cassian didn't even need to utter the words.
Y/N is gone. So is Rhys. They've been taken Under The Mountain. Amarantha has them.
Every day that passed made his world feel heavy, and dark. Azriel had forgotten the sound of your voice one day, and it had tore his heart straight from his chest. He knew that your voice was melodic, he often likened it to that of a sirens song, pretty and serene.
The fight to get to where you were, mated, married, was long and turbulent on its own. Rhys had refused to accept it, he was furious with Azriel for it. You were his youngest sister, the light of his life, and he knew Azriel would never hurt you, he had always doted on you, he never let you do anything by yourself, but your older brother had certainly struggled with the news.
Rhys had gone as far as to ban Azriel from being near you and sent you away to reside in the Day Court for a couple of months, truly believing that the distance would make you both see that a path together was not one to be walked. In actuality, the distance had almost killed you, the land spanning between you and your mate had settled so deep within your soul that you had become very ill.
Never wanting it to go so badly, but always feeling the need to protect you, Rhys saw the error of his ways and brought Azriel to you, and watched as you cried as the colour returned to your cheeks whilst Azriel held you in his arms.
From that moment on, Rhys had been your biggest supporter, and he had cried like a baby when he saw you in your wedding dress, telling you how much your mother and sister would have loved to see you looking so perfect.
The Light of Velaris had vanished that night, you and Rhys had both sacrificed yourself to Amarantha to protect your court, your home, and it was because of that fact alone that Azriel couldn't tear at the foundations of the fortress beneath the mountain to get you out.
It was rare to get a smile out of him, or anything notable really, but Cassian had been the one to find him that evening, when the stars were hurtling across the blank canvas of the night sky, crying on his knees in your shared bedroom. One of your dresses was furled between his fingers, his shadows coiled around the velvet of the skirt, breathing you in and wishing you were there with them, "I can't remember the sound of her voice," his voice was hoarse, like it was the first time he had spoken in years, which it had been, all he emitted were huffs and grunts, but no words.
Cassian had stepped into the room, the room that had become darker since you had left, just like the rest of the family home. Just like Velaris. Shirts and dresses were strewn about the room, some on the floor, some splayed across the bed, as if Azriel had sifted through your closet to find the thing that held the strongest scent of you, of nightfall and starlight, of the faint salted oceans and warm sand.
"Az," Cassian fell to his knees. pulling his brother into his side and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Azriel had let his wings drop to the floor, he didn't bother holding them up anymore. "It's going to be alright. She's strong, they both are, they'll come back. She'd never leave you forever, you have a bargain to fulfil."
Azriel glanced to the bargain inking his forearm, a symphony of shadow and stars, holding one another like lovers in the night.
Then your wings came.
Your beautiful wings of midnight purple, so dark in their hue that many would think they were black, with the thick onyx membrane that Azriel always used to run his fingers along and smirk at your shivers, were gone. Packaged up with a blood red bow and dropped onto the table.
Azriel couldn't think about it. All he could do was pray to the Mother that you had at least been unconscious as they were taken from you. Part of him expected Rhys' to follow, but then the stories came, stories of Amarantha's whore and his ill-tempered sister who fought so hard that she was rid of the only things that gave her identity as punishment.
The wings were drooped at the tips, curling inward from the pain and torture from being away from their mate for so long. Comparing wingspans was something you did often, you were small compared to Azriel, your wings even smaller, but they were incredible things. Azriel could have sworn on countless occasions that he saw them hum with light whenever you were overcome with love.
The fiftieth year of your absence had crept in, and Azriel had forgotten what your lips tasted like, how the felt against his. There was nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do to bring you home, to him, where you belonged.
Until someone did.
Loud cries awoke him that night, he sat upright, the shirt you usually wore to bed nestled against his chest, the ever-faint aroma of you clinging to it like the last snow before spring. Frowning, Azriel shifted from the bed. He knew that voice, he knew that low rumbling power, and when he looked out of the window, his heart stopped.
Rhys was on his knees, bundled up into Mor's arms as he cried, but Azriel couldn't listen, he couldn't listen to the pain in his brothers voice, he couldn't stop himself from bursting from the room and running down the staircase.
His mind was blinded by hope and love and the mere possibility that you might have made it back too, "Where is my wife?"
Rhys rose to his feet, looking around the space as if he would find you not standing too far away, and frowning when he saw that you had vanished, "She was just here," Azriel could have crumbled at the words.
She was just here.
You were back. You had come back to him.
Rhys went to speak again but Azriel was already gone, he scoured the house top to bottom, checking every room and hallway, he went to the library, hoping to see you curled up in your spot like you had never left and the last fifty years had been nothing but a putrid nightmare.
Azriel's heart ached, he reached deep within him, deep into a place he couldn't bring himself to graze, and tugged.
Once. Twice.
The gates opened.
Azriel saw the golden thread pour from his chest, he saw it hum like a pulse as it stretched out and slithered around the corner, and his shadows danced outward to meet it, to wrap around the golden threat leading him to you, peering backward as if telling him to go.
Your mate, your husband, followed that thread, he followed it up the staircase and down the halls, breezing past the portraits hanging on the wall until he stood before the closed door of the bedroom. Azriel reached out a hand that was trembling and twisted the doorknob, softly pushing it open to reveal you.
Weight had dropped from you, and your posture was shrouded with fear as it hunched inward, your hugged yourself as your head surveyed the space. Then he saw the scars, the marred flesh poking from the back of the dress that hung from your body, a humiliation to everything you stood for, and his eyes landed on the rings of scarred flesh around your wrists and ankles, some still angry and red and peeling.
What had she done to you?
Shuddering, you turned around, stopping in your tracks at the male in the doorway being kissed by the moonlight pouring in from the thin slits of the curtains.
He was as beautiful as you remembered, hazel eyes that you had dreamt of nightly to allow you to hold onto some hope, the sharp jaw and cheekbones that you imagined your fingers brushing against, his lips that would often call out to you, not like you remembered the sound of his voice.
"Az?"
His breathing hitched and became shaky, you knew he was doing his best to not be overcome with emotion, not when you had every reason to cry and fall apart, "Say it again."
A soft sob broke through your lips at the sound, so low and hoarse, raw, but still teeming with warmth and beauty, of brighter tomorrows.
Say it again.
"Az."
Even in the dark he could see your face crumple and contort, and he rushed to you as you weakly reached for him, not being able to stop the sobs pulling from his chest either.
It was all there. Nightfall. Starlight. Salted oceans. Warm beaches.
Azriel cupped your face in his hands, so delicately, like he was afraid to break you, and tears fell from his eyes. It was you. Glazed orbs of plum peered up at him, your fingers reached to brush his tears away, "Is this some beautiful nightmare?"
Air rushed from his lungs, your eyes were glazed over, almost as if you were in some sort of trance, "No, my angel," his voice was a hush above a whisper, his fingers caressed your cheeks, "This is real."
"I'm home?"
Realisation hit you and your eyes became clear, "You're home."
"I thought I was lost," you placed your hands on his arms, and he watched your tattoo dance in the moonlight, a twin to his own, "I knew I'd find you."
Azriel pulled you in close, he cradled your head against his chest and held you tighter as the weight of the last fifty years crushed you, "My wings," you cried and Azriel's wings pinned themselves backward, dipping themselves from sight, "She took them. How can you love me? How can you see me as anything other than weak?"
Lifting your head to meet his, Azriel's finger trailed the line of your jaw, "You are not weak, my love. Weakness would weep at the mere thought of being associated with you, for they will never get to know what it's like to have courage in the most awful of odds. It would never get to know you, because it is not a part of you and it never will be. I love you, y/n. I have always loved you and always will. I would love you in any form, in any life, in any universe. You are mine. You are my everything. You are the strongest thing I have ever encountered and the most beautiful thing to walk the heavens."
"You would not save your entire court, your family, and your husband, and go through everything you have been through, and lost what you have lost, if you weren't the strongest creature on this planet," Azriel's lips curled downward, uneven breaths fell from his lips, "I forgot the sound of your voice."
In the worst moments of your torture, all you thought of was Azriel and this moment, the moment where it would have all been worth it just to see him healthy and alive, "I forgot yours too."
Azriel sighed, he pressed his forehead against yours and took a moment to just inhale you, to let the ocean breeze pour into his soul and bring him back to life, "Can I hold you?"
Nodding softly, you felt Azriel pull away, he peeled that dress from your body and pulled one of his jumpers over your head. He led you gently over to the bed, placing you down on the side of the mattress which had forgotten the shape of you and pulled you into him.
"I'm sorry for what this has done to you."
It hadn't escaped your eye at all, the curls of onyx under his eyes, the droop of his wings, the worry that clung to him and haunted his every step. It may have been awful Under The Mountain, but you'd never want to be the one waiting for their love to come home. It would destroy you.
Azriel didn't say anything as his fingers raked over your scalp, loosening all the tension in your mind. The scent of cedar and night-kissed mountains flooded you and you nestled into that spot on his chest, reaching behind you to pull his wing over your side and smiling softly at the feeling of it. To have wings.
"I'm home," Azriel just held onto you tighter, moulding your body to the curves of his own, pressing kisses into your hairline and running his fingers through your hair.
Then your breathing fell soft, your eyes had drifted closed, and you looked peaceful, a soft smile lingered on your lips.
Azriel slept better than he ever had that night, knowing that you were back, that you had come home to him, and knowing that no matter where you walked, Azriel would always follow.
Author's Note
I love himmmmmmmm
#acotar fanfiction#acotar imagine#acotar#maasverse#fanfiction#imagine#azriel x reader#rhysand#azriel x you#cassian#azriel x y/n#azriel fanfic#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel spymaster#azriel acotar#azriel angst#azriel fluff#acotar azriel#azriel fic#shadowsinger x reader#rhys sister#rhys acotar#acotar x reader#acotar x y/n#acotar x you#acotar oneshot
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Shadows and Starlight
Part 2
Azriel x Fem!Reader
Summary: It's Starfall and with Starfall come some unpleasant memories. But your excitement to finally see Azriel again wins you over. Catching up with your family, you find that the evening is approaching fast. What happens when Azriel returns and you finally see each other again?
Chapter 01 // Chapter 03
Word Count: 8.8K Well, this is a lengthy one.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, Trauma, Flashbacks of Torture, Mentions of SA, A lot of Family bonding, Angst, Teeth rotting Fluff, and Sexual content. I have not proofread this yet, since I wanted to get this up as quickly as possible.
A/N: Oh my god, GUYS!!! I am overwhelmed by the positivity and love you showered the first chapter with! You have honestly no idea how happy this makes me. I'm so glad people seem to enjoy it and I truly hope that this part will do the first one justice. Feel free to comment and share your thoughts. Feedback is always appreciated! Also, come chat with me in my inbox!
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As you wake up on Starfall morning, a sense of weariness washes over you, the remnants of a night spent tossing and turning, haunted by dreams of the past and the phantom pains that still linger in your scars. Despite the soft caress of your satin nightgown against your skin, every movement sends a twinge of discomfort coursing through your body, a reminder of the battles you've fought.
Tracing your fingertips over the pale, jagged carvings that mar your stomach, you're transported back to the horrors of Amarantha's trap, the allure of her twisted game pulling you deeper into her web with each passing moment. Rhys had begged you to stay home, his instincts warning him that something wasn't right about this meeting, this gathering, but something inside you knew that you couldn't sit idly by while he faced danger alone. And so you insisted on accompanying him, despite the protests and the danger it posed to you both. There were moments of doubt, fleeting glimpses of regret that whispered in the recesses of your mind.
Especially in the darkness of those colder, harsher nights. Nights when even the simple act of opening your eyes felt like an insurmountable task, weighed down not just by the heavy iron chains that bound you to the ground, but by the imposing weight of impending death that hung heavy on your shoulders.
Turning onto your side, you wince as you feel the numerous scars on your back, traces of the lashings you sustained at Amarantha's hands. She was cruel in her efforts to use you as a tool to hurt Rhys further, inflicting pain upon pain in her relentless quest for power. But despite the physical scars that mar your skin, it's the emotional scars that run the deepest, the memories of your shared trauma with Rhys threatening to pull you back into the depths of despair.
Your wounds festered, infected by the cruel hands of Amarantha, who took perverse pleasure in keeping them open and inflicting new ones upon you, layering pain upon pain with each lash of her whip. Faebane slowed your healing, leaving you vulnerable to the biting cold that seeped into your bruised body, each breath a struggle against the suffocating grip of agony. On one such night, Amarantha's rage burned brighter than usual, her fury directed solely at you. Bound naked to her bedpost, your emaciated form contorted in unnatural ways, the strain and angle of your bindings causing one shoulder to scream in protest. She carved vile curses into the soft flesh of your stomach, taunting you with each cruel stroke of her blade.
And then Rhys entered, his horror evident in the fleeting glimpse you caught of his face before the mask of stoicism fell back into place. But his appearance ignited something within Amarantha, sparking a twisted idea that would haunt you for years to come. Forced to watch as Rhys administered the next lashes, forced to endure the searing pain as he used his Deamanti powers on you, you felt a sliver of relief amidst the agony as his apologies echoed in your mind, his powers soothing the raw edges of your suffering. He tried numbing your pain, taking away the searing heat that your wounds imposed. But Amarantha wasn't satisfied with just inflicting physical pain – she wanted to break you completely, to strip away every last shred of dignity and humanity. And so she made you watch as she rode Rhys, fucking him without hesitation, with favor, your body still bound to the bedpost, blood dripping down your exposed skin, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. She got off on it, the hot tears running down your face, leaving streaks in the dried blood on your face. Even in your state then, your eyes beheld a promise of death. But never had you felt this helpless, having to watch as Amarantha used Rhys as her personal sex-slave. Rhys was your family, your High Lord! And all you could do was watch.
It was a night of unspeakable horror, one of the darkest moments of your life. And yet, amidst the despair, there was a glimmer of hope – She was this mad because of Feyre, because she wanted to break the curse. As you lay there, on the floor of your cell, embracing the cold arms of death, Rhys hurriedly came barging in. He knelt beside you on the cold stone floor, tears streaming down his face as he cradled your head in his hands, offering what little comfort he could in the face of such unimaginable pain.
"Gods, what have I done?" Rhys whispered, his voice choked with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted any of this." His words were like a knife to your heart, each apology cutting deeper than the last as you struggled to cling to consciousness. "Rhys," you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." But he shook his head, his tears falling freely now as he pressed his forehead against yours. "I should have protected you. I should have never let this happen to you."
You reached up, weakly grasping his hand as you tried to offer him what little comfort you could. "It's not your fault," you repeated, your voice growing fainter with each passing moment. "I love you, Rhys. Please... don't blame yourself."
But Rhys's anguish only seemed to deepen at your words, his sobs wracking his body as he pleaded with you to hold on, to fight against the darkness that threatened to consume you both. "Please," he begged, his voice raw with emotion as he called your name. "Don't leave me. I can't bear to lose you. Please, stay with me." And as you felt the cold embrace of death drawing ever closer, you clung to his hand, drawing strength from the love and warmth that radiated from him. "I'll try," you rasped, your voice barely audible now. "I'll try, Rhys. I promise."
And with those final words, you drifted into darkness, leaving Rhys alone with his grief and his guilt, his tears mingling with yours as he prayed to the Mother for a miracle, for a chance to make things right.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, you try to calm your mind, to push aside the memories that threaten to overwhelm you. Today is supposed to be a day of celebration, a time to put aside the pain of the past and focus on the joy of the present.
As someone knocks at the bedroom door, you groan, burying your face in the pillow, exhausted and emotionally drained from the tumultuous memories that still linger in your mind. Calling out for the person to enter, you brace yourself for the intrusion, the weight of the world pressing down upon your shoulders. To your surprise, it's Rhys who enters, his presence like a balm to your weary soul. As if sensing the chaos within you, he seems equally stressed by the preparations for the day, Nyx cradled in his arms. Your eyes soften when they land on the toddler, his small wings flapping excitedly as he spots you, extending his arms out in a silent plea to be held. Rhys sits down beside you on the bed, a gentle look on his face as he takes in your tired form. Nyx immediately pounces on you, his laughter filling the room with infectious joy. Despite your exhaustion, you can't help but smile at the sight of the young boy, his innocence a welcome distraction from the weight of the world.
"Hey there, little one," you murmur, scooping Nyx into your arms and showering him with kisses. He giggles in delight, his tiny hands reaching out to touch your face with a sense of wonder. Rhys watches the exchange with a soft smile, his violet eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I thought Nyx might help cheer you up," he says gently, his voice laced with concern. "It's been a rough morning, hasn't it?" You nod, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions that have been swirling inside you since you woke up. But as you hold Nyx close, his laughter echoing in your ears, you feel a sense of peace settle over you, if only for a fleeting moment. Rhys leans closer, his hand finding yours on the bed, offering silent support. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, concern etched in his eyes.
You manage a weak smile, squeezing his hand in return. "I'm... trying to be," you admit, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "It's just... a lot, you know?" He nods understandingly, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of your hand. "I know," he murmurs, his gaze softening. "But we'll get through this, together. I promise." The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, a silent reminder of the bond that binds you both, even in the darkest of times. "Thank you, Rhys," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."
He smiles, a gentle expression that lights up his features. "Anytime," he says softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "We're in this together, remember? No matter what."
As you settle into a more comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifts to lighter topics, a welcome distraction from the weight of the morning's emotions. "So," Rhys begins, his tone lighter now, "did you hear about Cassian's little mishap with the ladder this morning?" You raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing in your eyes. "Oh? Do tell," you urge, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. Rhys chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, apparently he thought he could single-handedly take on the task of putting up the decorations," he explains, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "But Feyre and Elain had other ideas."
You laugh at the mental image of Cassian attempting to navigate a ladder while Feyre and Elain guided him from below, their laughter echoing through the halls of the House of Wind. "And then," Rhys continues, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "just as he was reaching for the top, the ladder slipped out from under him, and down he went!" You can't help but giggle at the thought of Cassian tumbling to the ground, his pride wounded but otherwise unharmed. "Poor Cass," you tease, shaking your head in mock sympathy. "I hope he's okay." The Highlord says, his smile widening. "Oh, he's fine," he assures you. "Just a bruised ego, I think."
Before you can respond, Nyx interrupts with a babble of his own, his tiny hands reaching out to grab at Rhys's hair. You laugh, gently untangling Nyx's fingers from Rhys's locks as you listen to the toddler's excited chatter. Rhys grins, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks down at his son. "I spoke to Azriel yesterday," he says casually, shifting the conversation back to more serious matters. "He should be back today, just in time for Starfall."
You feel a surge of anticipation at the mention of Azriel's return, your heart skipping a beat at the thought of seeing him again after his absence. "That's great news," you reply, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I'm sure he'll be relieved to be home." He nods, a knowing glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sure he will be," he says cryptically, a teasing smile playing at his lips. "After all, there are certain people who have been eagerly awaiting his return."
You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a smile at Rhys's playful teasing. "You're incorrigible," you tease, giving him a playful shove. "But I'm glad Azriel's coming back. It's not the same without him." The conversation ebbs into comfortable silence as you play with the toddler sat on your lap. When you notice Rhys’s eyes glaze over, the violet of his eyes dulling just slightly, you look at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Is our Highlord required somewhere?” You ask with a small smile on your lips. “Yes, I fear duty calls.”
As Rhys leaves with Nyx in tow, a sense of tranquility settles over you, the bustling energy of the morning quieting to a gentle hum. With a sigh of relief, you make your way to the bath, the promise of warm water and solitude beckoning to you like a beacon in the storm.
Sinking into the soothing embrace of the bath, the warmth seeping into your tired muscles and easing the knots of tension that had been building within you. With each passing moment, the cares of the world seem to slip away, replaced by a sense of peace and calm that settles deep within your soul. With each passing moment, you feel yourself growing lighter, the weight of the morning's emotions gradually fading into the background as you focus on the simple pleasure of being present in this moment. Only when the skin on your hands starts to wrinkle, do you decide to leave the comfort of your bath.
After drying off, you quickly set about getting ready for the day ahead. With practiced ease, you slip into your clothes, the fabric smooth against your skin as you dress. You run a brush through your hair, smoothing out any tangles and pulling it back into a simple yet elegant style. With one last glance in the mirror, you nod in satisfaction, a sense of determination settling over you. Today is a new day. Starfall to be exact. You would not let the past control the present.
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As you make your way downstairs, noon is just beginning to unfold, the soft light of the early sun filtering through the windows of the House of Wind. The air is filled with the gentle hum of activity as preparations for the evening's festivities are underway. You take a moment to admire the decorations that Cassian had so painstakingly put up, a fond smile playing at the corners of your lips as you remember his earlier mishap with the ladder. Despite the chaos of it all, there's a sense of excitement building in the air, a unmistakable energy that sets your heart racing with anticipation.
Making your way to where Feyre and Elain were sitting in the kitchen, you exchange greetings with them, falling into easy conversation. The smell of freshly brewed tea fills the air, and you can't help but relax as you sink into a chair at the table. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" Feyre asks, pouring a cup of tea for each of you.
Elain smiles softly, her doe-eyes lighting up with excitement. "I was thinking of spending some time in the gardens," she says. "I've been working on a few new plantings, and I'd love to show them to you." You nod eagerly, honestly intrigued by Elain's passion for gardening. "I'd love to see them," you reply, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips.
Whilst you sip your tea, the conversation turns to lighter topics, and you find yourself laughing and joking with Feyre and Elain. It's moments like these that remind you of why you cherish your time with them. Suddenly, Elain's voice breaks through your thoughts, her tone soft and earnest. "I'm so glad Azriel is returning today," she says, her eyes shining with sincerity. "I've missed him." A pang of jealousy and irritation shoots through you at her words, catching you off guard. You quickly brush it off as simple irritation, unwilling to acknowledge the twinge of envy that lingers in the depths of your chest. Elain, oblivious to your internal turmoil, continues to speak, her words pulling you back into the conversation. "And I've missed you too," she adds, her voice filled with warmth and affection.
You nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I missed you too." But inside, you can't help but feel a twinge of envy at the thought of Elain's closeness with Azriel. Before the awkwardness can settle in, however, Elain changes the subject, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she again talks about the new plants she's planted in the gardens of the Riverhouse.
"That reminds me," you say suddenly, a spark of delight igniting within you. Your eyes sparkle as you remember the gift you brought back for Elain, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a small packet of seeds. "I found these at a market stall on the continent and thought of you. They're seeds for a flower called... um...“ you stumble over the name for a moment before recalling it. "They're seeds for a flower called Moonlight Blossoms. I thought they might be a nice addition to your garden."
Elain's eyes widen with delight as she takes the seeds from you, her expression one of pure joy. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaims, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I can't wait to plant these in the garden. They're going to be beautiful."
After spending a pleasant morning and noon catching up with Feyre and Elain, you accompany Elain to the garden to see her new plants. The garden is a riot of color and fragrance, and you spend a blissful hour wandering among the flowers and chatting with her about her latest botanical discoveries. As you bid Elain farewell and make your way back inside, you realize that the day has flown by in a rush of activity. You quickly run a few last-minute errands for Starfall, picking up some supplies and making sure everything is in order for the evening's festivities.
Time seems to slip through your fingers like grains of sand as you hurry through the bustling streets of Velaris, the excitement of the day building with each passing moment. Before you know it, the sun is beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city as evening approaches.
With a sense of urgency, you hurry back to the House of Wind, eager to get ready for the evening ahead. Mor had promised to get ready together, and you don't want to keep her waiting. As you enter your room, the blond is already there, surrounded by an array of dresses and accessories strewn across the bed. She looks up as you enter, a bright smile lighting up her face.
"Hey there, gorgeous!" she greets you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Are you ready to get glam for Starfall?" You return her smile, feeling a rush of anticipation at the thought of the evening ahead. "Absolutely," you reply, crossing the room to join her. "I can't wait to see what you've picked out." Mor gestures to the dresses laid out on the bed. "I've narrowed it down to a few options," she says, a mischievous grin playing at her lips. "But I think I already know which one I'm going to choose." You chuckle, knowing that Mor always has a flair for dramatics when it comes to dressing up. "Well, let's see them then," you tease, eager to get started.
Together, you sift through the dresses, examining each one carefully and discussing their merits and drawbacks. There are dresses of every color and style, from sleek and elegant to bold and daring. Finally, Mor settles on a stunning gown in deep maroon red, its flowing skirts and intricate beading catching the light as she holds it up.
"This is the one," she declares, a satisfied smile gracing her features. "What do you think?" You nod in agreement, admiring the dress's beauty. "It's perfect," you reply. "You're going to look absolutely stunning." Mor beams at your praise, clearly pleased with her selection. "Thanks, love," she says, reaching out to give you a quick hug. "Now, let's get you sorted out. I have a feeling you're going to steal the show tonight."
As you slip into the dress that you had bought the day before, a soft sigh escapes your lips, the sensation of the fabric against your skin sending a shiver of delight down your spine. The deep midnight blue hue wraps around you like a lover's embrace, casting an delicate glow that seems to illuminate the room. The neckline plunges low, offering a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. With each movement, the dress seems to come alive. Mor's eyes widen in admiration as she takes in your appearance. "Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with genuine awe. "You look absolutely stunning."
A soft smile graces your lips as you meet her gaze "Thank you, Mor," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't have found this without your help." She beams at your words, her pride evident in the curve of her lips. "It was my pleasure," she replies, her tone warm and sincere. "But really, the dress suits you perfectly. I almost forgot how it looked on you overnight."
Shortly after she also put on her dress, Mor expertly braids your hair, her nimble fingers weaving intricate patterns, you can't help but admire her skill. With each twist and turn, your hair transforms into a work of art, cascading down your back in elegant waves. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation of her touch, the gentle tugs and pulls lulling you into a state of relaxation. "Your hair is like silk," Mor remarks, her voice filled with admiration. "It's going to look stunning tonight." Once your hair is styled to perfection, Mor moves on to makeup, applying each layer with precision. The dark, alluring makeup enhances your features, accentuating your eyes and highlighting your cheekbones.
Whilst the blond puts the finishing touches on your makeup, you take a moment to admire your reflection. The sultry gaze staring back at you sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, the promise of the evening ahead hanging in the air. "Ready to turn heads?" Mor asks, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Absolutely," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Let's make tonight unforgettable."
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As you and Mor descend the grand staircase, the sounds of laughter and music fill the air, signaling the start of the evening's festivities. The House of Wind is alive with energy, the vibrant atmosphere drawing you in as you make your way through the bustling crowd. Mor heads straight for the wine table, her graceful movements drawing the attention of those around her. She expertly pours two glasses, handing one to you with a knowing smile. "To a night to remember," she says, raising her glass in a toast. You clink your glass against hers, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "To a night to remember," you echo, taking a sip of the rich, velvety wine.
While mingling with the other guests, you can't help but notice the admiring glances and whispered compliments that follow you wherever you go. Cassian whistles at your appearance, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he offers a playful wink. Even Amren, usually reserved and stoic, can't help but be impressed. "Not bad, girl" she remarks in her typical deadpan tone, her lips quirking up in a rare smile. "You look good." While chatting with Cassian, his easy grin and infectious laughter filling the air, you can't help but feel at ease in his presence. He regales you with stories of past Starfall celebrations, each one more outrageous than the last, and you find yourself laughing along with him, caught up in the magic of the moment and the memories.
Amren stands beside him, her sharp gaze surveying the crowd with a mix of curiosity and amusement. She interjects with the occasional dry comment or witty observation, adding her own unique perspective to the conversation. Cassian nudges you playfully, a naughty glint in his eyes. "So, have you seen Az around yet?" he asks, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
You roll your eyes at his question, knowing full well where he's going with this. "Not yet," you reply with a smirk. "But I'm sure he'll make quite the entrance when he does," you add, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Cassian chuckles, his grin widening as he leans in conspiratorially. "You know, I heard he's been practicing his dramatic entrances," he whispers, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Amren, who had been silently observing the exchange, scoffs in amusement. "Practicing? Please, Azriel was born with dramatic flair," she interjects, her voice dry as ever. You can't help but laugh at Amren's remark, nodding in agreement. "True," you concede, unable to deny the truth in her words. Cassian's grin widens, mischief dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer. "You know, Y/N, if you keep talking about Az like this, people might start to think you have a crush on him," he teases, his tone light but teasing. Mor joins in on the teasing, a playful smirk on her lips. "Oh, come on, Cass," she chimes in, "we all know Y/N's got it bad for Az. I mean, who wouldn't? He's mysterious, brooding, and let's not forget those dreamy eyes."
You roll your eyes at their teasing, but heat creeps up your neck nonetheless. "You two are insufferable," you mutter, trying to play it off coolly despite the warmth you can feel in your chest.
They share a knowing look, their grins widening. "Oh, don't be shy, Y/N," Cassian says with a wink, "we all see the way you light up whenever Az is around."
You sigh in mock exasperation, knowing there's no escaping this. "Fine, you caught me," you admit with a chuckle, "but can we please focus on something other than my nonexistent love life for once?" Mor and Cassian exchange a glance before bursting into laughter.
With an exaggerated sigh, you down the rest of your wine in one swift motion, the cool liquid soothing the annoyance bubbling within you. Setting the empty glass down, you grab another from the nearby tray, filling it to the brim with wine. Cassian and Mor exchange amused glances as they watch your reaction, but you pay them no mind, determined to drown out their taunting with copious amounts of alcohol.
As the night wears on, the rhythm of the music pulls you onto the dance floor, the enchanting melodies winding their way through the air and into your soul. Lost in the music, you move with grace and elegance, allowing the melodies to guide your every step. The lights overhead cast a warm glow on the dance floor, illuminating the faces of those around you as they sway to the music. Couples twirl and spin, lost in their own worlds of love and passion, while laughter and joy fill the air. You watch as Nesta and Cassian sweep over the dancefloor together, having the crowd watch in awe.
With each passing moment, your gaze darts from one corner of the room to the next, hoping to catch sight of him. Your heart beats faster with every shadow that moves, every figure that passes by, as you search for the one person who has occupied your thoughts all evening.
Dancing with an attractive Fae male, his presence envelops you, his hand warm against the small of your back as you sway to the soft, slow tunes. Despite your initial reluctance when he asked you to dance with him, you find yourself enjoying his company, lost in the rhythm of the music and the warmth of his gaze. His blond hair were neatly combed, his bright green eyes gentle and kind as they take in your facial features.
But as his hand begins to wander over your scarred skin, trailing dangerously close to where the fabric of your dress starts again, a shiver runs down your spine. The heat of his touch sends a jolt through you, igniting a familiar sensation. Just as you feel yourself becoming lost in the moment, a sudden shift in the air catches your attention. Without even turning around, you know he's here. As the music continues to play, you can sense him drawing closer, his presence casting a spell over you that leaves you spellbound and breathless. Just as you're about to step away, you sense a familiar presence behind you. The scent of cedar fills your senses, and you turn to find Azriel standing there, his tall frame looming over you.
Before you can even process his presence, he reaches out, gently touching your arm. "May I cut in?" he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. You meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. "Of course," you reply, unable to tear your eyes away from him. As the Fae male steps back, Azriel takes his place, his hand finding yours as he pulls you close. The music shifts to a slower, more intimate melody, and you find yourself swept up in the moment. "It's been too long," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the music. Azriel's gaze softens, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. "I've missed you," he admits, his voice low and filled with emotion. A surge of warmth washes over you at his words, and you find yourself drawn closer to him. "I've missed you too," you confess, your heart racing in your chest. As you continue to dance, the tension between you and Azriel is palpable, crackling in the air like electricity. His hand lingers on your waist, his touch sending shivers down your spine.
"I can't believe you're finally back," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "I can't believe it either," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It feels like it's been an eternity." Azriel's eyes soften, a hint of sadness flickering in their depths. "I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you returned," he says, his voice filled with regret. "I wanted to be the first one to welcome you home."
You reach up, gently touching his cheek. "It's okay," you assure him, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I know you had your duties to attend to." A faint smile plays at the corners of Azriel's lips then, and he leans into your touch. How he had missed it to feel your gentle reassuring touch. "Still, I wish I could have been here for you," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. As the song comes to an end, you stare at each other. Reluctantly, Azriel releases your hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer before he takes a step back. The music fades into the background, drowned out by the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, lost in each other's gaze, the world around you fading away until there's nothing left but the space between you. Then, with a soft smile, Azriel breaks the silence. "Would you like to take a walk?" he asks, his voice gentle and inviting.
You nod, a warm feeling spreading through you at the prospect of spending more time with him. "I'd like that," you reply, returning his smile. Together, you slip away from the dance floor, the night air cool against your skin as you step out onto the balcony. The city sprawls out before you, its lights twinkling in the darkness like a sea of stars.
Feeling his gaze upon you, you can't help but shift slightly under his scrutiny, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you realize just how closely he's examining you. You bite your lip nervously, suddenly hyper-aware of every curve and contour of your body that's on display in the dress. As Azriel's eyes linger on your figure, you can't help but notice the way his gaze seems to heat up, his breath catching in his throat. A thrill shoots through you at the intensity of his stare, igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach.
For a moment, neither of you says anything, the air between you charged with unspoken desire. Then, with a slight cough to clear his throat, Azriel tears his gaze away from you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "I didn't mean to stare." You shake your head, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "It's okay," you reply softly. "I... I don't mind."
You reach out tentatively, your hand finding his arm in a comforting gesture. "Azriel," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I've been wanting to tell you." He turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" he asks, concern lacing his every word. You take a deep breath, summoning all your courage. “I-“ Before you can finish your sentence, the door to the balcony swings open, and Feyre steps out, her eyes widening in surprise when she sees the two of you standing there together.
"Oh, sorry," she stammers, quickly averting her gaze. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Azriel clears his throat, stepping back slightly to give Feyre some space. "It's alright," he says, his voice a little strained. "We were just... talking." she nods, though there's a knowing glint in her eyes as she looks between the two of you. "Right, well, I'll leave you two to it then," she says, retreating back inside. You and Azriel exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between you. It seems that fate has other plans for your conversation, at least for now.
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When Azriel winnowed into Rhys's study earlier that day, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his brother sitting behind the desk, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Rhys's gaze meets his, and Azriel's eyes widen as the scent of you fills his senses, sending a jolt of anticipation coursing through him. It wasn’t dull and faded, not like the pillows in your bedroom. No, you had to have been in this room today. Rhys raises an eyebrow at his brother’s dumbfounded face, his smirk growing more pronounced. "Took you long enough to notice," he says, amusement lacing his tone.
Azriel's lips twitch into a half-smile as he strides further into the room, his movements fluid and graceful. "I was preoccupied," he replies, his voice gruff. "But I'm here now." Rhys chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "I can see that," he says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, how was your mission?" Azriel takes a moment to compose himself, his mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with your scent. "Successful," he replies, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. His resolve snapped. "But I'll fill you in on the details later. Right now, I have other matters to attend to."
Rhys arches an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Of course," he says, his tone teasing. "Wouldn't want to keep her waiting, would you?" Azriel's cheeks flush slightly at his brother's teasing remark, but he maintains his composure. "No," he says, his voice tinged with determination. "I wouldn't."
As Azriel takes flight for the House of Wind, his mind races with a whirlwind of emotions. Excitement courses through his veins, an unexpected thrill at the thought of seeing you again after nine long months apart. He hadn't dared to hope that you would be back, hadn't allowed himself to entertain the possibility of your return. And yet, here you were, your presence filling him with a sense of longing he just started to realize he'd been harboring.
The memory of your scent lingers in his mind, haunting him with its intoxicating sweetness. It's a scent he knows all too well, one that has the power to drive him to madness with desire. Even now, as he flies through the night sky, he can't shake the memory of you, the way your scent wraps around him like a warm embrace. Only yesterday had he thought about that exact smell while fucking his hand wishing it was yours instead.
Cursing himself for his wayward thoughts, Azriel frowns, attempting to push aside the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to consume him.
As Azriel lands gracefully on the balcony of the House of Wind, he braces himself for their reunion. He had just made his way here in record time, flying like his life depended on it. His heart pounds in his chest, the anticipation of seeing you again after so long almost too much to bear. With each step he takes, his eyes scan the crowded room, searching for your familiar form amidst the mass of guests.
And then he sees you.
His breath catches in his throat as he takes you in, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. You’re wearing a dress, and it clings to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour of your body. His gaze lingers on the scars that trail across your back, a witness to the battles you had fought and the strength you possess. But it's not just your appearance that captivates him. It's the way you move, the grace and confidence with which you carry yourself, as if you own the very air around you. And you do, completely oblivious to the hungry and captivated stares you gain, turning heads everywhere you appear. Then his attention finally shifts to the Fae dancing with you, his hand lingering dangerously close to your exposed skin, and a surge of possessiveness courses through him. You’re wearing his colors, he realizes with a jolt, a flicker of irritation igniting within him at the thought of someone else daring to touch what belongs to him. A growl rumbles in Azriel's chest, low and threatening, as the surge of jealousy within him reaches a fever pitch. He takes a step forward, hazel eyes blazing with anger, his wings flaring out instinctively behind him.
But before he can make his move, Mor appears at his side, a knowing smirk on her lips as she nudges him playfully. "Easy there, big guy," she says, her voice low and playful. "No need to start a brawl on Starfall."
Azriel grits his teeth, torn between his desire to protect what's his and the knowledge that Mor is right. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to reign in his emotions. While Azriel briefly exchanges pleasantries with Mor, his mind is consumed by thoughts of you. He can hardly focus on their conversation, his attention drawn inexorably back to where you stand across the room. He can feel his Illyrian instincts surging to the forefront, urging him to claim what's rightfully his. Shadowy tendrils dance around him frantically, pushing, pulling, as if they too wanted him to whisk you away from the other male’s embrace.
Finally having had enough, he excuses himself from Mor's company. Azriel prowls across the room with purposeful strides. His presence alone is enough to send a ripple of unease through the crowd, his menacing aura palpable as he approaches. When he reaches your side, the Fae male dancing with you seems to shrink back in fear, intimidated by the intensity of Azriel's gaze. But Azriel pays him no mind, his attention wholly consumed by you.
His shadows whispering words of possession and desire in his ears, chanting “Beautiful, beautiful” over and over. ”Ours, ours” Azriel can hardly contain the primal urges that surge within him. All he can think about is claiming you, marking you as his own for all the world to see. And as he draws closer, the air crackling with anticipation, he knows that he won't be satisfied until you’re in his arms, where you belong. He just wants to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck. Suppressing a groan, he twirls you around, his hands easily finding their way onto your hips, softly squeezing them while leading the dance.
When the song came to an end, he felt like he was stood in the summer courts afternoon sun again. He needed some fresh air, some more quietness, and he selfishly wanted to be the sole bearer of your company.
By the Cauldron, as you made your way onto the balcony, him trailing behind you a few steps, he silently swore under his breath. Suddenly he was questioning his decision to be alone with you. Again, he asked himself why. Why have the last nine months been such a torture? Why did it feel like there was no oxygen left in his lungs when you and Mor had winnowed away and departed for your mission? And only now could he breathe again, truly breathe. And with every inhale, the scent of sweet lilies and freshly fallen rain assaulted his senses, clawing into the very essence of his being.
Only as you shifted on your feet slightly did he notice that he was straight up staring at you. Shit. As a soft blush made its way onto your cheeks then, he wanted to melt. Did you like the way he looked at you? Had the past nine months felt as maddening for you as they had felt for him? Questions upon questions infiltrated his mind as you looked upon Velaris together. And when you spoke again, wanting, no, needing to tell him something, he felt his stomach drop. Had you found someone on the continent?
When Feyre interrupted you mid-sentence solely by appearing, he didn’t know if he should curse or thank her for the disturbance. But the way your brows furrowed and how the light in your eyes ebbed out a little bit, made him feel a pang in his chest.
He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension that had settled between you. And as Feyre excused herself again, he spoke up. "What were you saying?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He needed to know, needed to hear your words, even if they shattered his heart into a million pieces. You hesitated for a moment, the words caught in your throat as you searched for an excuse, anything to deflect from the truth. "It's nothing," you replied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just... something I've been thinking about lately. But it's not important." A lie.
He studied your expression, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a small smile of his own. "Alright," he murmured, though he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to your words than you were letting on. Turning back to Azriel, you couldn't help but notice the way the moonlight danced across his features, casting a soft glow around him that made your heart flutter again.
"You know," he began, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "I never expected to find you here tonight. It's... a pleasant surprise."
You chuckled softly, the sound carrying on the gentle breeze. "Well, it's not every day that we get to celebrate Starfall together," you replied, a hint of warmth in your voice. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." There was hidden meaning in your words that he didn’t fail to miss.
His eyes softened at your words, a silent understanding passing between you. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. "It wouldn't be the same without you."
Wearing a tender smile, Azriel reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. "You look beautiful tonight," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. A soft blush crept onto your cheeks at his compliment, and you couldn't help but return his smile. "Thank you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity. "You don't look too bad yourself."
He chuckled softly, the sound like music to your ears. "High praise coming from you," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. You laughed, a light and carefree sound that echoed in the night air. "Well, I do have good taste," you quipped, nudging him playfully.
With trembling hands, you reached out to touch him, your fingers grazing lightly against his cheek as you traced the contours of his face. His eyes fluttered closed at your touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned into your caress. Every nerve in his body seemed to come alive at your gentle caress, his senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. With a shaky breath, he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze with a depth of emotion that words could not express. In that moment, he felt as though he could drown in the ocean of your eyes.
With a tender yet sure touch, Azriel pulled you into his embrace, his arms enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety. The scent of cedar and winter air surrounded you, his presence filling every corner of your senses. Azriel can't help himself, his urge to feel you pressed against him. He had missed you too much, and the way you just looked at him had him questioning why the hell he waited so long to do this. His hazel eyes glint as he lets them roam over your face, examining the gentle curve of your full lips, dipping down to follow the line of revealed skin, ending where your breasts are pressed firmly to his chest. The intensity of his stare sends shivers down your spine, your skin tingling with a delicious combination of desire and longing.
With each passing moment, the space between you seems to shrink, until there is barely a breath of air separating your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from him, warming you from the inside out. His eyes, darkened with lust, hold you captive, their intensity rendering you speechless. You can't help but shiver under his gaze, your entire being yearning for the touch of his lips against yours.
As he leans in closer, his brows furrowed in concentration, you can't help but tremble under his touch. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a subconscious gesture. You feel the gentle pressure of his body against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin as he presses you back against the railing. Unable to contain the rush of emotions coursing through you, a soft whimper escapes your lips. "Azriel." His name leaves you sounding more like a soft whine than anything else. He inhales sharply, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as he savors the way his name rolls off your tongue. "say it again." he pleads, his voice husky with longing, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "Azriel..." You breathe out again. A sinful moan escapes his lips at the sound of his name spoken by you, his head bowing forward as he presses his forehead against yours. Your hands claw at his chest, fisting his shirt.
“Can I kiss you?” Azriel’s voice sounds strained as he asks you. All you can manage is a whimpered “Please.” And that’s all he needs, as if your words just shattered his restraint, he surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. You melt into each other’s touch, lips slanted over another, one of Azriel’s marred hands comes up to cup one of your cheeks, tilting your head back slightly to deepen the kiss. You press into him more, gasping when you feel a muscled thigh lodged between your legs, the friction causing you to shake slightly. Azriel swipes his tongue over your bottom lip then, venturing further as you gasp, tasting you. Both of you, completely tangled into each other, breathe heavily when you part. Only then do you realize that the stars had begun their journey, thousands upon thousands of bright streaks flashing through the sky.
The sparkling light of the falling stars reflected in Azriel’s eyes, making them shine even brighter than they already were. You followed his gaze as you saw his orbs wander to look behind you. The night sky shone with glittering starlight, painting Velaris in a colorful bright hue. In complete and utter awe, you shift slightly, watching the stars make their way to whatever destination. “Breathtaking.” Azriel mumbles huskily and you can’t help but agree. When you turn to face him again, you realize that he was still looking at you. A soft blush makes its way onto your already flushed face.
Azriel was a warrior, the Night Court’s Spymaster and Shadowsinger, he had fought plenty of battles before, always coming out on top and alive. But as he stared at you then, his heart rapidly beating in his chest, he found himself on his knees for the first time, loosing his restraint, loosing his composure. Because when he looked at you then, face bathed in the soft lights of the falling stars, skin flushed and lips swollen, it snapped. And when it did, everything made sense.
His eyes were wide and filled with something you couldn’t quite place. As you feel his lips crashing against yours once more, any words you might have spoken are lost in the fervor of the moment. The intensity of the kiss leaves you breathless, your mind swirling with a heady mixture of desire and adoration.
When you finally break apart, your chests heaving with the effort of controlling your racing hearts, you find yourself lost in the depths of his wide, expressive eyes. There's something in his gaze that speaks volumes, something you can't quite put into words but can feel deep within your soul. "Your face is a work of art," you whisper, the alcohol lending a soft haze to your words. Excitement clouding your head, the compliment spills from your lips. Azriel's features, sharp and defined, seem to glow with an ethereal light in the dimness of the night. His hazel eyes, like pools of molten gold, capture your gaze, drawing you in.
"Yeah?" he hums in response, his hands finding their way to the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume every inch of your being. And when he inhales deeply, the scent of your Arousal hits him with full force and he snarls lowly. "Your legs should frame it then,"
Your breath hitches at his words, eyes widening at what he suggests. Speechless you try to regain your composure. Then, with a coy smile, you lean in closer to him, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Careful, Azriel. You're playing with fire." The teasing tone in your voice betrays the longing that simmers beneath the surface, aching to be unleashed.
As the flames of desire engulf you both, Azriel's lips part in a husky whisper, his voice dripping with primal need. "I don't mind getting burned," he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck. With a trembling hand, you reach up to cup his cheek, your touch gentle yet filled with an intensity that mirrors the blaze in his eyes. "Then let us burn together," you whisper.
In a raw display of desire, Azriel's demeanor shifts, his jaw clenched with a fierce determination as he gazes at you with narrowed eyes filled with unbridled hunger. Without a word, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, his hands roaming possessively over your body as he pulls you close. With a soft gasp, you wrap your legs around his hips, feeling the heat of his body against yours as you press closer together. The sensation of his hands wandering to your ass, squeezing firmly, sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through you.
In the blink of an eye, Azriel winnows you away. The world blurs around you, the sensation of movement disorienting yet thrilling. Before you can fully comprehend the transition, you find yourselves standing in the intimate sanctuary of his bedroom. Around you, the air is charged with anticipation, heavy with the promise of what is to come. Azriel's gaze meets yours, smoldering with desire as he sets you down gently on the bed, his hands still lingering on your hips. And as he looks at you then, looking deep into your eyes to search for any hesitation or regret on your part, you speak.
“Claim me.” Your voice is confident and soft. “I’m yours, Mate.”
With a primal growl, Azriel's restraint shatters, consumed by the raw, unbridled desire coursing through his veins. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, a fierce hunger driving his movements. In that moment, there is no holding back, no inhibitions—only the primal instinct to claim you as his own.
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I Can't believe it!! What do you guys think? Let's just say Part 3 will be very steamy. I truly hope you enjoyed reading this.
Tag-list:
@impossibelle @paleidiot @tele86 @namelesssaviour @sstrohma @that-one-little-soybean @mybestfriendmademe @durgenyx @shinyghosteclipse @katherinejess
#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#azriel fluff#azriel smut#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel spymaster#reader insert#imagine#rhysand#cassian#nesta archeron#feyre archeron#elain archeron
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The Crow's Poet - Azriel x Reader
The Crow’s Poet - Azriel x Reader
Summary: All of Azriel's attempts to get his mates attention are ignored and he realizes he was going to have to…resort to poetry, something he thought he’d never have to do.
Warnings: none
a/n: based on this request!
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“He’s hiding something,” you muttered.
The masks he wears slips when the doors close.
“He wears masks? How odd.”
You chewed on your thumb, contemplating why that would be important information.
He cries himself to sleep after he leaves the witch’s room.
“But he was a monster before we were even trapped down here,” you whispered, thinking about your High Lord and the times he had deigned to visit Hewn City.
He is a master of secrets.
“If you say so,” you scoffed under your breath. Apparently a master of wearing masks. Maybe it was his own way of mocking Tamlin.
“Y/n?” Yara, one of the other servants, called out as she opened the kitchen doors. “Who are you talking to?”
The second the door had swung open your two shadow crows had disappeared, leaving you alone in the corridor. Your cheeks turned red and you stood, rubbing the back of your neck.
“U-uh,” you stuttered. “Myself?”
She rolled her eyes before grabbing you by the sleeve and yanking you back inside the kitchen. “Do you have to be such a weirdo all the time?”
Embarrassment crawled through you at her words. But it wasn’t the first time you had been called weird, or strange, or off-putting. You were a freak in the eyes of many.
Your entire life had been spent in a tiny room in your father’s home in Hewn City, shackled to the wall. Because you had been sheltered during your childhood, you had never developed any social skills like the other daughters of Lords.
You didn’t grow up alongside your peers. The only thing you had in that room with you were the shadows. Shadows that began to take the form of crows.
At some point, they had started talking to you. And you had started talking back. But you were certain you had gone crazy—that you had lost your mind. So you kept it a secret to this day.
Your father hardly let you out anyways, claiming that he needed to keep you pure for when he would offer you up to some Lord for marriage once you were of age. But that day never came because Amarantha had shown up and trapped you all under this mountain.
You were only sixteen when it happened but almost forty years had passed since then. So you had been a prisoner your whole life, essentially. At least down here you had some freedoms to roam about.
Later that night, you found yourself growing more curious about your High Lord after what your shadows had told you. So you mustered up a cocoon of them and used them to slip through walls and doors until you found yourself in the corner of the High Lord’s chambers.
You hid in the shadows, waiting for his return. Mainly out of pure curiosity and boredom. There was only so many times you could play chess against your crows before you lost all interest in it.
The door swung open and the High Lord stalked in, muttering to himself as he did. He slammed the door shut behind him, making you jump a bit in the shadows. You watched as he undid his coat, tossing it onto the bed. His fingers found the buttons of his shirt and your face turned red.
You were ready to disappear in the shadows again, not wanting to watch him undress, when he paused suddenly and sniffed the air. You watched curiously as he twisted in place, examining each corner of his room.
But he couldn’t see you. Not while you were the shadows, right?
Wrong.
His hand was around your throat before you could blink and he yanked you right out of the shadows. You choked in surprise, your eyes widening to full circles. He snarled at you, darkness beginning to drip off every inch of him.
“Who the fuck are you?” Rhysand growled. “And what the fuck are you doing in my room?”
He loosened his grip on your throat enough for you to answer.
"N-No one. I'm no one," you squeaked out, grasping at his wrist with your hands.
Rhysand examined the shadows around you that began to form into the familiar crows. He raised an eyebrow. "A shadowsinger? But I thought...Interesting."
Shadowsinger? You had never heard of the term before.
"A shadow what?" you exclaimed. "I don't sing!"
Rhysand ignored your outburst, glaring at you. "Who sent you here to spy on me? Who are you working for?"
"No one," you gasped. "I'm not working f-for anyone. The shadows told me y-you, um, liked to wear masks and I thought that was a bit odd so I wanted to see for myself."
Rhysand looked at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. But his hand loosened a bit more so you kept talking, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "Speaking of, I-I, uh, don't see any masks in here. Where do y-you keep them?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"The masks?" you stammered. "Like I said...the shadows said you wear them and everything--"
"I don't—" Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He finally let you go and you slid down the wall, panting for air. 'What court are you from?"
"Yours," you answered, before your eyes widened again. "Oh Gods, am I supposed to bow to you? How does this work? I've never—"
"Stop. Just...stop," Rhys murmured. His face was stuck in thought. He stroked his jaw, staring down at you. "You're from the Court of Nightmares?"
You nodded in answer.
"Another shadowsinger in my court and I was unaware. Why haven't I learned of you until now?"
"I don't sing!" you squabled. "No one knows about my shadows...except you now, I guess."
A grin bloomed on Rhysand's face, one full of deadly intent as he studied your smaller form on the floor at his feet. "No one else knows about your shadows? Not even your family?”
You shook your head, staring up at him with wide eyes. You watched his eyes glaze over in deep thought before he chuckled to himself. That did truly alarm you and you rose cautiously.
“I think you and I are going to be good friends, little shadow. Very good friends."
And that was how you started working for Rhysand. The next ten years were spent with the High Lord, doing whatever he requested of you, which was usually spying on those under the mountain. The two of you developed an unlikely friendship with each other.
When Feyre came along and finally released you all, Rhys brought you home with him, offering you an official job in his court. Not wanting to return to your father, you were more than happy to accept.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Azriel had been relieved when his brother had finally returned to them after forty-nine years apart. Relieved and then intrigued as he spotted the small figure peeking out from behind Rhysand with her big doe eyes. Rhysand had brought a little pet home with him, apparently. A little shadow as he affectionately called her.
He was taken aback by her once she had finally stepped out from behind Rhys. She was the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He hardly noticed the crow perched on her shoulder, so taken by her beauty.
His shadows had danced along his shoulders at the sight of her and he didn’t quite know what to make of their behavior until Rhys finally introduced you to the family.
Another shadowsinger.
Someone just like him.
He couldn’t lie. A million emotions had rushed through him at that moment but the most prominent one was a sort of instant affinity towards you. His own shadows had swirled around your crows, like even they found comfort in knowing there was someone else in the world that was like them—like him.
Later that night, as he watched you ascend up the stairs to your new room, you glanced over your shoulder at everyone one last time. Your eyes met his and the air was knocked out of his lungs like someone had landed a heavy blow to his sternum.
The one thing he had been dreaming of, hoping for, came to life. The mating bond snapped into place, a long golden string tying you to him. But you hadn’t faltered a step, merely turned around and retired to your room.
The bond hadn’t snapped for you, but that wasn’t alarming. It usually took a while for the female to feel it. In his panic, Azriel had dropped his mental shields and practically screamed his thoughts to Rhys about what had just happened.
Rhys was already planning on having Azriel give you lessons on your magic. It only made sense. He was over five hundred years old with more knowledge about his shadows than you at the young age of sixty-five. So he began his plans to push the two of you together.
For Azriel, it was like hitting two birds with one stone. He would train you on how to use your shadows more effectively and in turn, would also be spending time around you. Which would lead you to realizing the bond between you and him and hopefully, hopefully, you would be just as overjoyed about it as he was.
Azriel wasn’t conceited by any means, especially considering the nasty state of his hands, but he had gotten quite used to females and males falling at his feet for his attention.
You, however, seemed entirely unmoved by his appearance. Every subtle hint he tried to drop was ignored or just not noticed by you. You didn’t notice him when he sat next to you at dinner, didn’t ogle him when he took off his shirt during training, didn’t admire his wings when he sunned them while you were outside in the gardens.
Everything he did to try to capture your attention failed.
You were making him feel flustered—he was not used to having to put so much effort into chasing after others. Normally he was the one being chased.
Leave it to the Mother to gift him with a mate who was so utterly unaffected by his presence. On one hand, he enjoyed it. You never seemed afraid of him, never looked at his hands with disgust or pity. But on the other hand, you never seemed to notice him the way he wanted you to.
The war came and went, leaving him to realize he was going to have to change tactics with you. He was going to have to court you. He was going to have to…resort to poetry—something he never thought he’d have to do.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You were reading a book in the River House’s main sitting room, waiting for dinner to start. It was another family dinner night and everyone who didn’t currently live at the River House would likely be coming sometime soon.
So when the door opened and closed, you didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t even turn around as you heard footsteps coming down the foyer to where you sat. Not until someone cleared their throat behind you.
You twisted around on the settee to see Azriel standing in the archway with a bundle of flowers in his hand. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he needed.
“Good evening, Y/n,” he said, his deep voice filling the space between you two.
A bit of anxiety began to climb up your throat, a common feeling whenever someone approached you. You still were not used to socializing with others, still hadn’t quite gotten used to even having people other than Rhysand want to talk to you.
“Hi,” you squeaked, closing your book shut a bit too hard. You winced at the noise.
He strided over to you, his wings tucked tight behind him like he was nervous. Even his shadows seemed to buzz around the air more frantically than normal.
“I brought these for you,” he said, holding out the flowers to you.
You blinked, looking between him and the flowers in confusion. What did he expect you to do with those?
You hesitantly reached out and took them from him, smiling awkwardly. The flowers were beautiful, the petals a soft silver, almost glowing like the moon.
“Oh, um, thank you?” You choked out the words, rising from the settee. You tucked your book against your chest like it would shield you from him.
He frowned a bit. “Do you…not like them?”
“N-no!” You stuttered. “No, I mean y-yes! Um, thank you. Again.”
“You're welcome,” he said with a tiny nod. Azriel’s lips twitched upwards, like you had just said something funny.
“I'm gonna go, um, do something with these.”
You brushed past Azriel before he could respond and scurried from the room, your heart pounding in your chest. The others still made you nervous but not quite like Azriel did. It was his presence alone that made your heart stutter in your chest.
“What the heck does he want me to do with these?” You hissed to your shadow crow who landed on your shoulder.
Perhaps he wants you to plant them in the garden with the other flowers.
You smacked your head with your book. “Oh my gods, duh! Why didn’t I think of that?”
You still had thirty minutes until dinner so you made your way outside to the gardens. You peered around, looking for an empty spot of dirt, which was hard because of all the work Elain had done out here.
You finally spotted one and set your book down on the metal wire table outside. When the weather was nice enough, sometimes Feyre and Rhysand would host dinners out here, at this table.
You scuttled over to the edge of the stone path and knelt on the ground. You began digging a small hole, unsure of how deep you were supposed to go.
You were so concentrated on your efforts that you failed to notice the people who began to come out from the back door.
You placed the stems of the flower in the hole, pushing some dirt around so they stood up straight.
“Y/n? What on earth are you doing?” Feyre exclaimed from behind you, causing you to jump in fright.
You looked over your shoulder to see nearly the entirety of the Inner Circle, all taking seats at the table behind you.
You stood up, wiping your dirty hands on your skirt.
“Azriel wanted some flowers planted,” you shrugged, looking towards the male who was now staring at you with total bewilderment on his normally unreadable face.
He blinked and then shook his head, his lips twitching into a small smile.
“What?” Cassian blurted out.
You looked between everyone, not sure why they were so confused. Was it not normal to bring someone flowers to plant?
“He brought me some flowers,” you explained slowly, “to plant out here.”
Rhys reached out and ruffled the hair on the top of your head, fondly, as he held back his laughter. Several of them shared a look, lips pressing together like they were stopping themselves from laughing. All except Cassian who looked at Azriel and then tossed his head back, cackling with amusement.
It was Mor who took pity on the shadowsinger.
“That was very nice of you, Azriel,” she said, smoothly, kicking Cassian under the table.
“Yeah,” Cassian said in between his struggles to stop laughing. “How nice of you, Az.”
Later that night, Nesta had pulled you aside to offer you a book.
“Read this,” she had said. “I think it’ll help.”
She left the book in your hands with a wink.
You stayed up all night reading the book—blushing red at some of the words written on the pages. But when you got to the part where the male love interest brought the girl flowers, you were mortified.
Azriel had given you those as a gift…to put in a vase, wherever you pleased. The girl had put them on her nightstand in the book.
But that didn’t make sense to you because Azriel was your friend. He wasn’t interested in you like that. But maybe, friends also brought friends flowers? The whole thing confused you and you went to bed that night utterly perplexed.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
“Come on,” Azriel encouraged, his arms around your neck, pulling your back tight against his front. “I’ve taught you how to get out of this hold.”
You were currently having a one-on-one combat lesson with Azriel, something you two had been doing for awhile. He had suggested it to you after you started training with the Valkyries and you agreed, a part of you wanting to spend more time with him.
You liked Azriel and even though he made you feel a little more uncomfortable than the others, you had taken to him. It wasn’t that the feelings were bad, necessarily. It was just, he made you feel all tingly inside and that often made you flustered around him.
You grabbed a hold of his wrists like he had taught you, pulling them away from your neck as you got one leg behind his. You knew what he wanted you to do from here, but you wanted to surprise him for once. Wanted to catch him off guard.
Your crows squawked their encouragement from the sidelines.
“What are they telling you?” Azriel asked, suspiciously. His breath tickled the tip of your pointy ear, making your body shudder. You could’ve sworn his tensed in response.
“Nothing,” you chimed, innocently.
And then you swept his legs out from under him, ducking out of his hold in his confusion and shoving him in the back so he fell face forward onto the mat. You pounced after him, landing with your knees around his hips, pressing your hands down on his shoulder blades between his wings so he couldn’t get up.
“Got you!”
Azriel’s body vibrated with his chuckle. “Oh, you think so?”
He bucked you off of him, causing you to squeal, as he turned himself over and flipped your positions, leaving you on your back under him. He smirked at you, some of his fluffy dark brown hair dangling down on his forehead, almost touching yours.
“Got you,” he drawled.
"No fair," you pouted, crossing your arms under him.
Butterflies swarmed your stomach at the feeling of his body against yours. You sent a crow after him, pecking him on the back of the neck, to get him to move, unsure of how long you could handle that feeling without saying something stupid.
He sat up on his haunches, batting it away with a glower at you. "What's not fair?"
"You're not fair! You weigh the same as a horse," you grumbled. "I bet you eat rocks for breakfast, you big bat."
He chuckled, standing up and reaching his gloved hand out to help you up. "I assure you, I do not eat rocks...not for breakfast, at least."
So he did eat rocks? How odd, you thought. But if chefs could make turnips taste good, maybe they could make rocks edible? Maybe like a rock soup or tiny pebble croutons. Did all Illyrians eat rocks?
Once you were up, Azriel began to smooth out your hair. The gesture felt intimate and you blushed a bright pink. He seemed to notice, judging by the slight smile on his face. You frowned at him.
"Come on, don't be a sore loser," he teased, putting a hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the water station. "Our time today is up, anyways."
"How convenient for you," you murmured under your breath, causing him to laugh again. Your crows flew a lap around the training ring, as if the noise delighted them. It may have delighted you as well.
His hand moved around your waist until it dipped down to grab your own hand. “Allow me to make it up to you?”
“How?” You glanced up at his towering figure.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Tonight.”
“O-oh, okay,” you stammered out.
He smiled, exposing the small dimple on the right side of his cheek that made him look more boyish than normal. Your heart fluttered in your chest.
He pulled you closer to him and a second later, you were engulfed in shadows, only to reappear on the doorstep to the River House.
“Good.” He dropped your hand finally and you clutched it to your chest. “I’ll come get you at seven.”
You nodded, feeling a bit breathless and he dipped his head at you before disappearing into the shadows and leaving you and your pounding heart alone on the doorstep.
Dinner that night felt like a dream. Azriel had shown up right on time, waiting for you in the foyer of the River House. He took you to a small restaurant on the side of the Sidra and you spent most of the night admiring the way he looked under the faelights.
Had he always been so beautiful?
You couldn’t remember.
After dinner, Azriel had taken you on a walk near the river. The moonlight reflected off the dark water, lighting the path. You stumbled upon a cool looking rock and eagerly picked it up, holding it out for him.
He raised an eyebrow at you, taking the rock from your hand.
“Your dessert,” you exclaimed, closing his fingers around the rock before stepping back.
“What?” His eyebrows furrowed and you decided you liked the way he looked when he was confused.
“Earlier, you said you didn't eat rocks for breakfast.” You rubbed at your arm. “So that must mean you eat them at some point of the day. So I thought, maybe you save them for dessert?”
By the time you were done talking, Azriel’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline. You were surprised when a barking laugh exploded out of him, your cheeks turning pink. You hesitantly smiled, not quite sure why he was laughing but loving the sound of it anyways.
“I take it you, um, don’t eat rocks?” You smiled sheepishly.
“That was a joke, Y/n,” he laughed, his hazel eyes shimmering gold and green.
“Y-yeah, of course it was!” You tried to play it off but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment.
He put the rock in his pocket as his laughter settled down. He placed both hands on the side of your head, kissing your forehead as he mumbled with affection, “What are we going to do with you?”
“Hopefully nothing bad,” you squeaked.
Azriel shook his head again with a soft laugh, grabbing your hand and guiding you further down the path. “I can’t believe you really thought I ate rocks.”
“I-I didn’t!”
He only gave you a disbelieving look.
It had almost felt like a date…like the ones you read about in the books Nesta leant you. But you quickly drowned out those thoughts. Azriel was your friend. And he had taken you out tonight as a favor.
But by the time he returned you home, there was a new light inside of you. Like a song with a familiar melody that made every nerve inside of you sing to its tune.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Unfortunately, Azriel was sent on a mission not too long after the night you shared together but he had promised to write to you during the three weeks he would be gone.
You found yourself quite eager to receive them.
Little shadow, I’ve got something for you. Come to my office when you’re free.
Rhys’s voice had you setting down the dagger you had been sharpening. You sent a crow to his office, curious to know what he had waiting for you.
A letter, master.
You jumped up from your desk. It must be a letter from Azriel because you had no idea who else would be writing you.
Tell your crows to mind their own business. They’ve ruined the surprise.
You laughed to yourself as you let your shadows cocoon you and take you to Rhys’s office. You stepped out of the shadows and Rhys raised an eyebrow at you.
“Eager?” He seemed amused.
You scowled at him. “You have a letter for me?”
He nodded, picking up an envelope off his desk and holding it out for you to take. You grabbed it, recognizing the handwriting your name was written with on the front immediately.
“Would you like to tell me why my Spymaster is sending me letters for you with his mission updates, little shadow?”
Rhys’s violet eyes sparkled with stars as he waited for your reaction. Your face turned pink and you clutched the letter to your chest. “Mind your own business, Rhys,” you mocked him.
He held up his hands with a grin that told you he already knew exactly why Azriel was sending you letters. You summoned your shadows to take you back to your room.
“Hey! Where are you going? You’re not going to let me read it too?” Rhys called out.
“No!”
Rhys’s chuckled followed you the whole way back to your room.
You tore open the envelope once you were in privacy, unfolding the letter with shaky hands.
Dear Y/n,
I find my days feel slower without the joy of your company. Even my shadows seem to miss their pesky crow companions.
You blushed, feeling your crows swirl around your head as if they too were swooning. Your eyes rapidly read the rest of the letter as he mentioned tiny tidbits about the mission and how it was going, asking you if you were keeping up with your training and teasing you about settling your score with him once he returned.
A smile had bloomed on your face as you finished reading—your heart fluttering in your chest.
I will continue to write to you, little bird, and I can only hope that you write back to me as well. I dream of your voice but I suppose words will have to be enough until I can see you again.
~ Your shadowsinger
P.s I came across something in the marketplace today that reminded me of you and I cannot wait to give it to you once I return.
You didn’t think twice before sitting down at your desk and whipping out a piece of parchment and a pen. That smile lingered on your face the rest of the night.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Three weeks passed by slowly. You couldn’t count how many times you had re-read the letters Azriel had been sending you. You had even made a trip to the marketplace to find a nicely carved, wooden box to store them in.
You were currently sitting on the railing of your balcony, a small shadow crow perched on your shoulder to keep you company. It was nighttime and the streets of Velaris were lit up with music, laughter and pretty faelights.
You preferred to watch from here, rather than joining in, despite Mor’s attempts to drag you to Rita’s.
The beating of wings stole your attention from the streets and you narrowed your eyes as a flying figure came into view. Cobalt siphons shined under the moonlight and your eyes widened as you realized that figure was Azriel.
Not only that, but he appeared to be heading straight towards your balcony as if he had known you’d be out here. You quickly hopped off the railing and stepped back a few paces to give him room to land.
Azriel landed gracefully with a small thud in front of you, tucking his wings in. He looked positively lethal tonight, his elegant cheekbones sharp in the darkness, his hazel eyes glowing gold. Beautiful. He was beautiful.
“Azriel,” you whispered in a questioning tone. “I didn’t know you were back from your mission.”
“I just got back,” he said, his voice dark like the night sky. It sent a shiver down your spine. “I wanted to see you first, before I check in with Rhys.”
“O-oh,” you stammered, blushing bright pink. You rubbed at your arm, suddenly feeling exposed in just your nightgown. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. They are too.”
You gesture towards the crow sitting on your shoulder still. Azriel’s shadows swirled in tendrils towards it until it flew off, the shadows trailing behind it, like they were also catching up.
You smiled at them as they disappeared in the night sky before turning your gaze back to Azriel. His eyes swept up your form, a muscle in his jaw clenching. When his eyes met yours again, there was a small heat in them that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go haywire.
It was gone a second later and you wondered if you had imagined it. You cleared your throat. “How was the mission?”
“Good. Fine,” Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Though I’m happy to be back.”
You smiled up at him, shyly. Your voice was caught in your throat as you scrambled through your brain for something to say. But it seemed like Azriel didn’t mind your silence.
He reached a hand out, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear before stroking your cheek with his knuckles. He was staring at you so intensely, as if you were the only thing that mattered to him in the moment.
“I should go check in with Rhys,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to see your face, to make sure the one I see in my dreams is accurate.”
Your chest warmed, your blush turned red.
“I-is it?”
Your voice was a soft whisper in the gentle breeze.
Azriel shook his head with a small smile. “No. Nothing can ever compare to seeing you in person.”
His grabbed the hand dangling by your side.
“Get some rest, little bird,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before disappearing in a swirl of shadows. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your skin tingly from his touch. Even long after you fell asleep.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You stared at yourself in the mirror after slipping on the gown Rhysand had left for you. It was time to make a trip to the Court of Nightmares, to Hewn City—your old home. You hated these visits. They brought back terrible memories but like the rest of the court, you sucked it up for Rhys’s sake.
He had given you a silk, cobalt blue gown. It swept to the floor, flowing only slightly away from your body in an elegant sheath silhouette. Thin straps held up the form-fitting bodice with a slight cowl neckline. It was simple, but beautiful.
A knock on your door pulled your attention away from your reflection.
“One second,” you called out as you slipped on the heels you had picked out to wear with the dress before making your way to the door. You pulled it open to see Azriel standing there in his full leathers, all seven siphons gleaming in the light.
His eyes widened as they trailed over your form. You suddenly felt self-conscious. When he met your gaze again, he cleared his throat and you held the door open so he could step inside your room, trying to brush off that feeling.
“Did you need something?” You asked.
His hands were in his pocket as he turned to face you. “I wanted to give you something before we leave for Hewn City. I mentioned it in my first letter.”
You nodded, remembering his written words clearly. Gods know how many times you had trailed your fingertips over that sentence with a stammering heart.
“Okay,” you squeaked, suddenly feeling nervous.
He gestured at you to turn around and you were once again facing yourself in the mirror. He stalked towards you like an angel from hell, his wings held out like every proud Illyrian male.
He pulled a small black box from his pocket and took something out of it. With one hand, he brushed your hair to one shoulder. His fingertips grazed your bare skin, sending a small shiver through your body.
Cold metal grazed your chest as he hung a necklace around your neck, letting it fall between your breasts as he clasped it from behind.
Your eyes rounded as you looked at it. It was a beautiful necklace, a blood red heart encased in twisting gold plating. You brushed your fingers against it, admiring it as a piece of art.
“It looks beautiful on you,” Azriel whispered, his breath brushing against your throat. “Just like I imagined.”
You swallowed, blushing. “It’s beautiful, Azriel. Thank you.”
His scarred fingers ran down your arm softly. “You are beautiful. Absolutely stunning, Y/n. I hope you know that.”
Your lips parted, ready to say something but Rhys’s voice interrupted.
Everyone to the foyer. It’s time to go.
You twisted in Azriel’s hold, staring up at him. He smiled down at you, his hazel eyes full of warmth. He grasped your hand in his. “Shall we?”
You could only nod, still at a loss for words.
An hour later, you were resting against a pillar in Hewn City’s throne room, watching Eris twirl around with Nesta. That had been the goal tonight, to entice Eris into proposing a marriage alliance. Even though she was doing this as a favor for your rulers, you couldn’t help but admire the two dancers. Watching them was like watching a real-life fairytale from one of the romance books.
You wished someone would look at you the way Cassian stared at Nesta as she danced, wished someone would have interest in you, desire you. You didn’t use to want those things because none of it would’ve been your choice, but now? Well, you could dream.
Your mind drifted to Azriel and all the little ways he had been treating you lately. Something sparked in your chest at the thought of him. Some of his gestures did seem romantic in nature, but other times, you wondered if he just saw you the way Rhys did…a little shadow, young and inexperienced.
“Would you like to dance?”
You stood up straight, blinking as Azriel appeared in front of you. Heat crawled up your neck as you looked at the shadowsinger, trying to push away all the thoughts you just had about him. Your eyes darted from the dance floor to his pretty hazel eyes.
“Y-you want to dance?” You looked at him almost disbelieving. “With me?”
“With only you,” he murmured, giving you a small smile. He held out his hand to you and you grappled with your pounding heart as you took it. The last song had just finished, the new strings starting up as he led you to the dance floor.
He slid a hand around your waist, pulling you close as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. As usual, both of your shadows had departed, as if they were spending time on their own. Movement caught your eye and you looked up to see one of your crows perched on a railing, a small shadow tendril swishing around it.
“We have an audience,” you whispered to Azriel, nodding your head towards the shadows.
His lips twitched as he followed your gaze. It had been jarring for him at first, to be so exposed without his shadows every time he was around you. But now it was comforting, a break from the constant darkness around him.
“Better put on a show,” he teased, twirling you around in his arms.
You laughed, letting him lead you through the movements, staying on beat with every pluck of a string. You danced in silence, your eyes never straying from his hazel ones. The throne room blurred in your peripheral, making it feel like it was just you and Azriel in this room together.
“Are you doing okay?” Azriel asked. “I know you don’t like coming here.”
“I’m fine,” you stammered. “It gets easier every time—seeing my family.”
Azriel’s eyes hardened at the mention of your family. He knew the story of how you got your shadows. A story not much different than his. He hadn’t told you, but before tonight, he had made a little visit to your family’s home and threatened your father into staying away from you tonight.
“If you want to leave, just say the word,” Azriel said. “I’ll deal with Rhys.”
You smiled, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”
Azriel nodded his head but his grip on your waist tightened. The pair of you did another circle around the room before he spoke again. “You know, I have you to thank for how fast I was able to complete that mission for Rhys.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“You,” he drawled, “Are a good motivator. I was counting down the seconds until I could return to you.”
Your cheeks heated, those damn butterflies in your stomach returned.
“Well, I’m glad I could help,” you squeaked, averting your eyes, shyly.
Azriel chuckled to himself, endeared by your mannerisms. The song came to a close and he dropped his hand from your waist but didn’t let go of your other one. He pulled it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly. “Thank you for dancing with me, little bird.”
You smiled back with a dip of the head. “I-I enjoyed it.”
“Good,” Azriel grinned before his eyes glazed over for a second and he frowned. “Rhys needs me for something. I’ll come find you once I’m done.”
“Okay,” you whispered. He reluctantly let your hand fall back to your side before pulling away, heading towards the High Lord. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, clutching a hand to your chest as you headed towards the back of the room again.
You were halfway back to your pillar when you heard someone mention your name. You frozen behind a statue, peering through the gaps to see a group of three females standing together, gossiping.
“I don’t know what he sees in her,” one of them mumbled. “Probably likes her because she’s a freak like him. Such a shame he’s a lesser fae.”
“I bet the High Lord told him to court her so he could keep both shadowsingers in his court to use,” another one laughed. “She’s so strange. I saw her talking to one of her crows earlier.”
“I think she’s pretty,” the third one whispered, shyly. “Even if she’s a little strange.”
“A little?” the first one scoffed with a laugh.
You rushed away, not wanting to hear anymore. You scurried out of the throne room and down the empty corridor, finding a small alcove to hide in. Tears lined your eyes as you thought on their words. You had thought maybe Azriel liked you, had wanted him to. But it was wishful thinking. No one would ever be interested in you that way. They were right. You were too strange, too off-putting.
You wiped at your tears bitterly.
“Y/n?” Azriel’s voice came from behind you. “What are you doing out here?”
Of course, he would show up right now. While you were crying over him. You turned slowly, trying to blink away your tears. “I-I just needed a break from the crowd.”
Azriel’s face dropped as he noticed the tear tracks on your cheeks. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone do something to you?”
You shook your head quickly. “No…No, nothing like that. I’m just…overwhelmed.”
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Azriel pleaded, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.
“You’ll think I’m stupid,” you whispered.
Azriel shook his head. “Never. I would never think you’re stupid, Y/n.”
You bit your lip, looking at the floor. Part of you wanted to tell him, to get a direct answer to your questions. But the other part of you was mortified at the thought of letting him know what you heard and how you felt about him.
“Please,” he murmured again.
You let out a sigh. “I just…overheard some girls talking about me. It’s not a big deal.”
“Who?” Azriel asked, his voice a touch darker.
You shrugged, looking back up at him. “I don’t know. Just some faeries who know me from here.”
“What could they have possibly said to upset you?”
It all came pouring out before you could stop it, the words spilling from your lips so quickly they almost slurred together. “They said I was strange and weird. But that doesn’t bother me. I hear it all the time. But…but they said the High Lord probably ordered you to ‘court’ me so I wouldn’t leave the Night Court. That there was no other reason you’d be interested in me—”
“Stop,” Azriel cut you off, causing your lips to slam shut. “I don’t need to hear anymore, Y/n, because everything they said is complete bullshit. First off, Rhys would never give an order like that. You know him.”
You nodded along but the pit of your stomach still ached.
“And I am interested in you. Not your shadows or your place in this court, I’m interested in you,” Azriel said. “I…I thought that might be obvious by now.”
Your lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him with wide eyes. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, at your expression.
“Y-you,” you stammered, “You are?”
“Yes, Y/n, I am more than just interested in you,” Azriel said. “I am enamored by you. You are the one I seek out each time I enter a room. Every stolen glance, every brush of your fingers, every smile you gift me, is a treasure I hold in my heart. I am completely and utterly taken by you, Y/n. It pains me that you would doubt my affections for even a second.”
You were speechless. He had taken the breath right from your lungs. Your heart was singing that melody again, the one it had sung that night he had taken you out for dinner. You stared up at him, into his hazel eyes that looked at you with reverence and warmth. His hand still cupped your face, his other pushed a piece of hair behind your ears with a gentle touch.
“So…all those things you…all the stuff you did—”
“Yes, Y/n, I have been trying to win your heart,” Azriel interjected for you. “The way you won mine since the moment I laid eyes on you. Not a day goes by where you are not on my mind. I am and have been bewitched by you. You have my heart and soul, little bird, if you’ll have it.”
The melody playing in your soul struck its final chord, releasing a golden thread that snapped the minute you met Azriel’s eyes again. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding. Mate. Mate. Azriel was your mate.
“Y-you,” you choked out, eyes rounded. “You’re my mate.”
Azriel’s eyes were hopeful as he nodded. “Yes and you are mine.”
“You knew…this whole time?”
He nodded again. “I did but I didn’t want to force you into something. I wanted you to find out on your own, after we had spent time together.”
You swallowed audibly.
Mate.
Azriel was your mate.
You weren’t even sure what to say. Your head was buzzing as your thoughts sped through your brain. The longer you stayed silent, the more the expression on Azriel’s face dropped until he looked uncertain. But you couldn’t shake yourself from your stupor.
“Will you have me?” Azriel asked, slowly. You could feel his insecurity down the bond and you knew you had to say something—anything to reassure him.
“Yes,” you stammered. “Azriel, I… I have never felt this way about someone. I wasn’t sure I would ever. But you… I l-love you.”
You blurted out the last three words, turning bright red as you stumbled over your speech. His eyes widened.
You weren’t sure when you had fallen in love with him. Had it been that night you walked along the Sidra? Or maybe sometime during training? All you knew was what you felt for him, something that didn’t seem to have a name until this very moment.
You let out a breath as a smile overtook Azriel’s face. He rested his forehead against yours with a deep breath.
“I love you too, little bird,” he said. “You have my heart, my soul, my devotion until the end of everything.”
“And you have me,” you whispered.
Azriel pulled back to look at you, lifting your chin with a finger.
“May I kiss you?”
Your heart stuttered.
“Y-yes.”
That was all he needed to hear. Azriel surged forward and kissed you hard with so much heat, so much craving that you stumbled back against the wall. His large hands fisted the silk fabric at your waist, pulling you against him before one hand rested on your hip while the other slid into your hair slowly.
All your thoughts ceased at that moment. All you could feel was Azriel’s hard body pressed against yours, so closely you swore you could feel his own heart beating against yours. And his lips were so warm, so soft against yours.
When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. Your cheeks were red, your lips swollen, and the mating bond sang it's pretty song in your chest as you gazed up at Azriel.
“We should get back,” he mumbled, though he looked like he was ready to take you right there in the middle of this corridor. “Before anyone notices us gone.”
He held his hand out to you with a smile. You took it, letting him pull you down the corridor, hand in hand, giggling like a schoolgirl the entire way back.
The crow that had been watching this whole time, swooped away to follow after you two, a small tendril of shadow following close behind.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
#acotar#azriel#acotar fanfiction#acotar x reader#acotar x you#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel fanfic#azriel fluff#shadowsinger x reader
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I just read your Amarantha smut AND BY THE CALDRON I'M shivering all over, I want more of this 🫣🫣🫣
Soooo, like, more Amarantha x f!reader…? 👀 because I’m totally down for that.
Honestly, I enjoy writing for her and want to see the different angles I can spin on her character since she’s so abhorrently evil in the books!
(And thank you so much for expressing your enjoyment over it! Comments like yours always make it so delightful to write!)
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why does Amarntha I hope I spelled her name right gives me Yandere vibes I mean the things she does for Tamlin. She was known to confess her love many times to Tamlin which he rejected if I’m correct it’s been a while since I’ve read Acotar books and she didn’t even move on and I think she got tired of rejection and cursed him. She was like if you can’t love me, then you can love no one she gives me major obsession vibes. Which also brings me to another theory do you think her and Tamlin we’re mates, but I think Amarntha would make a hell of a kind of Yandere
For me, Amarantha is yandere canon. The female literally cursed Tamlin and his entire Court just so she could have him for herself. If that doesn't scream yandere tendencies, I don't know what does.
I've thought and believe that yes, Tamlin and Amarantha could have been mates, although that would make some holes in the story. From my point of view and from what was shown, the males want the mate to accept the bond and it is not common for them to refuse. However, since Amarantha plucked out Lucien's eye, it may be that Tamlin decided to reject her, which didn't work out very well.
By the Cauldron, Amarantha would be worse than hell as a yandere. She is already cruel and ruthless "normal" but yandere she is much, much worse. She would be more cruel and would not hesitate to punish in severe ways her dear and everyone around her. In fact, she would enjoy it.
Definitely and obviously a fucking sadist. She loves to inflict pain on her darling, but only she has the right to hurt her obsession. Anyone trying to do so would be so foolish and so stupid.
Possessive would be an understatement to describe her. She would get jealous very easily and will deal with her jealousy in less than pleasant ways. S/O her must have eyes only for or bad things will happen. People will die or lose their eyes.
I think Amarantha would have a soft side that would be very rarely shown to her obsession, very rarely indeed, but still she would. I believe Amarantha would be the worst yandere in ACOTAR, closely followed by King of Hybern, Beron and Azriel.
We all know how much she despises and hates human beings, but imagine Amarantha yandere for a human? Any thoughts on that? 👀
~ Lady L
#ask#acotar#dark acotar#yandere acotar#yandere a court of thorns and roses#a court of thrones and roses#dark!amarantha#yandere amarantha#amarantha#Amarantha x reader#concept#yandere concept
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ink stained hand (will you hold it?)
chapter i: bookstore girls
pairing: poly!feysand x reader
series sum. A bookseller’s simple life turns upside down when she becomes fast companions of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. When she develops feelings for the most powerful couple in Prythian, how will she get over the golden thread of fate that pulls them ever so far apart?
The sun was high in the sky, and the sweat stuck to the back of your shirt with a vengeance, plastering the material to you like a second skin. As forgiving and endearing as summer was, children laughing in the streets, people bustling about in sheer, bright colors, the heat could be killer.
Especially waiting in lines like these.
The queue snaked around the block, everyone from fae that lived on farmland outside of Velaris, to shopkeepers, to families of all shapes and sizes. You’d thought the heat might thin it out a bit, maybe send some people to find shelter and shade, to stand in front of an icebox maybe; but alas. It was just as long as it was a few hours ago. You clutched the papers you’d written up months prior to your chest, lifting your hair from your neck in an attempt to elicit some sort of cooling effect.
You, like many, many others were grateful to your High Lord, and newly minted High Lady for these meetings. Even if not everything was fixed, most people walked out with a respect you were sure you couldn’t say other courts held for their rulers. And the papers you’d slaved over, finding just the right words to propose your idea, well, you hoped they’d hear you out, if nothing else.
Smoothing down the front of your skirts, you surveyed the people in front of you. Three bodies. Three people. Three more appointments to suffer in the heat until you were face-to-face with people who could grant your dreams, or crush them kindly in their fists. Your heart stuttered, thick, humid air winding its way through your nose, and out. Two. Then, the curly haired fae with a sour expression on her pale blue face that had stood before you for the past three hours marched into the heavy open doors, and you were twisting your fingers in flighty anticipation. You couldn’t hear her voice, even at your proximity, and it relieved something in you to know that this wouldn’t leave this room. Your sorry request, your whimsical fantasy would stay stuck in the air between your High Lady, High Lord, and you.
The guard positioned at the gate gave you a wry smile, a rosy hue to her cheeks, the sweat slicking her orange hair to her brow. You were sure you looked similar, frazzled and sweaty, sickeningly anxious and delighted all at the same time.
“You’ll be fine.” Her voice was accented lightly, like nothing you’d ever heard before. You grew up here, in the Night Court, barely a child when Amarantha terrorized the land, now, a fully grown woman with stars in her eyes.
You nodded your thanks. She simply smiled wider.
When the doors opened again and the fae from before walked out, a wind flirted across your cheeks curling in your hair. A greeting.
“First door on your left. Can’t miss it.” A smooth wink, and the door thumped shut behind you.
The marble tiling was smooth, dark, and flecked with silver. How Night Court. You couldn’t stop your head from swiveling as you traversed the hall, ornate art hung on either side, a show of wealth, of power. You recognized some of the scenes, the High Lady fearlessly facing off against Hyeburn’s forces at the Rainbow, the Night Court’s general sweeping low onto the battlefield, the Lady’s sister, fearsome, cloaked in silver flames like a phoenix. Your eyes shifted towards the open doorway, thick wooden carvings of an animal you couldn’t place, scales expertly carved, fangs and talons almost as sharp as you’d imagine the creature carried in real life. Absently, your hand curled around a claw jutting from the frame, the stable wood almost warm beneath your fingers.
“Admiring the woodworking?” A soft voice cut through the silence, and you turned, abruptly, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry.” You stuttered, the words falling out without a thought. The High Lady was standing, a stunning lilac dress tailored to her form, golden and silver stars stitched delicately in sporadic patterns. A golden circlet, plain, yet stately sat at her raised brows, warm sea green eyes crinkled into a smile. You balked, face pinching into an expression that could only be described as shameful, hands twisting in your ratty old linen skirt, the drab color sticking out like a sore thumb. The High Lord was absent, the chair next to hers empty, but you felt no relief from that. The High Lady was just as imposing.
“Don’t be.” A flick of her wrist towards the chair across from them sent you into action, and you lowered yourself into the plush seat. “Would you like anything to drink or eat? How long have you been out there?”
Her voice seemed too perfect, too hypnotic for your ears. You found yourself blinking, twice, three times before you registered her question.
“I’m okay, truly.” Food would make you barf, so bad move there. From the looks of this place, any glass they’d offer you was likely three times the sum of your rent, and your shaking hands would send it shattering across the floor. “And not long, my lady.”
“Hm.” The sound was low, like the rumble of the ground beneath your feet, and your head felt inclined to dip. The High Lord was just as intimidating as you’d expected; dressed in all black, a matching circlet to his mate’s glinted in the faelight, his hands folded neatly into his pockets. “We don’t take kindly to liars.”
The expression that flickered across your face must have been comically scared, from the way the Lady’s eyes hardened to sheer ice.
“Rhys.” The lovely voice, the bells you would follow to the ends of the earth, possibly, shot out like a crop.
The High Lord leveled you with a look that would have sent males twice your age running for the hills, and you thought about it. You considered hiking your skirts up, tucking your pitiful tail between your legs, and dashing out of here as fast as your legs could carry you. Instead, you smoothed out the papers in your hands, lowered your gaze, and began to read from the page.
“Thank you for your audience.” You began, eyes tracking your scribbling. “I wanted to first extend my gratitude for not only this moment, but the neverending support that you both have shown your people. I thank you for that.” A glance up, and your eyes connected with the starflecked violet gaze of your High Lord. Something in your gut twisted violently at his lowered brow, and your hand passed briefly over where your heart titered in your chest. “I here to ask for something that may be small to you, but is quite big to me.”
The rest of the words bleed together on the page in front of you, and with a sigh, you fold the paper along the edges, and cover the square with your palms. You know what you want, it swirls in your gut, tugs on your heart. It’s hanging from the biggest and brightest star, and this is the only chance you might have to dream for it, to hope that it might, one day, be real, might be a whisper of fruition eddying towards your open arms.
“I’ve dreamed for my whole life that one day, I might make a difference. That someday, something might make me matter to someone.” Your voice teetered on breaking. “My mother and father are long gone. I have no brothers, no sisters. I don’t have many friends to speak of, and I’m sure I speak of them more than they speak of me. What I’m asking for is stupid, but to me, it’s a dream.” A saccharine smile aimed at your twisting hands, before your head pulls back to finally look at the two most powerful people you’ve ever known. “Have you ever had stupid dreams?”
The question hangs in the air like a feather. Your fingers flex, like you might reach out and snatch it back.
“No dream is stupid.” The High Lord’s eyes blink with stars. It’s mesmerizing. It’s terrifying. His gaze doesn’t stray from you, and it spreads a heat across the tip of your nose, peaking your ears.
You pick at the edge of the paper neatly pressed to your thighs, peeling a corner back, folding it on the edge, and ripping along the seam as you swish your thoughts around in your head.
“This one might be.” Your smile is wistful, if not sad, like a flower blowing in the cold wind of winter, the laughter of a grown child.
A scrape of a chair, and your High Lady has inched ever so close to you, her knees almost touching yours, the hazy purple gauze flirting against the skin of her legs as she shifts. It makes your heart beat that much quicker, her beauty, her close proximity, the power you feel rolling off her. You’ve been caught in storms before, but she’s like lightning itself. Soft, strong hands cup yours, and you almost jerk back out of sheer surprise, but the quirk of her lips makes your own soften into a smile.
“It’s okay to wish for silly things.”
Years ago, you might have agreed with her.
Today, you aren’t so sure.
“High Lady, High Lord,” You say, eyes stuck on a freckle at the base of her thumb, tracing the lines of the jet black tattoo that curls up her wrist. “I want to find purpose.”
You could hear a pin drop.
The High Lady’s eyes glazed over, the stormy sea calming to a rolling fog. Daring a glance at the High Lord, you noticed a similar look in his eyes, the purple sky a calming shade of lilac, his eyes unfocused. You didn’t breathe, catching a gasp in your chest when they both finally resurfaced, a sharp snap in their gaze like you’d clicked your fingers for their attention. It was odd to have such resounding attention from two people who could crush the world around you with a blink, who could kill you without batting an eye. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, but you weren’t sure if it was terror, or great awe.
“That’s your wish?” The High Lord’s voice is startling all of a sudden, though you know it shouldn’t be. You blink, once, twice, and then nod, a simple strong shake of your head.
“That’s my wish.” You feel pitiful as you shrug your shoulders, but the High Lady squeezes your hands in hers. “I understand if you can’t grant it, I do. I greatly understand. In fact, I know you probably won’t be able to. And that’s alright with me. I’m just glad you’ve listened.” It’s lighter than the rest of your conversation, the almost laughing tone your voice takes on. You pull back from the hands on top of yours, nodding gratefully. You hope you look sincere as you lower your head in a makeshift bow. “Thank you for that. For your hearts.”
You stood, not waiting for dismissal, which might have been a stupid decision. It might have cost you more than just pure embarrassment, the flush taking on a different, less welcome heat as it cloaked your shoulders and pressed into your chest. You did a poor curtsy, out of nothing more than a sorry excuse for respect to the two, and fled the room without a glance in either direction, even as something molten, something tight in your chest tugged away at you.
You didn’t even realize in your haste, the paper you’d meticulously, ever-so-carefully tended to for the last months had toppled to the floor, scrawled with sprawling words.
Your wish.
-
The sun was still hot and high in the sky as you slunk into the shop, and the book you were using as a fan was doing nothing to combat the heat. Leaned against the entryway, holding the hair off the back of your neck and rapidly flapping the flimsy romance novel in your hand in hopes that even the smallest breeze would cool you down. The magic that typically kept the shop well ventilated was on the fritz, sending wayward gusts of air that ruffled through the pages on hand before stopping altogether, levitating teacups and coffee mugs in the air before dropping them and sending any liquid spilling onto the floor, opening and closing the curtains at will.
“Hi, lovely!” The seamstress across the way waved at you with a lacy handkerchief, brown hair piled high on her head, a sheen of sweat dotted across her brow and smearing the silvery make-up she’d carefully used to decorate her eyes.
“Hi, Dia.” You raised the book in greeting, letting your hair drop from your hand. She sent you a smile in greeting before escaping inside her shop, the wooden sign in her window swinging proudly from CLOSED to OPEN.
With a great sigh, you tipped your head back and listened to the busy street with shut eyes. Children squealed on the street, couples tittered back and forth. Some called your name in greeting, and you waved lazily, eyes still shut, lulled into a sense of hazy drowsiness. Your flushed cheek pressed into the door sleepily, until a wet, cold object was shoved under your collar.
Eyes flying open, the book fell to the floor, hands flinging to the back of your shirt, hopping from one foot to the next. Finally, the ice cube dropped from your dress to the floor, and you whirled on the culprit.
“Sammy!” The accused giggled, eyes slit in amused mischief. “You pest!”
Sammy was the delivery boy, and the bane of your existence. He was a child, only seventeen, with a boyish roundness to his cheeks and an inane personality that would make the sweetest person in Prythian think about bashing him on the head once or twice. It was his mission to make every day you lived harder than the last, but his mother, the owner of the neighboring bakery, thought it was because he fancied you a tad. You couldn’t tell if she was having a laugh, or had too much faith in her only child. You were much too old for him anyways.
“Who said I even did anything?” His blue lips pulled into a pout, his ears flicked and his red eyes widened like that of a street dog. “Mean, mean girl.”
Setting your jaw and bending down to swipe the book from the floor and make your way into the shop, you shot him a mean glare, something to make flowers wither, and little boys cry. He was standing by the back door, a sure sign that a shipment was docked, tightening the string on the front of his sleeveless tunic. Sliding behind the counter, leaving the book on the top, you moved around him to peer at what he’d delivered.
It was a small box, unusual, but not uncommon, with a dainty golden lock holding it shut. You tilted your head around the boy, trying to get a better look at the thing. It was probably a special edition for one of our wealthier clients, but you hadn’t seen any sort of order like that go through in months, hadn’t heard a whisper of what this could even be. Without thinking, you started towards it out of sheer curiosity, but Sammy stepped in front of it with a sharp toothed grin and held his hand out.
“Payment first, please.”
You rolled your eyes so hard, the planet did another spin.
“Greedy.”
Shouldering around him, you made your way to the lockbox and shook out a few gold pieces. His palm was cold and damp when you passed them over to him, and with a smirk like an alley cat, he disappeared down the alley and left you with the mysterious package.
The box was ornate and wooden, the lock glinting on the outside with the winking of the sun through the windows. Approaching it with cautious curiosity, you reached out and grasped the lock, feeling its cool metal under my fingertips. Giving it a good tug, your feet slid out from under you, sending you sprawling to the floor in an instant; the box was heavy - like it was filled with a million rocks, ten ton weights, and a heavy book. Stretching your leg out towards the thing, you nudged it with the tip of your toe, hoping for some kind of movement but, alas - nothing. Abandoning caution, your leg reeled back and kicked the thing as hard as you could, only to be met with searing pain that reverberated through the bones of your shin. With a resigned huff, you stood, brushing off dust from your skirt, and left it behind the counter with another, less fierce, more defiant kick for good measure.
Stupid thing.
The box seemed to respond, the smallest of noises —the faint shuffle of the lock settling into place. It wasn't laughter, of course, but in that moment, it might as well have been.
The day was sluggish and hot into the afternoon. Little to no customers stopped in, and Elias, the owner of the store, had left me alone for the morning. You did your duties; swept the aisles aimlessly, fronted all the books in the history section, wiped the counters at the tea stand. You even ventured to organize the pillows and blankets in the reading section, which was a loathsome task due to the sheer number of them littered about. Finally, when the sun was high in the sky with no promise of a cloud, Reana, the only other worker at the shop, slunk into the shop.
Her inky hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and the clothes she wore were thin and airy, a short cream top with no straps, and a loose matching skirt that showed off a fair bit of her long legs. Her tanned skin was flushed with the heat, and her glasses sat low on her nose, the chain that held them along her neck softly clinking against itself.
“I am sweating through every layer of clothing.” Her voice was scratchy, like smoke on a foggy day.
“Elias needs to re-up these stupid wards before I try myself.” Crossing the room from the little nook you’d been tidying up, you offered her a smile as a greeting.
“Oh, don’t do that to us.” She snorted. With a flick of her hand, the tea stand bustled to life. “The last time you tried, it set us back decades.”
She was exaggerating, of course. The last time you’d tried to enforce the feeble wards on the store, it’d knocked every book out of the shelves and broken almost every mug and cup in sight. Your magic was not strong, it wasn’t practiced, and it sure as the Mother wasn’t controlled.
“Can you make some cold drinks? Maybe?” You plopped yourself down on a rickety red stool, chipped and discolored from use. “Milk tea would be lovely.”
Reana works the tea and coffee portion of the shop. While you could make an adequate cup, she was versed in fancy drinks and conversation; two things you did not have the skillset for. Her head dipped as she moved towards the counter, working meticulously to pull together the things she needed. Each movement was a choreographed dance, as she deftly poured and mixed, her fingers moving with the precision of a seamstress. The glasses sitting on her nose fogged up as she leaned down to sniff the spiced pot of tea on her small stove. She set the milky drink in front of you, the icey glass heavenly against my hands as you sipped at it casually, lolling my head back and forth as you drank. As the both of you sat in silence, the ambient sounds of the bustling street outside drifted in through the open window, mingling with the soft clink of ice cubes in our glasses.
Gratefully, she doesn’t ask about the meeting you had today. Gratefully, she keeps her eyes trained on her tasks. Gratefully, you don’t have to explain anything to her.
Until…
Until the bell on the front door rings, and in steps the High Lord, the paper you’d apparently forgotten pinched between his thumb and his forefinger, the smile of a jester playing across his lips.
“Hello,” Voice like smooth, rich coffee colors the air. “I believe you’ve forgotten something.”
#acotar x reader#acotar fic#feysand x reader#poly!feysand#theis writes!#ahaha after ten million bajillion years. and is it even good? IDK! have it!
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Hi! I love your writing, it always makes me grin. Could I request a platonic Az fic? One where reader is like 10, super cuddly and touch affection starved and Feyre’s ward (kind of like Evangeline is to Lyssandra), and maybe like the kid or sister of one of the children of the blessed that was sent over the wall but feyre found her and took her in even though Tamlin didn’t like it, so when Mor took Feyre, she had to take reader too, and then during that dinner, she gets scared to meet everyone (especially cass sine he seems intimidating) so she runs behind the nearest person, Az and when he doesn’t get upset, she sticks with him through the dinner, wanting to be next to him, hiding behind his wings, asking for cuddles, and playing with his hands. He doesn’t get upset and reader just decides to follow him like a shadow from then in and make him her fave person, like watching when he train, being sad and quiet when he’s gone (until Nuella and Cereadwin bring her sweets), happy when he’s back, and never leaving his side, and even asking him to carry her etc.
Oath
Warnings - platonic soul mates, mentions of Amarantha and UTM, visions
A/N - I'm not saying I am tucking this away for a rainy day, but I'm not not saying that 👀
Azriel Masterlist
You didn't even have to ask or knock. The door opened, and shadows pulled you in. Guiding you to Azriel in the dark as he opened up his blanket and pulled you up to his bed and into his arms. "Nightmares?" He murmured softly into your hair, holding you close. "It's okay, little one. We all have them." You curled into him, basking in the warmth and protection he offered. His wing rested over you, feeling like a blanket weighing down like a tight hug. "Tell me what you saw?"
You started softly. "A robed figure with swans. But this time, it was like.." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes. "It was like I was a swan. You were on the waterline of the lake, yelling for me."
Azriel went stiff, then pulled you closer to him. "No one is going to take you from me. From us. You are ours to look after."
And you had been since you arrived in the Night Court. You had been ripped from the mortal realm with Feyre by Tamlin. Feyre had taken you in, despite arguments from her sisters, when she found you starving in the streets. You became hers, and she yours. She was closest thing you had ever had to a sister, and her regret the moment you were caught following her Under the Moutain was something she struggled to live with to this day.
Amarantha had taken a liking to you, though. You were a tender human girl she enjoyed using as a personal servant. She kept you at her side, almost always glowing with how much you admired the fae, how you were raised to be complicit to them by the Children of the Blessed. You complimented her constantly, adoring her dresses, her hair, her glowing skin. You had no idea she was so evil. So cruel. That was until Feyre's first trial.
It was Rhysand who pulled you into his room one night, sheltering you from the violence going on. He had whispered to you tales of a city covered in starlight and a family. A family that all found each other, chose each other, loved each other. He had worked you into the bargain with Feyre, ensuring he had you for one week every month, ensuring you were away from Tamlin, who, for unknown reasons, hated you.
When you first came to the Night Court, Rhys spent the week with you, teaching you to read and write more gently than he had Feyre, teaching you the different courts, the different high lords. He had put you in dresses that made his eyes sparkle but grow distant with longing. He had called you his little second chance, and on that second visit, you were sold. You loved Rhysand so fully that you had clinged to him, crying as Tamlin ripped you from his arms.
When Tamlin locked you and Feyre in the manor, it had been the scariest moment of your life. You were still mortal, but the power radiating from her, consuming her as she pulled you into her chest for comfort, was terrifying. She had told you the Night Court would be your home now once she had calmed down, and the decision was made to have dinner with Rhysand's family. Mor had taken you, winnowing you two in and letting you enjoy that drop, that rush of free falling. Everything had been fine until you saw Cassian.
Cassian was loud, he was huge, he had muscles in places you hardly knew could have muscles. You had ended up hiding, much to Cassian's amusement, behind the closest thing you could. Azriel.
And it had begun after that. Azriel became your best friend. You constantly looked for him, snuggled him, loved him. He became your everything and you his. You made him carry you everywhere, take you flying, and made him laugh with you under blanket forts.
On your 9th birthday, he had taken you into town, spoiling you before the war with Hybern begun with pastries, books, new dresses, and a stuffed animal. It was the same day Velaris was attacked. You had been taken from him, locked into a cell with Nesta, who held you close, whispering how it would be okay. You were forced into that same Cauldron as Feyre screamed, held back by Rhysand as the male pleaded for the King to let you go.
Azriel had promised you from that day forward you were his, swearing it to you in an oath that you two sealed with a pinky promise. He promised to protect you. To keep you safe. To make sure anyone who harmed you would regret it. But even Azriel, as powerful as he was, could not save you from the aftermath of the Cauldron.
1 week after your 10th birthday, weird things started happening to you. You had dreams where you saw things. Similar to Elain. Her visions came out in riddles, though. Yours were different. Odd to Rhys and Amren. Odd to Helion. Your powers were similar to a seer, yet so different.
Helion had described it as you walking through timelines. You could see all outcomes with no direction of how that outcome would come to be, whereas Elain saw one possible future and potential riddles guiding to it. "A burden," he had said to Rhysand quietly. "A burden to know each way someone you loved could die, to know what happens if one pawn doesn't move exactly according to plan, but not be able to tell them how exactly it happened."
You had fallen into yourself more, seeking only Azriel with Feyre's pregnancy and Nesta's spiral. You only told him what you saw in your dreams and occasionally the twins if he would send them to you with treats.
He pulled you close again, shaking you from the past. "What else did you see?"
"Elain," you whispered softly. "Lucien holding Elain tightly while she laid on the ground. She no longer glowed with the light of the fae. It was like the cloaked figure had taken it from her."
The grip on your nightgown grew tight. "What else?" His voice was tense, eyes getting slightly distant, letting you know he was communicating with Rhys that you had seen something.
"Rhys had facial hair." Azriel hummed. Unknown to you that you had just given him an idea of the timeline. It would have had to have been after the birth of babe. Rhys only grew facial hair when he was tired. "Feyre and Nesta weren't there. Just Lucien, Elain, the three of you, and I think me."
"As a swan," he repeated.
"Yes, as a swan. Trapped on his lake."
"Do you know how old you were when this happened?"
You shrugged. "No, but we had a string. It wasn't gold and glittering like Rhys and Feyre's, but red and power seemed to flow through it, not emotions. It felt like I was transferring something to you."
Azriel kissed the top of your head. "You know I need to tell Rhys about this?" You nodded. "And you know he may need you to show him?" You nodded again, but shivered at the thought of Rhysand in your mind. "We should also mention the red string to Amren. She what she can dig up."
"But she's so cranky." Hazel eyes, tired and heavy with sleep, peered down at you. "New Amren is way more mean than old Amren."
"A problem for tomorrow. Go to sleep, y/n. I'll keep your nightmares away."
"I love you, Azzie."
"I love you too, y/n. I won't let you turn into a swan."
You were asleep almost instantly, body back on that lake, and a cloaked figure with a bone like figure stroking your wings.
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#acotar#send asks#send anons#acotar x reader#azriel acotar#azriel#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#azriel x platonic!reader
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Pairing: Feysand
Rating: E
Word Count: ~3,500
Summary: Feyre Archeron is the youngest member of the Fae nobility trapped in Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. When her father presents her to the court, intending to pay off his debts by selling her hand in marriage, she faces scrutiny on all sides: the wicked queen herself; the leaders of the rebellion against her; and the cruel High Lord of the Night Court. [An ACOTAR retelling.]
----- Read more on my masterlist or on AO3!
Chapter 4: The Magic
Amarantha didn’t so much as flinch.
Feyre cradled the shattered remains of the cup in one hand, trying hard not to cry out at the pain in her skull and her hand. A long shard of porcelain was embedded in the pad of flesh between her thumb and index finger.
No, not embedded. Pierced. The shard had penetrated her hand completely and jutted out on the other side. A gilded rose peeking out of the back of her palm winked at Feyre in the dim light.
What remained of her tea soaking into her lap, mixing with the blood welling up in her palm. Almost hysterically, she thought it would be a nightmare to clean.
“Oh, dear.” Amarantha tutted, but she was utterly unfazed. She held out a hand. “Let me see.”
Reluctantly, Feyre dumped the rest of the teacup into its saucer and laid her hand in Amarantha’s, swallowing down the gut-roiling agony that followed every movement.
“It’s cold,” Amarantha murmured, pinching the edge of the shard between two fingers as she examined the wound. Despite her words, despite the careful inflection, there was no surprise at all in her eyes.
And then she pulled.
Feyre gasped as pain seared into her, blinding her, out of her palm and up into her arm, her shoulder. As quickly as it came, it disappeared, warm magic pulsing into her palm and drowning it out.
When Feyre opened her eyes, the queen was smiling again. She lifted the shard for Feyre to see. Little, crackling crystals of brown tea and crimson blood frosted over its smooth surface.
“Your eldest sister gave one of her dance partners frostbite at one of my little soirees last year when he was too familiar with her. It was rather amusing,” Amarantha told her. “I was curious if her sisters inherited your mother’s Winter Court magic as well…”
She trailed off. A long, pale finger traced Feyre’s palm, and when Feyre looked, she let out a breath through her nose—only a slim, pink scar remained of the wound.
“I wonder…” Amarantha laid one hand over her breast before Feyre could rear back, narrowed her black eyes, and pushed.
Magic. Pure, raw magic pulsed through her again—the magic that had healed her hand had been a mere drop compared to the deluge that sent her reeling now. It pulled across her entire body, through her veins and around her bones, settling somewhere at the bottom of her ribcage. She blinked, and the lights were too strong again, too bright. She could hear the laughing High Fae several halls away, cackling loudly.
But, more than that, for the first time in her life, she felt powerful.
Clenching her jaw so it didn’t drop instead, Feyre tapped her fingers together, not unlike Elain had as they sat waiting for Beron, and the air crackled as the moisture was pulled from it and coalesced into brilliant, sparkling snowflakes that drifted lazily onto the table.
“Test that more in the coming days, dear. We might make a better match for you, depending on how powerful you are.” Amarantha spoke simply and carelessly, as if she hadn’t just turned Feyre’s world on its head. She winked when Feyre looked up at her. “Think of it as an early wedding gift.”
But Feyre’s throat tightened at the injustice of it all, her head pounding. Her magic wasn’t a gift; it was her birthright. Was this the power she would have been born with, if she was born before Amarantha’s reign?
Was there more that Amarantha still kept trapped, locked away where Feyre couldn’t reach it with the magic of every other Fae imprisoned Under the Mountain?
She didn’t want to test it, and she didn’t want to catch a husband with it. She wanted to know it already, to have grown up with it, to have learned how to use it from her mother and Nesta. The reminder that they were all Amarantha’s prisoners, their bodies and minds subject to her whims, stung her so acutely that she could have cried. What would Elain’s sparks or Nesta’s frost look like if they weren’t bound by Amarantha’s curse?
Amarantha merely reclined back in her seat, oblivious to—or ignoring—Feyre’s turmoil. “Now, about your lessons…”
“No.”
“...No?”
Feyre locked her eyes on the tapestry behind the suit of armor, staring at the woven symbol of a sleeping dragon, Amarantha’s coat of arms.
She wished she still had her tea to distract her.
She didn’t dare glance back at the male in Amarantha’s bed, but she couldn’t help imagining it. All of that cruel, dark power and the terrifying whispers of what happened to females who wandered over the borders of the Night Court… She shuddered to think of the way his tastes might skew, if he could capture and keep Amarantha’s attention for half a century.
And if he were the brute Amarantha claimed, Feyre didn’t want to imagine what he might do to her. What he might make her do.
What would she be if she fell into bed with Rhysand? The mistress of a High Lord, or the harlot of Amarantha’s whore? Either way, she would be considered a fallen female by the end of it.
Amarantha’s gaze was sharp. “Feyre, I am being more than generous with this offer.”
“I know, and I appreciate it. But I am a maiden,” Feyre lied easily. It was a lie she had practiced telling for over a year. “And the High Lord is—”
“The High Lord? Your High Lord?” Amarantha’s brow furrowed. She stared at Feyre, and this time, Feyre couldn’t help the way her eyes flicked back to the narrow break in the curtains. Amarantha’s lips parted into a smile, and she laughed, sweetly and condescendingly. “That High Lord! Oh, precious, you think you’re worthy of him? A High Lord?”
Shame and a strange, hot sense of indignation swept through her. She might be poor, might have little claim to a title, but he was just a male, as trapped as anyone else Under the Mountain. Moreso, even—as a High Lord, Amarantha kept him under close watch, kept his power bound to her own, rather than simply suppressed within him like Feyre’s had been.
“No, I believe he is much too busy to entertain thoughts of training a little Autumn thing to take—!” Amarantha cut herself off, laughing again. “And for a green girl like you, to jump into bed unawares with Rhysand… No, dear, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Feyre picked apart a fluffy pastry layer by layer, her cheeks burning.
Amarantha was still grinning when she waved a hand in the air. “Very well, no lessons for now. But I do still need to ask what you seek in a husband, aside from the gold in his vaults…”
What followed was nothing less than an interrogation, though Feyre knew it was likely the cushiest line of questioning anyone had ever experienced with Amarantha.
Did she want to stay in Autumn? No, the thought of marrying someone who had known her when she was a babe in swaddling clothes was mortifying.
Did she like the warmth, though? Someone from Summer or Day, perhaps? Perhaps…
How old should her prospective husband be? No older than two or three hundred, if possible.
Dark hair or light? No preference.
Strong or slender? No preference.
Serious or sweet? No preference.
On and on it went, and if her reticence bothered Amarantha, the queen didn’t let it show. She didn’t pull a knife from thin air and start carving the answers out of her. She merely closed out her line of questioning with one more amused smile, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder.
“I suppose it’s a bit much to ask a girl as sheltered as you. We can work out the finer details together.” Then her smile shifted into something predatory, something mean, as she said, “Just one more question, dear: gentle or rough?”
Feyre hadn’t been able to answer that one either. Had barely been able to choke back the snappish retort on her tongue, the loathing burning a hole through her.
“Well, I think I have all I need. I already have someone in mind…” Amarantha brushed crumbs from her lap and stood, and Feyre stood with her, eyeing the distance to the door. “Someone to melt away all of that ice to get to the fire beneath, I think.” She examined the tea and blood on Feyre’s gown and shook her head, a softer, kinder curve to her lips as she did. She walked toward the end of the table, toward the paintings. “I’ll keep these for now, show them to your suitors to let them know what to expect, the courting gifts I expect them to present to you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Feyre was already edging toward the door in tiny steps. Moving seemed easier somehow, smoother, as if the new magic bolstered every step. And she would leave the paintings; she could make new ones to replace them.
“Of course it is, Feyre,” Amarantha turned. “I meant what I said. We shall be sisters. And as your sister, I expect nothing less than the best from the males who court you.”
“I… see.” The door was so, so close. She needed Amarantha to stop talking. “I look forward to it.”
“Good.” And that was that. The leaden weight of Amarantha’s attention was gone. “I will see you tomorrow night in the throne room then.”
Finally, Feyre escaped. She slipped through the heavy door with a polite farewell and speed she didn’t know she was capable of.
As the door creaked shut behind her, she heard Amarantha call out, “Rhysand, come look at these. You’ll like this one…”
———
The guards led Feyre on another endless trek back into the familiar halls Under the Mountain, past Amarantha’s laughing inner circle and the corpses keeping solemn, silent watch in the throne room and the wide-eyed Fae of the Solar courts. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief when they passed through the tall, carved archway that signified the end of the Solar wing and the start of the Seasonal wing.
But three tall, red-haired Fae were crowded around the symbolic Middle arch, all familiar, all bored, and all tossing a ball of flame back and forth. Her heart sank when she saw that Eris wasn’t among them. Only the second-eldest, Soren, and identical, lithe Kearan and Connel leaned against the walls on either side of the hall.
She blinked at them, dumbfounded. Had they been waiting for her?
“We’ll take it from here,” Soren said. Two calculated steps placed him between the Queen’s Guard and Feyre.
If it were anyone else, she might have been relieved.
But it was Soren. Vicious Soren, built like a warrior even after fifty years wasting away in the dark, who dispensed Beron’s punishments more often than not and delighted in their brutality, who winked at Feyre and said, “Wouldn’t want Winter to get any ideas about stealing you out from under our noses again.”
The guards didn’t protest. They didn’t give Feyre the chance to protest, either. They simply grunted and huffed and clanked up the hall the way they came, grumbling amongst themselves.
Feyre kept her chin raised and didn’t allow herself to falter. She balled one fist in her skirts and kept walking, ignoring the brothers as Nesta or Eris might.
A strong hand snapped out, holding her arm in a bruising grip.
The brother grasping her arm, Kearan, smiled down at her, but it was a dangerous, furious smile.
“Little Feyre,” he murmured, running his eyes over her. “I’ve not seen you for a while.”
Feyre wished she could say the same. She fought to keep her voice steady and cold as enchanted ice as she said, “You saw me at my debut.”
“What are you now, sapling? Twenty, twenty-five? Hard to imagine you’re old enough to wed,” Connel asked from her other side. “But just look at how she’s grown, brothers.”
Feyre took a breath. The brothers were irritating, their roving eyes loathsome, but Amarantha had been worse.
“I don’t need an escort.”
The two males on either side of her smiled, and Connel grabbed her other arm—and Feyre wished she still had her dagger.
“It’s dangerous for you out here, little Feyre,” Kearan said, reaching out a pale hand to brush back the same lock of hair Amarantha had twisted around her fingers during tea. She tried to step out of his touch, but he and his twin held firm. “Those nasty lesser faeries can be so untrustworthy with our females. Especially given your father’s… indiscretions.”
The hallway was empty of anyone save Feyre and the brothers.
No one would answer if she cried for help. No one ever answered the screams Under the Mountain—if a scream wasn’t coming from the dungeons, then it was usually a trap laid by some hungry faerie.
And no one save Beron himself would stand against the Vanserra brothers. Feyre knew their cruelty amused Amarantha too greatly.
She yanked her arms in earnest. Their grip tightened until it hurt, cutting off her circulation. Feyre tried snapping her fingers, tried summoning the new ice in her blood , but their hold on her was so tight that moving her fingers sent sparks of agony up her forearms.
The tapping of fine boots on the flagstones alerted her to Soren moving closer, a ball of flame still crackling in his palm, and then the three of them had cornered her, trapping her in their little circle. She glanced around again, looking for any ally, any weapon. The hallway was still deserted. The males chuckled, a low, rich noise that ran along her body.
“Leave me alone,” she said, louder and angrier than she should have, given the shaking that was starting in her knees.
“And leave you to be violated by one of those beasts?” asked Soren. His fire didn’t reflect in his eyes. Feyre appreciated the honesty of his looks, the cruel brutality written in every line of his body. Connel and Kearan were too beautiful, too ethereal in a way that didn’t match their rotten insides. “Or worse?”
She bristled, but all she could think of was Amarantha, her cold voice saying. Males can be so cruel with inexperienced females, she had said. Was Feyre really going to learn that lesson so soon? It took less effort, less shame than she imagined to open her mouth and say, “Amarantha wouldn’t let that—”
“Amarantha?” Connel choked on his laughter, and then composed himself to drawl. “How trusting. After just one afternoon with her. I thought your mother’s death broke you girls of that bad habit.”
“You know nothing,” she spat. Nothing, she thought, pushing down the memories of her mother and recalling Amarantha’s strange proposal instead.
Sisters. Feyre could have gagged. They were to be sisters. Already, she had the sneaking suspicion that any male who touched her—outside of whatever lessons Amarantha might just go ahead and plan without her consent—would end up being worn as a bracelet or a pair of earrings.
If Amarantha were feeling generous, she might make a whole set of these three males and share them with Nesta and Elain.
But right now, she was cornered, alone. There would be no stopping the brothers, not unless she managed to run. Otherwise, there would only be surviving them and seeking revenge after they were finished with her.
“And you know everything?” Soren’s hands braced either of her shoulders, and his breath was foul when he whispered in her ear, “I know this is Amarantha’s mountain. I know these are her beasts. Do you?”
Kearan’s grip gentled, and he tipped her chin up with one hand. Softly, he said, “And we know there’s a killer on the loose. Haven’t you heard?”
The way Feyre’s blood froze had nothing to do with the magic Amarantha had given her.
“There are a lot of killers down here,” she said, trying to keep the shake from her voice.
“Not like this one. We’ve been keeping you safe and snug and blissfully ignorant in Autumn since all that mess with your mother,” Soren said. If Feyre weren’t so scared, she would have snorted—there was nothing blissful about being confined to Autumn’s annex, even if she knew how to sneak out. “Four years, and no one’s caught the bastard. I would hate for you to run across them all alone…”
Five. It was five years.
Feyre took a bracing breath. She didn’t dare snarl, didn’t go so far as to bear her teeth, but she pulled at their hands again.
“Get your hands off me.”
“You know, it’s funny to think anyone's going to want to marry a naive little girl like you. Do you think Amarantha will supply your dowry in addition to your guard?” Connel ran a hand down her side, digging into her ribs, her hips. “I can’t imagine it will be anything substantial, if her guard is lazy enough to leave her new pet all alone with the first males who want her.”
She jerked back, only to slam into Kearan, who wove his fingers deep into her hair and pressed close.
“I’ll do it, if she asks nicely. But you know how keen Connel and I are on sharing,” he said. Kearan pulled her hair until agony bloomed in her scalp and Feyre heard the pins holding it in place clatter to the floor.
Connel’s fingers slipped into the laces of her gown, pulling them tight until her ribs barked with pain. “We’ll have to keep her pure until her wedding night, but there are a lot of ways to get creative.”
“Stop it,” she gasped, the words strangled as they ushered her onward, deeper Under the Mountain. Soren’s ball of flame was dimming where it floated in the air overhead, the light it cast dying, and their shadows warped against the stone wall and loomed menacingly with each flicker.
There were too many silhouettes, Feyre noted with a sick twist in her stomach. Six long, hungry shadows watched as she was herded out of the main hallway and into a rarely used corridor. The flame flickered, and a vast smear of darkness rose up on the wall and consumed all six.
Shadow-spirits? Something like fear tugged at her stomach, and she could only hope so as she dragged her eyes back to the more immediate threat. She didn’t dare to imagine that they might be something worse.
But finally, free from Amarantha’s summons and the threat of the Queens’ Guard, fearing the three extra creatures following her, the three males dragging her into a secluded niche, Feyre gave into the survival instincts that had been screaming at her all day.
She pushed and thrashed against the brothers; they only hissed at her to stop. Soren shoved her with a mean laugh and she staggered, falling out of their grasp. The flagstone floor rushed up to meet her, and she reached for the knife that wasn’t sheathed at her side anymore, but sturdy hands grasped her under the shoulders before she could grasp at the space where her missing blade should be or hit the floor.
They were strong hands—warm and broad. Not at all like the burning, unwelcome fingers of the three brothers who went utterly still as whoever caught her gently set her upright.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you,” said a deep, sensual male voice she’d never heard. But Feyre kept her eyes on the Vanserras, bracing herself to run, to steal into the shadows, wraiths or the bogge or shadowsingers be damned, as the male behind her stepped to her side and slipped a casual arm around her shoulders.
What little color the brothers had drained from their faces, and their russet eyes went wide.
“Thank you for finding her for me,” her savior said to them, smooth and polished. His hand curled possessively around her shoulder. “I’ll take her from here.”
“She’s a member of our court,” Soren told him, his voice low and dangerous. “And we are escorting her home on our High Lord’s orders.”
“And I am here on our queen’s.” There was enough of a bite in her savior’s words that the brothers stiffened, Connel going pale, though Soren found enough courage to sneer. Kearan cast a long, considering look at Feyre as if gauging how much of a fight she was worth, how much trouble waited for them if they returned empty handed…
But then the male beside her said, “Well? Go on,” and waved a dismissive hand. All three brothers’ expressions emptied into something blank and stupider than usual.
Feyre watched them go without a fight, without another word, stunned and impressed and dreading turning to face whoever could command obedience from the cruel, spoiled princes of Autumn with such self-assured ease. Nevertheless, she steeled herself and stepped out of the shelter of her savior’s arm, turning to thank him.
Her breath caught.
Faintly, Feyre thought the High Lord of the Night Court was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen.
#feyre archeron#rhysand#feysand#amarantha#a court of thorns and roses fic#acotar#my fics#a court of thorns and roses#of the archer and the dark#sarah j maas
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