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Love at First Sight's For Suckers (4/5)

Summary: [A Feysand Newsies AU] Rhysand had a reputation. A big reputation. But fortunately for Feyre, a newsie selling papers on the streets of Velaris, tabloid gossip about the handsome, charismatic, hard-partying war-hero of a High Lord's heir means business is booming. That is, until the city's newspaper magnates get greedy, Feyre finds herself an unwitting labor leader at the center of a strike, and Rhys becomes an unexpected ally...

Warnings: None

Thank you again to @itsthedoodle for continuing to beta my gift for @the-lonelybarricade!

Ch. 1 - Got a Feelin' 'bout the Headline | Ch. 2 - Beautiful. Smart. Independent. | Ch. 3 - Guts and Glory | Ch. 4 - Dead or Dreamin'

You can read the fourth chapter Here on AO3 or under the readmore.

The plan came together with shocking ease. With Nesta's support, they'd hold a rally at Ressina's theater to give the newsies of Velaris a chance to vote on continuing the strike. Meanwhile, Rhys would lay the groundwork for a show of solidarity from the Illyrians. He might have been the farthest thing from popular in the Steppes, but the same couldn't be said for his mother. If the message came from her, they'd lend their support.

They didn't linger long after that. Feyre tried not to think about the hole she felt form in her chest as Rhys left. She’d been raised on the same stories as every other faerie in Prythian—she suspected what it meant. And even if she hadn't, Rhys had practically pledged himself to her.

This went far deeper than just the strike. Feyre knew that much.

She'd been on her way to meet with Nesta when talons plunged into her mind and held it. Feyre would have cried out if she hadn't been frozen in place, nothing more than a captive in her own body.

The voice that echoed in her mind was pure, ancient power. Not Rhys's. His father's.

Your presence is required at the House of Wind, Ms. Archeron. Immediately.

The talons retreated as quickly as they'd appeared. Once they were gone, Feyre wasn't stupid enough to head anywhere but the palace. But if the High Lord wanted to see her so urgently, she really wished he would have done her the courtesy of giving her a way there that didn't require climbing ten thousand steps.

Feyre understood she was there to be evaluated. The High Lord was a daemati—he could force her to obey an order without even lifting a finger. There was something he wanted to see with his own two eyes instead of rooting around in her mind for it.

And if Feyre was a betting woman, she'd assume that something to do with Rhysand.

Among all the headlines about Rhys's wild partying, impeccable fashion sense, and messy love life, there had been several stories about his willingness to openly defy his father. He was protected, at least to a degree, by the ancient laws of Prythian that prevented High Lords from killing their heirs to maintain power. But Feyre wasn't.

If the High Lord wanted her dead, she would be. If he wanted to make an example of her, they'd be meeting somewhere more public. Feyre supposed she was summoned to the House of Wind to be used as a pawn, and she decided she'd rather not think about what it meant that the High Lord might use her as leverage over Rhys. The reason didn't matter, just the outcome if she played her cards right. And Lucien was counting on her.

The High Lord was waiting at the top of the stairs. Not just waiting, really—peering down his nose at her as dark power rolled off him. Feyre stared right back. The Lord of Night had appeared on plenty of front pages over the years, but in person, it was strange to see so much of Rhys in the male before her. His eyes were the same striking shade of violet, but with none of Rhys's warmth or humor.

"So this is the rabble-rouser who's charmed my son," he said.

Feyre reached the top of the stairs. "I thought you called me here for something more important than gossiping about Rhysand."

If he was surprised she didn't deny it, that didn't show on his face. Feyre waited for those talons to spear her mind again. They didn't—perhaps once had been enough.

"Come along, Ms. Archeron. I'm sure a businesswoman such as yourself would rather not have her time wasted."

Feyre followed him through halls of red stone. As they walked, the survival instinct that had kept her alive on the streets urged her to pay attention and memorize the route they took. But it was difficult to concentrate when she was all-too-aware that Rhys lived here, too.

She needed to focus, not wander off in search of his bedroom.

They arrived at the High Lord's study before long. The room was richly appointed—Feyre supposed that the massive ebony desk or hand-knotted rugs alone cost more than a year's rent—but the painting on the wall drew her attention away from the lavish furnishings.

A family portrait. It must have been several years old; Rhys's sister was a babe in the Lady of Night's arms, not the woman who occasionally graced the front page alongside her brother. But even age wasn't enough to account for just how wrong Rhysand looked. The artist had rendered the royal family with flawless technical precision, but Rhys looked stiff. Lifeless.

Nothing at all like her sketch of him.

But there wasn't time to sit and stare at the portrait. The High Lord pulled a chair out for Feyre and gestured for her to sit before settling on the other side of the desk.

"I'd like to settle this matter quietly," he said.

"What matter?" Feyre wasn't sure if this was about the strike…or the High Lord was about to warn her away from the crown prince.

"You started a riot. After all the blood that's been spilled over the centuries to protect this city, I won't have faeries like you destroying it from the inside out."

A growl escaped Feyre before she thought better of it. "If your officers hadn't shown up and started—"

"Enough." A warning—Feyre shut her mouth, even as she continued to glower. He continued, "Your name was found on the manifest of a ship bound for the Continent, so I assume you're interested in leaving the city. If you attend the rally and speak against the strike, I'll provide you with a first-class ticket from Velaris to any destination you'd like and more than enough gold to sustain you."

Nesta might actually kill her if she said yes. Rhys would hate her. But an offer from a High Lord wasn't safe to refuse.

Feyre would make the best of it, like she always did.

"Release Lucien Vanserra from the Prison if you want my cooperation."

The High Lord cocked his head and studied her. "What exactly is the nature of your relationship with the Vanserra boy?"

"None of your business," Feyre spat.

"As High Lord, everything that happens in the Night Court is my business. But I'm particularly interested in why a political agitator who calls herself a High Lady is so fervently defending a foreign-born criminal."

Feyre couldn't imagine why the High Lord hadn't just misted her on the spot. He was practically accusing her of treason. A wrong answer could easily damn her—calling Lucien her best friend wouldn't be a satisfactory answer, but there was another truth Feyre could tell that no faerie would ever question.

"He's family. My sister's mate."

She could've sworn there was a flicker of relief in the High Lord's eyes. Just for a moment, before it was replaced with the same unnerving coldness.

"Then we have a bargain. I'll give you the ticket now as a show of good faith, and the gold and Lucien Vanserra's release will be provided after you speak against the strike at tonight's rally."

The tradition had mostly fallen out of favor among Velaris's newsies, but if the High Lord was backing her into a corner, Feyre decided to insist on it anyway. She spat into her palm then held it out for him to shake. "I agree."

To his credit, the Lord of Night spat in his hand and shook hers before conjuring the ticket and handing it to her. A pit formed in Feyre's stomach as the bargain tattoo appeared on her shoulder, somewhere under her shirtsleeves. The thought of what she'd just done to free Lucien made her burn with shame, but at least the High Lord had done her courtesy of allowing her to hide the outward sign of it.

Feyre stood to go. There were still so many preparations to finish ahead of the rally, and she had no intention of allowing the High Lord to waste any of her time. She marched towards the door without waiting for a dismissal.

Feyre's hand was on the knob when the High Lord spoke again. "Have as much fun with Rhysand as you like, Ms. Archeron. You're hardly his first. But let me be clear: nothing less than a mating bond will make you the next Lady of the Night Court."

Feyre let the slamming door speak for itself—there was still a strike to organize.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Feyre was busy making arrangements with Ressina and putting together a list of speakers. After news of the strike had spread, it seemed everyone had an opinion they wanted to express. Newsies from across the city kept dropping by or sending notes, and it was clear that Feyre had started something bigger than she'd ever imagined.

Even Rhys checked in several times throughout the day, a soft brush against her shields each time he asked for permission to be let in. Oddly respectful for someone who was normally so shameless, but Feyre supposed that if he'd grown up with the High Lord for a father, he knew exactly how frightening it was to have a daemati jabbing at his mind. He never lingered longer than what was necessary to keep her informed about the level of support he'd been able to drum up in Illyria—which was apparently quite a lot once he'd convinced the Lady of Night herself to speak out.

Feyre hoped it was enough to sustain the strike without her.

Everything had happened so fast; a part of her feared that whatever she'd set ablaze would burn bright, then die out just as quickly. The High Lord had near-infinite resources, and he'd chosen to back Pulitzer.

Feyre's stomach was churning as newsies began to fill Ressina's theater that evening. At first, it was just the familiar faces from the Rainbow, and she began to fear the promises from the rest of Velaris were merely empty words.

But then Nesta appeared. The south side newsies followed like an army in formation behind its general as they took their seats, Elain among them, too. From the other side of the auditorium, Feyre locked eyes with her oldest sister, who nodded once and didn't smile. It was the most approval she'd ever gotten from Nesta, and Feyre wished it wasn't about to be so short-lived.

But Lucien's freedom was worth it.

The theater went quiet as the rally began, and Feyre stepped on stage feeling as if she'd swallowed glass.

***

Rhys made it back to Velaris just in time for the rally. He'd hoped to catch Feyre before it started and wish her luck, but her hands were full with preparations. He didn't mind—at least not very much—not when he'd been pleasantly surprised at how readily she allowed him past her shields throughout the day.

He hadn't known she trusted him that much.

As he watched from the wings, it quickly became clear to him that something was wrong. Feyre's shoulders were tense, her expression pinched. At first, he supposed it was just unnatural for a shadow-wraith to find herself directly under bright stage lights or nerves from being the center of attention. But the words that came out of Feyre's mouth were all wrong.

"Sure, Pulitzer never should have raised prices without telling us first. It was a lousy thing to do. And we won't be pushed around, so we go on strike," she said, her voice uncharacteristically stiff. "And then what? He lowers the price to shut us up, we go back to work, and he raises it again. Don't think he won't. And if we don't work, we don't get paid. So please, be practical. If we disband the union and get the High Lord off our back, then Pulitzer won't raise the prices again for another two years. I say we get it in writing and take the deal. Vote no on the strike."

By the time she finished, the newsies' booing and jeers had drowned her out. Feyre stalked off stage, then disappeared into the shadows before Rhys could follow.

Her side of the bond was howling with guilt and self-hatred, and it was nearly impossible not to give into the urge to chase her down. Rhys wanted nothing more than to find her and pull her close—to hold her, then bring her the head of whoever had made her feel this way in the first place.

But Feyre didn't want him. He doubted he'd be much of a comfort, anyway.

At the very least, Rhys could still be useful to her, and if he tracked down Feyre, he'd come to her with information in hand. So he stayed in place and listened to the rest of the speeches as he watched the crowd, trying to understand what had happened.

If Feyre was upset, he suspected the culprit was Nesta, the sister that she'd never gotten along with. But Nesta took the stage next, and even Rhys was impressed with the way her speech directed the newsies' anger away from Feyre and back towards Pulitzer, channeling it into something that could fuel the strike. Nesta wouldn't be the reason Feyre changed her mind, then.

Through the rest of the speeches and voting, Rhys tried to puzzle it out. As a High Lord's heir, he'd been extensively trained in politics, but Feyre was the most pragmatic thinker he'd ever known. She knew that disbanding the union would only hurt the newsies in the long run. There was something else at play.

And when a still-bruised Lucien Vanserra crept into the theater, leaned over the back of Elain's chair, and surprised her with a kiss, Rhys understood the choice Feyre had made.

Rhys had been a prisoner of war—he'd give up everything to bring home a comrade he'd fought alongside. And so would Feyre.

He stayed just long enough to watch the votes get tallied and Nesta's announcement that the overwhelming majority of newsies had voted to continue the strike. Then he was in the air, flying straight towards Feyre's tenement.

He'd expected she'd be inside, but she was on the roof, staring out at the city. As he got closer, Rhys spotted a bag of gold and a folded piece of paper at her feet—and tear tracks lining her face.

"I'll shove you off the building if you're here to lecture me," she said as he landed.

Rhys leaned against the railing ready to dare her to try. "I'm here to ask who bribed you to make that speech."

"Your father didn't mention that we'd struck a deal?"

He'd assumed the High Lord was aware—Lucien wouldn't have been released without his approval—but bargaining with a lesser-fae was the sort of thing the High Lord considered beneath him to handle personally. The thought of Feyre in his father's crosshairs set him on edge.

"I wasn't aware you two were acquainted," he said drily, covering his surprise.

"I had the pleasure of meeting him today."

"If that gold is from him, then you should have twisted his arm a bit more. You could have doubled the amount, and he still would have released Lucien."

"It's not just gold. He gave me a ticket to the Continent, too."

Odd. He'd never known Feyre to be interested in travel. But then again, he doubted she'd ever been outside of Velaris, so perhaps it wasn't strange that she'd want to see more of the world.

"How long will you be gone for?"

"It's a one-way ticket."

Rhys stilled. The whole world stilled. Giving Feyre a one-way ticket to the Continent was as good as exiling her. And yet…she'd asked for it.

Feyre wasn't just leaving. She was running away.

"Why?" was all he managed to choke out.

Feyre's gaze didn't leave the city lights below them. While he still had the chance, Rhys studied her profile in the moonlight, committing the position of every last freckle to memory, just in case he never saw it again.

"Lucien is home. The Velaris newsies are united, and Nesta can negotiate with Pulitzer on her own. You've got the Illyrians on their side now, so the strike's as good as settled. I should get out of the city while I still can—while I'm not needed here."

"But I need you here." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Feyre stepped back. Her hand curled into a fist that told him she'd won enough back-alley brawls to give an Illyrian warrior a run for their money. Her blue-grey eyes flashed dangerously.

"Stop toying with me. Or I swear by the fucking Cauldron , I'll knock you off this roof so fast those wings won't save you."

Rhys blinked. "You think I'm toying with you?"

Something like doubt flashed across her face. Just for a moment, but Rhys caught it before her scowl was back in place.

"What else am I supposed to think?" she hissed.

"I've told you many times, and quite frequently, how attractive I find you."

"Bullshit."

It was all so absurd that Rhys let out an involuntary laugh. He stalked closer, utterly heedless of Feyre winding her arm up to strike him. Perhaps he deserved it—even now, he still couldn't bring himself to tell the full truth of what they were to each other.

"I haven't been with anyone in months, and I've spent every day flirting with you since we met. I thought I'd made myself clear."

They were standing close enough that Rhys could scent her—lilac and pear, the scent that had haunted his dreams for months. Feyre tipped her head back to meet his eyes. He tracked the movement of her throat bobbing.

"Then maybe you should do a better job of it," she said, suddenly breathless.

It was the closest thing he'd ever gotten to an invitation from Feyre Archeron. Rhys wasn't stupid enough to waste it. He leaned in and kissed her, too far gone to make it gentle.

He should have done this right, courted her like a prince who respected a lady enough to ease her into it. Rhys was dimly aware he was likely seconds from getting his teeth bashed in. But the only pain was her fingers curling in his hair as her lips parted and their teeth clacked together.

It didn't matter that the kiss was a hungry, inelegant thing. Feyre wanted him.

They broke apart, and before he could beg her to allow him to come with her to the Continent, she was dragging him back to her. Whatever words Rhys intended to say flew from his mind.

He hadn't even gotten a hand under her clothes, but he was already sure he could die from this. No one could possibly want another person so badly and not combust on the spot. Just the sweep of her tongue into his mouth was his undoing.

He had no idea how much time passed before she finally pulled away again. Rhys's head was spinning, but Feyre's gaze had never been sharper. He had the strangest sense that she'd just come to a decision.

"I'll stay a bit longer. At least until the strike is over," she said.

The thread around Rhys's ribs loosened just a bit. He sighed, letting his head tip forward until his brow rested against Feyre's. Her arms were still around him, and it was most at peace he'd felt since leaving for the frontlines.

There had been days—too many of them—that he hadn't thought he could feel this way again.

"When I told you I'd be with you until the end, I meant it," he whispered.

She cupped his face with one hand, sweeping her thumb along his cheek. Rhys let his eyes flutter shut—only for them to fly open at the tug in his chest, right behind his heart.

"I know," she whispered back.

He nearly asked her exactly what it was that she knew. But the strike could be over in a day, and if Feyre left him behind after that, this night would be all they had. Rhys wasn't stupid enough to ruin it.

So he kissed her again and tried to convince himself one night would be enough.

#feysand #acotar secret santa #love at first sight's for suckers

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rosanna-writer · 4 days

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CHAPTER SIX — FEARLESS

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Summary: Elain is preparing for her journey to Hel when Azriel arrives to apologize for upsetting her in the meeting. Their conversation quickly turns emotional and suppressed feelings come rushing to the surface.

Word Count: 3.8k

Notes: I can’t tell you how excited I’ve been to get this chapter out there!! 🫢

Elain

As Cerridwen and Nuala looked on, Elain rummaged through the dresses and gowns that hung in her ornately carved rosewood armoire. She couldn’t wear anything too bulky or heavy, nothing too formal. No fine fabrics that would be ruined by saltwater. Unusual as it seemed, safely projecting her sight to another planet would require Elain to be fully submerged in saltwater, so she needed to select a dress to wear into a bathtub.

Her day had passed too quickly and the time was drawing near. After Azriel’s exit from the meeting earlier that day, Rhys and Feyre had gone into detail explaining the task Elain would be undertaking. After addressing questions and concerns—most of which had come from Nesta—they’d all been dismissed.

Elain had gone straight to her garden and immersed herself in her work, knowing it was the only thing that stood a chance at bringing any peace to her mind. She pulled out stubborn weeds and pruned brown, wilted blooms from green stems, and as her hands moved and her body fell into a rhythm of flitting from one task to the next, the sharp pang of fear in her chest dulled until it felt comfortably contained. Distant.

Afterward, Nuala and Cerridwen had taken her out for tea and dinner in the city, providing her with a distraction that she very much needed. They laughed together and talked about a great number of things, none of which involved bathtubs or planets or demons. But now, it was getting late and all the distractions in the world wouldn’t delay her journey to Hel.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do it. She did. If only she could calm her body and convince her mind to settle. If only she could be a bit braver…

Elain stepped back and eyed the rack of dresses with a judicious tilt of her head. “The newcomer said the mystics wear white,” she said thoughtfully.

Nuala raised her brows and shook her head quickly. “A white dress in a bathtub? I wouldn’t, not unless you’re comfortable with everyone seeing straight through it.”

Elain turned crimson at the thought. She wouldn’t wear white, then. And she could rule out the soft pastels and delicate floral prints as well. The deep blues and purples seemed too stately for this task. The berry reds and wines were dark enough, but red was the color of passion, an emotional color. It wasn’t a good fit when she needed to drown out emotion to focus on her power.

So many times, Elain had contemplated and selected the perfect gowns for balls and events of all kinds, but never before had she been required to determine which color of dress was best suited for the occasion of space travel. She considered which color would best connect her to her sight. Elain closed her eyes and considered the darkness there, just behind her eyelids—the blank canvas that her visions were painted upon.

Black. She would wear black.

A knock sounded at the front door and Cerridwen vanished in a puff of smoke, returning no more than three seconds later.

“It’s Azriel,” she said. “Do you wish to speak with him?”

Elain chewed her lip as she pondered over the possible reasons for Azriel’s visit. “Yes,” she decided, when curiosity won out over common sense.

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Cerridwen offered.

Hesitantly, Elain asked, “Do you think either of you could find a black dress for me? I know I haven’t left you with much time, but…”

Nuala’s dark eyes glimmered like stars. “We’ll find you the perfect one.”

Elain smiled and gave each of them a tight hug. “Thank you both. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Nuala grinned. “Without us, you would’ve selected a dress that becomes see-through the second it goes into the tub, and they would’ve never let you travel through space again—your projection would’ve caused a riot from the moment you made it to Hel.”

Elain couldn’t stop the genuine laugh that broke free from her mouth. “And I’m endlessly thankful you’ve spared me from that embarrassment.”

Once the two had disappeared into mist and shadow, Elain walked briskly toward the front door, reassuring herself with a deep breath before entering the antechamber.

Azriel’s weary eyes searched hers. “Elain…”

“Come in,” she said with distant formality, unable to meet his gaze. “Would you like some tea?”

“No. I don’t want tea,” he said carefully, looking at her as if it was inconceivable that she was offering it at a time like this. “Elain… I…”

“If you’ve come to talk me out of this, it’s too late,” she said, quiet and calm, but unmovable. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“I apologize if I upset you during the meeting today,” he said, shame darkening his face. “I only worry we’re rushing into this too quickly when we might find another way to contact Prince Aidas if given more time. I could send my entire team across the globe to find another solution. I would search Helion’s libraries myself.”

“We don’t have time, Azriel.” She looked up at him. “Do you think I will fail?” she asked, unable to hide the heartbreak from her eyes. “Do you believe I’m not capable enough to do it?”

“This has nothing to do with your competency,” he said firmly. “I don’t want to risk any harm coming to you, Elain.”

“I’ve agreed to do this because it needs to be done,” she said, lifting her chin. “There is no other way. You have no right to come here and attempt to cloud my mind with doubt at a time when I need to summon my own confidence.” Elain swore she saw a discreet flinch from him.

“I spoke up because I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to you,” Azriel said. “I came here because I care about you…”

Elain shook her head, glossy curls swaying. “This is more important than just me.”

Fierce hazel eyes bored into hers. “There is nothing in this world or any of the others that’s more important than you,” he said with steeled conviction. “Not to me.”

Elain stared back at him, stunned, before her face crumpled with hurt. ”How can you say that?” Her fragile heart fluttered uncontrollably beneath her ribs.

“I care for you just as deeply as I did the night we spoke of our feelings on the ship,” he told her. “I never stopped.”

She shook her head again, trying to hold the brittle, rattling pieces of herself together. “I don’t believe you.” The words were a weak whisper.

Azriel’s eyes were pained as he squeezed them shut. “I understand why you’d doubt me,” he admitted patiently. “But I swear it’s true.”

“Then why did you leave me on Solstice?” Elain demanded softly, but not timidly. “Why didn’t you do anything in the months that followed to even hint that you still cared?” This wasn’t the way she’d wanted to have this conversation, but she couldn’t stop herself. Like a rock that tumbled down a cliffside, she was gaining momentum with little care that she was racing toward an impact that could shatter her completely.

“You thought I didn’t care?” Azriel swallowed hard. “You thought my feelings could vanish so easily?” His low voice remained calm and cool, but Elain could see the clear evidence of his emotions running rampant beneath the surface—it was all there, written in his perfect eyes, etched into his face.

“What else was I supposed to think, Azriel? I waited. I waited for you to come and find me… to tell me that what we had wasn’t a mistake.”

“That isn’t—I didn’t mean it like that,” he said tightly. “I’m sorry.” He took a step back, closing himself off, and Elain couldn’t stand it. “I shouldn’t have come here. You need to prepare for tonight and it isn’t the right time for this.”

“Then leave!” she ordered him miserably. He froze, as if rendered motionless by her words. Elain did not soften, nor did she relent. “And then you can avoid me for another six months until you change your mind and decide I’m desirable to you again. But when you do, I will not be so foolish to put myself through this a second time.” This was it. This was how it all ended, like lovely magnolia blossoms destroyed by frost, crumpled and browned before they’d ever had the chance to unfold.

“No.” Azriel’s eyes were half-wild and completely frantic. Shadows billowed around him like a dark, raging storm. “I won’t. I won’t leave you. Elain… I’m trying. I’ve been trying…”

Elain wrapped her arms around herself. “You shouldn’t have to try to love me,” she said softly. “So don’t. I’ll never be enough for you.”

“That’s not what I—” Azriel took in a shuddering breath. “I’m trying to show you how sorry I am. I’m trying to show you how much you mean to me. I’m trying to show you that what I did to you on Solstice has been the greatest regret of my life. I will never leave you again, Elain.”

Elain’s world went still as she was granted the promise she had once prayed for over so many torturous weeks.

It was not enough.

“Why now?” she asked. “Why after all this time, when you had every chance to fix this months ago, before the damage had been done?”

“Elain, I—”

“You knew I was heartbroken,” she murmured, her voice trembling as silvery tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “You could’ve said something. You could’ve sent a letter. You could’ve spoken to me at any point… But you didn’t. You knew what I’d been through and you knew exactly what your rejection would do to me.”

“I’m so sorry…” He reached toward her with a shaking, scarred hand before forcing it to his side. “I wasn’t—I never wanted to hurt you.”

He had, though. He’d hurt her, and these past few weeks of reconnection, the shared smiles and his kindness—it all felt so far away. In this moment, she couldn’t feel anything past the aching, empty pit in her heart—a hole carved out from the place he used to be, a wound that had never healed completely.

“Do you want to know why I haven’t agreed to hear your apology?” she asked soberly as she held herself tighter. “You want me now, but I’m scared that you will never care enough to stay. Not for long. And I don’t think I can live my life in fear of the day you change your mind about me again.”

“Elain…” The shadows grew darker, wilder. Through their whirling veil of darkness, she could see the devastation on his beautiful face. “Elain, please—”

“All I ever wanted was for you to do something, anything to show me that you cared.”

“I cared…” he choked out. “I always did.”

She shook her head sadly. “You didn’t care. You always held back. You never cared enough to show me—”

She said nothing further because Azriel’s hands were cupping her face and his mouth was meeting hers, and she hadn’t seen it coming through the tears clouding her eyes. And gods, his kiss was desperate, born from frantic need and feelings he’d hidden for much too long, but his lips… his lips were gentle.

Elain froze, and then with a whimper, she kissed him back, melting into him, her pain not forgotten, but unwilling to stop her arms from wrapping around his broad back. Azriel’s trembling fingers slid into the hair at the base of her scalp and stroked the nape of her neck over and over, as if he was making sure she was still there, as if he was reassuring himself this was real.

“I’m showing you now.” Azriel spoke the words against her mouth. Then he kissed her again, and when his tongue brushed the seam of her lips, Elain yielded to him, and as he deepened the kiss, she caressed his back with long, steady passes of her hands. However much he would give, she wanted it all. Even if it ravaged her entirely in the end, even if this was all he would ever give her.

Because in her arms stood the male who’d risked his life to save her. Because this was the male who asked her what she was thinking of, just to discover the thoughts she kept to herself. This was a male who was kissing her like he loved her. Elain never wanted him to stop.

She clutched at Azriel’s lower back, tugging greedily until she felt the satisfying press of his hips and cock against her, and then he moaned, a low rumbling arising from deep in his chest. It was the most beautiful sound Elain had ever heard.

Between her legs, she was aching, and now she was nearly dizzy at the feel of his hard length against her stomach. She needed more.

Still, Azriel kissed her, working the most exquisite magic against her lips, magic that she could feel shimmering in every empty chasm beneath her skin. Azriel dipped down to hoist her up into his arms and Elain hooked her legs around his back, the light fabric of her skirt bunching as she weaved her fingers into his silky black hair.

He stepped forward until Elain’s back was pressed against the wood paneling that lined the walls of the antechamber, never ceasing with his lavish cascade of kisses—ravenous kisses that left her moaning and gasping and dragging her hands over his handsomely sculpted body, just to feel him, just to claim him for however long she could.

There was nothing but Azriel, and like this, with his feelings an endless river, streaming into her through every touch, every untamed kiss, Elain was completely enraptured. His rich, woodsy scent was all around her and she inhaled it until he was every breath in her lungs, every thought in her head, every heartbeat in her chest.

“Now can you tell that I still care?” he asked breathlessly, his lips parting from hers as he stroked her cheek. “Can you tell that I’ve thought of little else but you each day I had to stay away, and hundreds of days before then?” His eyes drifted shut as he sucked the rosy flesh of her plump lower lip. “Thoughts of you consume me.”

He kissed her again, his tongue meeting hers, her whole body answering the command of his own, savoring the soft press of his hips and the feel of rough hands that touched her so wondrously.

“You’re right,” he said, pulling back enough that Elain could see the entirety of his face. “I shouldn’t have waited. But I’m showing you now. And I’m telling you that you are everything to me.”

Elain’s gaze swept across the features of his face, taking him in, seeing all of him—the striking hazel eyes darkened with need, his magnificent wings, spread wide enough to span the width of the antechamber, gilded by soft beams of sunlight filtering in through the fogged glass windows… and she saw beneath a chest that rose and fell with heavy breaths, saw all the way to his heart—unfettered and laid bare before her for the very first time.

“I missed you, Azriel,” she breathed.

His brows creased with feeling. “Gods, Elain, I missed you too.”

But as she held his face and traced his soft lips with her thumb, an unwelcome realization jolted through her.

Rhys’s plan.

As Azriel leaned in for another heated kiss, Elain halted him with one gentle hand on his chest. “Azriel, I… I have to get ready…” She shook her head as if she was breaking free of a spell, unhooking one leg from around him and searching for the floor beneath her with her bare foot.

Azriel carefully helped her down, studying her face. “Something’s wrong,” he said, pulling in his great wings as a flicker of fear went streaking through his eyes. “What is it?”

Elain tipped her head forward, resting her forehead against his chest. “I wanted to go into this calm and settled. And now my head is spinning…”

“I’m sorry…” Shadows began encircling him like bands of smoke, their return drawing Elain’s attention to the fact they’d been completely absent just a moment ago. He ran his hands down her back with one long, soothing pass after another. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you wanted…”

“I’m not upset with you,” Elain said, stroking the scaled leather armor that covered the sides of his ribcage. She felt him relax at her touch. “But Azriel, I’ve spent the last few months building walls around my heart, trying to learn how to be happy without you. I’m overwhelmed. And now, I have to travel to an entirely different world in one hour and I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Elain.” With one hand still resting on the small of her back, he dragged the other through his hair. “I didn’t mean to make this harder for you.”

“You really don’t think I can do this?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that…”

“Then what is it?” she asked gently. “I thought you had faith that I could master my powers and use them to help others. But when I have a chance to do exactly that, you appear at my door to tell me I shouldn’t.”

“I do believe in you,” he said. “I believe that you will master your gift and become the most accomplished seer Prythian has ever known. But I will always want to protect you and keep you safe. That’s who I am. And this…” A flash of emotion crossed his face and Azriel looked away. “This frightens me. It feels… too unpredictable. It’s difficult for me—when something so important is out of my control.” His eyes settled on hers once more. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you, Elain.”

“What if I end up lost?” she said, her gaze dropping to the marble tiles that covered the antechamber floor. “What if these Princes of Hel aren’t the saviors we think there are and they try to trap me on their planet?”

His siphons flickered, casting the antechamber in a cold, blue light. “Then I will find you,” he vowed, shadows gathering like menacing serpents. “I will destroy anyone and any part of the galaxy that stands in my way, and I will bring you back.” His strong arms encircled her and he pulled her in close against him. “If you need me, I will come for you.” Elain settled into his warmth, resting her cheek against his chest and folding her arms around him.

Elain couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her like this. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so safe. She knew he would be lying if he’d promised her that nothing would go wrong. She knew the possibility of anyone being able to help her while she wandered the depths of space was nearly nonexistent. But she trusted him. If there was anyone who stood a chance of finding her out in that endless, empty void, it would be Azriel.

Elain prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She would never forgive herself if he had to gamble with his own life to save her for a second time—couldn't fathom the thought of anything happening to him.

She wanted to do this on her own, wanted everyone to see that she was not as weak and helpless as they believed her to be.

“I really must get ready,” she murmured distantly. “I can’t be late.”

“Would you like me to stay?”

Elain shook her head. “Nuala and Cerridwen will be back soon with my dress for this evening. And I need some time alone before then.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding her tenderly against him. “I know I’m at fault for upsetting you today.” He stilled and took a cautious step back. His eyes found hers, uncertainty muddling them. “Do you still want—is this okay?” he asked, anxiously.

“Yes.” The feeling of him pulling away from her, even for a moment, left a heavy knot in her stomach. “As long as you want to. As long as this isn’t you changing your mind…”

“No,” he said, bending to nuzzle his face against her neck. “Never. I won’t let anything keep me apart from you again.” He pressed a gentle kiss against the side of her throat. “I won’t stay away unless you ask it of me.”

As much as it hurt her heart, she had to say it—“We have a lot to talk about, Azriel.”

He tensed. “I know.”

“But we will,” she told him, softly. “When tonight is over, we’ll talk about everything.”

Azriel nodded with relief. “Thank you.” With his hand at her waist, he stroked her side with his thumb. “I know you need to be alone right now, but I never want you to feel that I’m leaving you again. I won’t go until you tell me to.”

Elain’s anxious heart settled. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear those words, though perhaps Azriel had known. She suspected he was fully aware of each raw edge left overexposed inside her.

“I’ll see you tonight, Azriel.” Placing one hand on his chest, Elain balanced on her toes and wished him goodbye with a kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he promised. “We all will.” He held her close. “I have faith you will travel to Hel safely and the Mother will watch over you as you find your way back home.” And after one long, lingering kiss pressed against her forehead, he vanished.

Before her thoughts had a chance to rise up into a towering wave, Elain’s attention was drawn toward the sweet shadow that accompanied her, who was now rushing in rapid circles around her wrist. He behaved in this way each time Azriel winnowed away, and she wasn’t quite sure if he was reacting to her own feelings or protesting over Azriel leaving.

She smiled at him, appreciating the levity he brought to the moment before her fears began creeping in like common periwinkle, invasive and smothering. She could feel the seconds slipping away, disappearing too quickly, bringing her closer to the inevitable task that awaited her.

Elain lowered herself to the ground. With her legs bent in front of her and her skirts draping down from the peak created by her knees, she eased herself backwards until she was lying on the antechamber floor with her palms pressed flat against the icy marble beneath her. The tile cooled her overheated skin.

A lady knew better than to degrade herself by lying in the middle of a dirty floor. But tonight she was not a lady, she was to be a world-walker. And she was overcome with dread because she still didn’t know the first thing about being fearless.

Thank you so much for reading!! ❤️❤️

When I set out to write this story, I knew I wanted their first kiss to be initiated by Azriel in a moment of passion when he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. I was hoping that this chapter would show growth for both of them because Elain speaks her mind and lets herself express how hurt she is and Azriel finally lets his walls come down to show Elain how he feels. They will take it slow with each other later on. 🥰

The shadow reacts to Azriel leaving the way it does because it likes when Elain and Azriel are together and wants him to come back. 🥹 Because it can sense their emotions, it can tell they feel whole and understood when they’re around each other. 🥰

I recently began listening to music while writing and I feel like it helps so much!! While workshopping their pre-kiss dialogue in the antechamber, I cycled between “Decode” by Paramore for Elain’s POV and “Beautiful Things” by Benson Boone for Azriel’s dialogue (especially the chorus).

My parents moved into a house with a magnolia tree, and the very first spring, the sweet pink blossoms froze and turned brown before they could open and they looked so sad and horrible. It was the first thing I thought of when reflecting on how Elain would view the possible loss of their beautiful, unexplored potential.

In the next chapter, we get to see Elain push her powers further than she ever has when she travels between worlds! Do you think she’ll succeed?

#Elriel #!!!!!!! so excited to catch up!!!!!!!

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