He despised going to the mountains.

It was a cold, dreary, filthy place. A most unfortunate necessity. But a necessity it was, as he needed the resources there. Invaluable resources, truth be told. At least when he was in the mood to be truthful.

Still it was something that must be done. Duty, no matter how tiresome, always called.

A slight tugging on his sleeve pulled his gaze down to see a servant struggling with the black onyx cufflinks on his sleeve. He snatched his hand away in an annoyed gesture and began to fasten them himself as he studied the figure that now cowered before him.

She was a small, willowy creature. Lithe and delicate in her build, as was the way with most of her kind. Her hair was long and fair and obscured her face as she looked down at her feet.

Once he had finished with the cuff of his sleeve he turned to the young fae before him fully. The girl flinched as he grasped her chin firmly and lifted her face upwards. The curtain of hair fell back to reveal rather pleasing visage. Full lips and elegant features. Dark lashes fanned out across her pale skin, as her eyes remained cast downward.

And as well they should. He did not tolerate any beneath him to look him in the eye.

But all in all, an exquisite specimen. Exactly how he liked them. He would not suffer the hands of some of the more repugnant fae to serve him. Their kind were acceptable Under the Mountain, but not near his person. Much less serving him.

But the well-formed figure before him now was quite to his tastes. Far too delectable to damage. He would inform the head mistress of the house to send her to him tonight for a more informal and yet, far more detailed instruction on how to serve her lord.

He released her chin and stalked to the balcony, disregarding the sound of the fae behind him collapsing completely. He inhaled the cool wind that blew in from the sea, savoring the sounds of Velaris and its people.

His people.

His city.

And then he closed his eyes and vanished into darkness.

When he opened them again, gone were the green cooper roofs and pale cobblestone streets. Gone was the river of pure sapphire blue and white marble and sandstone buildings. He could no longer hear the cries of the vendors selling their wares or laughter and conversation of the citizens in the street.

Now he was met with a blast of icy cold air and the shouts of men giving orders and the sounds of swords clashing in the rings. He opened his eyes to bare rock and mud and crude tents centered around fire pits. He saw warriors moving in formation, on the ground and in the air. To one side a small ring was set up where young boys were set to spar. Two boys were in the ring now, one on top of the other, pounding the one on the ground into a bloody pulp till one of the men pulled the boy off by the scruff of his neck and tossed him aside. A loud ruckus from somewhere in the camp sent a few warriors to the sky above, while the women hauled water and laundry from the muddy stream that ran down from the mountain.

Illyrians, he thought disdainfully. Savages. Nothing more. Nothing less.

A motion pulled his attention and he turned as one of the warriors approached. He was a tall, formidable character dressed in fighting leathers. His great black wings were tucked in tight behind him, the talons just p over his shoulders. With his dark skin, amber eyes and coal black hair, he might have been considered handsome, but for the scars that ran in jagged lines across his face. They wore those scars like a medal. Never a complaint. Never a retreat. They did not cry out in pain, only asked for more. Brutal, lethal, and efficient.

Complete savages, he thought again.

But savages with a purpose.

The Illyrian approached with a respectful incline of his head. At least, as respectful as an Illyrian could be towards the High Fae.

"My lord."

"Captain," he replied coolly as he began to walk towards the center of the camp. "Your progress."

"Yes. On schedule and progressing steadily. I foresee no issues with reaching the deadline you have given. At least not this camp. Further down the mountain, the tribes tend to be weaker. It is known."

Illyrians. No other one was better than the one you were talking too.

"The deadline will be met, no exceptions. If deemed necessary, perhaps I will permit you to provide the proper incentive." He could feel the captain's pleasure at hearing this. Nothing pleased an Illyrian more than to dominate, especially another clan. He was never one to deter this behavior from them. As long as they continued to bicker amongst themselves, they were far more malleable for him to wield. "I want them trained and mobile before the coming Starfall, no exceptions. Anyone who struggles or falls behind is to be cut loose. I want reports from the clans in the southern and western territories by night fall. If they have not sent representatives by then, they shall answer to from Under the Mountain. When we have a full count of - What in the name of the bloody Cauldron is going on?"

Upon walking through the camp, they had come upon the original ruckus that had sent several warriors to the skies earlier. He was not entirely certain of what he was seeing. Several men were surrounding a figure on the ground. At first he had thought it was one of the boys receiving a lashing or beating or whatever ridiculous disciplinary action these animals saw fit to dole out. But upon closer inspection he realized it was not a child but what looked to be a young Illyrian woman.

"That is nothing my lord. Just a brood mare that tried to shirk her duties," the captain commented casually. "She is learning her place again is all."

He knew the captain was speaking, he could hear his voice, though it was far off and distant. But he did not acknowledge it. He could not. His attention was locked on the struggle before him. He watched as the men held her down while another came towards her with a red hot blade.

Something within pulled at his core, calling to him to see. His steps were involuntary. He could see her struggling wildly. He could see her fight as they pinned her wings down. He could see the pull and flex of muscles beneath her dark skin as she thrashed against her restraints. He had never cared what these beasts did to the other as long as they served his purpose. But now, this girl who was barely a woman, screamed at his being and for a moment he could see her very soul, a blaze with white light that rose like a phoenix before him. Suddenly his world came crashing into place and he reacted without thinking.

The spaces that had been filled just seconds ago with men, were now covered in a fine red mist as the sword fell to the ground.

The camp had gone still, no sound to be heard.

He walked to where the young woman crouched on the ground and stood over her as she blinked in confusion as to what just happened. A chill ran up his spine, spreading throughout his entire body.

"What was her crime," his voice was ice.

The captain moved up alongside him, his own anger covered with a thin veil of control. "There is no crime, it was a clipping. It's done to all the women with their first blood."

"You will not touch her wings. Not today or any other day."

The captain visibly roiled at this. Illyrian's did not like being told what to do with their own. "And just who is this girl to you?"

The young woman looked up at him from behind a shroud of midnight black hair. Amber eyes of copper fire met eyes of blue as cold as midwinter dawn.

"She is my mate."

~oOo~

The boy looked at his surroundings.

It was simple enough. One large room consisting of the kitchen and living area. He sat there now at the small table that served four. The large fire place in the kitchen and the second one in the main room kept the cabin comfortable. Shelves filled with books and parchments lined the one of the wall where a second table with three chairs sat, the fourth was discarded off to the side due to lack of use. Another sitting area was next to the second fire place. It was set with large pillows and blankets and a large cushioned chair worn from use. Across the room from where the boy sat, two more rooms could be seen. One held a single bed while the other held two beds and what looked to be a pallet set up in small loft. Nothing extravagant to say the least, but it still had the feel of something the boy was not accustomed too. A home.

It had come as no surprise when he had been taken from his mother. Or, from the woman who was called his mother anyway. She had only really ever shown passing interest in him and even then it was not until the shadows came.

It was how he knew he was coming here. The shadows had whispered to him, in his ear. They told him how his mother had sought out the High Lord of the Night Court's mate. How she had begged her to shelter him. They set him on fire, she had pleaded, they will kill him.

He looked down at his hands as the shadows wisped around his still bandaged fingers like a caress.

The boy new who they were. They were the sons of the man who sired him. In some other kingdom, one might have called them his brothers. But not this kingdom. Not here.

As if it could hear his thoughts, the darkness began to swirl and dance around him. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and willed his mind to be still. It was not that he was afraid of it, the shadow and night that always seemed to trail in his wake, but sometimes he could not control it. It could overwhelm him if he was not careful. Especially when he was angry or frightened. Or in pain.

Sometimes they spoke to him as well.

The shadows spun and churned around him, coiling around his ear.

he's watching you

The boy's head snapped up. A figure stood in the door way of the small side room with the loft. It was another boy not much older than him in age with piercing blue eyes.

The shadows swirled.

the high lord's son

"Are you doing that?"

The boy did not speak as he took in the High Lord's son. He was taller than the boy, his lean frame was far more filled out as well, having never been forced to miss a meal. He wore no shirt, only black breeches tied at the waist. His hair was cropped short around very pointed ears and framed a face that was all High fea.

"Well? Are you doing that or not," the Lord's son asked again impatiently. "Do you not know how to speak?"

"Maybe he just doesn't like speaking to little pricks."

The shadows licked at his ear.

bastard

The shadows seemed to giggle.

just like you

To anyone else, it would have seemed as if the darkness of the room had taken a voice. But the boy new better. Nothing could hide from him in the gloom. The shadows showed him everything. A second boy, the bastard, sat perched up in the loft, watching in from dark. The boy watched as the bastard jumped from the loft, his black Illyrian wings spread wide so that he touched the ground soundlessly. He was broader than the lord's son and all sinew and muscle. The lord's son shot the bastard a reproachful look.

"Then he has nothing to say to you so piss off. This doesn't concern you."

"A fucking shadowsinger," the second boy spat as he swaggered over, "is about to start sleeping in the same room as me? Oh it concerns me alright."

"What are –"

"A-sha-dow-sin-ger," the bastard said with mocking slowness. "That's what he is, dumbass."

"You're a dumbass who doesn't know shit," the lord's son snarled.

"I know I'm about to beat your prissy ass again."

"Fuck off! I could kill you if I want."

"I'm right here," the second boy held his arms out wide in invitation, "try it."

"That will be quite enough."

Three dark heads snapped towards the entrance of the cabin to see a woman standing there. She wore a long dark blue coat fastened all the way up to her high collar with black boots. Finely embroidered stars speckled the hem and sleeves and fitted for flying. She was lean and slender but the boy new that belied the toned muscles that lay beneath her long coat for that is the way with all Illyrians. Her black hair was swept up loosely at the back of her head. It seemed to the boy that her hair was tousled and her face flushed, as if she had only just arrived.

The boy did not need the dark to tell him who stood before them now. Even if he did not know whose cabin it was he was in, he would still know who stood in the doorway. There were no other Illyrian woman, in any clan, anywhere, whose wings were not cut.

It was the mother of the lord's son. The High Lord of the Night Court's mate.

The female voice caused the two boys to halt their standoff. The great black Illyrian wings that had appeared behind the lord's son, disappeared just as quickly as the boys jumped swiftly jumped back away from each other, heads lowered and hands clasped behind their backs.

"Hello mother," the lord's son said.

"We were just talking," the bastard quickly interjected, his tone all innocence.

"I see," the woman replied flatly.

She pulled her gloves off as she entered the cabin, crossing to the table to set them down. She then turned to face the two boys who, while they still had their heads lowered, were shooting dirty looks at the other. She then began to unfasten the clasps on her coat as she walked slowly over to where the two boys stood and then tossing it on the bench by the door once reaching them. She placed her hands on her hips as she considered them for several moments.

"There is an awful lot of empty parchment over on those desks for someone who is supposed to be practicing their letters …"

Both boys' heads snapped up with mouths open to protest before shutting just as quickly with a click of their teeth when she raised her hand.

"I suggest that the two of you return to your given assignments, that I am certain you have completed, so that I may check them. And if I should find myself displeased at what I see, there will two people going to bed very hungry and I assure you, I will not be one of them."

The two boys practically ran each other over in their mad scramble to get to the desks in the room. The ruckus continued to be heard for several seconds as they fought over materials until if finally quieted down to the soft scratching of quill on parchment.

The High Lord's mate sat down on the bench next to the room with a little smile as she listened to the commotion die slowly down. When it was quiet once more she gave the boy a considering look. After a moment she held up a hand and crooked a finger for him to come to her.

The boy hesitated, uncertainty taking over as it had rarely ever ended well when someone wanted him.

She gestured for him again and this time he came, albeit slowly. Upon reaching her she patted the space next to her for him to sit down.

"You know why you are here yes?"

The boy said nothing.

"Your mother asked me to take you in. She was worried that something would happen to you."

This came as no surprise to the boy. After the shadows came, he had suddenly become quite valuable.

"You are going to be sharing a room with those two louts in there. Cassian and Rhysand, my son."

The boy spared a quick glance at the room, uncertainty returning once more. Good things rarely happened when he was around others of his age. How would this be any different? The lord's mate placed a finger under his chin and gently pulled his face back to hers.

"While you are with me, while you are under my care, no harm will come to you, do you understand? No harm. You will train with the boys, learn with the boys, and grow with the boys. But this," she glanced at his bandaged hands, "will never happen. Not here. Not with me. Not with them. I won't permit it. They won't either. I know it does not seem like that," she added with a shrug, "but they won't. Believe me."

She reached up and brushed a lock of dark hair from his face. The boy studied her and saw something in her eyes he had never seen before, at least not when someone looked at him.

Affection.

"Welcome to my home Azriel. Welcome to your home."

The boy did something then, something he had no recollection of ever doing. He smiled. And for a moment he thought he could hear the shadows sigh.

~oOo~

She lay on the ground confused.

One second she had been struggling for her life. Fighting with everything she had to break away. Cursing and spitting and biting and whatever else she could do to prevent the inevitable. It was useless of course. The males were stronger than her and cared less about her plight. But still she tried. And so she twisted and screamed and begged. But their grips only tightened as the held her down and her eyes went wide when she saw the red hot blade came towards her wing. And so, in a last desperate attempt, she bucked her body with all of her strength, even managing to raise herself from the ground, before falling in a heap.

But this time, when she kicked, there were no hands holding her. No iron grip twisting her arms and pulling out her wing. She had broken free.

Hadn't she?

A light mist had begun to fall and she looked up to see that it was not rain that was covering the ground. The red hot sword, which had been aimed for her wing only moments before, lay on the ground, angrily hissing as red mist covered it.

The sound of footsteps on the wet ground pulled her attention and she looked up to see a man standing over her. The world around him seemed to blur and fade until it was only him she could see. He was cold and beautiful and his eyes were a blue the color of the ice in the high mountains, clear and piercing. He pulled at her very core and it was if she could see his soul that burned like a cold dark fire that promised no warmth. A chill ran down her spine and spread throughout her entire body as her world slammed into place.

She could hear the faint hum of angry voices behind him but they mattered little now. He was all she could see as one thought rang in her head.

My mate.