Azriel appeared from the shadows of the High Lord's study, his broad shoulders tense upon Tamlin's unveiling. He had meant to remain hidden near the door, but his intentions did not stop him from crossing the room and stepping in front of his son. His wings flared wide, a second barrier between the Lord of Spring and Celeste, a child he would lay down his life for.
She cowered behind the Illyrians, her trembling hands gripping the boney frame of Amael's sparkling wings. She buried her face into his shoulder. Celeste did not want to look at Tamlin, and she could not fathom why her mother had brought him to Velaris. Did Feyre expect her to go with him? The Spring Court was even further away than Adriata, and Tamlin was nothing but a monster. He had delivered them Celeste's fate twelve years ago, and she had not forgotten the stories that her family had told her. She had not forgotten that Tamlin had locked her mother away, confining her in his manor until she'd begun to whither away.
The High Lord's snarl was feral. "Take Celeste to her room," Rhysand said, his fingers grasping the pommel of his sword so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He stalked out from behind his desk, his violet eyes darting back and forth between Tamlin and Feyre. Betrayal burned there, and Feyre turned her head away as she drifted into the corner of his study. "Now, both of you. Take her to her room."
Azriel turned sharply, grasping Amael's wing and Celeste's shoulder before winnowing them both from the study. Celeste felt the cold kiss of ice and shadow dance against her skin as they shifted from one room to another, her bedroom appearing within moments of Azriel reaching for her. She staggered from beneath his hand, collapsing onto the edge of her bed where Amael knelt down in front of her.
He took her face between the palms of his hands, ignoring the darkness that snapped at his chest and flickered against his own shadows. "Look at me," Amael said gently, brushing his thumb across Celeste's cheek. He could feel the panic seeping out of her, could feel it creeping down their mating bond and worming its way into his mind. It was palpable, and she could not breathe. "Celeste, look at me."
"I can't go to the Spring Court," Celeste whispered hoarsely, her amethyst eyes meeting Amael's gaze. They were wide and lined with silver, and her chest was rising too quickly. She would work her way into a melt down if Amael did not stop it. "Tamlin locked my mother away in his manor. He—he has a temper. He hates my father," she reached for Amael's hand and squeezed it, her fingers trembling against his palm. "I can't go. Not to the Spring Court. The last time we saw him—"
"Listen to me," Amael murmured, soothing her darkness with his shadows. They curled over his shoulders and flickered at the apex of his wings. "Tamlin will not lock you away. I won't let him," he did not wince as her palms iced over with frost, a small slip of her magic. "I trust that Rhysand will make the right choice in where to send you, but if it's to the Spring Court, you will not go without me. You will not be alone." He said it with such conviction that Celeste wanted to believe him.
It was to both their surprise that Azriel dropped to one knee, his wings brushing against Amael's. The Illyrian took Celeste's other hand, cradling it gently between his scarred fingers. "Feyre, I'm sure, had her reasons for seeking out Tamlin. I trust her, as I trust your father," his voice was quiet, his features near unreadable if not for the soft reassurance in his hazel eyes. "I'll go with you to the Spring Court—to any Court—and I will not let anyone hurt you. Neither will Amael. Tamlin will not harm you, temper or grudge be damned."
A tear rolled down her cheek that Amael quickly wiped away for her. "The Spring Court is close to the continent," Celeste croaked. "I'd be closer to the Mortal Queens if we go there. If they find me…if they find any of you…"
Azriel did not hesitate as he reached for the obsidian hilt of Truth-Teller. He pulled the blade free and pressed it into her open palm, then gently closed her fingers around it. Amael sucked in a breath—even he had never been allowed to touch that knife. "This blade will always strike true," Azriel told her, his lips quirking with the smallest of smiles as Celeste gawked at the weapon. "Keep it with you, and should anyone be stupid enough to threaten you, use it. Truth-Teller has never failed me, and I have no doubt that it will not fail you, either."
"I'll teach you how to use it," Amael added, tucking a strand of her midnight hair back behind Celeste's ear. He smiled as she leaned into his palm, studying the knife between her fingers. "Maybe you'll fight better with this than with a sword. It's small, like you."
She huffed at him, then turned her eyes to Azriel. "I've never seen you give this knife to anyone, not even Amael."
"I gave it to Elain several years ago," Azriel informed her. Celeste frowned. "It's the knife that she and Nesta used to kill the King of Hybern. Neither of them had any training, and as I said, the blade will always strike true," he stood, surprising them again as he pressed a kiss to Celeste's forehead. It was brief, and he did not linger. "I'll get a sheath for you to put it in."
Celeste carefully set the blade on her mattress, then rose onto wobbly legs that nearly sent her stumbling into Amael's chest. She did not give the Shadowsinger time to prepare himself before she threw her arms around his torso, mindful of his wings as she hugged him. But Azriel did not miss a beat as he held her close to his chest, meeting Amael's eyes over her shoulder. His son smiled at him, perhaps aware that Azriel supported their mating, and mouthed a silent thank you.
His father did not acknowledge him, and Azriel squeezed Celeste once before winnowing out of her embrace.
Author's Note: This was a very, very crappy chapter. I apologize. I came home from the convention, and two days later came down sick. I have the sinus infection from Hell and my head feels like it's about to crack in half. Hopefully it goes away soon and I can focus on writing a good chapter. I'm sorry, guys. Bear with me.