SUMMARY: The aftermath of Gwyn's birthday. In an intimate moment, Gwyn and Azriel are forced to confront her trauma.

️ NSFW

TRIGGER WARNING: Gwyn gets triggered by something during intimacy that reminds her of her SA.

Colorful streamers littered every flat surface. Empty cups and bottles dotted the table like fallen soldiers after battle. Only, this was the aftermath of a party. Speaking of fallen soldiers…

The training priestesses didn't make it back down to the library. Most could not step down the stairs straight. They surprised Azriel at their ability to hold their liquor. A guest-chamber was found for them, far away from the rest.

A gentle snore came from his lap. He peered down, his lips tipping up on one side.

Gwyn was fast asleep, her cheek resting on his thigh, her hands folded under her chin. Her red hair splashed over his tan skin like wine. His hand couldn't help but brush the strands off her beautiful face.

A soft sigh gained his attention. He had almost forgotten they had an audience. Nesta was there, ever vigilant.

A louder snore emanated from her own lap, currently cradling Cassian's giant head. Nesta's face dipped toward her sleeping mate, her hands caressing his long hair with a gentleness not normally seen by the eldest Archeron. Soft melodies from the still-playing Symphonia joined the rising chorus of sleep.

Gwyn mumbled something disjointed, her fingertips digging into the fabric of his breeches.

"Job well done, Azriel," Nesta said merely above a whisper.

A swell of modest pride rose in his chest. Azriel didn't reply, but was glad Gwyn's cherished friend thought he'd done a solid enough job in helping with their plans.

Gwyn's freckled hand clutched him again, and he wondered what she was dreaming of. Was it good? Bad? Either way, her bed was surely more comfortable than the couch and his solid thigh. Though she often boasted about how he made an exceptional pillow.

"You up for that chat?" Nesta asked, her fingers never stilling.

He sighed. "I'm going to put her in her bed first."

Silent as the night, Azriel rearranged her limp form in his arms as shadows swept them from the living space to her room. He shuffled her over to the bed, marveling at the way her head settled against his chest, right above his heart. How her arms felt around his neck. He would hold her like this if he could.

He set her on the bed like the most precious thing he owned, delicately removing her shoes and almost receiving a boot in the face for his efforts. Drawing the heavy blankets over her form, he considered kissing her forehead. Instead, Azriel watched her as his shadows blanketed her form in a semblance of a goodnight hug. Satisfied that she was safe and sound, he pivoted to leave her to her dreams.

"Shadowsinger?"

A hand folded around his wrist. He angled back to encounter her eyes partly open, studying him.

"Yes, priestess?"

Her lips formed a drowsy smile, the covers crinkling as she moved beneath the sheets. "You haven't called me that in a long time."

"Sorry, I forget myself—"

"No. Even though I left the order, a part of me will remain one. Plus, you said you love to revere me so I don't mind."

He chuckled softly, his thumb chasing the freckles dotting her cheek. "I see all of you, Gwyn."

A fearless, magnificent Valkyrie. Decisive. Cunning. Witty. Brilliant. All rolled into one striking, flaming-haired, freckled package.

"Az, aren't you coming to bed?"

The Illyrian shook his dark head. "Soon. I thought perhaps I might stay in my room tonight." She raised a defiant auburn brow at him. Leaning over, he grazed a calloused thumb over the rise of her cheekbone.

"I didn't want to disturb you." Alarm you. "By sneaking into bed."

"I want you here, Az."

His heart fluttered. He would never get over the fact that someone—that Gwyn—wanted him.

'She does, so deal with it,' his shadows said.

"Very well. If that is your wish. Once I go to bed, I will simply shove you over to your own side."

"False accusations, good intentions. I'm always on my half of the bed, Shadowsinger," Gwyn yawned, rolling onto her side and shoving her hands under her pillow. Az hoped her fingers weren't lingering on her dagger.

Yet he couldn't resist.

"Gwyn, you cannot possibly deny being a habitual side usurper."

Even with a tired, coy grin on her lips, she added no witty retort. Bending forward, he planted a peck on her forehead before gently seeking to depart the room. After exactly two strides, her voice appealed to him like the purest melody.

"Azriel?"

"Yes?"

"I actually do enjoy using you as a pillow."

A huff of laughter left him. "Well, I will just find you in the middle later so you can rest your head on me, even though your nose is always unbearably cold."

"Lies. Apparently, the only thing on you that can tell the truth is your trusty blade, Shadowsinger."

Another two steps.

"Azriel?"

"Hmm?"

"When's your birthday?"

He closed his eyes, sighing. "Go to bed, Gwyn."

"Resistance is futile, Az. At some point, I will draw it out of you."

Of that, he had little doubt. In three strides, he reached the threshold.

"Azriel?"

As he gazed over his shoulder at her resplendent form sprawled across the center of the bed, he placed his hand on the wooden doorframe.

"Don't tell Nesta," she murmured sleepily, eyes sealed, wiggling further under the blankets. "But you're my best friend."

His chest flared with joy as he chuckled quietly. "As long as you don't tell Cassian that you're mine."

"But if Nesta somehow gets wind? Simply amend it to say 'best friend without boobs' so she doesn't get belligerent."

Biting his lip, he held back his mirth as she drifted off. "Noted. Sleep well, sweetheart."

As Azriel made his way out of the room and back down the hall to the great room, returning to his seat across from Nesta in a calming, contented silence.

Nesta set down her novel. "You want to carry his ass next?" She gestured to Cassian, now completely over her lap.

The shadowsinger snorted. "Not that I haven't had to do it before, but no."

Nesta huffed. "Well, then I predict he's sleeping on the couch tonight."

"The little girl ran his ass ragged." One side of Azriel's lips curved as he glanced over his shoulder to the tiny female curled up cherubic cheek using the now slumbering mini-pegasus as a cushion.

There was something in Nesta's eyes, affection that he couldn't register. "Perhaps I should get her a—"

A blanket floated down over her from the House. The little one let out a contented sigh, the ears of the pegasus twitching. His shadows peered over his shoulders curiously at the little slumbering girl. Her light brown hair strewn over her eyes, fanning out over soft white fur.

"I informed Clotho that the priestesses and Tulia were staying the night. It seems the precocious girl was a stowaway in the throng of priestesses who joined."

"And now that she knows you have an actual pegasus, I doubt you'll be able to shake her."

Nesta's eyes flitted between her mate and the child. "Not that Cassian would mind."

Az's wings twitched as he sat forward, propping his arms on his thighs. Azriel watched Cassian chase the slight girl all evening without drinking a drop. Making sure she didn't get into any trouble. And somehow ended up with his long hair up in a tight sparkly bun and a few friendship bracelets around his brother's meaty wrist. And one around Az's own at the tiny girl's commendable persistence.

"We've been visiting her since the Solstice. And Clotho has suggested she's unhappy. We went to the river house to speak with Rhys and Feyre about…" She exhaled, her hand coming to rest on Cassian's broad shoulder. "About caring for her. We agreed to let her stay over and see what happens from there. Clotho offered her sanction and blessing as well. So…" Nesta cleared her throat.

"You two would really adopt her? I expected you two were going to wait." Wait until war wasn't on the horizon. Wait until there was peace before duty.

"I'm not bearing a child into this current world, no. But Tulia's already here and already suffered too much in her brief life. I..." Nesta's stern brow relaxed as she glanced back at the child.

"There's something intrinsically beautiful about a chosen family. In my darkest hour, I found all of you. Found support and understanding. Strength. Why not offer Tulia the same? Between all of us, both fae and bat, there's plenty of love to go around."

His throat clogged with emotion, he wouldn't let out. Because if anyone understood that suffering. Finding a sympathetic hand and a warm meal. Safety and care. It wasn't just Nesta—it was him.

Misty curious darkness swept above the girl, sending tufts of balmy air down over her face. Azriel had a feeling his shadows were going to be supervising her as their new charge.

Her head snapped up, her lips drawn into a taut line. Her eyes were a hazy sky of emotion.

"Anyway," Nesta changed the subject with a dismissive wave of a hand. "What I wanted to speak with you about has to do with what Rhys informed me at the river house."

Az sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Is a stiff drink going to be necessary?"

She snorted. "Wouldn't hurt, but this would be quicker if we get this over with." He stared at her, waiting for her to begin. Even though she lounged back, there was a noticeable strain in her body. "Elain spoke with Rhysand."

"About?"

"Solstice."

The memory of Elain intentionally pinning him to the wall, to kiss him, hoping their High Lord would catch them in such a compromising position returned to him. His jaw flexed. "What about Solstice?"

"Elain admitted to Rhysand and Feyre how she confronted you on Solstice. And she apologized for her behavior."

Shock charged through him, setting his spine straight. "What?"

"My prim sister apologized for engaging with you, for putting you in an uncomfortable position earlier. When we were preparing to go horseback riding, Lucien told us they were leaving for a trip to Day."

His shadows were whispering in his ears, a mess of confusion. What brought about this sudden turn of events?

"Well, then." He shifted in his chair. "That's good."

"I wonder things, Shadowsinger." Lady Death read him with a shrewd eye. "What the hell happened with you two?" Azriel's hands balled into fists atop his knees and he could not meet Nesta's view as he told her the truth. All the comparatively innocent secret liaisons. All that happened between the mating ceremony till now.

"I swear, what little happened was over before your ceremony, Nesta. Ended long before Gwyn and I came together."

Nesta's eyes didn't diminish their feral gleam. "Does Gwyn know?"

"She knows the circumstances, but not the when or who." He rubbed his jaw. The night she first kissed him on the rooftop, he told Gwyn that much.

With a click of her tongue, Nesta lifted her chin. "I like you Azriel. I love Gwyn. I like you two together. I truly hope this doesn't come back to bite you in the ass. And I'm pleased Elain seems to have found some accord. Who knows, maybe even some sort of affection with the annoying Autumn lordling. Speaking of love, did you see how Deirdre and Ananke were together tonight?"

Azriel responded indeed, he had noted. The two of them had been close, tactile, making him wonder. Happy for them. As Nesta gossiped about her suspicions of a burgeoning love affair between the two priestesses, his mind wandered.

He should be happy for Elain. Should breathe a sigh of relief with her admittance and apology. But his gut twisted with dread. The turn of events with Lucien was upsetting in some way.

'Something is off, Shadowsinger,' his shadows echoed his sentiments. 'This doesn't appear right.'

Chatter became silent and dreams for all in the House. He didn't join Gwyn in tranquil repose. Instead, he remained on the chaise, crystal tumbler of whiskey in his scarred hands, hoping the liquor would drown them out. The dark voices that he hadn't heard in months. The ones that warned him all along of his unworthiness. Of his ruination.

Staring intently at the weave of cobalt, copper, and teal strings around his wrist, the shadowsinger prayed to the Mother for a happy ending.

Gwyn had three long weeks to ponder the whys. Why did Azriel have to leave the dawn after her birthday? She'd found him dressed in his leathers, strapping Truth-Teller to his thigh the next morning with one last tug on the belt.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he'd said, cradling her face between his rough palms. And with one last lingering sweet kiss full of promise, he'd ordered her to stay safe before he left.

This time, at least, she'd received periodic updates from Rhysand. Azriel was in Spring. He was communicating. Azriel was alive. That's all Gwyn could hope for. And the reason she had plunged into researching Prythian before the High Lords and the rest of Merrill's inane research.

In the weeks since, she'd also dragged Nesta to a few evening services. No matter if Gwyn was part of the priestesshood, her faith still mattered. She believed in the Mother, and perhaps she was the only person who knew why.

Why Catrin hadn't come to her the night of her birthday.

For two years, Catrin had appeared in her dreams. Yet this year, Gwyn was alone. The only company in her dreams were haunting whispers, almost like being near Azriel's shadows, but not quite. There was something sinister about them that spooked her, setting the young Valkyrie on edge.

But no Catrin Berdara.

Nesta and Emerie did their best to keep her engaged beyond training and work. Ananke and Deidre joined them for a book club one night when they discussed a rather smutty adaptation of an old Illyrian folktale.

Another fun girls' night included Tulia, Peggy, and somehow Cassian in the mix. Her heart melted when she saw him, a brother of great strength, be so kind to the child that she kept close.

Gwyn's only emotion as she lay curled up on the couch in her pajamas was sweet relief when shadows appeared, tickling her cheeks. Azriel appeared clad in his Illyrian warrior garb haggard, with dark circles under his eyes in the doorway. She dashed to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

In her arms, he was stiff until he let out a shuddering sigh of resignation. When she guided him by the hand, she pulled him to his room, where she stripped him of clothes and washed him before he collapsed into his bed face-down, not bothering to get under the covers. Over the mattress, his splendid wings hung limply.

His hand snatched her wrist as she tried to tuck him in. When he caressed his thumb over her pulse, it raced.

The only word he uttered into his pillow was "Stay."

A quiet request, a plea. Despite not seeing her, she nodded.

The memory of how tense he was in her embrace flashed through her mind. Crawling slowly and carefully over him, she straddled his upper legs. Admiring his sculpted back and broad shoulders for their muscle tone and scarring. Shivering at the power of his wings.

"What are you up to?" he asked, both inquisitive and drained.

"Repaying you for the lovely massage I received on my birthday. Even though I don't know what I'm doing, pretend to enjoy."

Gwyn leaned forward, her fingers working out his kinks, loosening the muscles starting at his collar and starting her way down. As she continued to work, his body relaxed.

"Was it bad?" she finally dared to ask.

She held her breath. Hoping the shadowsinger kept his promise to talk. His body trembled all the way through his wings as he loosed a weary sigh.

"Tamlin reported activity near the border with Autumn. Cerridwen and I scouted and found bloody clothes she determined to be Nuala's. We struggled to fetter more information. Eris was no fucking help. His illustrious hounds tracked her scent to the center of that fucking damnable court, but no further. So, per usual, we are at a fucking impasse."

A life on the line, or perhaps already gone from this world. As Gwyn rubbed, she wished her hands could comfort an aching mind and heart just as easily.

Her only words to ease Azriel were, "I'm sorry."

She pecked him softly at the base of his neck, trailing her lips down his spine lovingly. Hoping to convey her pride in him. A kiss where the back met his wing. He groaned deeply.

"Gwyn, you may not want to do that, sweetheart."

"Why?" she asked, barely brushing her lips against the leathery softness of his wings.

"Remember the night I wasn't nice?" Heat scorched over her skin at the memory. The way he consumed her at the desk. "Today is even worse."

A shadow encircled her wrists, barring her from touching him. Their coolness against her skin was alluring. With her eyes narrowed, she planted bold kisses down his spine, her tongue flicking out every so often until his hips lifted.

"Gwyn," he warned, his voice lower and rougher.

Suddenly, she was on her back with her clothes off. She didn't realize that he had torn the shirt because of the tangle of limbs. A hard demand filled his mouth against hers. She let him in.

Then Azriel took her, enticing her with his mouth and fingers, his shadow a chilly kiss on her wrists, undulating the way she did. Until she could take no more. And when he finally let up, prowling up the length of her trembling frame, she made her move. Her thighs tightened around his hips and she flipped their positions until Azriel was beneath her.

Under heavy-lidded, narrowed eyes, he gazed upwards. Playfully, the smoky mist licked at her wrist, keeping her awareness. Her lips curved up guilefully.

"Gwyn? What are you up to?" Azriel asked, gruff with desire. Evidence of which demanded long and hard against her core.

"Shadows, if you don't mind," she thrust her chin at Azriel as she raised her bound hands. "To him, it would mean a lot to me."

They were both astonished when the inky fog sailed over her skin and to his, pinning his arms above his head.

"Fuck," he growled, not bothering to fight for his freedom. They had both spoken about this scene, one involving restraints from her list. It was all the more intimate by using Az's shadows.

She tipped forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Is this okay?"

He nodded slightly, biting his lip.

"Good," she murmured against his mouth playfully.

His chest rose and fell sharply as Gwyn kissed and laved down his body. Teasing and torturous. His breathing became increasingly ragged as she slipped lower and lower until she found his erection. But she did not take him in her mouth fully. Like a cat with a mouse, she played with him. Using her hand and tongue. Flicking and so slowly stroking until Azriel was glaring down at her, his hands above his head. Those greenish-gold eyes held a savage hunger and longing. They were ravenous.

"Gwyn?"

"Hmm," she said, humming against his rigid length. Under her, the shadowsinger trembled. He shifted his leg, pressing against her, spreading her damp folds. Her answering moan had him driving his firm thigh harder.

"Teasing isn't very nice, Berdara."

"No," she whimpered as she moved her hips against him.

Azriel froze and remained completely still, his shadows forming dark clouds around them. While he whispered, a brisk, phantom finger slid down her spine, then curved around her peaked nipples until she gasped.

Wild eyes bore into hers as he addressed his shadows. "Off."

Then, as they receded from the air, and around his wrists, Azriel pounced.

Azriel was out of his mind in his dire need. An intense burning desire to touch her, to be lost in her. Again. And again. When he hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around his waistline, he hadn't thought. The temptation was too strong.

They both grunted when her back hit the surface, his mouth tasting her moan as he sank into her. Lost. Losing himself in her warmth. He caressed her thighs as he spread her out against the wall. Succumbing to her clamping around him and her panting in his ear. While he pounded into her, the sweet pleasure built inside him as her plump breasts smashed against his chest.

Fuck, he wanted her. Needed this. His brokenness had been haunting him for weeks. He longed not to feel like such a failure.

Their lips met as their foreheads touched, catching each other's pleasurable gasps. A hard thrust caused her to break free, tilting her head back in a shout, arching her body into his.

"Gods, I fucking missed you, Gwyn."

"I missed you too," she mewled. "And not just the sex."

His laughter choked him, and her touch enraptured once again. He held her there until he was sure his hands would leave impressions on her hips. She climaxed hard, her body tugging on him, hair flaring out like a flame crown as she squirmed against the wall.

"Good girl. Cauldron, you are so fucking beautiful, Gwyneth," Az praised, emphasizing each word with a thrust.

After he had extracted every moment of her pleasure until she was liquid, he pulled out and set her on her wobbly legs.

When he turned her around, he wasn't thinking straight. Not when he angled her hips and slammed into her. No, not when he pressed her against the wall. He fucked his precious Gwyn like an untamed beast, releasing all the frustration from the past weeks.

Azriel knew the exact moment everything went wrong. When she'd risen to the tips of her toes. The muscles in her body stiffened like a board. Gods, she was shaking so strongly her body rocked his. And not from euphoria or release.

He halted, hands gripping her hips, wide-eyed at the realization. As he stared at the back of her head, Az realized what had happened. He saw her hands on the wall. Fuck. He glanced over her shoulder to see her face as he cursed.

Flushed freckled cheek pressed against the wall, eyes shut so tight lines formed in the corners. Her mouth moved in a Valkyrie mantra. The realization of what Az had done only dawned on him when the first tears streamed down like rain over a window.

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes…"

No. No.

Shit. He'd taken her from behind. Rutted into her like a godsdamn animal. Something she'd warned him about. And he'd pressed her face just like…

Instantly, he pulled out of her, spinning her around, holding her cheeks in his wrecked hands.

"Gwyn, look at me, sweetheart. Please," he pleaded, voice breaking.

How could he? How could he fucking do this to her?

From inside, dark voices hissed, sending a simple message. We warned you, Azriel.

The way Azriel unleashed himself on her had enthralled her. Held her in its power with all his impressive warrior strength, making her feel powerful and feminine. Dominant in her own right. Able to stop him at any moment.

Nothing could break her… until something did.

Consumed by the way his cock filled her in the most glorious way. And how easily he held her there, so completely taken over as if by ancient magic. He drove his hips so deep, their hips aligned until there was no he or she, only them. The harmony in the way they'd writhed unified them.

Despite all the hardness and roughness, Azriel had been gentle. Caring. While nuzzling into her throat, he murmured and panted love and affirmations. Gwyn felt like she was touching something sacred when she broke apart, surrendering part of herself that had been awaiting its liberation.

Even when he abruptly pulled back and flipped her, she still craved more. She wanted to marvel at the feeling he gave her. The minute her cheek hit the icy surface of the wall as he slammed into her from behind, everything changed.

Her body suddenly went numb. Froze. Fought for breath. Confined to a memory. Protect. Protect. Protect.

I'm not there, she repeatedly told herself.

Her voice was nonexistent. Gaze absent. Words spilled from her lips like a trickle of water.

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes…" The second half, she couldn't claim.

Totally lost. Lost amid a sea of fragmented images. Broken dreams.

Gwyn hadn't even realized they'd stopped until she'd finally snapped open her eyes, finding herself cradled in Azriel's lap, draped in a heavy blanket. The shadowsinger's shaky hands stroked her cheeks.

"Deep breath in, Gwyn." She did as he gently requested. "Good girl. Now deep breath out." Her throat burned around a strangling knot. "There you go."

Gorgeous hazel eyes peered back with a muted sheen, like amber sea glass. A world of shadows enfolded them.

"Gwyn," he breathed unsteadily, subdued. A pained gasp escaped him as he said, "My beautiful Gwyn." His throat bobbed. "I am so fucking sorry."

What? She slanted her head, considering. What could he conceivably be sorry about? He had given her pleasure and… oh, gods. Tears pooled in her eyes as she saw a single tear slide down Azriel's handsome face.

"No. You have nothing to be sorry for, Az. But I'm fine. I'm fine, let's get back to—"

Frenzied to prove her point, Gwyn threw off the blanket and kissed him. Holding her back by the shoulders, her stomach sank.

"Azriel?"

The shadowsinger shuddered as he exhaled, shaking his head. "I hurt you. I scared you."

Her lower lip trembled as her fingers curled into her palm, her nails cutting through her skin. "You did no such thing, Shadowsinger."

"I should have asked you if you wanted to try. I did not and you deserve better. So much better than—"

"No. You do not get to condemn yourself. This isn't your fault or mine." She tried to steady herself, bracing herself against her truth. Tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes as she raised her eyes to meet him. "The only one to blame is him."

Azriel's whole body vibrated with rage and violence. She must have evoked horrific memories with those words. His shadows swarmed and swelled around them, tendrils snapping the air like whips. Ready to defend.

"I don't want to be damaged, Az. I don't want to feel broken," she said in a smaller voice than she intended.

"Mother above, you're not," he wailed, his hands falling in front of him, his knuckles scraping against hers.

"He took me," she said openly, sobbing as she battled to keep her composure. Grief and anger burst forth like a swift current, sweeping her along with them. "He stole too much from me. Keep your head up, Azriel. Look at me, Shadowsinger. You're not the cause of this. You take the blame too much. "

On command, Azriel lifted his gaze.

"He took me. But I will be damned if he takes everything. Takes my ability to desire. To freely love and engage how I deem fit or with whom. When I want to. Not when I want to try everything with you, Az. I won't let him have this, too."

Gwyn bent forward until their foreheads touched, brushing the tip of her nose against his.

"I loved what you were doing. How you were taking care of me. Loving me. And then my mind..." She shook her head, erasing the memory. "That man took too much already. From both of us. I will not let him have this. I worked too damn hard to crawl out of that nightmare to reclaim my life and find myself again."

Azriel dropped his head to her shoulder and wrapped his arms and wings around her as if to shield her from danger. She kissed his forehead while his body trembled with his sobs, tears flowing down her collarbone. Suddenly, the levee broke, and she wept as she embraced him tightly.

In turbulent waves, they held onto each other like lifelines, allowing their emotions to take them. Only the two of them left, and a quiet song in her heart.

"Azriel," she whispered. "How will I ever know what I like if I never try?"

The shadowsinger stretched back, cradling her face between his mottled palms, sweeping a soft kiss against her lips. The wonder in his eyes was heartbreaking. "I love you, Gwyneth Berdara. You are a survivor. A victor. A Carynthian in all things. You are the rock. You're godsdamn Ramiel. Nothing will ever fucking break you ever again. But, if something does? I will be here to carry you up the Breaking."

Gwyn looked upon his determined face, running fingers through his tousled onyx waves. As much of a tortured soul as herself. "And I will carry you, Az. But how about instead of someone lugging each other up the rest of the mountain, we'll prop each other up and walk the rest of the way together?"

The last half of this chapter was extremely difficult to write but was necessary. The truth is there's no timeline for healing and sometimes it can rear its ugly head, days, months, years down the line. My friend inspired Gwyn's response, her strength, and her courage. I asked her permission to use something she told me. I know she'll read this eventually, so I'll just say "I love you, girl."

Chapter 50 teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) this late Sunday/early Monday!