Azriel can't help the rage flowing through his veins as he travels through his shadows. He had taken flight the moment he was out of the house. Inky black swirls around him and the cold wind whips around his wings and body, unrelenting. He can't bring himself to care as he springs for the tallest tree he can find and sits on the highest branch. On the inside, he knows he has no right to feel this angry. That Elain is not his mate. That was not entitled to her just because of her sisters. But knowing that does not translate to his heart that he is well and sick of repairing for over five hundred years.
Alone in the silence of the woods, he allows the tears to fall. Something he would never let a soul see. Not even his brothers. Leaning back against the trunk he allows himself to breathe deeply and fans out his wings in the sun. Every female he has ever wanted has dodged him. Granted, it's only been two, but that can't be a coincidence.
Glancing down at the jagged white scars on his hands he can't help but feel ugly. What female would want these hands on her? What female could see him as anything more than a torturous monster; from where he was bred and raised, to the actions he has taken in his life, from the job he currently holds in the Night Court. What female could trust a male that dangerous, that elusive, that...dark. The shadowsinger. A male whose soul exists within the darkness. He's an utter fool to think any female could love that. Even if he ends up finding his mate in his lifetime, he should prepare himself for a rejection early.
He stretches his fingers out, the bitter cold from being so high up making the tough skin tighter and inducing a painful ache upon his hands. Sighing, he thinks about his mother and how she's doing in Rose Hall. As hard as Azriel's own life has been, he knows his mother's trials were nothing to compare himself to. He had forgiven her centuries ago for her husband's indiscretions towards him. Being locked in that cell, she had rarely bothered to come visit him in fear of him. Azriel understood her fear, but it didn't make the burden of his heart any lighter, the broken child from back then still struggling within him.
After stewing for a couple of hours, he pushes himself from the branch and takes flight again, deciding to winnow to the House of Wind to see if the females are training today. He hadn't gotten any notice from Cassian, but he's been thoroughly distracted with his new wife and mate. Thoroughly distracted. Az can't help the pang of jealousy that rings through him but he tries his best to push it away. That's what he's best at. Swallowing his feelings and existential denial.
Dropping onto the training ring, he looks around at the empty mats and equipment still in their rightful place. He takes it as an opportunity to let off some steam, glad that there's not a crowd here today. Saddling up with leathers and slipping his amour, siphons, and shirt off, he gets to work, pushing himself harder than usual, seemingly feeling the rage seeping from his pours along with his sweat.
Az doesn't keep track of time as he lets it all out. His frustration is potent enough that he punches an inky hole in one of the bags, his shadows responding to his stress by showing him how destructive his attitude has been. He grimaces and mutters to them annoyedly.
"Yes, I'm a prick. I've always been a prick. I know it's not normal to feel this pricky. But I can't stop myself from feeling it anyway. It's not like you're any help."
They swivel and swirl around him whispering their distaste.
"Oh shut up", he grumbles. As he stops his assault on the punching bag, very erotic noises reach his ears and he can't help himself from groaning out loud.
"For fuck's sake—"
The noises get louder and more desperate and by the sounds of creaking and slamming wood (pun intended), Cassian and Nesta are on the kitchen table. The same damn table he has eaten at. Disgusting!
He flies up and sits on a portion of the roof, taking in the sight of the city below, allowing the chilled breeze to cool off his body as his abs gleam with sweat in the sunlight.
His eyes catch the sparkling silver dome of the library below and his thoughts drift to the priestesses and all the different atrocities they have faced to end up there. The horror of that drowns out the noise from inside and he can't help but think of one priestess in particular. Most pointedly, a recent gift he had anonymously gifted her in a state of despair, and his heart sinks lower than it had hours ago. How could he have given that sweet female a gift that he hadn't intended for her? It was a terrible decision despite how the image of her wearing it make him feel a bit better, even slightly fuzzy inside. But that's not the point. He regifted something beautiful and that alone taints it. He can't allow Gwyn to be anymore tainted. Not by her trauma and not by him, not again, not like this.
His shadows bob around in joy at his admission and float around as he strips off his leathers and redresses, shooting into the sky and weaving downward towards the entrance to the library, landing with a thump onto the pavement. Tucking his wings, he enters quietly and walks up to Clotho's desk, nodding politely.
"The box...th-the box...do you have it still?", he says lowly, internally scolding himself for stuttering. He never stuttered.
Clotho uses her magic to write on her tablet, turning it towards him
"I had a feeling you'd come back for it. It is unwise to use beauty as a catalyst to twist ugly feelings."
Azriel Nods slowly and grabs the box, tucking it into his armor as he turns to leave. He swallows hard, not sure if she was speaking of the necklace, or of Gwyn. Her wisdom is interpretive at the very least. He would never use Gwyn as a way to get over Elain...would he? No. would not. That's why he's going to take the necklace and be rid of it.
That's why he's going to leave before he even comes in contact with...
"Shadowsinger", a small, but confident voice calls out, a teal and red blur coming before him in the form of Gwyneth Berdara.
Well, fuck.
"Gwyneth Berdara", he murmurs softly. "How are you today?"
"I'm doing well, and you, Shadowsinger?", she asks, sweeping her hood down.
"And here I thought we had gone past official titles, little Carynthian."
Gwyn can't help but smirk mischievously. "I suppose. So then, Azriel, Lord of Shadows, how are you today?
His shadows make gleeful noises within the whispers they speak to him, floating and whirling around them. He can't help his cheeks from turning red as if they are small children who let out an embarrassing secret. His name from her lips is like the most beautiful of melodies.
Azriel visibly cringes and crosses his arms. "Oh that is much worse, and that's still a title", he replies in a hushed tone.
"You and your brother, so indignant about being called Lords. But that's what you are. You are Lords to the High Lord of the Night Court, and it's a very important and sometimes very dangerous job. It's an earned title; an honor. You both helped to save Prythian. But I will respect your wishes, Azriel. I won't use your title if you wouldn't like me to. I'd like the same respect. I guess it's like if you called me 'priestess'?"
"Thank you. Something like that", he says, amused by her feistiness.
Gwyn peers up at Azriel's taller form with her clear, teal eyes. "So, are you going to answer the question?"
"Question?" He furrows his brow and tilts his head downward to meet her eyes.
"How are you today? Also, what business could you have in the library? I'll admit, that second question is my own curiosity."
"Two extremely loaded questions. You are always curious, aren't you?"
"Yes. I'm also observant. Like how you're skirting the questions, Azriel."
Az smiles weakly and offers her an arm politely. Gwyn flushes pink but lies a hand on the crook of his elbow, walking out to the entry balcony with his so they don't disrupt the others. Their arms fall away from one another and he holds back a sigh.
"I'm doing fine. As for my business here...I needed a word with Clotho. Part of that important job you like to describe me by", he lies expertly.
Gwyn's coppery hair glows in the afternoon sun and she smiles softly, but there is a hint of sadness behind it. "No Azriel. I don't encase you as only your title. You do. And everyone around you follows your lead."
A hollow of hurt and sadness fills Azriel's hazel eyes as he looks back at this incredible female. This small female was fierce enough to defeat the Rite and earn the title of Carynthian. The same title he had earned in his youth. As gentle as she is, she is also a rival of strength and wit in the best possible way. Though he supposes she would have to be, to be best friends with Nesta Archeron.
Quickly replacing the look with a steely one again, he shrugs. "It's unwise to show vulnerability when so many enemies lurk about in Prythian. First, it was Hybern's female general, then he himself, and now we have those human queens who will stop at nothing to find immortality. Any weakness can be used against you at any time. I've learned that lesson enough over the last five centuries to know that my...external appearance is vital to my job. Of which I am almost always on the clock, so to speak."
"It may be wise in terms of war and strife. But I don't see that as any way to live. Why do you think I took the chance and began to train when Nesta kept encouraging me, Azriel? Why do you think I allowed my vulnerabilities to show even when I could have remained terrified of them...could've forever remained here, with the worst of the traumatized? At some point, you have to realize that only you have control of your life. If you choose to live in fear of the next threat, you will never know anything other than fear. I've been honored and lucky enough to have been given an opportunity to grow and to change, and I decided that day that I needed to seize it if I didn't want to be simply existing. I wanted to truly live again. When are you going to start living, Azriel? Your power may be shrouded in darkness and shadows, as I was. But your heart can be filled with light if you allow it. I can see how heavily you guard yourself because I too lived that way. Found comfort in living that way. But sometimes living in the comfort zone means you miss out on things that can be wonderfully more."
"Quite talkative today."
"Yeah. It's good to find your voice when your past makes it seem like you shouldn't have one; like you should be tapered down to an appropriate level."
His jaw ticks a bit, and he nods. "What if you're just naturally quiet?"
"If it were natural, you wouldn't have to question it."
Azriel can't help but smile at her wisdom. She carries an old, ancient, knowledge inside of her twenty-eight-year-old mind and heart. "Good evening, Gwyn. Will I see you at training this week?"
"You know it", she grins, her body seeming to take the sunlight and mold it around her like a bright, white glowing sheen. His shadow dance around them in bliss, casting moving reflections onto the ground.
Azriel nods politely and gives her another smile before shooting off into the sky, his shadows forced away with him, and he finally lets out the breath he was holding. As he flies over the lake, he takes the necklace box from his pocket and drops it in, feeling nothing but relief now, as it disappears into the depths of the water.