The moment the bond snaps into place, Azriel feels it like a blade sliding between his ribs. He’s standing beside Rhys in the training ring, shadows slipping around his shoulders, when you step into the sunlight. One look. One breath. And something ancient roots itself in his soul.

You don’t feel it. Or maybe you do—your eyes linger on him a heartbeat too long, curiosity tightening your posture—but you don’t understand what it means. Not yet at least.

Azriel tears his gaze away immediately.

Because you’re the High Lord’s daughter, as untouchable as starlight. Because your father barely allows males near you as it is. Because Rhysand—your overprotective brother—would tear out his siphons before letting one of his own warriors claim you.

So Azriel does what he’s always done well: he hides it.

He avoids you. He stands on the opposite side of the room during meetings. He speaks to you only when he absolutely must, and even then his voice is low, controlled, distant.

But Azriel feels the pull every second.

The way your scent coils through him. The way your laugh curls around his ribs. The way his shadows reach for you before he can stop them.

He hates himself for it.

Because the bond is sacred. Unbreakable. And forbidden.

But not when harm gets too close.

You’re halfway through punching a wooden dummy when a shadow glides across your wrist, gentle but firm.

“You’re bleeding.”

You turn—fast—and crash into a wall of warm muscle and wings.

Azriel.

“How long have you been watching me?” you demand.

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t step back either.

“Azriel,” you say, breath uneven, “what did I do wrong?”

His jaw clenches, shadows trembling behind him.

“You didn’t do anything.” The words stumble out of him. “I’m the one who—”

He tries to step away but you grab his wrist. He freezes.

“Azriel. Look at me.”

His eyes flick to yours—slow, hesitant—and something punches through your chest. A sensation like… warmth blooming. Like a thread pulling tight. Like the room narrows until it’s only him.

You gasp. “What was that?” you whisper.

Azriel looks destroyed. “Nothing. You just… pushed yourself too hard in training.”

You shake your head. “No. That wasn’t from training.”

He tries again to pull away, voice low and breaking. “Don’t… please.”

“Azriel… what are you afraid of?”

He inhales sharply, like the words hurt more than any blade.

“You,” he whispers. “I’m terrified of you.”