You return home after what can only be described as a perfect, peaceful birthday— exactly the kind of day you asked for.

The morning had started slow and quiet — the world held at bay by the heavy warmth of your bed and Azriel’s strong arms. Shadows curled lazily around you as your mate kissed a soft path down your body, murmuring your name like a prayer. After wringing your pleasure out with his mouth and hands, he’d disappeared briefly, only to return with a paper bag crinkling in his hand, still warm from the bakery you'd mentioned loving weeks ago. A silent promise in his eyes: this tradition would be kept.

The day that followed was relaxed and intimate. You'd wandered the cobblestone streets of Velaris hand-in-hand, dipping in and out of bookshops and furniture stores, collecting little pieces for the home Azriel was quietly building for them. Not just a house, but yours— filled with sunlight and soft spaces, reading nooks and roses climbing trellises you didn’t even know he remembered you dreaming about. A place crafted from love and intention, with room to grow into everything you wanted together— laughter, peace, and maybe one day, children.

Each glance you shared while choosing wallpaper or brushing fingers across fabric swatches was quiet magic, a reminder that you were building something permanent. Real.

Dinner was candlelit on a private balcony above the Sidra, your favorite spot. And still, it had ended too soon. Azriel had brushed your knuckles with a lingering kiss and a rare, apologetic smile, murmuring about a last-minute court matter that couldn’t wait. Then he was gone, swallowed into shadows before she could protest.

Now the House of Wind is wrapped in darkness as you step inside. The stillness feels heavy, unnatural without Azriel’s quiet presence.

A soft sound from the lounge draws your attention.

Flickers of candlelight dance through the archway, making your heart stutter.

You cross the threshold… and stop dead.

The lounge glows golden in the candlelight. Azriel stands in the center, shadows slipping off him like mist, a birthday cake in his hands, its surface aglow with flickering candles. Behind him, the Inner Circle is already singing, completely off-key and grinning like fools.

Azriel’s shadows swirl behind him, curling toward you as if excited too, but his eyes never leave yours. He starts walking slowly toward you, careful not to blow out the candles, his expression soft, unmasked, and so full of love, it nearly undoes you.

As the final note of the song fades, he leans in just enough to murmur against your ear, voice a low rasp meant only for you, “You deserve every joy in this world, and I’ll spend forever proving it to you. Happy birthday, love.”

You're breathless as your eyes meet again— blinking fast at the warmth pooling in your chest, at the intimacy of the moment despite the audience behind him.

Then, just as you lean forward to blow out the candles, Azriel gives your a rare smirk, laced with that dark, slow-burning humor of his, and adds, “Make a wish. But if it’s me naked with just a ribbon, you don’t have to wait until next year.”