The library beneath the House of Wind had become your quiet refuge.

Long before the Valkyries, before the bruises and sweat and aching muscles, the library had been a place where the world could not reach you. Endless shelves, soft candlelight, and the gentle rustle of pages had stitched pieces of you back together.

Then training began. Nesta had dragged you all into the ring with relentless determination, Emerie with her fierce grin, and you—somewhere between terrified and exhilarated. The Valkyries were born in sweat and stubbornness. Every morning the training yard echoed with clashing practice blades and breathless laughter.

And every morning, there were shadows watching.

Azriel.

The Night Court’s shadowsinger had always seemed untouchable. Cold. Silent. Terrifying. The kind of male who lived more in darkness than light. Most people kept their distance.

You never seemed particularly good at that.

It started with small things. A quiet correction to your stance. His scarred hands adjusting the way you held a dagger. A low, calm voice telling you to try again when your arms trembled with exhaustion. He rarely praised anyone. But sometimes you’d catch the faintest flicker of approval in his hazel eyes.

And sometimes, when you laughed, the shadows coiled around his shoulders would grow still… as if listening.

Somewhere between sunrise drills and late evening training sessions, something shifted. The sharp edge of his silence softened around you. His shadows no longer felt so intimidating when they brushed past.

Neither of you ever spoke about it. But it was there. Growing quietly between you.

Tonight the library was mostly empty.

You sat curled into one of the deep window alcoves, candlelight flickering beside me as Velaris shimmered beyond the glass. The city glowed gold and peaceful beneath the stars.

You weren’t looking at it.

Because the book in your hands was far more interesting.

Your knees were tucked beneath you, the thick novel balanced in your lap as my eyes devoured the page. The heroine had just been cornered by a particularly bold lord and—

A shadow slid across the paper.

You blinked.

Then a low voice behind you said, “Interesting reading for a priestess.”

You nearly threw the book.

Spinning around, you found him leaning casually against the bookshelf behind the alcove, wings tucked neatly behind him, arms crossed over his chest. His hazel eyes had already dropped to the open page. One dark eyebrow lifted.

“His hands roamed greedily—”

The book snapped shut with a loud thud as you clutched it to your chest.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly nosy?” You whispered harshly.

His shadows curled lazily along the shelves beside him, like they were enjoying this far too much. “Why are you whispering? Nobody is around.” he murmured, voice smooth with amusement.

“Because it’s a library A safe sanctuary for priestesses to feel safe and-“ You started, but his gaze cut you off as it flicked pointedly to the novel pressed against your teal robes.

“Does the High Priestess of the library know the priestesses are studying material like this?” Amusement laced every word, though he made the effort to look serious. It only made it worse. Heat flushed your face. “It’s research.”

A pause.

Then the faintest twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Research,” he repeated slowly.

He pushed away from the shelf, stepping closer. The shadows followed him, slipping across the stone floor like curious little things. “Does the research include imagining the male pressing her against the wall?”

You choked on air. “You are so crude!”

He stopped beside the alcove, towering slightly above where you sat curled into the cushions. Candlelight danced across the planes of his face, catching in his hazel eyes.

His voice lowered just a fraction.

“Not very priestess-like.” One of his shadows brushed lightly against the book still clutched in your arms.