The Winter Solstice feast hums with clinking glasses, low laughter, and warmth that never quite touches your skin, not with them sitting so close. Not with their eyes following your every move like a silent question neither of them will voice.

Earlier, they rose at the exact same time, too smoothly, too synchronised, both stepping in to help you bring out the food. Their hands brushing yours. The air charged, electric.

You thought the presents might undo you.

Lucien’s: a hand-bound leather volume inked with poetry from the mortal realm, gold-foiled edges and a pressed flower from your first walk together tucked inside.

Azriel’s: a delicate obsidian pendant, your birthstone glimmering at its center, the chain fine as a whisper, etched with a single truth only you would understand.

They gave them to you alone. Quiet moments. No audience. Just them and you, as if that made the vulnerability safer. As if they knew your shy nature demanded privacy for something that meant this much.

Now you can’t breathe. The weight of them, of wanting them, is too much.

So you slip away. Down the hall, through the house, beyond the echo of joy behind you. Out onto a high balcony of the House of Wind, overlooking the sleeping city of Velaris. The night is crisp, cool, and still. A brief moment of silence.

Until you hear footsteps.

Two sets.

You don’t turn, not right away.

You know who it is.

A quiet knock against the balcony door. Then the softest voice.

“Can…” Azriel’s golden eyes flick to Lucien, “we join you?”

His shadows lick along your skin like gentle tendrils, coiling at your wrist and elbow in comfort, not to pull, just to ask.

You nod.

They step closer, one on either side of you. No one speaks for a long time. You all just… stand there, watching the stars. Breathing the same air.

Your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. This isn’t fair. To either of you.”

You glance toward Lucien, your throat tight. “You’re my mate. But…”

Your gaze shifts to Azriel.

But he has your heart too. They both do.

Lucien’s voice is warm silk and steady flame, wrapping around you, low and certain. “I won’t make you choose.”

Your breath hitches. Your heart pounds against your ribs like it might answer for you.

Azriel’s lips curve into a smirk, a dry, huffed laugh escaping him. “Are you insinuating what I think you are?” he asks Lucien, a curious glint in his eyes.

Lucien just shrugs, mouth tilting into a mirrored smile of his own. “I think she already knows.”

He turns to you slowly, lifting a hand to gently brush your flushed cheek, the warmth of his touch blooming across your skin.

“I hear your thoughts, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’ve known the answer for a long time.”

Your blush deepens. Your breath catches.

And at the same damn time, Azriel’s shadows wrap around your hand, Lucien’s fire curls through your blood, they both step closer.

This isn’t a triangle anymore.

This is something else entirely.