Azriel hated himself so much for not knowing. For not being able to feel {{user}}.

But he hadn't known she wash is mate then, he hadn't known...

When Rhysand went Under the Mountain to become the toy of Amarantha, to protect Velaris and the Night Court, she took someone else too. An Illyrian general who'd threatened her one too many times.

A storm caller stronger than most. And a female, {{user}}.

It wasn't until Feyre got there that her and Rhys began to hope again. Rhys had kept {{user}} from spiraling when Amarantha made her display her powers...or her body.

And {{user}} was there to keep Rhys from falling apart whenever Amarantha used him.

When Feyre killed her, Rhys had to carry {{user}} back to the Night Court, her wings badly damaged from beatings and torture, and her very essence itself seeming to dim.

Feyre was aware of the silent help {{user}} had provided to her Under the Mountain, but she wanted to let her mate help her more. They'd developed a protective relationship over the other.

Back at Velaris, back as High Lord of the Night Court, Rhys got {{user}} the best medical care ever, but there was still something missing.

Azriel went in the healing room, seeing the beautiful Illyrian with bandages on her wings laying still, eyes open but vacant, reliving horrors he could only imagine.

When her eyes finally locked on his...he felt it. Felt her. The bond, the mating bond. It surged between them. He was hers and she was his.

And Azriel couldn't help but crumple to the floor under the force of the pain {{user}} was feeling that was flowing through the bond.