The Night Court glittered like a dream spun from starlight and laughter.

Lanterns drifted high above Velaris, glowing gold and violet, while magic wove illusions through the streets—dragons curling lazily through the sky, glass slippers appearing on marble steps, wolves with silver eyes watching from rooftops. It was a celebration like Starfall, but brighter, warmer… touched with something playful. Tonight, everyone was someone from a story.

Feyre shimmered in painted vines and thorns, a High Lady turned fae-tale queen. Mor wore a gown spun like sunlight, laughing as she danced. Even Cassian—ridiculous, towering Cassian—had somehow committed to being a storybook knight, though he’d long since lost his crown in favor of more wine.

And you—

You were something else entirely.

A fairy born of stardust.

Your dress clung like liquid silver, layers of sheer silk catching every flicker of light. Glitter dusted your collarbones and cheeks, catching like constellations with every movement. Delicate wings—translucent and shimmering—arched from your back, trembling softly when you walked. Jewels were woven into your hair, each strand styled to perfection, tiny crystals braided through like fallen stars.

You looked… magical.

And you felt his gaze before you ever saw him.

Azriel stood at the edge of the ballroom, shadows curling low at his feet, his attire dark and princely in a way no story had ever quite captured. His siphons glowed faintly beneath the fabric, like restrained starlight. But it wasn’t the magic that made your breath hitch.

His hazel eyes kept finding you.

You were laughing, a glass in hand, spinning once as Mor grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the dancing circle. Feyre clapped along, Rhys smirking at something Cassian said, the entire Inner Circle loose and glowing and alive in a way that only came when they were all together.

And you were at the center of it.

Radiant.

Azriel’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as you threw your head back in laughter, wings catching the light in a thousand sparkling fragments.

He had never told you.

Never reached for you.

And you had taken that silence as answer enough.

So you had moved on—or tried to.

There was another male somewhere in the crowd tonight. Someone easy. Kind. Nothing serious.

Nothing like this.

Because no matter how loudly the music swelled, no matter how much wine warmed your veins, your awareness of Azriel never faded.

It was there—constant.

Like gravity.

Like something inevitable.

You felt it when you danced too close to where he stood, when your laughter quieted just slightly as you passed him. When your eyes met across the glow of lanternlight and something unspoken flickered between you—sharp, electric, almost unbearable.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

And for a moment, everything else fell soft around the edges.

The music. The laughter. The light.

Gone.

Just the two of you, suspended in something fragile and full and entirely unsaid.

Then Mor pulled you back into a spin, and the world rushed in again.

Later, someone—probably Cassian—pressed another drink into your hand, and the dancing turned wilder, freer. Feyre joined you, both of you laughing as you tried to mimic some ridiculous twirling step. Rhys’s deep chuckle echoed nearby, and even Azriel—let a small smile slide across his face.