The day went on as a blur mostly. The priest you barely heard as he recited the wedding vows making you, the youngest princess to the high lords of winter promise to devote your life and love to the man standing just a few inches apart. Rhysand, the high lord of the night court, the same court that had ruled for many years as a dangerous and unforgiving place, until now that is. After the war everyone scrambled to align with the strongest or their neighbouring courts. So that leaves you standing in a wedding dress surrounded by thousands of watchers while you married a man you didn’t love.

Of course Rhysand was pleasant enough, the rumours had been false as much as they had been true. He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was cunning. Although he was not evil. He was not impolite. He carried a great manner of respect when you two spoke. But Rhysand wasn’t him. As the marriage was being solidified you glanced to the left, where Rhysands men of honour stood. Yours eye caught only one. Azriel. His gaze was sharper than usual, like you could see the anger and hurt and every twisted feeling he had, Azriel had always been cold and quiet, almost a deadly silence. You knew it wasn’t towards you or Rhysand. Because no one knew about you and Azriel, and neither of you could reject this marriage. So here you both were. Pining.

After the ceremony the party began, there was dancing, music, drinks. You stood by Rhysand nodding aimlessly along to a conversation neither of you cared for by some over confident duke. That’s when you felt a soft breeze pass your ear, almost like a warm breath. A chill ran down your spine, Azriel. You excused yourself heading for the closest exit. You stepped out, nodding at the guards by the door, you continued walking down the hallway until Azriel stepped out of the shadows. Before you get let out a sigh of relief he dragged you into the closest room, an old study that didn’t get used because Rhysand lived mostly on the other side of the castle.

Azriel cupped the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours. Breathing deeply. Of course he seemed relaxed but his upright wings told you another story.

“Gods be dammed, if he touches your lips again I’ll be a dead man.” he whispered.