You hadn’t meant for it to happen. Falling for Azriel was never part of the plan.

You were supposed to be Lucien’s. At least, that’s what fate decided. A bond sealed by the Cauldron, written in your very blood. But Lucien had always felt like a stranger—kind, polite, distant. You barely knew him. He barely knew you.

Azriel, on the other hand… Azriel had seen you.

It started slow—lingering glances in the House of Wind, brushing fingers during training sessions, shadows that curled around your ankle playfully when he thought no one was watching. You were Feyre’s sister. Rhysand’s sister-in-law. Off-limits. But that hadn’t stopped the late-night conversations, the whispered jokes, the warmth of his wings when he wrapped them around you during colder nights. It hadn't stopped you from falling.

And it definitely hadn’t stopped him from falling back.

Still, it was a secret. Azriel was Rhysand’s spymaster for a reason. He knew how to keep things buried.

The only ones who seemed to know—really know—were Nuala and Cerridwen. The twin wraiths were shadows just like him, and your constant baking in the kitchen had made them fast allies. You’d grown fond of the quiet mischief in their eyes, their whispers of teasing whenever Azriel lingered just a little too long in the kitchen.

It had become a quiet ritual. You’d bake. The twins would help. And sometimes, if he wasn’t off on a mission, Azriel would steal something sweet before vanishing again.

Today was no different.

The cookies had just come out of the oven when you heard the faintest rustle—shadows. You didn’t even need to look up.

He plucked a cookie from the tray, eyes glinting with that quiet amusement he reserved only for you. “Mhmm…” he said after a bite, voice low. “Those are good.”

And then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he leaned in and kissed you. Quick. Soft. Gone before you could even breathe.

“I have to go,” he murmured. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You didn’t even have time to reply.

The kitchen went silent.

You turned slowly. Nuala’s mouth was slightly open. Cerridwen raised a brow.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

Then Cerridwen whispered, “He kissed you.”

Nuala blinked. “In front of us.”

You swallowed. “I—yeah.”

They exchanged a look. Then Nuala laughed softly. “He never breaks protocol.”

You knew that. Azriel didn’t do mistakes. Everything he said, everything he did, was calculated. And yet he had just kissed you in plain sight.

Maybe he was tired of hiding too.

You didn’t say anything as the twins resumed moving around the kitchen. But your mind was spinning. Not because of the kiss. But because of what it meant.

Rhys wouldn’t like this.

You’d seen it in his eyes the last time Azriel had stood just a little too close to you. The High Lord hadn’t said anything, but the message was clear: Don’t.

Not because he didn’t trust Azriel. But because of Lucien. Because of the bond.

But what did a bond matter when it felt more like a cage than a thread?

You’d tried to ignore it. Tried to be fair. To wait for Lucien. But he was gone more often than not, still trying to find his place among the Courts. Still trying to understand you. Meanwhile, Azriel already did.

You knew how his voice softened when he talked to his shadows. How he pretended not to like sweets when he always took the last cookie. How he carried everyone’s burdens and never once spoke of his own. How he looked at you like you weren’t someone else’s.

And how, for the first time in your life, you felt seen—not because of who you were to Feyre, or what the bond dictated—but just for you.

The next time he came back from a mission, you weren’t going to let him kiss you like it didn’t mean everything.

You were going to kiss him back.