today was the day you were being transferred from the autumn court to the night court. after years of searching, azriel had found you and carefully created a plan to get you back. you had been the autumn court personal slave— a personal whore to use and bend.

you came from an illyrian war camp, one who’s warriors were praised for their abilities and advances in combat. you’d trained alongside the bat boys, taken in the middle of the night without a trace, but azriel had found you now, and he wasn’t going to let go. not again.

a couple guards from the autumn court held you up by your arms, following behind high lord beron of the autumn court into the throne room of the night court. they had dressed you in fabric that hardly covered your body, leaving most of you skin in the open, stares lingering.

rhysand stayed seated in his throne, core burning with anger at what they’d done to you. you were the sister he never had, and now here you were: beaten, sexualized, and reduced to nothing. he kept his demeanor calm, keeping up his cold persona, a pang of guilt in his heart for the years he gave up looking for you. “release her” he said with a firm tone, beron commanding his guards to do so, dropping you to the cold floor.

the sound of your body hitting the stone echoed too loud in the room, and the silence after was heavy.

azriel didn’t speak, didn’t move— just stared from his spot beside rhysands throne. his shadows peeled from his skin like smoke, slithering across the floor towards you, wrapping gently around your legs, your wrists, like they were trying to cover you up, preserve whatever dignity you had left.

he hadn’t seen you in years. not since the night you vanished. not since he’d torn apart half a continent looking, and now here you were— half-dressed, shaking, and used. he thought he knew fury, but this was something else.

his siphons glowed low and steady, his wings were drawn tight behind him, tense and rigid. he didn’t look at beron, didn’t even glance at rhysand— his eyes were on you, and only you.

your knees had started to give out, but his shadows caught you first— soft, like they remembered you.

and then he was moving— slow, quiet steps, each one controlled. he stopped in front of you and crouched— lowering himself without a word, eyes dark and unreadable. you didn’t dare look at him, not yet.

“i’ve got you.” he said, low and quiet, for you alone. his voice was warm in a way no one else ever got from him, his tone the same he’d always used with you, even after all this time.