Chapter Text
The hushed expanse of the library, usually a sanctuary of stillness, was disturbed by the playful squabble unfolding between two figures among the towering shelves.
Azriel's shadows danced around him, mischievously snatching the volume of Illyrian history from Gwyn's hands. The book disappeared into a void with a soft whisp as if it were nothing more than leaves caught in an autumn breeze. This was not what Gwyn had expected when she was summoned to Clothos's desk half an hour ago and informed that the Shadowsinger needed help finding certain books.
"Really, Az?" Gwyn's voice held a note of mock exasperation; her arms crossed over her chest as she watched another book succumb to the shadowy abyss.
His shadows had been surprisingly gentle, lifting the history volumes from her grasp and the shelves. Very mindful, they did not harm a single delicate page of the tomes, which had one thing in common; they all included stories of Enalius and the Daglan. And Gwyn understood why the Shadowsinger was after them.
However, that did not change the fact that he was outright stealing from the library.
"You can't just steal them. They belong to the library," she argued, her green-blue eyes flashing with indignation, the fiery strands of her hair seeming to spark with annoyance, too.
"Is it stealing if I'm doing it for the good of the Night Court?" Azriel countered, his golden-brown skin practically glowing in the soft light filtering through the tall windows.
He leaned against one of the towering bookshelves, his massive Illyrian wings folded neatly behind him, giving him an air of nonchalance that only infuriated Gwyn more.
"Stealing is still stealing," Gwyn retorted, her gaze never leaving his own. She knew Azriel rarely backed down from a challenge, but she wasn't about to let him have his way so quickly, "even for the Spymaster."
Azriel leaned forward, slightly but close enough to catch her heady scent, letting his shadows curl around them like a secret embrace. "And what if I'm only borrowing?"
"Then the borrower should ask permission first," she replied with a tilt of her chin. Despite only reaching a bit over his shoulder, Gwyn stood at least a head taller than the average woman in the Inner Circle.
As she met Azriel's gaze directly, he couldn't help but appreciate that it did not require him to look down too far. It was a refreshing change and perfect for secretly admiring those freckles, which only added to her already enchanting appearance.
"Where's the fun in that?" he murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
There it was—that smile he was hoping to see today. It was like the sun peeking through storm clouds, doing strange things to Azriel's insides.
Gwyn let out a fake huff of annoyance as she watched his shadows carry away another book. "This is so much fun," she sarcastically muttered under her breath. And it was, but not for her. "No, seriously, Azriel. You can't just come down here and take whatever book you want," she scolded, her voice biting and sharp. There are rules," she pointed out.
"I never claimed to be above the rules, Gwyn. But sometimes, they need to be bent for a purpose," he replied, smirking at her disapproval. His cheeky grin only served to fuel her irritation.
"Your purpose seems to be making my life difficult," she declared, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest.
The tension between them was thick, their eyes locked in a silent struggle for dominance. As much as she wanted to walk away and end the confrontation, a small part of her couldn't help but want to stay and continue this battle. Gwyn wasn't ready to back down just yet, and neither was he.
"Sometimes, Gwyneth, you forget who you're talking to." He cocked an eyebrow at her in a challenge.
"Or maybe, just maybe, you need a reminder that not everyone is intimidated by the great and powerful Spymaster of the Night Court," she shot back, her gaze never wavering.
Usually, he hid the intensity of his amusement with her well. This time, though, Azriel couldn't contain the chuckle that escaped him at her boldness.
He secretly enjoyed how effortlessly Gwyn managed to challenge him. Bryce, the girl from Midgard, had been fierce and unyielding; Nesta was a force he did not want to reckon with either, but Gwyn... she was something else entirely. She stood before him with all the irreverence Prythian could provide, scolding him like a schoolboy, and he was so here for it.
Her fearlessness was both baffling and intoxicating at the same time. It somehow reminded him that beneath his title and reputation, he was just a male.
She was refreshing, infuriating, and everything in between.
Azriel leaned in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Think of it this way," he said, the shadows around them humming in agreement. "You're not just a librarian now – you're aiding the Spymaster in critical intelligence work."
Her following laughter was a chime in the library's stillness. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in its melody. He wanted to capture that sound, to lock it away within the deepest part of himself, where only darkness dared to tread.
Gwyn's teal eyes sparkled with mirth, unimpressed by his attempt at sweet talk. "And here I thought you were going to say something flattering," she teased, her irreverent tone resonating through the hallowed chamber of books and down Azriel's spine. But before he could respond—and oh, did he intend to—a furious voice echoed through the library, causing both of them to stand still.
"GWYNETH! Where are you?" Merrill's anger was palpable, filling the air like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking.
Azriel's gaze shifted from Gwyn to the direction of the sound, concern flickering across his face as he studied her reaction. Gwyn's eyes had widened, filling with fear as Merrill's voice grew louder.
"Where are you, half-breed?" Merrill's spiteful words rang through the air like a whip, and Gwyn couldn't help but flinch at the force behind them. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, and met Azriel's gaze, finding an unspoken understanding between them.
"Half breed!" Merrill continued to scream, and Gwyn winced again. Azriel felt a surge of anger on her behalf.
"Go," Gwyn urged, her voice soft but determined. But Azriel remained rooted to the spot. His shadows seemed to hum with anticipation, ready to leap to her defense if needed.
Gwyn's hands balled into tight fists, her knuckles turning white as she prepared for the inevitable onslaught.
"Right here," Gwyn called out from behind the bookshelf with a surprisingly firm voice. Despite the fear that still lingered within her, she stepped around into the open, lifting her face and challenging Merrill's authority head-on.
Merrill rounded a corner, her eyes narrowing upon seeing Gwyn standing there. A cold smile played on her lips as she closed the distance between them, her steps echoing throughout the library like the approach of doom.
"Ah, there you are," she sneered, circling Gwyn like a predator stalking its prey. "I should have known you'd be wasting your time with silly nonsense instead of focusing on your duties."
Gwyn held her ground, meeting Merrill's hateful gaze without faltering. "I'm not wasting my time," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I was just—"
"Stop!" Merrill snapped, cutting her off. "You're always making excuses, Nymph."
Azriel's heart clenched at the sight of Gwyn being berated by Merrill, but he knew that stepping in would only undermine her strength and resolve. He watched with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as Gwyn took a deep breath, refusing to be cowed by the other woman's words.
"It is not an excuse; I was collecting books in demand of the High Lord. Would you not think that has higher priority than your research?" she replied coolly, despite the tremor that threatened to break through.
Merrill scoffed, her lips curling into a disdainful smirk. "Oh really? "she asked mockingly. "Your kind is far too flighty and unreliable to work for the High Lord."
Azriel stepped out from behind the bookshelf, his shadows coiling around him like serpents preparing to strike. His face was an icy mask, the only hint of emotion a dark fire smoldering in the depths of his eyes. He positioned himself between Gwyn and Merrill, his massive Illyrian wings spread only slightly but enough to demonstrate his strength and power.
"Enough," he growled, the word cutting through the air like a blade. "You know nothing of Gwyn's worth."
Merrill's eyes widened as she took in Azriel's imposing figure, but she quickly masked her surprise with a sneer. "I see," she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "That's what you meant with collecting books for the High Lord... you have been consorting with Rhysand's errand boy."
"Errand boy?" Azriel repeated, his voice dangerously low. The shadows around him seemed to darken, crackling with an unseen energy that sent shivers down Gwyn's spine. "Is that what you think I am?"
"Perhaps you should return to your master and leave my assistant alone," Merrill snapped, clearly unimpressed by Azriel's display of power.
Gwyn's heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts racing as she watched Azriel tower over Merrill. She knew he was capable of unspeakable violence and had seen firsthand the destruction he could unleash when needed. But she also knew the depth of his kindness, the warmth that lay beneath his cold exterior. She couldn't help but wonder which side of him would emerge now.
"Your ignorance is astounding, but I won't dwell on it," Azriel said coolly, his voice laced with menace as he leaned in closer to Merrill. "Let me make something else perfectly clear, though: I will not allow you to belittle or demean Gwyn any longer. She has proven herself time and time again, and she deserves far better than your pathetic attempts at superiority."
Merrill visibly bristled under Azriel's commanding presence, her eyes narrowing to slits. But before she could respond, he continued his voice, a low growl that seemed to echo through the library, his shadows darkening his expression into something far more dangerous. "If you ever speak to Gwyn that way again," he warned, his voice low and lethal, "you'll find yourself dealing with a very different side of me." His wings flexed slightly, emphasizing the unspoken threat.
Gwyn suppressed a shudder as she watched the play of emotions on Merrill's face.
A sudden wave of desire rolled over her at Azriel's protectiveness. There was something intoxicating about seeing him in his element, wielding this dark authority of his for her.
Merrill's eyes flickered between Azriel's gaze and the shadows wildly dancing around him. She swallowed hard, her previous confidence wavering under the weight of his threat.
"Fine," Merrill conceded, her voice strained. She glanced at Gwyn, her eyes betraying a hint of begrudging respect. "I still need your assistance with my research, Gwyn." The unspoken understanding hung in the air: Merrill would not risk crossing Azriel again.
Gwyn broke the tense silence that followed by stepping forward, eyes trained on the Shadowsinger.
"Thank you," she mouthed just for him to see. Azriel inclined his head slightly, his eyes not leaving hers.
She could still feel the lingering heat from Azriel's body close behind her as she turned to Merrill, "I'll come with you; I'm done here anyway."
As they walked away, Gwyn couldn't resist the urge to throw one last look over her shoulder at the Illyrian warrior, standing out like a sore thumb in a place like this.
His golden-brown skin indeed seemed to glow in the dim library light, making his handsome features all the more striking. His piercing stare made her burn from the inside out, while his shadows seemed to reach for her. Gwyn suppressed the overwhelming sense of yearning she felt.
She needed to get a hold of herself.
As their eyes locked once more, she narrowed them to slits and let her expression speak louder than Words could. The conversation about the stolen books was far from over, and she made that clear without saying a single thing. Azriel had the audacity to smirk in response.
Uhhh, this guy made her feel so many things all at once.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from Gwyn as she left, her fiery hair catching the dim light of the library like embers in the night. He watched as she cast one last, disapproving glance over her shoulder, her gaze a piercing reminder that their argument was far from over. The air around them had been charged with an electricity he couldn't quite place, and despite the weight of the stolen books in his shadows, Azriel felt lighter than he had in years.
A small half-smirk played on his lips as he whispered, "Until next time, Gwyneth Berdara." The memory of their heated exchange lingering in his mind.
Because there would be a next time, there always was with her.
And it had easily become one of Azriel's most favorite things.