Ooof, rant incoming...I haven't read the whole of Silver Flames. I don't think I ever will. I really didn't like what I read (not anything with Cassian and Nesta, I guess? Pretty indifferent about them, as much as I love Cassian). Azriel's "special" scene was, well, gross for me to read. It's not how I imagined his head space at all and if I'm going to finish this story I will have to ignore Silver Flames canon nonsense. It's honestly putting me in a bad place when it comes to Spellbound, coloring my view of Azriel and taking my mind in directions I never planned for this story. I'll try to push through and continue this the way I imagine Azriel to be, because frankly what SJM is doing is just bad. I've put up with her writing in these later books because Azriel was worth Rhys' completely misguided "male feminist wokeness" and SJM's bad habit of wanting to have her cake and eat it too, but ACOSF just doubled down on all of the things I dislike about the series, while also taking my favorite character and making him into a bitter, entitled "male" driven by lust *Sigh* I'm very salty and just...kind of sad. I could go on and on about how no, I don't consider this a good character flaw for him to grow out of. It's just...it's a lot. I wonder how you all feel? Let me know!

All that said, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your reviews and follow ups are truly helping me and bring me so much joy. I hope I'm able to push through and finish this story despite ACOSF sucking all the motivation out of me when I was hoping it would do the opposite.

Trigger warning: general creepiness in the flashbacks, abuse, implied assault but no gritty details. Flashbacks are italicized so if you'd rather skip them you certainly can.

Poor Bryn, I listened to "I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked a lot while writing this chapter T . T I do make "soundtracks for all of my fanfictions, if anyone's interested I can share them.


Chapter 13

Bryn did not sleep easily that night. Through a comforting, deep and endless blackness came Aldric's voice; slithering into her mind like a snake on the hunt, trapping her subconscious in it's reedy grasp.

"I grow tired of this game, darling."

He loomed above her, his figure slight but tall, a silhouette backlit by dim torchlight. Forced to her knees by his odious magic, her arms bound to a column behind her. Her body trembled with exhaustion. The room, sodden and windowless, offered her no clues as to how long she had been restrained. There was little light in the circular, stone room. The ceilings were too high for the meager candlelight to reach. A single door sat beyond her reach, tricked by magic aside. Still, she knew all too well why he chose this moment to pay her a visit. She felt frightfully cold, her skin still damp from yet another failed attempt at escape that had ended in a raging stormy night. The persistent thrum of her pulse echoed through her sore limbs. She was now as close to pliable as he could hope for. All the adrenaline and grit that had buoyed her into escaping had been all but sapped dry. Anger bubbled in her chest but she had nowhere to put it. She could only convey it through her gaze. She craned her neck up, her muscles making their protest known, her dark eyes like wells of roiling toxins. If only she had magic of her own, she would strike him down with her glare alone. At least she had her words.

"That's a lie." She spat. It was a miracle her voice was steady, cool even despite how raw her throat felt. She could feel the butterflies in her belly, their wings beating faster and faster. "You want me to run."

She meant to wound him (she always sought to wound him) but the barbed words turned back on her. The truth of them stung. Why it had taken her so long to realize it, she didn't know. This was a game. Every time she thought she had escaped him, slipped out when he was gone who knew where, outran his wolves, made it to the edge of the forest, it had all been part of his twisted game. He had been in control the entire time. He was fey, blessed with magic and immortality. She was nothing but human, gifted with no such advancements.

"Perhaps," He said, picking casually at a nail with his free hand. "I enjoy it when you resist. The chase can be invigorating...for a short while."

He tilted his head down, his nail forgotten, a familiar glint sparking in his ice-blue eyes. The magic pulsed around her. A warning. One she knew well, yet had no intention of acknowledging. She let her head fall.

"But we can't keep this up forever. I'll admit, I expected you to break a little more easily. I thought we'd be past this by now. After all…"

She heard the click-clack of his shoes echo in the chamber and started as she felt his fingers on her neck, cold and probing. They gripped her chin, forcing her field of vision up. His eyes flickering maliciously as they raked down her face, then her body, drinking her in. Unnerving her.

"You should be thanking me," he finished.

Bryn scoffed. She couldn't help it. The disparaging sound exploded out of her, practically forced out by her anger.

"I will never-"

He loosened his grip, then in a flash brought his hand back and slapped her across the face. Bryn gasped, her knocked insult lost to the shock.

"Be silent." He ordered, impatiently. He knelt down before her, his hand encircling her neck. "Such an ungrateful girl you've turned out to be. Do you think anyone in that pathetic little village could want you as I do? Provide for you as I do?"

"I don't want anything from you-" Bryn lamented, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Aldric's eyes darkened and another wave of magic shot through her as he tightened his grip on her neck.

Bryn gasped, but could find no air to speak. Something black and dark coiled in her throat, making her stomach turn.

"Careful, my love." Aldric murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "Keep this up and I'll have to do something about that mouth of yours."

He pulled his hand away slowly, drinking in her terror.

"Let me be clear." He said, reaching into his pocket and pulling his gloves out. "I didn't choose you, darling."

Bryn's eyes slammed shut. Not this again, she thought.

"I have no control over who..." his eyes shifted down to meet hers, brimming with disgust. "or what, the fates mark as my mate."

He paused to adjust the fit of his gloves.

"By some cruel twist, I've ended up with you. You...a pathetic little farm girl. Human. Mortal...plain.

Stop. Bryn thought, blinking. Shut up.

His hand cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped treacherously from the corner of her eye.

"Ah, see." He said in a whisper. "You know I'm right."

A searing, black weight settled in her chest. "N-no. You're wrong."

He only smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the lowlight. "Am I? Should we ask your father? Your brothers? They didn't seem all that heart broken to see you go. Why else would a father give up his only daughter?"

Bryn swallowed down a whimper that threaten to escape her lips. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, he may as well have had it in his teeth. Like a dog with a bone.

"Look at me, Bryn." He said in a whisper, his face drawing closer to hers. She tried to pull away but magic pulsed around her, paralyzing her. "You are my mate. I know your mortal mind cannot deign to understand it, but you belong to me. Neither of us have the power to fight this."

I do. Bryn thought, despite the withering of her will. I will fight it. Everyday, until I die.

She wished she had the strength to speak the words aloud, but they remained trapped inside. Tears slid freely down her face, but they did nothing to deter him.

"No one," He sneered, his lips ghosting against hers. "No one will want you as I do."


Bryn woke with a start. She breathed heavily, swallowing air as if it were water. She flung her arms out, surprised and relieved to find that they were free. She could feel a breeze gently rolling in from an open window, chilling her sweater-slicked arms and neck. She pulled the sheets up around her arms, shivering.

It's just a dream. Bryn told herself, pressing her fingers to her eyes and rubbing vigorously. Just a stupid, goddamn dream.

She sat, hunched in a pile of blankets, for some time. Just breathing. She welcomed each gasping breath for it's loudness, thankful that it drowned out his voice. It still echoed in the back of her head, a sinister whisper.

Not a dream. She reasoned with herself. But a memory. Yet, it's been so long - since I've dreamed of him. Thought of him, at all. Why now?

Kicking the sheets away, she sat up, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed. It was still night. The room was silent save for the low crackling of embers in the small hearth that sat in the corner of the room. It wasn't enough. The stillness was too still. The quiet, too quiet. She could feel a sob, stuck in her chest. Not for long. She trembled as she tried to push it back down, not wanting to wake Azriel or his shadows. Even though he occupied the room at the other end of the house, she knew now how sensitive he was to his surroundings, even when he was sleeping.

Even so, if she didn't find a new noise to fill her head, she knew it was only a matter of time before Aldric's voice returned. She stood up and hurried into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind her. The glazed stone floor felt glacial under her bare feet. She stepped towards the bath and cranked each of the faucets, breathing a sigh of relief as water poured out instantly and hit the bottom of the tub with a loud slap followed by an echoing rush of water not unlike the raging roar of a waterfall.

That will do. She thought, numbly stripping out of her pajamas and stepping into the bath. Thankfully, there was no waiting required, the water was magicked to the perfect temperature. She sunk down and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs and resting her chin on her knee. As the water filled up around her, she focused only on the sound of it, drifting into a hypnotic state of nothingness. It was almost as deep as a dreamless sleep.

What do I do when the water stops? She thought. Dread pooled in her chest. She pushed it away.

It felt nice - to stew and let the heat seep into her skin. The water was perhaps a degree or two too hot but she didn't mind it. She dunked her head under water, letting the sound of her submerged heart beat drown out any impending thoughts. At least that was what she was hoping for. She stretched her legs out and let herself float. Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling, where she could make out a blurry reflection of her body in the steamy frosted glass above. Not much was visible, but she could discern her shape...or rather the lack of one. She lifted one hand from the water. Trailing her fingers down from her neck to her chest, watching her ghostly reflection from above. She hated her body; try as she might she couldn't ignore the flaws that Aldric had always pointed to. But strangely, maddeningly, she hated the things he loved even more. Before she knew it, a dark weight settled over her heart. His whispers flooded in again, each word pointed and derisive. She could feel his teeth grazing her jawline, sense his overwhelming desire as his magic held her still, freeing his hands to-

Stop. She told herself, opening her eyes wide. Flashes of inky blackness dotted her vision. She rose up and cranked the faucets, finding the water gravely close to overflowing. Don't think about him. Anything else but him.

She twirled one wet curl of hair around her finger, her mind searching for another topic.

It doesn't matter what he thought. He can't reach you here. She told herself, even though she still struggled to believe it. ...don't think about that either, idiot. Stupid...so-so scared and weak and plain..

Nothing like Mor. Came a voice in the back of her mind.

Bryn felt her cheeks go hot. Nothing like Mor...I'm nothing like her; at all. Why...why does that matter?

She didn't have an answer, but following that trail of thought...no matter how dispiriting, still seemed like a welcome distraction. Anything but Aldric, she pleaded with herself.

Mor. Bryn had not known her for long, but she certainly grew to appreciate her company quickly. She was pure sunshine, golden hair and bronzed skin aside. There was something so easy about her, so friendly and kind. How vibrant she was, how happy and full of life.

Of course he likes her.

Ah, there it was. Bryn sunk deeper into the water, feeling suddenly heavy. Like a stone. Elain's words drifted in one ear and out the other, each one a needle's prick as it passed through.

Azriel and Mor...it seems so obvious now. Bryn thought, watching tendrils of steam rise from the waters surface.

She could hear Azriel's voice in the back of her head as well. I want you to meet my family.

Family. They weren't related, but he chose Mor to meet her first. Mor, beautiful and open, sweet as honey. Chiding Azriel, laughing with him. Calling him Az. Talking about him with such ease and reverence. There was so much history between them, that was clear. Azriel seemed different around her. Calm and happy. Comfortable.

Bryn huffed, feeling suddenly dizzy. She clamored out of the bath, reaching for a towel to cover herself. She caught site of her reflection in the mirror above the sink across the room. Her hair was sopping, dark and without shine. Her curls stuck to her shoulders reminding her of octopus tentacles. She could see Mor standing next to her in her mind. Tall and beaming like a goddess or a finely crafted statue; her clothes flowing and long, her skin complimented perfectly by rich jewel tones not unlike the lights that dotted the city below.

Not for me, Bryn cringed. I could never- I-I'm not like her.

Just like that, Aldric's voice returned. How could anyone want you? Care for you? Love you?

Bryn bit down on her lip, fighting more tears. She understood now why that memory had come to her. For years she was content to live on her brother's farm, work herself to exhaustion day in and day out. It didn't matter as long as she was free from him. She had no desire to pursue any other sort of life, no hope to find love or even someone to build a life with. She was damaged goods, as Roman said. Already used and therefore useless. But it never bothered her. She hated men. She hated the way they made her feel when they looked at her or spoke to her. It made her sick, the thought of any of them even thinking about her. She was certain she was better off with her brothers. Far from the village, left to her work with a bed of her own and no wanton expectations forced onto her. She was lonely, yes. Miserable on occasion, but relatively free to spend her days making her own decisions.

Free...Bryn thought. It seemed silly now, to call life on the farm freedom, now that she had seen Velaris and spent time walking it's streets. Azriel, he changed everything.

Azriel was different. So different from the men she had known. She felt no itch to recoil at the sight of him. She could meet his eye without fear. She wanted to be near him. She wanted to talk with him and explore the city with him, see the world as he did. Fly. She wanted to make him happy, to live in his home.

I...I think I...

She shook her head, rubbing down her body with the towel and grabbing a robe from the closet. She sat down at the vanity and grabbed a brush, dragging it wildly through her hair, pulling forcibly at knots. But no amount of fussing could hold back her train of thought. She paused, holding her own gaze in the mirror.

You like him, She thought. Maybe even lo-

No. She stood up again, pacing back and forth. Don't do this to yourself, don't even think about it. You can't. He doesn't want you that way. He's your friend. He has Mor.

She crumpled down onto the chair again, holding the brush limply in one hand.

It's not fair. She lamented. Why did it have to be him? Why does it have to-to be at all? I...I love him. I love-

"-Azriel."

So far gone was Bryn, in the darkest depths of her mind, she did not realize she had spoken his name aloud.


Azriel woke in the middle of the night. Why, he wasn't certain. His shadows shivered around him, fueling his alertness. There was something they wanted him to know. He rose out of bed, searching in the dark for a shirt. Crickets trilled loudly outside, the sound of them drifting in from the open window.

Bryn. His shadows seemed to whisper.

Azriel rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one scarred hand.

Strange. He thought, eying the clock by the bedside. It's late. Or...early.

A quarter past 4 a.m. to be exact.

Is she...dreaming again? Azriel thought, opening the door and stepping into the hallway. It had been many nights since she had woken in the night. With help from Magda's tea, she usually slept through the night and well into the morning. Azriel's wings expanded, his hand went to his thigh, where Truthteller was always sheathed. He moved quickly down the hallway with purposefully heavy footfalls so as not to frighten her. He knocked on the door once, before calling

"...Bryn?"

No answer came. He opened the door, peering in. The bed was empty, a pile of sheets hanging halfway off the bed. He looked to the bathroom door, relieved to see light seeping out from the gap in the floor. He stood by the door a moment longer and caught site of shadows moving on the other side.

Go back to bed. He told himself. No need to disturb her.

No.His shadows whispered, stretching out towards the door. Go. Knock. Help.

Help? Azriel thought, concern rising. He stepped towards the door and made to knock but thought better of it.

"Bryn?" He called again softly. She saw the shadows under the door come to an abrupt stop. "Are you alright?"

No answer came, but a second later the door pulled open. Bryn stood in the doorway for but a moment before drifting silently back into the room and sitting down at the cherry wood bench before the vanity. The bathroom was thick with steam. Azriel could see hot water still filled the tub. Her hair was damp, She looked pale and the circles under her eyes were a troubling shade of purple.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you." He said, hoping he didn't sound too probing. He could remember a time when such treatment had made his blood boil, even when he knew the people questioning him had the best of intentions.

After a beat between brushes, Bryn shook her head. The smallest of smiles twitched at the corners of her mouth, but it was far too dim to reach her eyes. Or any other part of her. His shadows swelled, urging him forward. Unsure of what to do, he stepped towards the sink to the right of the bench.

Even in the lowlight, despite the concerning redness of her eyes, Azriel couldn't help but note how pretty she was. He watched for a moment as she ran the brush through layers of thick, wet curls. The deep, black-brown reminded him of the forest trees that surrounding the clearing. Her cheeks and nose were flecked with olive freckles that looked especially charming against her peachy skin, now a much more healthy color thanks to Madja's care and several weeks of good meals.

"I did...want to talk to you." He said, running a hand through his hair. "I know now might not be the best time but..."

He trailed off, but she nodded. The sounds of the midsummer night seemed to fade as silence crept in. It was different from the past ones, however. It didn't seem easy or comfortable. Quite the opposite. He wanted to leave; to apologize and let her settle in for the rest of the night, but his shadows were oddly persistent. He stepped over to the sink, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know something happened." He said, "..with Mor."

Bryn stiffened beside him. She redirected the brush, so that the hair that ran through it covered her face. He instantly regretted speaking out at all, but it was too late to take it back. Despite every instinct he felt to flee, he pressed on. He looked down at his arms, at his hands, at the rippled, marred skin.

"I won't pretend to know how you feel," He said, finally. "But I've always hated my scars."

He sensed her brushing slow for a moment, before continuing.

"I can't wear gloves, because of the sigils so they're always visible. Unavoidable really. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like without them." He said, eyeing his hands as he spoke. Even now, he couldn't help but grimace. How ugly they were, how they gnarled his skin, the obvious discoloration. Even after all this time, he'd yet to grow used to them. "I wonder if my family, the people I know...would they treat me differently? Would they like me more? Would they like me less? How would things be different? I've spent countless hours thinking over hypotheticals. I try not too, but for some reason I can never fight the impulse."

He looked up. Bryn was watching him. Her hair now tucked behind her ear, the brush forgotten in her lap. There was a strange look in her eye.

"Cassian always says scars should be worn with pride." He continued. "Elain called them beautiful. Rhysand says I shouldn't let myself be defined by them...I know they want to help, I know they mean well, but their words will never change how much I hate them. They remind me of how weak I was. How helpless. I couldn't protect myself. I couldn't protect anyone."

His eyes darkened as he thought about his mother.

"It angers me."

He looked up from his hands, into Bryn's dark, receiving eyes.

"...have you ever felt that way?" He asked, heart skipping at the thought of a denial.

But she nodded.

Azriel sighed, equal parts relieved and somber.

"It isn't fair, is it?" He said, the last of his carefully constructed walls falling away as if it was nothing but paper. He met Bryn's eye, unafraid and unapologetic. "No matter what happens, no matter how hard we try, we can't help but be defined by what they've done to us."

What they've done.

Azriel knew he need not elaborate. Bryn would understand. Perhaps she would be the first one to truly understand.

Bryn sniffed, a single tear drifting down her cheek. She wiped it away with a deft hand. She didn't nod this time, but there was understanding in her gaze. In a swift but silent motion Azriel knelt down in front of her, his hand reaching for hers. She started, but didn't pull back.

He placed his hand over hers, just as he had to Mor earlier that very day. Bryn felt her heart pounding in her throat.

"I-I'm sorry, I-" He said in a whisper. "I've never told anyone that."

He felt aware suddenly of how close they were. Once again he had pushed into her space without a thought for her boundaries.

"I should go-" He started to stand.

Bryn leapt up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His wings expanded but he managed to stay in place. He felt her hand at the back of his head and her cheek, still wet, press against his ear. He stilled for a moment before gently letting his arms hug at her waist. Her body felt hot through the thin fabric of the robe, yet she was trembling. She pulled back, placing her hands on either side of his head, her arms resting on his collar.

I'm sorry, she mouthed. I-

She drew back suddenly, frustration raging in her eyes. Azriel watched as she struggled to sign the words she longed to say. She touched her hand to her lips and pulled them away, repeating the action twice over before pointing at his chest, her movements more erratic than usual. The sentiment was clear.

I just wish I could talk to you.

Azriel stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder causing her to still. Silently, he drew her in again, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She went calmly, without pulling away or fretting.

"I know." He said.

His sincerity calmed her further and she felt the anger ebb into nothing. She flushed, suddenly embarrassed that she had let it consume her so thoroughly. His shadows slid around them both, their color more vibrant than usual.

"There is...another way," Azriel said, drawing back again.

Bryn looked up at him, a flurry of questions in her eyes.

"...but it would involve a third party." He finished, seemingly regretting that he even brought it up.

Bryn's shoulders sagged. A third party...was a difficult caveat. She wanted to talk to Azriel. Not have her words sent through someone else.

"My High Lord and Lady," He continued. "They have an ability to read the thoughts of others and share them through a bride. Connecting minds. We could talk and listen with little to interrupt us. I don't know the strength of your curse, but it might be worth trying."

Bryn nodded, unsure of what else to do. She let the confusion show in her features, hoping Azriel could glean from it what he could.

"I know it isn't ideal." Azriel said, "But, at the very least, if you could tell us how you were cursed. We may be able to find a way to break it."

Break the curse. Bryn thought. For years she thought it was impossible, but she could still remember clearly that strange pain in her throat, Roman's shock as words came tumbling out of her mouth, loud and true. Could they really...?

Alright she signed, smiling in earnest this time.

Let's do it.


Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Happy Summer!