Chapter 10 - True Colors
Chapter 10 – True Colors
-Azriel-
As Azriel stepped into Rhysand’s study, the weight of his friends’ gazes bore down on him, unrelenting and expectant.
“What’s this about, Az?” Nesta’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and demanding. She perched on the rolled arm of a large loveseat, her posture rigid with barely contained frustration. Cassian sat beside her, his hand resting on the small of her back—a silent plea for restraint.
Azriel exhaled slowly, bracing himself. The truth had been clawing at him for days, and it was time to let it out. Rhysand might have witnessed the near-kiss on Solstice night, but even he didn’t know the full story.
So, Azriel told them. Every detail. The months of simmering attraction between him and Elain. His misguided conviction that the Cauldron had erred in pairing her with Lucien instead of him. The near-kiss that had nearly shattered everything last Winter Solstice. And the argument with Elain that Lucien and Gwyn had stumbled upon, exposing the tangled mess he’d created.
The only thing he withheld was the truth about the necklace—the Solstice gift he’d intended for Elain but had given to Gwyn instead. That was a conversation he needed to have with Gwyn first. She deserved to hear it from him, not through whispers from someone else.
When he finished, Azriel turned to Lucien, meeting his gaze directly. “I never touched Elain,” he said, his voice steady but heavy with regret. “But the feelings I harbored for her were wrong—deeply inappropriate for a mated female. I am truly sorry, Lucien. I’ve already apologized to Elain for leading her on, but I owe you an apology as well. I’ve hurt the female you care about, driven her into a spiral of jealousy, and caused her to lash out. I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t forgive me. But I hope you can forgive her. I don’t believe she truly feels animosity toward Gwyn. I think she’s angry with me and wanted to hurt Gwyn to hurt me, because…”
He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. But there was no point in holding back now. “Because I have feelings for Gwyn.”
The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of his confession settling over them like a heavy fog. Azriel’s gaze remained fixed on Lucien, searching for any sign of what the male might be thinking.
Finally, Lucien spoke, his voice measured but strained. “I appreciate your honesty, Shadowsinger. I… I don’t know...” He sighed heavily. “I need time to process it all.” Without another word, Lucien turned and left the study, the door clicking shut behind him.
“I’d like to speak to Azriel alone.” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the air, leaving no room for debate.
Fuck. She’s going to castrate me.
LADY DEATH WILL NOT DO THAT. WINGED FURY WILL STAY TOO. SHE WILL NOT LET LADY DEATH TOUCH YOUR BALLS.
“I want to speak to him too,” Emerie added, her voice arriving right on cue like a second blade ready to strike.
“Nes…” Cassian’s tone was wary, a clear warning wrapped in one syllable.
“It’s alright, Cass,” Azriel interjected, his voice steady though his insides churned. “I’d like to speak to the two of them as well.”
The others began filing out, leaving Azriel alone with Nesta and Emerie. Cassian paused by Nesta, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll appease the guests,” he told her softly, though the mirth in his eyes couldn’t be missed. With a crooked grin, he added, “I’ll distract them with my handsomeness and charm.”
Nesta rolled her eyes but softened slightly, gazing up at him with the smallest hint of affection before he turned to go. Feyre brushed a tattooed hand on Azriel’s shoulder as she passed him—a silent gesture that could have been comfort, encouragement, or simply farewell as he faced her eldest sister. Rhysand, on the other hand, exchanged a long, pointed look with Nesta. Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if his brother was using his daemati powers to issue a warning only Nesta could hear.
When their silent standoff ended, Rhys turned, sparing Azriel a single, measured nod before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.
For a moment, the room was silent, the two Valkyries regarding Azriel with expressions he couldn’t quite decipher. Emerie had moved to sit beside Nesta, occupying the space Cassian had just vacated—a clear show of solidarity. Azriel stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, waiting for them to begin the inevitable verbal onslaught.
“Are you telling the truth?” Nesta finally asked, exhaling in what sounded like barely contained exasperation.
He frowned, confused. “About…?”
“About Gwyn,” she clarified. “About having feelings for her.”
There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. “Yes. That is true. I have for some time now.”
“And what exactly are your intentions?” Emerie’s tone was sharp, her gaze unwavering. She wasn’t as physically imposing as Nesta, but her take-no-bullshit attitude made her just as formidable. Azriel couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. These two Valkyries—along with Gwyn—had grown so much over the months, becoming strong, unyielding warriors. He liked to think he’d played some small part in that transformation.
“My intentions…” he began, pausing as he weighed his words carefully. “Well, I suppose I don’t know that yet.”
Nesta’s eyes flashed. “What she means is, do you intend to fuck Gwyn and then cast her aside, Spymaster?”
Emerie’s eyes widened as she glanced at Nesta, but she didn’t utter a word—not to correct her bluntness, nor to soften the blow.
“No,” Azriel said firmly, his voice steady and resolute.
Nesta’s expression hardened as she leveled a finger at him. “Because she is more than that, Az. Gwyn has fought tooth and nail to reach where she is, and she’s still finding the strength she needs to move forward. She is worth more than being just another fling.” Her tone was laced with unwavering protectiveness, every word a dagger pointed at him. “There are many strong females in my life, but Gwyn is something entirely different. She is unique—exceptional. She has carved her way forward with sheer determination, fighting every day to shatter the chains of her past. I will not stand idly by and watch you diminish all that she has endured and achieved. I will not let you use her and then toss her aside like she is nothing. Because she deserves to be someone's everything. Gwyn is extraordinary, and I will protect her with every breath I have, even if that means keeping you away from her.
“So, if all you want is to get your cock wet, haul your winged ass down pleasure house. I’m sure you’ll find no shortage of females interested in riding you into extinction, Az. But Gwyn—” She paused, her finger cutting through the air to point toward the general area of the party, her voice edged with unwavering resolve. “—she isn’t that, and she never will be, not for any male—not while I still have breath in my body, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel swallowed. He knew Nesta Archeron was straightforward, but this was a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t seen from her. He had no doubt that she would castrate him with a glass shard and feed him his testicles if he hurt Gwyn. Though the thought of that made him shudder, his chest also warmed knowing Gwyn had Nesta and Emerie in her corner.
“I agree,” Azriel finally said, his voice rough with conviction. “She is more than a casual fling. I would rather keep my distance from her than cause her hurt her in any way. And I won’t allow anyone else to treat her like she’s nothing.” He glanced at Emerie, his hazel eyes steady. “What I meant was that I don’t know how she feels about me—or if she would ever want more than friendship with me.”
Emerie opened her mouth, a response at the ready, but Nesta stopped her with a light touch to her shoulder. “You’ll have to tell her how you feel, Azriel. It’s the only way you’ll know what she wants.” Nesta gave a small shrug, though he could have sworn he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. The amusement faded quickly as her gaze turned sharp again. “As for what Elain said about Gwyn, I think it has more to do with her own unresolved resentment towards you than any actual hatred for Gwyn. Honestly, I didn’t even realize they knew one another.”
She crossed her arms, her tone softening slightly. “Elain is still… struggling. Struggling with her new Fae life, with having a mate she didn’t choose. She’s grieving, Azriel. Grieving the future she thought she’d have as a human—the engagement she lost, the mortality she left behind. All of that… it’s fueling her anger. It’s why she lashed out.”
Azriel nodded, though his expression tightened. “I’ve already apologized to her. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Honestly?” Nesta tilted her head, her voice clear and direct. “Leave her be. More apologies won’t change anything. Focus on what you’re going to say to Gwyn instead.”
Azriel exhaled, dragging a hand through his dark hair as he wrestled with the thought. “I will. It’s just… I’ve never—I’ve never put myself out there like that before. Never told a female how I feel.”
Emerie’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “There’s a first time for everything.”
A new thought crossed his mind then, tugging at a thread of unease. He turned to Nesta, studying her carefully. “What did you mean earlier, when you said Gwyn is ‘still finding the strength she needs to move forward’?”
The two Valkyries exchanged a glance. “She’s leaving the Library,” Nesta said at last. “For good. She thinks it’s holding her back—keeping her from living life to the fullest.”
Azriel blinked, stunned. “Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” Nesta rose to her feet and smoothed her dress. “I have a celebration to get back to—it is my mating ceremony, after all. And you—” She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him, her eyes gleaming with challenge. “—have a gorgeous redheaded Valkyrie to find and woo.”
Azriel groaned, letting his head fall back. He wanted to tell Gwyn everything, but he just…didn’t know how.
“And for Gods’ sake, Azriel,” Emerie added, her tone sharp with exasperation. “Try coming up with a compliment that’s a bit more inspired than ‘nice.’”
Azriel froze, his shadows curling tighter around him. “She… she told you I said that?”
Emerie nodded, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes. She put a lot of effort into looking nice today for…” Emerie’s words faltered as she glanced at Nesta, whose slight shake of the head was both a command and a warning. Whatever Emerie had been about to say died on her lips. “She put a lot of effort into looking nice today for the ceremony, that’s all. She trusted us to help her pick the dress, style her hair, do her makeup. She wanted to feel confident.” Emerie paused, her expression darkening. “And she did, at first. But after your underwhelming compliment, every small comment from others chipped away at her confidence, little by little… until Elain completely destroyed her.”
“Wait,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Who else said something about how she looked today?”
“It doesn’t matter—” Emerie began, but Nesta’s sudden, sharp inhale silenced her.
“The dress,” Nesta whispered, the realization clear in her widened eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.” Understanding flickered in Emerie’s expression as well, though Azriel only looked between them, confusion etched on his face.
“What about her dress?” he demanded, his brows drawing together.
“Elain, she…” Nesta hesitated, her voice faltering. “Yesterday, when we were shopping without Emerie and Gwyn, Elain spotted that dress in one of the stores. She wanted it for herself, but she said it wouldn’t suit her coloring.”
Azriel frowned. He didn’t claim to understand much about “coloring” or the nuances of fashion, but even he could see that the dress wouldn’t have suited Elain—not in the way it seemed to have been made for Gwyn, as if every stitch and shade had been designed with her in mind. It was perfect, effortlessly highlighting Gwyn’s unique beauty in a way that left no room for comparison.
“When I saw it,” Nesta continued, her tone softer now, “I immediately thought of Gwyn. The color, the fit—it was perfect for her.”
“Do you think Elain was upset because Gwyn was wearing the dress she wanted for herself?” Emerie asked, her voice cautious.
Nesta considered the question, but Azriel was the one who answered. “Even if that were true, it wasn’t the root of it. This whole thing—everything Elain said—it’s about her anger with me.”
Nesta studied him for a moment before nodding. “I think you’re right.”
Emerie sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, nonetheless, Az—whatever you say to Gwyn, you’d better make sure it includes the fact that you think she looks beautiful.”
“Gorgeous,” Nesta added, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “She deserves to know just how stunning she truly is.”
LADY DEATH IS RIGHT, his shadows whispered.
I know. I plan to tell her that—and everything else, too.
-Gwyn-
It had taken Gwyn at least fifteen more minutes to drag herself out of the fog of despair before she could summon the strength to leave the ladies’ room. When she finally stepped out, her head was held high, her focus sharp, determined to move with the poise and dignity she so desperately grappled for.
Channeling her inner Mor, Gwyn reminded herself that the sultry, confident female would never allow anyone’s bitter words to diminish her. She sauntered through the yard, her steps deliberate as she made her way toward the currently unoccupied large table in the center where the Night Court’s closest friends and family were to be seated.
Perhaps she held her chin just a touch too high. Her heel snagged on the edge of a chair leg mid-stride, throwing her off balance in an instant. She lurched forward in a graceless tumble, her hands reaching out too late to stop the inevitable. The ground seemed to rise up to meet her—but then, a hand shot out. Its grip on her upper arm was firm, almost bruising, yanking her back from the brink of disaster just in time.
“Glad I caught you,” came a masculine drawl.
She looked up, her heart still racing, to find Roderick grinning down at her, his green eyes glinting with amusement.
“Oh, my goodness, thank you so much!” she said, placing a hand over her chest in a futile attempt to calm her frantic pulse. “That would’ve been… horrifying.”
He chuckled, the sound relaxed, though it did nothing to bring her comfort. “Guess I was in the right place at the right time.” He winked at her, something gluttonous in his expression.
She smiled back politely, trying to push back the unease she felt when he looked at her. “I guess you were.”
He’s just being friendly, she told herself. Just flirting. He doesn’t see you as weak or easy prey. He thinks you’re attractive. He wants to talk to you. It’s fine.
Roderick raised his tumbler of amber liquid, finishing the last of it before tilting his head toward her with a lazy grin. “Care to dance, Gwyneth?”
She blinked, her mind spinning. Did she want to dance? With him?
“Ah… Sure, Roderick,” she said at last. “Just one, though. Then I should go find my friends.”
He smiled again, but his grin faltered when his gaze landed on the jacket draped over her arm. It was unmistakably a male’s jacket, judging by its size. “Does that belong to…?” He left the question hanging, waiting for her to fill in the blank.
“Oh! Just a friend’s coat,” she replied quickly, her cheeks warming. “He let me borrow it when I got a little chilled.”
His grin reappeared, wider this time. “Well, if you get cold again, be sure to let me know. I’d be happy to keep you warm.”
She let out an awkward laugh, not used to this kind of forwardness. Not every male could be the strong, quiet, and brooding type, she supposed. “Let me just take this to my table,” she said, excusing herself as she hurried toward the long table. She only glanced up briefly to confirm it was empty before draping Lucien’s coat over the back of one of the chairs. She didn’t know if he’d be seated there later, but it seemed like the best place for it for now.
Turning back, she gasped. Roderick was standing directly behind her, far too close. Before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against him. He backed her up against the chairback she had just laid Lucien’s jacked over, and her hands flew backwards as she arched away from him, trying to put distance between them to no avail. The feel of Lucien’s coat as she gripped the chairback with her hands was the only anchor that kept her from spiraling into a panic.
Her breath caught in her throat as the sharp scent of alcohol wafted over her, clinging to the air between them. His glassy eyes gleamed with the weight of too many drinks since the garden ceremony had ended. He leaned in, his mouth brushing far too close to her ear. The stench of whiskey on his breath felt as though it seared her skin, and her heart pounded wildly in alarm.
“What do you say we skip the dance and go find somewhere a bit more private, Gwyneth?” he slurred. “I bet you fuck like a Godsdamn animal, don’t you? I’ll let you choke on my cock before I fuck the shit out of that tight cunt.”
Gwyn was speechless. Her eyes widened and she gripped Lucien’s coat on the the chairback tighter. She could feel Roderick's arousal pressed up against her lower abdomen, and she felt the burn of bile creeping up her throat. Keeping his arm coiled around her waist, his free hand slipped down the curve of her bottom, trailing lower towards the hem of her dress, where he discretely began to slide up the back of her bare thigh, his touch cold and wrong.
No, no, no, was all she could think.
“Mmm, I want those pretty eyes staring up at me while I fuck your face,” he told her in a low voice. “Then I’ll spin you around and bend you over and sink my cock deep in y—”
His filthy words were suddenly cut off as he began to struggle, his hands releasing the hold he’d had on her and clawing against something on his throat. It was almost imperceptible under the collar of his jacket, but Gwyn saw it, wrapped around Roderick’s throat as he stumbled backwards, wheezing and gasping.
A shadow.
One of Azriel’s shadows.
It was strangling Roderick.