A Court of Shadows and Rage (Azriel x OC)

A Deal Not Taken

"A deal?" 

It was the brooding shadowsinger who blurted out the words. "What promise? What deal?" 

Brinna scowled at him, ignoring his large, imposing form and those gleaming blue siphons. He was desperately handsome, Brinna realized as she watched him face the High Lord. His hair caressed the nape of his neck, falling lightly and curling softly at the ends. The strands that resting on his forehead, seemed to hang as he slammed his hand onto the table and leaned to cut her off from view.

She stood, rounding on him to come between the two and push her hands on Azriel's chest. He seized up, straightening at her touch. 

"He promised me if I told him what camp I was from, that one of your Illyrian bastards would take me wherever it is I wanted to go," she sneered, then flickered her head over her shoulder without releasing her grip on his leathers. "Right?"

Rhysand had to hide his laugh and smile, as he nodded. "Right."

Betrayal and fear slid down Azriel's back, shuttering through him. She looked satisfied, happy, before Azriel tried the only thing he knew to get any reaction out of her. 

"She deserted her camp, Rhys," he peered over her small, wingless form and stared hard at his brother. "She could easily give us a name, and we bear the consequences of whatever reason she's left. Especially if it is one of the camps on our list."

Brinna was shocked, pushing against the spymaster hard, her grip on his leathers tightening. With the element of surprise on her side, she used enough force to slam him into the opposite wall. Rhysand winnowed out immediately, a small chuckle staying behind his disappearing form. 

"Leave me out of whatever internal wars the camps are engaging in, shadowsinger," she growled. "I just want out of this place. Drop me in another court, I don't care - just let me go!"

"Considering you're the one holding me, I would say the same, Illyrian." 

He spat his own nickname back at her, in the same hateful way she always spat shadowsinger towards him. They both paused, her hands still gripping his leathers, staring up at him from her spot a foot below his towering form. Brinna knew if he wanted to he could flip her across the room, smash her through a window, throw her against the wall as she had him. 

Azriel could barely think, let alone breathe with her tucked so close into him. One of his scarred hands lifted gently, pulling her off of him easily. He backed away.

"Why can't you tell me where you're from?" He asked. That same rage stayed lit in her bright blue eyes. "What have you done that makes you scared enough to run?"

Wrong thing to say, rage ignited into pure fury and hatred. She grabbed for a chair, heavying across at him. He caught it easily with his immense strength, setting it back down and hiding his impressed expression. Brinna's back spasmed at the strain of the movement, and Azriel felt just a brush of pain. 

He slid across the room, standing close, but not daring to touch her. 

"Are you hurt?" He asked, voice soft, nearly melting into a different person before her eyes. She flinched at his sudden closeness, drawing back from his outstretched, scarred hands, only to see him flinch from her refusal. 

"I'm fine," she gritted through her teeth. She was not fine, at all. Her back was on fire. But it was weakness, she swallowed it down hard. 

Brinna grabbed for him again, pushing him into a corner, but she was barely trying.

"Just leave me alone," she begged, her voice softer, almost near to tears. "Please, just forget my name, everything about me, make them all forget and let me go."