A Song of Faithless Shadows

8. Once the Gold Tarnishes

Azriel

Elain and Feyre give Nesta away to Cassian in what I can't help but admit to be a touching ceremony. Rhys sniffles, and I have to elbow him in the rib. Cauldron knows that if he starts wailing, Cassian will be quick to follow, and I will be left to deal with their sobs.

The reception, which I fully expected to be long and agonizing, was cut short to my surprise. After Nesta unceremoniously fed Cassian a slice of chocolate cake to seal their mating bond, the couple had swiftly thanked everyone before flying off into the night. I'm not sure why I was surprised.

Still, it would've been a shame to waste such an elaborate party, so guests still danced, ate, reveled. I snuck downstairs, back to my chambers with a bottle of scotch. I was in no mood to socialize.

Unfortunate, because I run square into Elain.

I expect her to nod cordially, scuttle past, but she holds my gaze. What was she doing down here? I look past her, Gwyn's door ajar. Then, she holds up something gold, and my stomach sinks. "She's a nice girl," Elain says.

"I can explain-"

"I didn't ask you to."

"She doesn't know the locket was from me. There's no hidden motive in it. Not to spite you. Not to dazzle her," I tell her. "It would've otherwise gone to waste if I hadn't-"

"Waste?"

I wince. "A poor choice in words," I reply. "I meant that it hadn't been done with intention beyond not wishing to throw the necklace out."

"You might as well have," she says, and I hardly recognized the tone of voice in her. She sounded more like Nesta than herself- which means I'm fucked. "Gwyn doesn't even like it, and I don't blame her. It's not as if it was chosen with her tastes in mind."

"No," I agree softly. "It was chosen for you."

"I mean it when I say that she is kindness personified," Elain says, rolling her shoulders back. "I hope you aren't meaning to toy with her emotions because you can't figure out what you want."

"I knew what I wanted," I reply, straightening. "You know that I had. I have no intention with Gwyneth, lest of all cruel intention."

"And with me?" She replies, tilting her head. "Were your intentions with me cruel?"

My jaw flexes. "So we're really going to talk about this?" We weren't exactly the type of people to speak about things, one of the many ways we were alike. Too alike, now that I think back on it.

But alike is not the same as equal, as matched.

She shrugs. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

"Letting myself have you would've been the biggest risk I could've possibly taken," I reply, hushed voice. "And I would've risked it all. I suspect you know that."

"I did," she tilts her head.

"But I think it's more than that. I think that, for you, it was the fact that I was willing to risk it for you, despite the stakes, that I would've gone to war for you," I reply. Grayson, she still loves. It consumes her, the lines he won't cross for her. That mortal had poisoned her heart long before she was made fae.

And I am no antidote.

"You revel in the idea of being fought over. Not just with me. With Lucien," I say. "You think that whoever came out on top, you could love him because he had made the ultimate sacrifice for you. That is your theory anyway."

"I think that?" She tilts her head. "News to me."

"You asked," I reply. "That is how I see it. You don't do it out of cruelty or malice. You do it because you have been mistreated-"