A Court of Ice and Starshine (Book II)

Chapter 1

Happy December 1st! And surprise, it's the first chapter to the second part of the series! 

Please make sure to read "A Court of Specters and Reapers" first to get the full experience. 

Enjoy!

Enveloped in a warm blanket by the window, Lowen gazed out at the gentle snowfall, book in hand, as the Winter Solstice neared. Velaris buzzed with festive spirits, yet she felt an undertone of solitude.

The absence of Azriel, necessitated by his missions for Rhys, weighed heavily on her. She yearned for his touch, his embrace, and their shared quiet moments.

Lowen found herself lost in thought, watching the snowflakes play in the sun's rays. Since the war ended, they hardly had any time just to be together. She craved those simple, quiet moments with Azriel, but his responsibilities always seemed to pull him away. Adding to the distance was her own choice to live a bit out of the way, in a cozy cottage by the woods, a couple of hours from the city. Azriel did visit when he could, but he hadn't moved in yet, usually staying at his usual place, the House of Wind, especially when on missions. She knew he made every effort to be with her whenever he could, but deep down, she couldn't help feeling that their time together was never quite enough.

To add to that, several locations throughout Prythian faced turmoil, some unjustly blaming them for Hybern's atrocities. Malek strove to mend fractures on his front, while Azriel shouldered the task of uncovering and understanding the undercurrents of unrest in each area. There were hushed murmurs, hints of a potential new conflict brewing.

But these were just rumors, at least for the time being.

Meanwhile, Cassian grappled with Windhaven's challenges, a task proving more complex among the staunchly proud Illyrians. Even Rhys found the situation taxing. Azriel's assignment to the other areas, rather than Windhaven, was strategic — to avoid exacerbating tensions with brawls, a legacy of their troubled past.

Mulling over a potential visit to the camp, Lowen sensed an undercurrent to her restlessness, something more profound than merely missing Azriel.

She leaned against the window frame, her gaze still fixed on the snow outside. She was grappling with her purpose in Velaris beyond her bond with Azriel.

In the first month after their return, everyone had been preoccupied with trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. But the reality was that they weren't there yet, and perhaps they might never be. Trauma loomed over them like a heavy cloud, and none of them had the courage to address it. Nightmares haunted their nights, waking them up in cold sweats, screaming in the darkness. Lowen had never heard Azriel scream before, and she never wanted to hear it again. But neither of them shared the details of their nightmares, unwilling to burden each other further.

Instead, they sought solace in each other's arms, letting their bodies provide the comfort that words couldn't. And every morning, Azriel would be gone, called away by Rhys or another pressing task. Lowen knew that the others likely coped in similar ways. She rarely saw Feyre or Rhys since their return, their responsibilities pulling them in different directions.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, feeling the weight of their unspoken pain. She knew that they couldn't continue to avoid addressing their trauma, but for now, it seemed like the only way to survive in the aftermath of the war. And as the Winter Solstice approached, Lowen hoped that she and her mate could find some respite.

As she was dwelling in the past, a soft, familiar sound reached her ears—the faintest whisper of wings. She turned to the window, and there he was, landing gracefully in the snow outside.