A Delicate Darkness | AZRIEL (ACOTAR)

viii. enemy of my enemy

tw: references to dubious consent, descriptions of graphic violence.

ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

THERE WAS THIS BEDTIME STORY HER OLD GOVERNESS used to tell Auroria when the girl grew too unruly and needed to simmer down. Eden had learned it from the humans when they were all thrust into the War.

There was this monster, the Boogeyman as the humans called it, who took the form of a child's worst nightmare. Its natural shape had glowing eyes and fangs as sharp as nails, shadows in his wake. That was where it dwelled. In the shadows. In the corner of one's eye, its victim would see its shape, its luminescent eyes, its snarling smile, and the shadows that listened to it. And it'd watch you. Days. Weeks. Months. And then, when it'd had enough, it'd go for the kill.

Auroria never found the story particularly frightening, because her young mind could never think of shadows to be scary.

But now... Now, she felt the horror seep into her skin, ooze into her bloodstream, and flay away any piece of courage she once had.

The Boogeyman stood before her now, with his luminescent violet eyes and his brilliant smirk, tongue flashing over a fang when he smelled her fear. He was devastatingly handsome in the way that put one on the defensive, as if his appearance were bait to lure in his unsuspecting victim and if they got too close, he'd lunge and feast on their corpse.

This Boogeyman was the feared High Lord of Night, he who controlled darkness and nightmares, and whose ruthless streak was hungrier than the red queen in his bed.

Immediately, she forced everything into schooling a mask of neutrality, into expelling all emotion and thought away. She built the walls up in her mind and hoped to the Mother above that Rhysand could not crumble it down.

Her mind stalled. "I-" Her words failed her, tongue turned to cotton.

"Having a little browse, are we?" he questioned in a sing-song voice. It was deceptively light.

Rhysand took a step forward; she took one back. Again and again, until a table hit the back of her legs and she steadied herself, her smouldering hands burning the wood beneath them.

He raised a brow at the enkindled wood. "Now, what would little Auroria Vanserra be doing in these chambers?"

"You- You know who I am?"

"It's a good habit to know one's enemies."

"Enemies?" she parroted, licking her lips nervously.

"Your father and I are hardly confidantes. Not to mention, you are sneaking around in my beloved's personal quarters, so, yes, I would say that's a rather apt description. Wouldn't you?"

Without breaking eye contact, his hand shot out like a viper and swiped the necklace from her grasp. He was so close to her that she could jab at his throat, cut his artery, and, if Mother be so kind, have him bleeding out. He was so close to her that she could drink in his bewitching handsomeness, a sort that was as notorious as his cruelty - if she were not utterly terrified.

"And helping yourself to her jewels, as it happens. Now, you have until the guards arrive to tell me what you're doing here or I'll split you, skin from bone." Rhysand clicked his tongue, his head cocking like a predator might do when hearing a rustle in the bushes. "A shame, really. For a Vanserra, you really are a pretty thing."

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek. It was an action so reminiscent of Amarantha's - the two sirens with spellbinding charms and whose seductions were almost tantalising.