A Delicate Darkness | AZRIEL (ACOTAR)

xx. the marquess

THE MARQUESS

It was a whirlwind of stimuli that she didn't know what to focus on. The harshness of the air on her face as they sliced through the sky, snow-capped mountains flying past; the way in which her stomach rose to her throat, the paralysing feeling of helplessness suffocating her and reminding her all-too-loudly that her life was in the hands on the shadowsinger she clutched onto; or, indeed, those hands of that shadowsinger,  which settled against her body, his large palms resting against her hip, fingers digging into her stomach as he clutched her close against him.

The beat of Azriel's wings was a heavy pattern of thud, sweep, thud, sweep, and yet it looked like it came as easy to him as breathing. The curious scholar that had always lived inside of her wanted to ask what it felt like — to fly — but her attention was one that he quickly noticed.

Hazel eyes swivelled to her sidelong, dark lashes tickling the brow that  arched. 

"Bend your knees," he said, voice low against the sharp whistle of the wind.

Auroria blinked. "Sorry?"

"Just in case. We're landing."

The heart of the city grew larger and larger. They were no longer embedded into a mountain, overlooking civilisation, but in the valley's depths. Fae milled over a cobblestone square, heads tilting up at their loud arrival, with the beat of Azriel's wings and his quick descent.

Wings spread wide to cushion their landing, the shadow of his wing surface and its camber engulfing the town square. Dust billowed at the impact and Auroria need not brace herself, for he gently lowered her. She unlaced her hands from his neck and regarded the city before her.

Tall, white-stone buildings that were helmed by winding pillars and decorated with colourful buntings, well-trimmed bushels of foliage, mesh awnings, and hanging wooden signs upon iron hinges that denoted the names of the businesses. A Dragon Roost had various trinkets and fine-cut jewels upon satin cushions in its window display; Folk's Fancies was a clothier of expensive silk and lace, intricate jackets and delicate dresses upon mannequins; the aptly named Illuminances sold fancy faelight lamps and copper-cased lanterns, whose owner was just turning her skeleton key into the lock when they arrived.

A throng of all kinds of fae had stepped back a healthy distance to allow them ample space to land and, likewise — judging by the quickly-averting gazes as they landed on Azriel — out of caution. Azriel did not look like he noticed it or cared very much for it, tucking his wings neatly behind him and rolling his shoulders back. They barely gave her a lingering look. That struck her as odd. It wasn't recognition she wanted but it never did seem to stop following her around everywhere, either by virtue of the name they knew she held or the power they felt coursing through her veins — the residual, imposing power that any child of a High Lord bore.

These fae moved on with their starting days just as quickly as they arrived, though they came no closer to Azriel, even a few of them scurrying past. She looked at him in question, to see him waiting for her to say something.

But she wasn't going to ask him a potentially polarising question ('why is it that they all cower before you?'), so instead, she glanced up at the large arch beneath which they stood where writing was inscribed in the marble.

"Palace of Thread and Jewels," Auroria read aloud. "I don't see a palace."

"The city has four market squares named Palaces. This is where one goes for jewellery and clothes."

She bristled, and though she knew it was nonsensical to think of it, Virgil's words still came rushing back to her. You are ornamental. You should have stayed in the castle with your little ladies and with Mother. The truth that her brothers were functional — born to rule — and that she was ornamental — born to be a pretty daughter, a pretty wife, and lastly a pretty mother — was one that Governess Eden drilled into her. Ironically, it had been Father to defy these expectations but still, it didn't come without the silent judgment, quelled only out of fear for Father.