In the Shadows

Chapter 2: A Woman in the Shadows

The River House glowed like a beacon under the night sky, its windows alight with warmth and laughter spilling out into the cool air of Velaris. Feyre and Rhysand's parties were always the height of elegance—filled with an eclectic mix of the court's inner circle, emissaries from distant lands, and the glittering elite of the Night Court. The gentle hum of conversation rose and fell like the tide, punctuated by the delicate music of a lute played by an unseen musician.

Azriel hovered at the edges of the grand hall, his usual post, watching without participating. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows, perfect for hiding a spymaster like him. He felt out of place at these gatherings, a stark contrast to the ease with which his friends navigated the room.

Rhysand and Feyre, ever the perfect pair, stood at the center of the gathering, their love a bright, tangible thing that seemed to draw people toward them like moths to flame. Cassian and Nesta were engaged in what appeared to be one of their typical, sharp exchanges near the hearth. Amren, sipping her drink with disdain, observed from a corner. And Morrigan—Morrigan moved through the crowd with her usual charm, captivating anyone who came near her.

Azriel's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he forced himself to look away. The unresolved tension between them sat heavily in his chest, but it was something he refused to dwell on tonight. It had been years, and still, that strange, painful silence between them lingered.

But it wasn't just Morrigan that kept Azriel on the outskirts of the celebration. Lately, there was a weight in his isolation, a growing sense of distance between him and the rest of his friends. They all seemed to have someone—Feyre had Rhysand, Cassian had Nesta—and even if their relationships were complicated, there was no denying that their bonds ran deep. Azriel, on the other hand, had nothing but his shadows for company.

The air felt thick tonight, heavier than usual. He scanned the room, his shadows curling around him, whispering of the guests, the conversations, and the emotions swirling in the air. Yet something—or someone—pulled at his attention.

And then, he saw her.

Azriel's eyes settled on a woman standing near the balcony doors. She had arrived with Rhysand and Feyre earlier in the evening, someone from a distant court he didn't know. Lady Skye of the Crescent Court. She had already caused quite a stir with her arrival, and now, even from across the room, her presence drew his gaze like a magnet. He couldn't quite place why.

She stood apart from the others, her back to him as she looked out over the city of Velaris, the soft breeze lifting tendrils of her dark hair from her shoulders. Her gown shimmered in the candlelight, a deep, iridescent blue that seemed to shift with each movement, like the night sky captured in silk. Tiny silver threads wove intricate constellations into the fabric, catching the light with each graceful turn of her body. Around her neck and wrists, delicate chains of silver glimmered, adorned with small gemstones that hinted at her foreign origins.

She was stunning—exotic and entirely different from the women he was accustomed to seeing in the Night Court. Skye had an air of restrained power, a controlled grace that piqued his curiosity, though it was her poise that drew his attention. She wasn't trying to charm anyone, wasn't trying to engage or blend in, and that—above all—intrigued him.

Azriel's steps were silent as he moved toward the balcony, drawn by a compulsion he didn't quite understand. His usual wariness kicked in, reminding him that people like her—people who held themselves with such guarded elegance—often had secrets. And secrets were Azriel's specialty.

But just as he stepped onto the balcony, intending to observe her a little longer from the shadows, his foot caught the edge of a small table. His drink sloshed over the rim of his glass, spilling directly onto the shimmering fabric of her gown.