In the Shadows

Chapter 3: The Shadows of Power

The night in Velaris had deepened, the stars above the River House twinkling in the ink-black sky like distant beacons. Inside, the warmth and glow of the celebration continued unabated. Rhysand and Feyre's gathering was a roaring success, filled with dignitaries, emissaries, and old friends. But among the usual swirl of laughter and conversation, one woman's presence had cast a shadow of curiosity across the room.

Skye.

Azriel could feel the energy shift whenever her name was spoken, her presence stirring whispers and soft glances from the guests. They didn't know much about her yet, but the aura of mystery surrounding her was undeniable.

He, too, was captivated.

Since their brief and awkward encounter on the balcony, Azriel had done his best to keep his distance, to return to his usual role as observer rather than participant. But his eyes seemed to drift to her unbidden, tracing her movements as she mingled, exchanged polite smiles, and sipped from her glass. There was something about the way she held herself, a quiet strength wrapped in an almost deliberate elegance. It wasn't overt or attention-seeking—far from it. But her presence, even in this room full of power, stood out.

As Rhysand and Feyre approached Skye with that effortless charm they wielded so well, Azriel hovered at the fringes of the group, his shadows trailing him like loyal companions. He could pretend he was merely doing his duty, keeping an eye on things, but he knew better. He was watching her. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn't out of obligation.

Skye turned just as Rhysand and Feyre neared her, and the corners of her lips lifted in a graceful, welcoming smile. She wore that same deep, iridescent blue gown, its silken fabric hugging her curves as if it had been woven from starlight itself. Her eyes, a color that seemed to shift between dusk and twilight, glinted with intelligence and something else—something that tugged at Azriel's instincts.

"Lady Skye," Rhysand greeted her with a smile that could disarm anyone. "We didn't get much of a chance to properly welcome you earlier."

Feyre, by his side, nodded warmly. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

Skye bowed her head slightly, a subtle but practiced gesture of respect. "The honor is mine, High Lord, High Lady," she replied, her voice soft yet firm, a note of that foreign accent giving her words an exotic lilt. "Velaris is as breathtaking as I've always heard. You've built something truly beautiful here."

Feyre smiled graciously, but her perceptive eyes were already scanning Skye, weighing and measuring, as she so often did with newcomers. "I've heard quite a bit about your home as well," Feyre said, gesturing for Skye to join them closer to the center of the room. "The Crescent Court is a fascinating place."

Azriel moved a few paces behind, listening intently while keeping his gaze purposefully unfocused. He couldn't make it too obvious, but the conversation was already pulling him in.

Rhysand stepped in smoothly, his tone casual but his gaze sharp. "Your arrival in Velaris has certainly stirred up interest. I imagine being sent here is more than just a pleasant vacation. Would you care to share your story with us?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel saw something flicker in Skye's eyes—a brief, guarded hesitation. She wasn't here by choice, that much was clear. But she handled the question with the grace of someone accustomed to the delicate dance of politics.

"My court..." Skye began, her voice steady, though Azriel could sense the underlying tension. "Has become... complicated." She paused, her eyes briefly meeting Rhysand's before glancing around the room. "For centuries, the Crescent Court has followed the tradition of passing power from High Lord to High Lord. But when my father decided to retire, something unexpected happened."