Wind Wielder

Chapter 28 - Pegasi

Azriel hated the heat.

He hated excessive brightness.

He fucking loathed  humidity.

He liked alcohol.

But overall, he really did not enjoy the Day Court.

In the spirit of true, respectful homage, the entire Night Court inner circle had winnowed to Day already dressed in whatever left over Day Court attire they had from previous trips. Azriel had needed to brush off the dust from his white tunic and linen pants when he fished them out from the depths of his wardrobe, even going to get them dry cleaned when he had shown Feyre the state of them and she had ridiculed him.

Azriel had a difficult time adjusting to the brightness of the Day Court, all white marble towers, crafted of the most brilliant, pristine marble and sunstone domes. Despite the many hieroglyphic wards that coated the surfaces of the marble, Azriel had to blink profusely to accustom his eyes to the bright stone, and the countless fountains, whose waters glittered under the bright, mid day sun. Too much white. Certainly too much gold.

But there they all were, dressed in various shades of gold, cream, white, and yellow. Complimentary of the Day Court's chosen colors.

All except Zara, of course.

The lightning wielder stuck out like a sore thumb–no doubt as she intended– instead choosing to wear a bold dress with an armored golden clasp around her neck, which was attached to the draping yellow halter neck of her dress, which melted into a burnt orange, magenta, and finally deep crimson at the bottom of her dress. Reminiscent of the first glimpse of daylight after the peak of Dawn.

Zara had not spoken to Azriel in a week. In a full fucking week. Not a single word.

Zara had gone to Rhys the following morning instead of training and formally requested for Cassian to take over her training, now that Azriels mission had been completed. And Cassian and Rhys had granted her request. So Azriel had been replaced.

In fact, despite being mostly cordial with Cassian– despite him being the one to place fucking bets on her– Zara only talked to Rhys when she had to due to training, and instead chatted with Mor and occasionally Feyre. That was it. Pointedly ignoring him all together.

And Azriel was fine with it. Really, it didn't fucking matter. His goal had been for Zara to hate him in order to spit that lightning out, and his mission had been accomplished. And really, that was all that mattered at the end of the day, right?

Even if kissing her had been the best kiss of his life.

Even if Azriel fell asleep at night dreaming of her lips. Dreaming of a world where he had entered her room with her that night and showed her just how happy she deserved to be. Dreaming of a world where he knew what the callouses on her hands felt like from holding them so often, not just from training her. A world where he made Zara smile, and laugh.

Azriel often dreamed of a world where perhaps he didn't have Zara, but at least he hadn't lost her.

He had needed to rebel against the very core of who he was when he opened up his arms to drop her. She had seen him coast there in the sky for a moment as she fell, but what she couldn't see was the tremors wracking his body at the utter wrongness of it. The jolts and spasms of his muscles that screamed at him to go after her.

And yet, he had felt the moment his betrayal had registered with her in the training ring. He had felt the pain of it like a dull arrow finding its mark. And at that moment Azriel knew... All Zara had needed was one final push. He had known it in his very soul.