After spending her entire life in Cretea, Zivia finds herself in the company of the Night Court, sent as an emissary to help after the war. As she navigates her way outside her once secluded life, she develops unlikely bonds with the people around h...
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"It was here."
Zivia muttered under her breath then took another turn in an alley. She had been walking around the streets of the city for minutes now after leaving Rhys at the town house, looking for the sweet shop they passed by earlier.
She rolled her eyes as another dead end met her. Turning back, she scratched her head as she casually walked back to the main street. Some of the faeries would occasionally look at her and she best hoped that they couldn't see how utterly and pathetically lost she was. As much as she thanks the Mother for giving her gift, she couldn't help thinking, would it hurt anyone for her to do something about her terrible sense of direction?
She growled in frustration and just as she was about to give it up and fly home, she sensed a familiar presence around the corner.
"I thought you were dancing?" she said as Azriel emerged from the shadows lining the alleys. He looked a bit surprised at her noticing him
"And I thought you were tired," he countered.
"Well I am now." She loosed a sigh blowing the loose strands of hair from her face.
His eyes narrowed at her and she felt stupid for her sarcastic retort. She opened her mouth to say something but realized that he wasn't exactly looking at her but at something behind her. Her wings. Or where her wings were supposed to be, at least. She hadn't let down her illusion since conjuring it up back at the bridge.
It was that same look he was giving that prompted her to ask, "What is it?"
The others might not have noticed but she saw all that curious looks he was giving her the moment she arrived at the Court. It would be incredibly stupid of her to think they meant anything besides him being suspicious of her. She met his eyes that almost looked black in the dark.
"What are you?"
She blinked.
"Excuse me?"
Last time she checked, she was still a high-Fae complete with all the necessary limbs but she ransacked her memory for any possible instance she could've gone wrong with casting her glamour. She once tried to make herself look like a wyvern only to end up her looking like a hybrid between a monkey and a horse – almost gave her father a quick trip to the afterlife, she could still remember. But that was centuries ago. Surely she's gotten a better grip on her powers now.
"You look like you're having an identity crisis," said Azriel noting the horrified expression on her face, an almost smirk ghosting his lips.
"Yes!" she blurted, "No! I mean, don't…don't I look normal to you?" She hated that she sounded desperate and worried.
He made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh. He covered it with a cough and said, "What I meant was the kind of magic you use."
