Chapter 46 – Azaria
AZARIA
Exhaustion wasn’t the hardest part of the punishment. The hardest part was the quiet—the hours when the ink dried, when Taeris finally stopped talking, when there was nothing left but my own thoughts.
The six days in the dark. The dungeon walls pressing close, the silence that wasn’t silence at all but the sound of my own breathing echoing back at me.
The council’s eyes, cold and measuring.
Seventeen bodies bleeding out at my hands.
And Eris.
I don’t think I’ll ever put that weight down. I never stopped loving him. Never stopped missing him. He was more than my husband, more than my lieutenant. He was my other half, part of my soul, and losing him had carved something out of me that would never fully grow back.
But speaking his name after all these years had been liberating. It didn’t ease the pain of losing him, but it made the grief bearable. It gave me clarity enough to see what was in front of me instead of only what was behind.
And what was in front of me was Quinton.
He’d changed since that day in the woods, back in spring, when I’d intercepted him and dragged him in.
He used to be all sharp edges and venom, hiding pain behind anger, keeping me at arm’s length even as something in him pulled toward me.
I’d met him with the same poison, unwilling to forgive, unwilling to forget.
We’d spent those first months arguing, circling each other like two wounded animals too proud to admit they were bleeding.
Now he was still wound too tight. But there was a steadiness underneath it I didn’t have a name for.
That night he showed up at my door after the first day of punishment, desperate and wrecked.
I’d let him in without thinking. I’d never seen him so raw.
His magic hit first, heavy in the air, sharp as smoldering coals.
But the second I pulled him into my arms, it eased.
His breath stuttered out, and something inside him quieted.
I didn’t ask why. I let him take what he needed. Since then, the memory hadn’t left me.
Some nights, after the drills, I’d sit at my desk with my hand on the windowpane, and the look in his eyes would come back to me unbidden.
Not hunger for touch, though that was there, but something deeper—safety.
A promise only I could give him. I told myself it was nothing.
Comfort after everything we’d endured. That wasn’t the truth.
And in the quiet, stripped of every distraction the punishment could offer, I knew it.
I’d started noticing him more. The way his hands trembled when he was tired but steadied the moment he touched me. At lunch, I caught myself scanning the room, only settling when I saw him walk in.
And the promises. Every single one he’d made to me since the ball—he’d kept them. All of them.
I never said a word. Not to him. Not even to myself. But it was there. That quiet attachment I hadn’t meant to grow.
Something I shouldn’t have wanted, but it was there all the same.
The world didn’t stop because I was benched.
Darann stopped by a couple of times during those weeks, always after dark, slipping through the back alley like a ghost with wards and illusions wrapped tight around him.
He never stayed long, just enough to leave a bottle of good Solmarin wine, a scrap of news, a dry joke that made me roll my eyes.
“You planning to let the council keep you chained to that desk forever, Princess?” he asked once, perched on my window ledge, moonlight catching in his black hair. The scent of cedar and bergamot drifted off him, familiar and grounding.
“Not my style,” I told him.
He grinned. “Good. Wouldn’t want to have to break you out myself.”
He meant it. With Darann, threats and promises always walked side by side.
My squad kept my place warm. Every lunch, they filled my table with noise and chaos, making it impossible for the rest of the palace to forget who I was.
Dain checked in—sometimes late at night, sometimes by grabbing my arm and shadow walking me straight to his house before I could admit I needed it.
Reyna smuggled in sweets and pastries. Kael left notes under my plate: Miss you, Cap. Subtle as a hammer, that one.
Every small gesture chipped away at the isolation.
Even my father noticed the change at my last check-in. He’d studied me across his desk in the healers’ wing with that clinical precision he applied to everything, including his daughter.
“You’re stronger than I’ve seen you, Azaria,” he’d said. Cold, as always. But the edge of judgement was gone.
I didn’t let it show. But it mattered.
The canteen was packed as usual—voices overlapping, trays clattering, the familiar chaos of midday. But something felt different today, and I couldn’t place it until I sat down and realized it was me.
I was rested. I’d slept through the night instead of collapsing face-first into unconsciousness. And apparently, it showed.
“What?” I asked, setting down my tray.
Kael was staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “You’re glowing,” he said, pointing his fork at me like an accusation.
I blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. You. Are. Glowing.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “What happened? Did someone die? Did you kill someone? Is that why you’re happy?”
“I’m not happy, I’m?—“
“She is,” Reyna cut in, grinning. “Look at her. She’s practically radiating.”
“I am not radiating?—“
“You are,” Lyra said, tilting her head. “You look healthy. Like you’ve been sleeping and eating and not plotting anyone’s murder for at least twelve hours.”
Lirael snorted into her drink. “That’s definitely glowing by Captain’s standards.”
I looked around the table. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Kael said cheerfully. “You love us. Admit it.”
“I will throw this bread at your head.”
“Do it. I dare you.”
I threw the bread. He caught it, took a bite, and winked. Bastard.
Across the table, Quinton’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. I caught his eye. Held it for a second too long. Heat flickered between us, quick and impossible to miss. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then back up. Slowly.
My pulse jumped.
“Oh my gods,” Kael said. “She’s blushing.”
I snapped my attention back to him. “I am not?—“
“You absolutely are.” He pointed between me and Quinton. “What is happening here? What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Quinton said mildly, not looking away from his food.
“That is the least convincing ’nothing’ I’ve ever heard.”
Reyna leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “You know what I think? I think Cap’s been getting some very good sleep lately. The kind that makes you glow.”
“I’m going to stab you,” I said flatly.
“With what? Your fork?” She gestured at the utensil in my hand. “Terrifying.”
Quinton made a sound that might have been a laugh. I kicked him under the table. He didn’t flinch. Just met my eyes again, that same slow heat simmering beneath his calm expression.
The conversation shifted, mercifully, to some story about a cadet who’d accidentally sent a shielding charm ricocheting into the armory wall. But I felt Quinton’s gaze on me throughout the rest of lunch. Steady, patient, and waiting.
I made it through dinner without falling asleep. That alone felt like an accomplishment.
Quinton had cooked something with chicken and herbs that I’d devoured without really tasting, too focused on staying awake long enough to have an actual conversation for once.
“You’re fighting it,” he observed, watching me from across the couch.
“Fighting what?”
“Sleep.”
“I’m fine.”
“Az, your eyes are half-closed.”
“They’re resting.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Come here.”
I didn’t argue. I shifted closer, letting him pull me against his chest. His arms came around me, solid and warm, and his hand found my hair in that slow rhythm that always made my thoughts go soft at the edges.
“Four days,” I said against his chest.
“Four days,” he agreed.
Four more days of this punishment. Four more days of double shifts and exhaustion and falling asleep before I could finish a sentence.
And then nothing between us but time and choice.
“Quin?”
“Yeah?”
I tilted my head back to look at him. “What happens when it’s over?”
His hand stilled in my hair. “What do you mean?”
“This. Us. What happens when I’m not too exhausted to function anymore?”
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t answer right away. I watched him choose his words, watched the restraint he wore like a second skin these days.
“What do you want to happen?” he asked.
I should have deflected. Changed the subject. Pulled away before this went somewhere I wasn’t ready for. Instead, I said: “I want you.”
His breath caught.
“I’m serious.” My heart hammered so hard I thought he could feel it through my ribs. “I want to know what this is. What we are. I want to stop being so tired that I can barely think and actually be here with you.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked at me like I’d said something that rearranged every plan he’d been carefully holding in place.
Then he kissed me.
Not soft or gentle. The kiss had weeks of patience behind it, all of it pressing forward at once. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, and I kissed him back with everything I had left.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine. “I want you too,” he said, voice rough. “I want you so much it’s killing me, Az.”
Heat flooded through me. “Then why?—“
“Because you’re exhausted.” His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing along my cheekbone. “Because when I finally have you, I want you present. Not half-asleep. Not too tired to feel everything.”
The way he said everything made my breath catch. Not a threat or a boast. A promise, low and certain, that said more in its restraint than any detailed description could have.
I could feel it in the tension of his hands, the controlled steadiness of his breathing, the way his eyes burned even as he held himself perfectly still. He was holding back, and the effort of it was costing him, and somehow that was more devastating than if he’d simply taken what he wanted.
“Four more days,” he said. His thumb traced my lower lip, feather-light. “You can survive four days.”
“And then?”
He held my gaze. The heat in his expression was answer enough. He kissed me again, slower this time, and I felt the promise in it like a hand pressed flat against my chest. When he finally pulled back, I was shaking.
“Now sleep,” he murmured, shifting us so I was curled against his chest. “You need rest.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I protested, though my eyes were already closing.
His hand moved through my hair again, steady and soothing. “I know.”
I wanted to argue. But his heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, and his hand was so gentle, and I was so tired.
“Four days,” I whispered.
“Four days.”
I was asleep before I could say anything else.
The last day of my punishment dawned bright and clear.
I finished my last shift in the scribes’ hall. Marra caught my eye as I was leaving and gave me a small nod. “Good luck, Sylvenhart,” she said.
Taeris tried one last time to ask me to dinner. I declined, as I had every time before.
Bortan was almost generous during the final session, stopping the drills early, which might have been the closest thing to kindness the man was capable of.
“You did well,” he said. “Better than I expected.”
“High praise.”
He grinned. “Don’t let it go to your head. Now get out of here. You’re free.”
I strolled home, taking in the city around me. The sounds, the smells, the life happening regardless of whether I was part of it.
When I reached my door, I stood there for a moment.
One month. Thirty days.
It was over.
I stepped inside, let the wards settle behind me, and closed the door. I made it to the bedroom. Barely. Fell onto the bed fully clothed, boots still on, and slept harder than I had in weeks. Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, I let the exhaustion have me.