Chapter 29 Azahara
Azahara
As they entered the Idle Fox, Illyan was animatedly recounting how Azahara had essentially told the king to fuck off.
The crowd responded with cheers and hoorays, causing her to blush and shy away.
Kaed had been prepared for a rush of people approaching her, but to their surprise, no one did.
They remained seated, celebrating what they considered a victory for the common people.
It seemed that dislike for the king wasn’t only beyond the walls of his kingdom.
The interaction had drained her, and she decided to take a nap. Kaed and Zhal had mentioned getting ready for their departure the next day. They appeared to know the plan, but she hadn’t pressed for details, trusting that Kaed would inform her when the time was right.
After falling asleep in the same clothes she had worn to the palace, she was awakened by the sound of music downstairs. The sun had set, giving way to the moon and stars, which cast a gentle glow through the open balcony doors.
With a groan, she slipped out of bed and ventured outside. The air was chilly, so she wrapped her arms around herself. The music wafting up from below indicated that the party had already begun.
Azahara should have been changing and heading downstairs to enjoy the night’s festivities, but her mind kept circling back to their earlier encounter with the king.
“If I come for you, you will beg for a swift death.”
She winced. “By the Mother, what was I thinking? I threatened the king!” Leaning against the balcony, her hair casting shadows over her eyes, she was haunted by questions.
Most pressing was the dark shadow that had erupted from her.
Could that be the gift Death had given to her?
Was it a result of hundreds of years of Goddrick feeding her his blood, the blood of a god?
She buried her head in her hands, groaning in frustration. Could it have been Magic? She had never used it before; the closest she had come was using the winnox, but that required Illyan to initiate the connection. It wasn’t as if she could do the same with Zhal or Kaed.
No, it can’t be Magic. She thought, her mind racing. It wouldn’t make sense.
Footsteps echoed behind her, causing her to turn. Through the open balcony doors emerged Illyan.
“Oh, hey, Illy.”
“Hey, Ladybug.” Their tone carried a hint of sheepishness. “Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Of course,” she replied warmly, relieved that it was Illyan. “About yesterday...”
“It was very selfish of me to do that to you. I’m truly sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” They remained at a slight distance.
She released a heavy sigh and shook her head. “I’m grateful for what you did.” Surprise flickered across their face. “Even though I thought your approach was wrong, it turned out to be a blessing. Thank you.”
For a long time, it had been just the two of them. She understood their excitement when they saw her in the photo. Illyan loved her deeply and had a unique way of expressing it.
Opening her arms, she invited them closer. Illyan didn’t hesitate to wrap their lanky arms around her, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you for being you, Ladybug.”
“Don’t do it again,” she warned, which earned a nervous laugh from them.
After a brief pause, they stepped back but kept their hands firmly on her shoulders. “Okay, but let’s get you dressed for the festivities.”
“Illy.” She chuckled softly. “It’s just a tavern party, not a fancy ball.”
“Yeah, but you’re the reason it’s happening. So”—they took her hand and spun her playfully—“you must look your best.”
Rolling her eyes in mock exasperation, she relented. There was no point in arguing with them when it came to fashion. “I’m all yours.”
Azahara had practically begged Illyan not to put her in a dress.
They had apparently visited every clothing shop on their side of the wall during her nap in search of the perfect outfit, and to her surprise, they had found several non-dress options, for which she was extremely grateful.
The only issue was that most of them revealed far too much skin.
They argued for what felt like hours when Zhal came to check on them. Once again, she stated that all Azahara had to do was give her the signal, and she would take care of the Fae. While tempting, Azahara denied the offer.
Finally settling on the one outfit that didn’t reveal too much, she stood in front of the mirror while Illyan fixed her hair.
The single-piece suit was a head-to-toe masterpiece, likely costing a fortune.
It felt too exquisite for a tavern party, but she was tired of fighting.
Made of silk, the half black, half white one-piece had long sleeves cut open, exposing her arms when she moved, but covered when settled.
The pants followed the same style, but instead of revealing her legs, tight black lace wrapped around her porcelain skin.
The neckline was high, cutting just at her collarbone and draping around her shoulders.
The compromise was that the entire back was open, closing only where the pants started, at the dimples and curve of her butt.
When Illyan was done, they scurried away to get themselves ready. She was left alone again, lost in her thoughts.
After the tumultuous events of the past few days, her anxiety had reached its peak. The rhythmic thumping of her heart served as a relentless reminder that it was time to join the festivities downstairs before she succumbed to the urge to retreat to her bed.
With each step she took on her way down the stairs, the echoes of her racing thoughts seemed to grow louder.
The atmosphere below was electric with anticipation, and the weight of her nervousness clung to her like an invisible shroud.
The outfit, initially symbolic of elegance and beauty, now felt like a tangled web.
Approaching the final flight of stairs, the sounds of music and the uproarious cheers for more drinks greeted her ears. She paused, inhaling deeply to regain her composure. Her grip on the railing tightened as she sought solace and support, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Why am I doing this?” She questioned herself, her resolve wavering for a moment.
It was an internal battle, her overthinking mind determined to conquer the unnecessary fear that threatened to hold her back.
Straightening her posture, she drew one last deep breath before descending the final flight of stairs, revealing herself to the bustling crowd in the tavern.
The Idle Fox exuded life, a vibrant tapestry woven from an array of sights, sounds, and aromas.
Additional candles had been strategically placed, their flickering light creating mesmerizing shadows that danced across the room.
The air was thick with the irresistible scent of roasted meats, intermingling with the inviting aroma of spices and, above all, the hearty fragrance of ale.
Tables had been pushed to the room’s periphery, creating an open space where most of the revelers had gathered.
Amidst the joyous and chaotic banter, someone in the crowd spotted her, setting off a wave of excitement that rippled across the room.
Whispers carried the news to those who couldn’t see her, and her name echoed through the bustling tavern.
The patrons, however, displayed remarkable restraint, holding back their eager rush toward her, a testament to Broan’s promise.
It was as if they had glimpsed a ghost, their collective breath held in anticipation.
“You are absolutely stunning.” A familiar and much-needed voice broke through the crowd. As Kaed approached, Azahara eagerly stepped into his arms, finding solace and strength in his embrace. With his presence, anxiety and fear seemed to dissolve.
“Thank you,” she replied with genuine gratitude, her eyes taking in Kaed’s appearance. “And speaking of stunning,” she continued, “I must say, ‘handsome’ doesn’t quite do you justice.”
Outfitted in a long-sleeved white top with a single unbuttoned button, a black leather jacket, and black pants, it seemed simple at first glance.
However, upon closer inspection, she noticed that the white shirt was made of silk, just like her outfit.
The leather jacket was intricately embroidered with stamped dragon designs.
Its leather collar featured gold adornments that matched the gold accents on his boots.
“Did Zhal do your hair?” She twirled her fingers around one of the braids that fell over his shoulder.
It appeared to have been styled similarly to Zhal’s own, with several braids pulled back and tucked into a ponytail, leaving only a single braid hanging down, the one she was playing with. “I like it.”
He chuckled and planted a kiss on her lips. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how awkward it was.”
Her fear was becoming a thing of the past as she laughed.
“Come on, Broan told us to sit at the bar.” Kaed placed his hand on the small of her back, his fingers gently slipping under the fabric, sending a wave of excitement through her.
Making their way through the crowd, they found their seats at the bar, which was adorned with garlands and colorful ornaments. “Broan, did you use holiday decorations?” she asked, lifting one of the red and green crystal balls into her hand.
“Don’t judge, little bee. You used to love decorating this place. No one quite has that touch, so I had to make do with what I had.” He leaned across the bar and placed down a few ales. “Enjoy.” His joyful expression and wink indicated that he would enjoy this night, which made her happy.
“Cheers!” Illyan bumped into Kaed, who was seated beside her, a drink in their hand. His expression displayed annoyance at the Fae, but he didn’t voice anything. Instead, he raised his glass, along with Zhal, who stood beside her.
Azahara picked up her glass and smiled broadly. “To a great night!”