A fated, fiery bond. Long-lost magic. A tale that transcends space and time.
When you're summoned to a faraway land, you and a winged male named Azriel must reckon with your powers to defeat a death-lord who threatens fragile peacetime.
~Most Impres...
You knew you were dreaming because you were back at the river house.
You didn't know how big the property was, but from where you sat in the shade, you saw that it went all the way to the Sidra. The garden stopped at the water's edge, but steps had been carved into the stony bank. Rhysand and an older Nyx sat on them and played in the water that rushed by.
Feyre and Nesta rose from the table to join them, gesturing for you to follow, but you waved them away with a polite smile. They teased you as they left, but you couldn't hear them. It sounded like you were underwater.
Shielding your eyes, you looked up at the sky. For the most part, it was clear. A warm breeze rustled the trees and their leaves, disturbing their kaleidoscopic shadows.
When you looked back down, an adolescent Illyrian male sat across from you. His wings blocked the view.
Almost immediately, you recognized him. A few days ago, when you'd been drugged out of your mind on faebane, you'd had a nightmare about being beheaded by Illyrian rebels. And this male had been there to watch your execution — from the back of the crowd, that is.
Now that he was up close and personal, you were oddly, pleasantly surprised by his physical appearance. His wavy, shoulder-length hair was silver, and his eyes matched that metallic, godly shade. Where the whites of his eyes should've been, there was nothing but black night, and his eyelashes, pure starlight, glowing.
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The male seemed surprised by your lack of reaction. "Nothing? Really?"
You blinked at his deep but androgynous voice. "I recognize you if that's what you're asking."
The male frowned and then opened his mouth — but shut it a few seconds later. Instead, he made some tea. He moved with immortal grace, never once making a mistake, and when he finally stirred his tea, his silver nails refracted sunlight, casting small rainbows everywhere.
"Well . . ?" You leaned back and held your hands in your lap. "What're you, a god? A god of dreams? Good ones, I hope."
"You're really not scared of me?" The male smirked into his cup before taking a sip. "And no, I'm not a god."
"Why would I be scared of you?" you asked. "This is a dream."
The male gave you a curious once-over. "You must be back to normal, then. That's good." He raised his teacup. "To your health, m'lord." He took a long sip.
You narrowed your eyes. "Who the fuck are you?"
The male laughed, spraying tea everywhere. "Sorry." He cleared his throat as he put his cup back down. "I'm not used to people being rude to me." He wiped at himself with a napkin.
You were starting to get annoyed. "I asked you a question."
The male sighed. He refolded his napkin and then looked up at you. "Guess."
