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48. Like Gold Dust

When you woke up in Azriel's bed the next day, you were alone.

You saw a note on the bedside table, so you grabbed it.

Azriel was training . . . but wanted to introduce you to his mother, Ezrila, later that day.

You flopped back down, staring at the ceiling. "Cute." And it was . . . Until you remembered what Azriel had told you last night.

He'd said his mother had been through "a lot," and when asked to elaborate, he'd refused.

Later, he'd said.

It was a word you'd grown to hate with him. Mainly because later was never guaranteed. And neither was Azriel.

You sighed long and hard and then rolled out of bed, figuring some research wouldn't hurt. At some point, you'd have to return to the Day Court for the relics, but in the meantime, you'd check out Devlon's books.

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When you pushed into the third and final library and lifted your gaze, you froze.

Because across the room, sitting on a settee in a pool of dusty light, was Azriel's mother, Ezrila.

Who else could it have been?

The female wasn't a servant because they dressed plainly and made themselves scarce. And when she stopped knitting to look up, and you got a good look at her, you saw that she bore a striking resemblance to her son — or rather, it was the other way around.

"Hello?" She looked in your direction, but . . .

Not at you.

It took only a second to realize she was blind.

"Ezrila," you said as you crossed the room, "Azriel said he'd introduce us later, but—"

Ezrila pursed her lips but stood with her knitting. "M'lord," she said, bowing her head. "It's an honor."

You narrowed your eyes at her sharp and caustic tone but didn't take it personally. She'd earned the right to be apprehensive about strangers.

"As your High Lord, thank you," you said, hoping she could hear the smile in your voice. "But as your daughter-in-law, the honor's all mine."

Ezrila smiled in return, but it was cursory. Sitting back down, she said, "Azriel's told me all about you, (Y/n)." She continued to knit, staring straight ahead.

"Oh?" You kept your tone light. "And?"

She hummed, the sound clipped, and it immediately reminded you of Azriel. "I get the impression that you're an . . . odd girl."

You knew "odd" was an insult, but "girl"?

"If you're worried about the age difference," you said, sitting across from her, "don't be."

To be polite, she looked in your direction. "I'm not worried about the age difference."

As you thought about how you'd respond, you gave Ezrila a quick once-over. Her long-sleeve, floor-length navy blue dress was embellished with silver embroidery and beadwork, and her long black curly hair was half-up, half-down in a crown braid. Her warm brown skin was a little wrinkled, and even though she was blind, her smoky, blue-gray gaze was sharp and spirited.

If you hadn't known any better, you would've thought she was Azriel's older sister, not his mother.

You leaned back, crossed your legs, and then held your hands in your lap. "I thought mates were like gold dust here."