1. Seraphic

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. the disgraced son returns

a z r i e l

☽ ☾

Azriel watched Seraphina walk away, rage growing in him.

She believed something that wasn't true. She thought he had done something to intentionally hurt her, and that was far from the truth. Words had been put into her mind, but his question was how?

What had made her think that?

Probably another stereotype about Orphim.

"Stop caring," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair.

She was no-one, he told himself. She could not be anything else. She was his enemy, the woman on the opposite side of his war, regardless of her ideals.

It was one night. One night and that was it.

He needed a drink.

Azriel could only use his sole reason for attending as a distraction, though, and looked around the room, trying his best to learn the faces of the people there and see where his family had gone, if his people were still near all entrances and exits.

They were. They were competent enough, else they wouldn't have been there to begin with. Nothing could jeopardise this, certainly not incompetent people who weren't capable of following simple instructions.

He caught Morana's fleeting gaze, then wondered where Malachai had disappeared to.

He had asked him to keep a low profile and avoid being seen by anyone, to do his best to remain hidden, but he hadn't seen him since they'd arrived.

Malachai had all but listened. He had probably ran off.

Sighing to himself, Azriel made his way through the ballroom, refusing chutes of champagne offered as he passed waiters. He followed the piano's melody instead, counting on the one thing he liked to keep him sane there as the crowd and their incessant, infuriating chatter grew and continued.

The pianist was mediocre, though, his keys far too slow as he played, but no-one else seemed to notice—or care, too caught up in their conversation and dancing.

Azriel clenched and unclenched his fists, able to feel Seraphina's skin beneath his palms from their dance earlier.

Why had he asked her to dance? Why hadn't he just walked away instead of succumbing to his desires?

Why did he keep letting her take control of him, of his willpower, of his focus?

He was stupid. Nothing more than that.

If he wasn't, he wouldn't have asked for a dance from someone who offered nothing more than distraction and lust, he told himself. He wouldn't have held her, let her rest her head on his chest and wrap her arms around his neck. He wouldn't have given her any more reason to consume his mind.

But now it was all he could think of, even if he pushed it away. Even in the back of his mind, she lingered, her touch a tattoo that had marked his skin.

The piano's gentle music stopped.

Azriel thanked it, turning his head towards the source of the silence that vibrated through the ballroom.