A Court of Worlds and Eternities (Book IV: Part I)

Chapter 49

Lowen hesitated at the edge of the dock, her fear of water clawing at her nerves. But Azriel took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. With a gentle tug, he led her onto the submarine.

The submarine's steady thrum pulsed around them, a constant reminder of the deep, enclosing waters. Lowen's grip on Azriel's hand tightened, her other hand clutching her chest as if to steady her racing heart. Azriel squeezed it back gently, offering a silent reassurance that he was there, right beside her.

Standing up with a steadying breath, Lowen addressed Azriel, her voice soft but firm.

"I'm going to make your wings disappear for a while," she announced, her tone playful despite the seriousness of their situation.

"Hope you're not too attached to them," she mused, her fingers brushing lightly against where his wings joined his back, causing a shiver to run through him.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"As long as I get them back," he replied, his voice low and teasing.

Lowen chuckled.

"You might like this new look. Think of it as...undercover Azriel," she teased as she concentrated, gesturing with a flourish.

Gradually, Azriel's majestic wings began to fade, seamlessly replaced by the illusion of him dressed in normal clothes of Crescent City—a crisp white t-shirt that hugged his muscles modestly, exposing the black ink of the Night Court more openly, paired with worn blue jeans and sturdy black boots. The transformation made him look strikingly rugged and approachable, a stark contrast to his usual otherworldly classical elegance.

Lowen caught her breath, her heart fluttering unexpectedly at the sight. Azriel, in turn, caught the compliment in her eyes, his cheeks coloring with a soft blush that made him even more endearing. He offered her a shy smile. Stepping back to admire her work, Lowen let out a low whistle.

"Not bad, my beautiful shadow. You clean up nicely."

Azriel looked down at his new attire, then back at her with mock seriousness.

"How do I compare to the citizens here?"

"Definitely competition for the local talent," Lowen quipped, feeling a rush of affection for him.

With a playful flick of her wrist, Lowen conjured a similar outfit for herself. Her clothes shifted into a casual long-sleeved blue shirt and black jeans, complemented by practical boots. She spun around playfully.

"How do I look?"

"Like trouble," Azriel grinned.

She turned to see Malek already adjusting his and Nesta's appearance into similarly unassuming clothes—Nesta in a steel blue t-shirt with jeans, and himself in a black shirt and jeans.

Hypaxia, observing the transformations, gave a small smile.

"You all blend in quite well," she commented just as the submarine began to slow, indicating their arrival.

The group followed Hypaxia into the sprawling expanse of what she called the River Queen's palace. Now repurposed as a makeshift sanctuary, the halls and chambers buzzed with activity. Makeshift camps filled every corner, each crammed with huddled figures—some tending to the wounded, others distributing rations.

As they moved deeper into the palace, Lowen noticed curious glances directed their way. Among the faces, one struck her immediately—a female bearing an uncanny resemblance to Amren, her sharp features unmistakable, standing beside another female with elegant, doe-like legs.