TW: Most of this is just a list of torture methods. Lol. and yes, I had to explain to a friend why there was a google tab open with "torture methods"

Cassian

Azriel would suggest beginning with psychological torture. An interrogations is always a good way to start apparently, filling the time with blackmail, music torture (he's not sure what that is), threats of permanent or severe disfigurement (he would prefer to actually do that) and then finish off that first session with a long period of isolation to grind them down.

But that's what Azriel would begin with. Cassian isn't sure he has the patience for exploiting phobias, or waiting for sleep deprivation to set in. He could always consider bringing Tomas back to Azriel who most certainly would have the skills and patience for a quick bout of sensory deprivation and sensory overload. But, oh the list of methods is exhausting to think about. For some reason he can hear Azriel in his head talking about white room torture and the long lasting psychological torture of branding.

Except all that Cassian can see as he silently stalks his mate to make sure she gets home safe is Tomas' blood spilling over his hands. He'd start slow, he could be patient with that. Small incisions and the occasional surface level beating. Enough to feel bone break beneath his fists.

He needs to feel it. The physical assurance of something. Anything. If Cassian couldn't have the solid weight of his mate in his arms, reminding him that she's safe and sound; then he guesses that he'll just have to have the solid weight of Tomas' decapitated head in his hands.

What's going on?

Not now. He bats away Rhys' voice in his head.

I can feel you rage from-

I said not now. He snaps, snarling at his brother. Cassian can feel himself snarling, clenching his fists yet he's so trapped in images of disembowelment, crucifixion and skinning Tomas alive that he can hardly see past his blood lust.

Who the hell are you thinking about doing that to. Rhys demands as he no doubt witnesses the graphic image of Blood Eagle torture he was thinking of inflicting on his mate's husband.

Tomas. He eventually grinds out, seeing no point in lying since his brothers may join him in the hunt. I'm going to hunt him down and rip him to shreds.

I told you not to see Isabella if the mate bond would make you-

He beat her. Cassian whispers, surprisingly calm as his rage clears enough to allow him to see Isabella walk back into the den of the beast. She seemed so close to confessing what he did as well but... He tsks, pursing his lips. He's got his claws in deep.

Is she okay? Oliver? Some part of him bristles at Rhys' concern, jealousy flaring but he quickly tramples it down with the knowledge that his family accepts his mate.

Ollie is fine. She's... managing but it could be hell of a lot worse next time.

You know you can't do anything.

Why not?

Because that's her husband who she chose to marry. Even Rhys' sounds doubtful of his own words and Cassian is reminded of the conversation his brother related to him. It feels like a lifetime ago that he was carrying a package for Isabella. Eager to share his culture with her and let her pick a favourite from the small dishes he brought with him.

Rhys drifts to the back of his mind, still watching but remaining quiet as he no doubt senses Cassian's fragile tether on his rage.

Cassian stalks around the side of Isabella's home and the metallic tang of power fills the air as Rhys glamours him from sight. For a moment he just stares through the window. Observing Isabella's tight smile as she greets Mr Mandray and the crushing embrace she wraps Oliver in.

There's not a single ounce of fear in her gaze, no hesitation as she curls into her husband's arms. For a moment Cassian doubts, wonders if perhaps it truly was the first time. Until images of a bruised wrist from weeks ago crosses his mind.

A dull snarl throbs in the back of his head and it takes Cassian a moment to place it as Rhys'.

He understands why a moment later when he sees Isabella frozen expression as she stares at a broken cupboard on the far end of the kitchen table. The hollow look in her eyes is one he recognises clearly. That and the way she toys with her threadbare dress. The wear and tear is more obvious now she has taken off her shawl.

It seems Isabella noticed that fact as well for she settles by the small hearth, Oliver settling on the worn rug next to her. The picture of domestic bliss. Or it would be if Tomas was watching her over the rim of his tankard, if Oliver didn't have red eyes from crying and Isabella's hands weren't shaking.

The image was cracking, reality setting in.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･

Azriel

The Queens had finally sent a response and it couldn't have come at a worse time.

Azriel tried not to curse himself, to beat his fists bloody against a wall for his stupidity buy it was no use. He found himself pacing and agitated with pent up rage and- and fear. For Isabella. Oh he had stayed away for Cassian's sake.

There were no more shadows watching for her little tells, reporting to him what games Olvier played that day or if they ate a good meal. But he couldn't let go completely, nor would he be expected to now that the brothers knew Isabella was Cassian's mate.

So he had settled for protecting them. Not that he was doing a good job considering his respectful boundaries had caused Isabella so much pain. He had reported to Cassian that there was nothing unusual that the shadows had left to give Isabella and Tomas privacy during the evening and there were no disturbances during the night.

What a fat load of lies that turned out to be.

It would seem in his desperation to ignore the fact the woman he had begun to care for was sleeping with her husband and mated to his brother that Azriel had unintentionally recalled his shadows. He had spread them too thin. Once Isabella and Tomas were together he sent them to cover the house, to protect them from outside threats.

Azriel's not sure why he did that. He had worried about Isabella and her husband during the beginning, when he had a chance but now... he doesn't know what to think. In truth Azriel had already begun to doubt himself before Cassian's declaration. Isabella deserved so much more than him and though Tomas was clearly flawed and he would have been happy to get rid of him Isabella was happy with him.

The shadows disagreed with his assessment of the situation and as such began deserting him.

A few loyal ones had stayed with him and a few who were keen to berate him joined them. For once in the past three days they had finally shut up about Isabella, about Isabella meeting with Cassian. How Cassian had apologised for intruding and took her on a not-date, date. But it was when the shadows told him of how she enjoyed the Illyrian food Cassian cooked that bile rose in his throat.

His nightmares were filled with her now. The link between her and Illyria became more solid in his mind. Seeing her in the cell beside him as a child. Tomas' cruel face shifting into faceless Illyrians pinning her down. Memories and fear both new and old were warring together creating a hailstorm of punishment for his stupidity.

But oh how his thoughts had cleared when he saw her again. Perfectly unharmed and in one of Nesta's dresses that hung off her. Azriel tried not to frown at that reminder. She may be physically safe now but even if he killed Tomas she would still live in the same hovel, still face the same hunger. Seeing how much smaller she was than Nesta, her own twin, only served to highlight how underweight she was.

Though there was something right about the clothes fit for royalty Isabella wore. She was in her element, not a single emotion on that devastating face as she conversed with her sisters by the window. It was an effort to keep Cassian by his side as he did a shit job at overtly staring at his mate.

The mate who kept glancing at him whenever his back was turned.

Azriel didn't want to read into the look in her eyes when she stared at Cassian. The fondness and gratitude. A sick part of him relished in the undercurrent of apprehension in her gaze as well, the trepidation and reluctance. It was a cruel thought, to wish away his brother's happiness. Especially when Isabella and her son so clearly deserved to have someone cherish them.

And Azriel knew Cassian would do that.

Even without their weapons, for that had been one of the Queens stipulations, he was monitoring every breath she took. Every twitch and murmured word. He wondered if that's what it was like to have a mate. To constantly be aware of their every move, to orbit them.

When he was unable to torture himself with thoughts of Cassian and Isabella any longer Azriel turned to Morrigan. Her red and gold gown was the mirror of Feyre's white and gold dress. The embellishments caught the mid morning light and the sound of Morrigan's foot tapping on the ornate rug filled the silence.

There was a sadness in Feyre's eyes and Azriel did his best to pretend to be unaware of the circumstances regarding her most recent argument with Rhys. She had gravitated to Mor instead and Azriel ignored his shadows' whisper of the pair, of Feyre's wishes to introduce Mor to her sisters. For them to get along as family.

Eventually eleven o'clock struck.

The Queen had two other demands, as we had anticipated.

The meeting was to begin at eleven. No earlier. No later.

And they wanted an exact geographical location of the house. The layout and size of each room. Where the furniture was. Where the windows and doors were. What room, likely, would we greet them in.

Nesta and Azriel had provided it all.

They had worked well into the night on multiple occasions with Cassian's occasional help and Azriel was rather proud to say there was a certain comradeship between him and Nesta.

Though it was only when the final chime of the clock echoed in the sudden silence that Azriel realised the final demand hadn't been just for security.

No, as a wind brushed through the room, and five figures appeared, flanked by two guards apiece, Azriel realised it was because the Queens could winnow. 

A/N: Thoughts on Azriel / Nesta brotp