When Hummingbirds Cry
Rhaziel
The mortal realm moves slowly. Time crawls there, thick and heavy, while here in the Shadow Realm, it bends and stretches to my will. What has been three full cycles for me—days spent listening to bickering nobles, resolving border disputes, and stamping my seal on a mountain of decrees—has been only a few short hours for my mate. Long enough, I calculate, that her schooling should be finished. I meant to finish one last diplomatic meeting before returning, but when I glance down at the delicate silver bracelet circling my wrist, the one she crafted for me, I stop breathing. The tiny crystal set in the band has turned a soft, mournful blue. Blue means sad. I made certain to memorise the meanings, to study them like scripture, because understanding her emotions through this mortal trinket felt like the closest thing to magic that wasn’t already mine. But seeing it change, watching the light dim in its heart, sends a chill through me I cannot name. My mate is sad. And that will not do. I stand, shadows stirring like smoke around my throne. My advisors stop mid-sentence as the air drops to freezing.
“Continue without me,” I say, my voice a low rumble that makes the room tremble. “There is something that requires my attention.” Then I step into the darkness.
The world folds inward, colours bleeding away until I’m walking out of shadow into the warmth of her realm, her small, cluttered room that smells faintly of tea and starlight. And there she is. She’s just stepping through the door with her other two mates crowding protectively behind her. Her face is blotched with tears, eyes red and shining, and for a moment, the sight knocks the breath out of me. Sadness. Real, tangible pain. My claws flex at my sides, the darker part of me stirring to life. Whoever made her cry—whoever dared to bring tears to my queen’s eyes—will learn what it means to suffer a thousand endless nightmares...But that is not what she needs from me now. Before I can even think of what to say, she sees me, and the tears fall harder. She doesn’t hesitate. She runs straight at me, slamming into my chest with enough force that I have to take a step back to keep my balance. A broken sound escapes her, halfway between a sob and a gasp. My arms wrap around her automatically, pulling her close, holding her as if the entire realm might try to take her from me. A deep, instinctive purr rolls through my chest. She likes that sound; it soothes her. Her small hands clutch at my chest as her body shakes. My tail winds around her legs, anchoring her to me, keeping her safe.
“Shh,” I murmur against her hair, pressing my chin to the top of her head. “It’s all right, little hummingbird. You are safe now.”
The shadows around us sway gently, a lullaby only my realm knows how to sing. Whatever wounded her can wait. Whatever hurt her will be dealt with. But for now, all that matters is this right here, my mate in my arms, her heartbeat against mine, and the promise that she will never have to cry alone again.
She trembles in my arms. Her scent is salt and sorrow, her heart hammering too fast beneath her ribs. My hands—hands that have seen too much blood—find themselves smoothing over her back instead, slow, unsure strokes. I have conquered empires, broken armies in half, but I have no idea what to do with tears.
“He said…” Her voice breaks, the words catching in the space between us. “He said they wouldn’t let him. They’d kill him if he—”
“Is this the fourth mate,” I murmur, my chest rumbling beneath her cheek, “or the one we’re pretending doesn’t exist?”
She huffs something that is half sob, half laugh, and it hurts my heart in a way nothing mortal ever has. “The fourth one,” she whispers.
The professor, then. The one who smells of parchment and regret. The one I will one day have a word with. Her tears dampen my chest as my tail—traitorous thing—winds tighter around her legs until she can’t move away. My instincts want her anchored. Claimed. Safe. But I still feel the eyes on me. When I glance up, Kael and Evander are standing just inside the threshold. Kael’s fists are tight at his sides, jaw set like stone, but when our eyes meet, he exhales and nods. Evander follows, a softer expression crossing his face. There’s no tension, no competition, just three beings who love the same woman enough to share the weight of her sadness.
I lower my head slightly, speaking quietly to them, my voice rough. “What does one need when they are sad?”
Kael gives a small, breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just hold her. That’s all she really likes. That, and that purring thing you do.”
That earns him a faint glare from me, but Evander chuckles low in his throat, stepping closer. “He’s right, actually. I think we all like that purring thing you do.”
That makes my chest hum with amusement and, apparently, another purr. It vibrates against my hummingbird's skin, and she lets out a soft, sleepy sound, her body melting fully against me. My world narrows down to that heartbeat against my chest. Slowly, carefully, I lower us both onto the couch, letting her weight settle in my lap. My fingers comb through her hair as the shadows stretch lazily across the room, curling protectively around us all. Kael takes one side of her, Evander the other, each careful not to disturb her as she drifts into silence. The blue light on my bracelet begins to fade, turning soft and silver. Calm.
“Good,” I whisper, brushing my lips against the crown of her head. “That’s better.”
Evander glances at the bracelet, curious. “That thing works then?”
I nod once. “Yes, I knew the moment she was distressed.”
Kael leans back with a low whistle. “That’s… actually kind of sweet.”
“I find it invaluable,” I admit quietly. “It tells me when to return home.” And she is home, isn’t she? This small mortal girl, who somehow managed to tether a demon king to her light. Her breathing evens out, the shadows softening with it. Kael drapes a blanket over her legs while Evander adjusts the pillow beneath my arm where her head rests. I remain still, my arms a fortress around her, unwilling to let go.
She stirs once, her fingers curling around the edge of my arm. “Stay,” she murmurs without opening her eyes.
“As you wish,” I whisper back.
The room falls into silence, just her soft breaths and the rhythmic thrum of four heartbeats syncing in quiet harmony. And as the last of her tears dries against my chest, I lift my gaze to the faint shimmer of shadowlight above us and make a silent promise to whatever gods might be listening: Whoever makes my hummingbird cry again will pray for death long before I grant it.