Gwyn's nose scrunched as something stroked it. Once. Twice. She batted it away with a swipe.

' Wake up…'

A tickle over her bunched forehead and down over her cheek.

' Wake up, priestess…'

Gwyn's eyelids cracked open, her vision blurred with sleep. Every muscle in her body ached, her face puffy from the tears she had cried. Moving her arms above her head, she stretched and stretched until her muscles loosened and her joints popped.

Her bleary gaze landed on her poor excuse for a window, her singly thin sliver into the outside world for so long. Heart pounding, Gwyn shot up in bed when she noticed the sun was no longer streaming in bright shades of yellow. No, it tinted the diffused light cascading across her floor in orange and rose. Sunset .

Cauldron, how long had she slept?

"Mother fucking above shit," she hissed nonsense between clenched teeth, beating her fists into the thin mattress as she pushed up. Like a nocked arrow, she flew out of bed, quickly smoothing out her now crinkled robes and combing the rat's nest of her hair with her fingers.

Gods, a rumpled mess she may be, but there was no chance to fuss over appearances. She had made a promise, one that she intended to keep.

Practically yanking the wooden door off its hinges, she ran as hard as she could as she darted down the hall as a hare would with a wolf on her tail.

"I'm sorry….I'm sorry...Pardon me," she apologized before nearly running over three priestesses who didn't recognize the common courtesy of staying to one side.

Gwyn's legs blazed with a fiery passion by the time she skidded to a stop at the rear entrance of the temple. As she crossed beneath the hallowed stone archway, touching a single drop of sacred water to her forehead, an ominous semi-circle of hooded figures greeted her.

One stepped forward, raising two steady hands to remove her hood. "You're late... again ," Merrill spat, her view sweeping up and down with a dismissive curl to her mouth. "Not that I'm surprised."

Could this day get any worse?

Azriel followed Nesta down the stairs in silence, the echo of their heels scuffing coarse stone underfoot the only sound. Further and further they descended the winding staircase until a large pebbled door appeared ahead. And when he knew where they were headed, Azriel halted.

"No," Nesta said, looping an arm through his, hauling him with her. "We're going."

He exhaled loudly. "I—I don't think I can—"

"You don't need to say anything to her." Yet hung in open. Because he would have to say something to Gwyn, eventually. An apology for being a royal dick. An explanation for his behavior. Perhaps even groveling on his hands and knees.

The first thing he noticed in the library was the absolute stillness—the nothingness. None of the noises of the working priestesses sounded as they passed by Clotho's empty desk.

"They aren't here and before you ask, I spoke with Clotho after I checked on Gwyn." Nesta's face hardened." Clotho permitted me to bring you."

Azriel nodded, too wearied to fight Nesta as she dragged him between rows of tables toward the rear stacks where he'd rarely tread. In front of them stood two massive solid doors of granite so perfectly balanced, Nesta could push one open with a touch of a single finger. They swung wide with silent ease before she drew him inside.

A coyly woodsy scent of spice hit him first. Used to darkness, Az's eyes quickly adjusted to the hazy light, a light mist of incense dimming the glow of hundreds of flickering candles of various colored wax. The peaceful, tinkling noise of flowing water pervaded the air as much as the smoke. Delicate chimes clanged, a mysterious prayerful rhythm resounding off the rounded rock walls.

Holy Mother—literally. This... this was the temple . The inner sanctum for the priestesses. How in the Cauldron had Nesta gotten permission for him to be there?

Nesta paused before a long row of votive candles. Many ablaze, while others just a bare wick. She dipped her forefinger in the bubbling fountain to her right, anointing her forehead. Taking the tapered torch, she found three unlit votive candles and set each alight one by one, before setting the tall candle in its sacred bronze holder.

She bowed before leading Azriel to the last row of pews, shoving him until they were tucked into the back corner. Thankfully, the pews were like backless benches and could accommodate his wings comfortably.

"Was it necessary to corner me," Azriel questioned, shifting to adjust his wings, drawing them in tight.

Nesta shrugged. "I didn't want you to try to leave," she clipped in answer.

"You know I can winnow, right?"

She glanced at him sidelong with a smirk, clicking her tongue. "And you remember the wards that prevent winnowing are not just in the House, but here as well, correct?" Well... shit. She patted his arm. "So you're stuck with me."

They sat in companionable silence as Azriel fidgeted worse than a toddler. Typically, his ability to remain still was unparalleled, but right now? He'd rather deal with a group of enemy soldiers than sit through a religious service.

"Normally I prefer a better seat," Nesta muttered softly, pointing. "Right upfront. But Clotho said you had to stay in the last benches. But she understood why I wanted you to come with me."

"Wait? Why me? Why didn't you drag Cassian to this?" He jerked his chin toward the front.

"Because you need to see this." Nesta halted as the bells started anew. She leaned closer, her mouth close enough to the shell of his ear that Azriel could sense her breath. "Do you realize what today is?"

Was today special? It wasn't anyone's anniversary or birthday so... Azriel shrugged, shaking his head for a no.

The bells pealed louder. A solemn line of priestesses entered from behind the dais in single file, like a parade of spirits. Silent and divine. "It's been three years since Sangravah, Azriel."

Azriel stopped breathing. An icy shiver skated down his spine, and his eyes went round. Holy fuck… how had he…

"Shit," he whispered, kicking himself for both forgetting and swearing in the place of worship. "I…"

"Forgot," Nesta finished for him, holding his stare with purpose. " That's why we're here."

The priestesses who came in found seats facing them in a semi-circle surrounding the dais, sitting as one. Hands folded across their laps, hoods pulled up. They were the epitome of unnerving grace. The ethereal cerulean radiance from their invoking stones shone on their nose and cheeks.

Suddenly the patter of tiny feet emerging rushed from the behind altar. Children. There were young girls here donning pastel robes. Though he couldn't figure their ages with any accuracy.

Two priestesses organized the chaos, corralling them like cattle to before the dais, arranging the female children in two rows. Merrill strode forward to the shrine, offering a prayer to the Mother, and those they had lost three years ago, before returning to her spot.

The two overseeing priestesses tiptoed to the side, nodding at the youths. The younglings stood straighter and opened their mouths. And a song arose in harmony. Well, as much as a gaggle of kids could be in concert.

One tawny-headed girl in the bottom row, no older than five, held silent. Pale blue eyes large with fear, clutching a ragged stuffed bear to her chest. A priestess approached the girl, kneeling on her robes, now eye level with the frightened, mousy-haired child. The priestess swept back her hood—and Azriel gasped. He'd recognize that head of rich copper anywhere.

Gwyn knelt before the youth, taking her small hand, and sang along with the choir. And Gwyn's voice was captivating, luring him in with its timbre and truth, leaving him spellbound.

When the slight girl still wouldn't cooperate, Gwyn paused briefly to do a silly face. Her tongue stuck out to the side, her eyes crossing. The girl burst into giggles, shoulders relaxing. Gwyn nodded to her and opened to sing again. And this time, the girl sang along.

"I didn't realize there were so many children here," Az admitted in a whisper.

"This is what I wanted you to understand. All of those kids, Azriel," Nesta stated as one kid hit an off note, making Nesta's lip twitch. "Every single one of them is from Sangravah."

He inhaled, biting his lower lip.

"Those children right there, grinning and singing? They are alive because of you and Gwyneth."

He stared at their faces, not recognizing any. But it had been three years and kids grew so fast. And these little ones had grown up. But he took no credit. If it hadn't been for Gwyn and her quick thinking, they would have all been slaughtered—or worse.

The little lady holding Gwyn's hand swung the joined palms between them as they progressed in a hopeful ballad of loss and peace, love and living on in the afterlife. A joyful hymn of prayer for the fallen. Gwyn spun the girl, who cackled as Merrill shot them with blazing disapproval. The slight one's voice and Gwyn's grew louder, and they sounded…

God's, it was just…

That shy one must have been no older than two at Sangravah. A babe.

He swallowed, keeping back the tears building.

"Gwyn—," Azriel cleared his throat. "Gwyn is great with children."

"She is. The children live at another temple, but come and visit often. Gwyn told me she sneaks them treats and has sleepovers. The girls adore her." He could understand why. Her penchant for fun. Her patience. The affection reflecting in her blue-green eyes. All qualities you'd need to be a— "I suppose one day," Nesta continued, "if she wanted, she'd be a wonderful mother."

Up ahead, Gwyn's eyes shut as she fell into the melody. A light emanated from her chest, pale and bright. It was then he realized she was the only priestess with their hood lowered and not wearing a blue crystal on her brow.

"Why doesn't she wear the invoking stone," Azriel asked, his head tilted.

Nesta shrugged, her hands wringing in her lap. "Gwyn told me she hasn't worn it since Sangravah. The why? I've never asked."

Azriel pondered that as the song crescendoed, Gwyn's voice soared as if on wings, higher and higher. And he...he couldn't tear himself away. She had ensnared him, no longer able to avert his gaze from the glorious creature, the perfect mix of gentleness and strength. Of spirited flames and calming waters.

And then the music faded as the verse ended. Gwyn remained smiling and giving the children well-deserved praise that had them all beaming with pride. The little girl with the teddy bear threw herself at Gwyn, wrapping her short arms around Gwyn's neck as Gwyn wrapped the girl up in a hug, murmuring into the girl's ear. Pulling back, Gwyn smoothed over the girl's hair and grinned before standing and stepping to the dais.

Azriel watched as Merrill intercepted Gwyn on the way to her seat, hissing something in Gwyn's ear that had Gwyn's eyebrows raising and mouth dropping open. Biting her lip, she bowed and disappeared out the rear entrance.

Nesta stood to leave muttering, "That Merrill is such a wretched bitch." Azriel snorted, drawing the attention of several priestesses. Roslin waved at him.

As they left, Azriel paused at the candles. Sighing, he grabbed the tall taper and lit three votives. Nesta scrutinized and smiled softly.

"I think I'll go check on Gwyn," Nesta said. "If you want to join—"

Dark talons scraped Azriel's mental shield.

' Azriel, please come to the River House. We need to talk regarding what happened this afternoon.'

Azriel heaved a sigh. "I can't. Rhys needs me...but please…"

Nesta crossed her arms over her chest. "I will not apologize for you if that's what—"

"No." He shook his head. "Just make sure she's okay."

With that, Azriel left to explain himself to his High Lord. Could this day get any worse?

Staying in her room lasted only five minutes before Gwyn stripped off her robes and shrugged on her training leathers. She had asked—no Merrill ordered —for her to return to her dorm immediately after the children's choir finished. According to Merrill, Gwyn's behavior with Tulia was "enabling" and "distracting." And, in Merrill's opinion, "making faces was un-priestess-like." And Gwyn "set a poor example."

All Gwyn sought to do was to make the nervous young one feel comfortable—and she did. Tulia sang with a joyful smile on her cute face. And that was all that mattered. If Merrill thought kindness and empathy were poor traits? Then Merrill could take her opinion and shove it.

As Gwyn reached under her pillow for her dagger, her eyes snagged on the invoking stone on her nightstand. The bluestone watched her, mocked her as if refusing to adorn her brow once more. And Gwyn agreed. She would never wear that stone or wield its power again.

With a shake of her head, Gwyn tucked the dagger into her thigh holster. Snagging a piece of ribbon, she hastily plaited the pin-straight ginger into a tight braid.

Turning away, her feet carried her up and up, each stair underfoot feeling like freedom. Each step away from her dorm held the truth, one she had ignored for too long. Why stay, each footfall begged. The love of her work. Her research, cataloging, and preserving histories. And the children, who she cared for with all her heart, felt a kinship because of her similar upbringing. But, priestesshood was no longer Gwyn's true calling. Not anymore. If she was honest with herself, she'd questioned it the very moment Catrin had begged her to leave.

And now? Only covered in leather with the pommel of a sword in her grip, did she truly feel the truth. Clothed and armed in her own power, stronger than any invoking stone. In her heart. Her soul.

Gwyn was a Valkyrie.

Azriel landed on the roof with a thud, not caring if he woke Nesta or Cassian. Or interrupted any of their annoyingly loud marathon bouts of sex that drove Azriel to want to hurl himself out the nearest window. He just didn't fucking care. Didn't need it, couldn't deal with any more bullshit today.

Az realized it was bad once Rhys told him to close the door when he entered the office. Rhysand, who would normally lounge in his armchair, was sitting up ramrod straight, donning the full High Lord persona. It was obvious whatever this was; it wasn't good.

"So, are you going to explain to me why I was summoned?"

Deep violet-blue eyes fixed him on the spot, darkness slipping from behind Rhys's powerful shield. "I thought I made it clear when I warned you to stay away from Elain. So," he clicked his tongue. "What did I see in the hallway this afternoon, Azriel?"

Azriel rested against the wall. Leaning back, he crossed his legs at his ankles and dragged a hand through his hair. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You had her fucking pinned, her hands above her head. It appeared quite," Rhysand paused. "Intimate. And, tell me if I was wrong, Azriel. I believe we had this conversation last Solstice."

Azriel met his haughty stare, eyes narrowed into slits. "You did. This afternoon wasn't what it looked like."

Rhysand huffed, his palms smoothing over the arms of the chair. "What's the saying? That's what they all say." The High Lord's fingers tapped on the leather of his armrest. "I spoke with Elain earlier." Azriel stiffened. "She said you approached her."

Azriel's brows shot up in disbelief. "You've got to be fucking kidding me?" Rhys didn't stir, keeping his gaze pinned on the Shadowsinger. "I won't lie to you. We did...things...since Solstice...but it's been over since before Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony." He chuckled darkly. "But you already knew that, didn't you? That look you gave me that day?" Rhysand did not deign a reply. "Did you even bother to peer into her mind? Or is it merely easier to assume me to be the bastard?"

The High Lord nodded. "I did, Az, and I saw you trying to kiss her—and then pressing her to the wall."

Azriel's mouth slackened, his eyes widening. "That's bullshit," he spat as he pushed off. "That's not even fucking possible because that's not what went on!"

"That's what I saw, Az."

He walked over to Rhysand's desk, bending forward, his splayed palms flat on the surface hard enough to shake the furniture. "Then you reach into my mind, Rhysand. Right. Fucking. Now."

So Rhysand did and learned exactly what took place. Saw Azriel on his way to Rhysand's office, intercepted by Elain. Clad in a sheer nightgown leaving little to the imagination, Elain pushed Azriel up against the wall, pulling his face to her in a searing kiss. Az pulled away while Elain's mouth trailed his throat, her hands skimmed down his sides until they slid to his front, cupping him through his trousers.

" I missed you," she purred, releasing a button. Then another. And another, until Azriel caught her hands, spinning them so Elain was against the wall, his fists capturing her roving wrists above her head.

" That's enough," Azriel gritted out, chest heaving against hers. Elain arched into him, her supple chest brushing against his.

Of course, Rhysand appeared in the hallway at the same moment as Azriel dropped hold of Elain's arms. And as she slid them to her sides, a ghost of a smile on her lips, she turned and walked away.

Rhysand drew out of Azriel's mind, his mouth set in a firm line, rubbing his chin. "That's not what I saw from her," he relayed, his eyes darting, searching for an explanation. "But I hadn't detected deception from either of you. How—how can that be?"

" I don't know, Rhys. But you know me." Azriel paused. "Something is going on with Elain. I don't know what but..."

Rhysand gave a curt nod, "I'm sorry. I needed to make sure. You know, Lucien has been telling me we need to get Elain out of the Night Court. I am for it, but Feyre doesn't want her to leave."

"Maybe Lucien can sense something that we can't through the bond."

"It's possible. Just..stay away from Elain, Az." And with that, the High Lord dismissed the Shadowsinger.

Since he left, Azriel had been tightly wound. Ready for war. To take out his hostility and guilt with swords, daggers, and punches. Anything to keep Gwyn—and Elain—out of his head.

Fuck, he needed to stab something.

The sounds of metal meeting wood and breathy huffs of exertion met him as he moved across the ring.

Gwyn was there in the pit, hair pulled back, the color burnished bronze in the moonlight. Wearing her Illyrian fighting leathers that hugged her body, lining every glorious curve and dip of the muscle.

She stood before a row of mats, holding an Illyrian dagger, twirling it in her grip. Which, of course, was completely against the rules at training. Smirking, Gwyn ran, quickly tucking and rolling over the mats and popping up to her feet with the grace of a dancer. The dagger flew out of her hand, her aim true, hitting a training dummy in the head. Quicker than the wind, Gwyn spun, throwing another dagger precisely where the heart would be.

She paused, stumbling a step, as she noticed him watching. Her eyes narrowed, and she spun to the left, throwing the dagger and hit its target...in the dummy's groin. Daggers were not one of Gwyn's strong skills, but... damn .

"Great form," Azriel said. "Working out some aggression, I see?"

She nodded, striding over to the dummy, back straight and hips swaying. She yanked out the one buried to the hilt in the faux skull. "I call this one Merrill," she grunted as she pulled it free, moving on to the one in the groin area. "Hybern. And this one...," she paused at the one by the heart, panting. She shook her head, yanking it out.

Azriel knew that dagger was meant for him. What his words had done to her. He had seen it in her eyes.

He watched Gwyn set her blades over at the weapons rack and go to the water station. Wow, she really was sweaty. How long had she been practicing?

"I'm sorry," Azriel whispered, no longer able to hold back the guilt weighing on him.

Gwyn turned to him, her cheeks flushed with exertion, stray strands of hair plastered to her sweaty brow. She raised an eyebrow, took a drink, and leaned back against the table. Waiting.

"I shouldn't have spoken to you in that manner," he said, moving tentatively closer.

Her teal eyes bore into his, no response, verbal or otherwise. He couldn't read her, and that was...odd. Gwyn wore her heart on her sleeve and right now, in front of him? Nothing.

His shadows appeared, swirling towards Gwyn over her shoulders as if to shake her. Azriel dared another step. Then another. Shaky and cautious until he was an arm's length away.

His throat bobbed in a swallow. "I'm so sorry, Gwyn. There's so much...so much going on right now and...," he paused, closing his eyes not daring to see her reaction. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"No, you shouldn't have," Gwyn replied, taking another sip wearing a guise suitable for the Court of Nightmares.

"Tell me how to make this better. Do you want me on my knees? You want me to beg? I will—"

Gwyn cut him off. "I don't need you to beg," she replied, her mask slipping a fraction, softening her resolve. Her gaze took him in, roving up and down the length of his toned frame. The body of a warrior. "I want you to spar with me."

His eyes went round with shock. "What?"

She nodded, stepping closer. "Yes. You demand it as much as I do." She pushed off the table. "We go hand-to-hand," Gwyn said, tossing him the tape to wrap his fists. "And while you do," she continued, wrapping her own hands. "You tell me what's been going on in your life that provoked you to snap at me. I need both things. You rescued me from the brink of death three years ago this night, Azriel. Let me help on this one. Deal?"

He paused, seeming to contemplate her ask. The Shadowsinger knew if he left now? If Azriel didn't accept her request, there may be a bond broken in their friendship beyond repair. But after the pain he caused her? Gwyn deserved to know.

"All right," was his soft reply.

"Good," she smirked. "Now, Shadowsinger. Get in your stance."

He rolled his shoulders and got into position. "Bring it on, Priestess."

"So," Gwyn huffed, blocking his jab with her forearm with a swipe. "You moved from one very long female crush that held no interest, to another that has a mate?" She pivoted on her foot, feinted to the left before delivering a blow to his right side. He puffed as he pushed her backward. "So what you're saying is you're a glutton for punishment?"

"That about sums it up," he grunted out a snort as she kicked him in the ribs. Az grasped her ankle, flipping her onto her back. She struck the mats with a loud thud.

"Ouch," she snorted.

Azriel couldn't help but grin down at her. "Here, let me help you—"

Gwyn vaulted up and flipped to his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, putting his head in a headlock.

"I got it," she whispered into his ear. "You give up?" She applied more pressure to his throat.

He smirked. His shadows wrapped around her arms and up to her neck, tickling her. She giggled and, unable to stop wiggling, let go.

"Not fair," she complains amidst the giggles. "You cheated!"

Azriel pulled her until her back was against his chest, folding his arms under hers, his palms behind her head in a stress position. She tried to twist, unsuccessfully. The more she struggled, the more he tightened.

"Giving up, Berdara?"

"Nope." She brought her legs up and dropped, tossing the full weight of her body forward, throwing Azriel over. Now spread out on his back, Gwyn standing over him, legs spread, hands on her hips. The portrait of triumph. But victory was a fleeting thing. He simpered, grabbing a hold of her leg, and down she went as a felled tree would in the forest. Laughing and groaning as she rubbed a shoulder, she rolled from her side onto her rear beside him.

Her wonderful laugh. It hit him in the heart like a punch every damn time. It was musical, soothing. Even his shadows veered over to her, wanting to be near. She turned towards him, her smile lighting up his world.

"That was stupid of me." She grimaced.

"We all do stupid things occasionally. They're called learning experiences. You okay?"

"I landed on my shoulder odd, but I'm all right," Gwyn said, her features turning wistful. Longing and yearning filled her stare.

"What," Azriel asked, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke her cheek. Too late for his shadow did it for him.

"Why do you torture yourself?"

Ice filled his veins. "I don't know what you're talking about, Gwyn. I have to—" He made to sit up but was stilled with a light touch of her hand along his bicep.

"Azriel." Her voice was like a command to his soul. He laid back down and angled towards her again. "Why?"

He remained silent. A weight had lifted off one shoulder with each truthful admittance, even though Azriel avoided giving the names of people involved. This was too close. Way too deep. Too real.

"Why," she pressed. "Why do you tolerate suffering from a lover you can never have?"

A muscle ticked in his hard jaw. "There was a chance she might not choose her mate, there's still a chance. But it's...over now." If he was being honest with himself? It was over the instant Gwyn walked onto the rooftop.

Gwyn huffed a laugh. "Sounds like whoever the distraction female is, she's a piece of work if she hasn't decided yet. It's almost—cruel." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Childish, even."

Az opened his eyes, his features stark. Gwyn merely shrugged.

"Sorry, that's just how I feel. Do you know what I think? I think you want that affection so bad, that you will allow anyone who gives you a moment's attention to win it."

Well, she hit the nail on the head, wasn't she? And that was one thing Azriel loved about Gwyn. The ever-emerging boldness while she discovered her place in the world.

"Maybe with the first," Az admitted. "But not with this second female, it's not—"

"Isn't it? Sounds like she was a diversion from the first. And then became something else. Or am I wrong?"

Fuck.

She grabbed a hold of his right hand. A shudder rolled through him. Her fingers stroked his palm, over his scars. And, for once, he didn't pull his hand away to hide the ugliness.

"I try to live by the Valkyrie mantra, I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Your thoughts and experiences are the surf." A pause and a ragged exhale. "And, I realized, the surf may not eradicate the rock outright, but it still can take its toll, wearing it down over time. Bit by bit, little by little, altering the rock, reshaping and reforming until, eventually—the rock is changed...or gone."

He ran his calloused thumb along the back of her delicate hand, eliciting a shiver out of her. Those teal eyes met his, and they ensnared him.

"Azriel...don't let this wear you down. You deserve happiness," Gwyn said, as he turned his head away. Her warm palm cupped his cheek, forcing him to face her again as she kept a hand entangled with his. "And you deserve a love that is freely given."

Lies. All lies. He shook his head in protest and heaved out a shuddering exhale.

"I mean it. You deserve someone who will give their whole heart," Gwyn smiled sadly. He reached up, touching the soft hand on his cheek. "You are brave. Kind. Fearless. Selfless. You are worthy of love, Azriel. Don't let the surf destroy that."

As if to prove his worth and her words, Gwyn leaned forward. And she kissed him. Azriel's eyes drifted shut at the brushing of soft lips over his. Barely a kiss by his standards. He pulled his hands away, letting them open and close at his sides, not trusting himself. Her mouth moved over his, inexperienced in tentative, exploratory sweeps. And it was everything .

Willing his heart to settle in his chest, his hands to stay where they were, even though his fingers longed to weave through her silky hair. Take control of the kiss. But she made the first move. Gwyn kissed him and he'd be damned to force anything she wasn't ready for. This was all about her choice. And she chose this.

All too soon, she pulled away, surprise and something else in her large eyes.

"I'm sorry. I—I have to go," Gwyn stuttered, stumbling and scrambling to get to her feet like a colt taking its first step. She rose and hurried towards the open doorway leading to the stairs without a backward glance. Her cheeks were a bright crimson.

Was she blushing from their shared kiss or embarrassment? Because Gwyn had nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing at all.

Get down those stairs and back to the library dorms, Gwyn thought, heart pounding in her chest in an erratic drum beat. Cauldon, if only she could winnow. Had she really done what she did?

"Gwyn, wait," Azriel hollered from where she left him sprawled on the mats.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Shadowsinger! Thanks for the exercise!" She winced as soon as the words flew out of her mouth.

As soon as her feet hit the stairs that led to the House, she ran .

"Hey, is everything okay, Gwyn," Nesta called after her from the dining room.

"Fine. Just fine," Gwyn answered in a rush, avoiding her friend's sleuth-like gaze.

Oh Mother, save her, what had she done?

She kissed Azriel . Gwyn had leaned over and pressed his lips to his, his taste still lingering on her own. After that complete admission, he made on being attracted to another female? What in the Cauldron was wrong with her?

But, gods . Her fingertips touched her lips in wonder. They still tingled as something sparked in her chest. Her first kiss.