"I can not believe you didn't tell me, Berdara! I had to find out from Mor." Emerie spun on Nesta and Cassian. "And I know you two saw, so don't even pretend you didn't!"
Cassian stepped back, his hands raised in rare submission, while his mate crossed her arms over her chest.
"They only did because they walked in on us...," Gwyn said, rubbing her tender arm. Gods, the Illyrian female really did not pull punches.
Emerie's jaw went slack. "Walked in on what?! I need to know!"
Nesta curled her lips, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Relax, they simply kissed, Emerie."
"A kiss," Emerie squeaked, reeling in the center of their group, her black braid slithering over her back like an obsidian serpent with every twist of her neck."Wait, when?! Where?! Okay, what the hell guys?!" She threw her hands up in exasperation.
Gwyn inclined her face towards the sunlit sky, pushing a finger to the middle of her forehead. "Gods above, I will do anything to finish this discussion right now."
"Anything? How about we open with fifty push-ups, females," Cassian barked, effectively closing the door on the conversation with a wink Gwyn's way. Praise the Mother—and thank the nosy Illyrian general. Though Emerie assured her the conversation was far from over and she expected details. Mother, save her.
Her braid clung to her drenched nape by the time Cassian split their groups up for hand-to-hand sparring. Ten of them now in the Elite group with more cutting the ribbon every day. More adding to their rank and sisterhood. Soon enough, the Valkyries would be a force, not even the Illyrians could dismiss.
Toeing off their boots, Nesta and Gwyn squared off in the ring.
"Ready, Archeron?" Gwyn smirked at her partner, rolling her shoulders.
"Bring it, Berdara."
Nesta made the first move, feinting to the left when she went right. Typical. Gwyn easily blocked.
They met blow for blow. Block after block. A fierce dance of fists and feet. And Gwyn had a sneaking suspicion Cassian enjoyed watching their violent contest.
Nesta was definitely about to tap out of Gwyn's unmerciful headlock when Azriel landed on the rooftop. Despite Nesta's struggling, Gwyn's gaze connected with his flecked hazel, and she smiled—at the worst possible time. Nesta shifted her heels, changing her angle, and landed a brutal punch to Gwyn's right side.
Agony seized her lungs in a hideous cracking blow. Sharp, fiery pain radiated down her torso to her toes. Oh, Gods, she couldn't breathe. Gwyn's legs buckled as she collapsed to the sand, rolling out of Nesta's kicking range. She had to get to her feet. Gwyn grunted, first kneeling then standing, her breasts heaving as she went back in her stance. Holding out her palms, she wavered.
"That's for making fun of me for being distracted by Cassian, Berdara. Not so fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?" Nesta's smirk slowly slipped as realization set in.
Gwyn cringed and forced a smile, her hand moving to rest by her injury as a reflex. A horde of shadows swiftly engulfed her, whirring to the side Nesta had struck. Oh no. With her hands, Gwyn swatted at the beasts, struggling to scatter them to the winds. "Go," she beseeched, her mouth dropping open when they heeded her word. Yet too late. Azriel and Cassian were already by her side, concern shading their features.
"I want to see where you got hit," Azriel said hurriedly, lifting the hem of the linen tunic she favored in the summer heat. Though the lack of the scaled leather armor might have been a mistake. Lesson learned.
In their master's presence, Azriel's shadows discreetly pointed out her injury. Cursed little traitors.
Gwyn scoffed and tugged away from the shadowsinger's grip. "You could have simply asked if you wanted me to take my shirt off." As Cassian and the girls laughed, Azriel's cheeks blushed red. Cassian whacked his brother playfully on the shoulder. Points for her.
Slowly, she raised her shirt's hem to reveal her wound. As a distraction, Gwyn paid attention to the state of Azriel's onyx hair; windblown into rumpled waves, reminding her of messing it up with her fingers. She rolled her eyes when the fussy Shadowsinger cursed. "The injury is not that bad, Azriel."
A pair of sharp hazel gazed at her, refusing to be questioned. "Berdara, the area is already bruised and swollen."
Nesta practically shoved Azriel to see, saying, "Shit, I'm sorry, Gwyn." The elder Archeron swore once more. "Godsdammit, I didn't mean to jab you so hard."
"I'm... fine, guys. Truly, I am." Gwyn drew the tunic in place, doing her finest to suppress her wince when the soft fabric scraped over her inflamed skin.
Azriel's expression closed as he held steadfast in front of her. Oh, no. "Take a deep breath."
She drew a meager breath in and out. "I'm fine, Shadowsinger." She did her best to glower at him.
"Take. A. Deep. Breath," Azriel sighed, gripping his nose bridge. "Please." In response to Cassian's repeated whip snaps, Azriel groaned as if he were the one in misery.
With no way to back out, Gwyn obliged. Her slight inhale crippled her with unbearable, blinding pain, as though she had been stabbed—repeatedly. Even with clenched teeth, she was not able to hide the grimace or gasp that slipped. The rooftop erupted in a cacophony of profanity. With a gentleness that would have brought tears to her eyes if she wasn't so annoyed, Azriel scooped her up.
"What are you doing?" She wheezed as he arranged her in his arms.
"We are going to the estate to see Madja. She's already at the river house for Nyx's checkup. Even though I don't want to move you, this way will be faster than her coming here."
"I don't need a doc- AHHH!"
Azriel's penetrating eyes were grim, his jaw straight enough to cut glass. "I'm sorry, what did you say before pain cut off your speech?" She rolled her eyes once more. "Roll them again, Gwyneth, and one day they will roll right out."
Her arm wound around his collar as she rolled them again, this time deliberately. "Well, maybe I can roll them next time for something good."
"I think that I can make that happen." He smiled crookedly at her, with a dark brow arched in a challenge. The heat rose in her cheeks and spread at his wicked implication. Azriel just took Gwyn's one point.
"Even though this foreplay is entertaining as hell to watch," Cassian chuckled. Nesta cleared her throat, scowling beside him. "I do agree. Bring her to Madja. Sounds like she may have broken a rib. If that's the case, you are out for a while, Valkyrie."
Gwyn murmured, "You insufferable males." He flared his wings and launched into the sky.
"You're confident she didn't fracture a rib or collapse a lung," Azriel asked for the thousandth time. He couldn't help it. The entire short flight to the river house, he thought he might vomit, his mind unable to handle Gwyn's suffering. Even though she was too damn stubborn to admit any discomfort. But, the way Gwyn trembled in his hold, by the shallow inhales and breaths against his chest; she was hurting and that pained him.
Gwyn perched on the bed, sending him the evil eye over the healer's bowed head.
"A probable hairline fissure in one," Madja said, and he had to convince himself a surface crack wasn't significant. Still, she was… he shook his head. "She's lucky. Nesta could have broken three." Madja stopped her examination, gazing up at her patient. "You're fortunate your body is so flexible, Gwyn."
"Nymph heritage for the win," Gwyn sighed, cringing. Azriel moved to her side at once.
Madja glanced up at Azriel before shifting her complete attention back to the priestess. "Nymph's bones are pliable, allowing for more flex. So, you didn't snap the ribs as anybody else might have sustained from—"
"See. I'm great," Gwyn interjected as Az gingerly plopped next to her left side on the guest bed.
"But," Madja gave a half-grin, "You have extensive contusions. Bone bruises on your right flank. You'll require rest and abstain from training until it's entirely healed. I'd recommend at least a couple of days."
As Azriel saw Gwyn's strategic mind lock onto the term recommendation, he said, "As her trainer, I'll make certain she won't be sparring for a few days. "
"She said a couple," Gwyn muttered under a sigh, causing Madja to chortle as she combed through a large medical kit of supplies on the dark wood floor.
"A few, Berdara. Flexible limbs or not, you're going to relax for at least three days." He turned his concern back to the healer. "I'll also speak to Clotho about work duties that won't involve shelving or heavy lifting for the time being." Gwyn narrowed her icy teal eyes on him. She was beautiful in general, but when she was hot with anger? Fuck him. "That is if you think those types of movements might be an issue, Madja?"
Taking a moment of consideration, Madja nodded in agreement. "I think that's a safe plan, Azriel. I'll supply a note for Clotho. We don't want you reaching up or performing tasks that may involve a fall, Gwyn. I'll send you off with tonic pain control as well."
"Would you be giving these tonics and care for my injury if I were male," Gwyn hissed. Gods, the female was tough as nails. Stubborn to a fault, but no denying her fortitude.
"On the front line, it would depend on the timing. But the males here that I care for? They need to remain in peak shape for Court duties, so yes." Azriel had to stop his smile as Gwyn scowled at him sidelong and pouted. Madja rose with bandages, clearing her throat. "Now, Gwyn, I'm going to need to wrap your ribs so you're going to need to remove your—"
Azriel squeezed Gwyn's hand, pushing up from the bed as if it was on fire. "I'll show myself out. I'll be hanging just outside, okay?"
Her head angled at him in question but nodded in answer.
Azriel stepped out of the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him with care. He shut his eyes and leaned back against the wall, bumping the back of his head as he willed his dumb heart to quiet the fuck down. He couldn't help what swelled inside. The warring relief and lust at the mental image of the beautiful redhead—unharmed and topless on the other side of that wall. Cauldron, there had to be something wrong with him.
'Stay with her,' he charged the shadows as they wriggled into space under the doorjamb.
"Is she going to be alright?" Surprise sparked at Rhysand's tone, the mildest Azriel had heard since before the last Solstice.
"Severe rib contusion and a surface fracture to one. She's going to be sore but she'll live," Azriel explained, rubbing a palm down his face, letting Rhys in on the strategy to keep Gwyn out of training until further notice.
Rhysand agreed wholeheartedly with the limitations. "I would do the same for Feyre. So that begs the question—how pissed off is our favorite little priestess?"
He snorted. "How pissed off would Feyre be?" Azriel tried to hide his amusement
"Feyre darling would be furious." Rhysand scanned the hallway as if indeed checking for a furious mate. "So…" Azriel cracked an eye open, finding Rhysand smirking at him with interest, his fists shoved in the pockets of his black trousers.
He faced the High Lord's stare head-on. "Out with it, Rhys."
"So you and Gwyn, huh?"
Azriel groaned, thudding his skull again. "I'm pretty confident my shield should have blocked that intel, High Lord."
Rhysand placed a mocking hand over his heart. "I'm insulted you'd think I'd do that. I didn't go poking around. The interest is visible, brother." A hand clamped on Azriel's bicep, rocking him. He raised his gaze, finding illuminating, shining violet peering back at him. "And it's not an awful thing, Az. Not at all." Azriel put a scarred hand on Rhysand's navy dress shirt and nodded. "You and Gwyn should stay for family dinner. And, stay the night. We have adequate accommodations for everyone alone…" The High Lord clicked his tongue. "Or together."
"I don't know," Azriel sighed through his nose, glancing back at the closed door. His shadows hadn't materialized with any news.
"Madja won't be far." Rhysand's grin was full of certainty, knowing Az wouldn't be able to turn down nearby medical aid for the female. Shit. Scheming prick.
"Alright, I'll ask her if she wishes to stay," he conceded.
Rhysand slapped Azriel on the shoulder. "Fair warning though, Az. I'm not the only one who knows." He cleared his throat, his lips twitching in amusement that he knew something the Spymaster did not. "All of Velaris knows—and you know how our group is at dinners? Expect them to be in rare form tonight. Warn your female before she enters the lion's den."
"So, it appears." Mor drew out the words like a sword as the exquisite blonde rubbed a crimson red fingernail around the rim of her wineglass. "You two are the talk of the city," Mor's red lips curved into a smile as Gwyn's face heated, as the shadows settled into her lap like comforting house cats. "It seems, the fearsome Shadowsinger and a darling Priestess are all the Court chatter."
Azriel reached for her hand under the table, running his calloused thumb over the back in soothing, tender strokes. He'd been extra gentle with her since she staggered out of the guest room, which was apparently her bedroom for the evening.
Gwyn really shouldn't be surprised by Mor's bluntness. Azriel had given her ample warning before she'd agreed to join.
'The Shadowsinger will take you home if you want to leave, Priestess,' his shadows restated, nuzzling her arm.
Gwyn firmly believed that from the bottom of her heart and was the only reason she stayed. Frankly, she was sore. Groggy and too tired to even let Az fly them home. So she'd agreed to dinner and to settle in for the night. Watching Azriel fumble through clarifying the sleeping arrangements was awfully charming and might have been worth the trauma that brought them to the house. Gwyn might have to thank Nesta later when she didn't feel like she was run over by Bryaxis.
Cassian snickered as Azriel sighed. "Yeah, Az," Cassian teased, his eyebrows waggling. "Everyone was talking about your fight and make out—I mean make-up—session."
"That's enough, Cassian," Nesta and Azriel chided at the same time, the first sending her mate a sidelong death glare, which had his mouth clamping shut on command.
"Well, it would be the first time the recent town gossip was about our dear Azriel—and not you two's foolish drunken antics," Rhysand pointed out, winking at Gwyn. The handsome High Lord only drove her blush to deepen.
Despite meeting them all before, Gwyn was still astonished at how accepting everyone was. She marveled at the easygoing, welcoming ambiance of the official Court residence. The High Lord and Lady truly created a cozy home for their child and their Inner Circle. Their family.
Conversation flowed as smoothly and readily as the wine went around the table. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Compared to how Nesta described her younger sister as warm and inviting, Elain was frigid and aloof, barely even acknowledging her and Azriel's existence. From the little Gwyn knew about the middle Archeron, it seemed odd. Completely out of character. Elain, however, didn't linger long.
During the delicious fig and bacon appetizers, as Gwyn answered questions between chews, Elain stood up, excusing herself before the main course, asserting, "My stomach is a bit unsettled. I'll be in my room." She retreated up the staircase without another word, and Gwyn could swear Azriel tensed beside her as his shadows swirled around his ears.
Sudden pain lanced her head on her battered side as if some beast dug fierce claws into her scalp. Azriel glanced at her, worry chilling those warm eyes of his, as he crushed her hand. She squeezed back in return, declaring to him she was fine in the gesture.
Feyre raised her glass with a smile on her lovely face. "Well, we are all thrilled for you two. And it's not like any of us can say we hadn't had a public display of affection—or two."
"True. And when you two fuck," Amren mused, pointing between the High Lord and Lady. "Your orgasms sway buildings in the godsdamn city like we're built upon a fault line." Cassian roared so hard he almost toppled over in his chair. "You should be the last to laugh, Cassian. I can hear you coming practically to Adriata."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Amren."
The small, black-haired female snorted. "You would, boy."
Gwyn's eyebrows shot up her forehead as Azriel gripped her palm tighter. Was that true? Was it true for all Illyrians to be so...loud...when they? She peeked at the winged male at her side. Az shook as he tried to hold back his amusement. Well, he'd warned her about vulgar, fun family dinners and she hadn't believed him. Another lesson learned. Gwyn's mouth curved into a wide smile.
"Still, I can't believe I had to find out from Sevinda, describing to me how you two put on quite a show on the side of the building," Mor squealed, tossing back her wine in a swig. "Well before your shadows obviously drew the curtain. But I'm surprised by you, Az. Keeping this charming female from us and all to yourself. If I were dating her, I'd be showing her off."
"Funny coming from you, Mor. So when are you bringing Emerie to the family dinner?" Azriel casually took a sip of his wine while Mor swore, releasing the bottle she was pouring all over the table. Azriel kept his face dull, having successfully shifted the discussion to another couple. Thank the Mother.
"Always the brilliant strategist," Gwyn leaned over and whispered. He winked.