SUMMARY: Azriel and the bat boys hang out while some of the girls have lunch. Hilarity ensues. And then Azriel and Gwyn spend some quiet time reading together.

Warning: A couple of NSFW bits.

"How's darling Gwyn holding up?" Rhys asked, gently prodding the shadowsinger for updates.

Azriel sipped his liquor before responding. "She's... working on it."

But what other option was Gwyn left with? A choice under duress was not a choice. Either leave the priestesshood or take part in Fire Night—there was no other option.

Well, in the shadowsinger's opinion, there was one other one. Dismantle and overhaul the entire practice from fucking scratch, something his High Lord was acting on with both Tarquin and Kallias. Helion would surely join their cause if he'd left his chambers long enough to get him a message. Thesan would yield to the majority. Beron and Tamlin could go fuck themselves.

Gwyn had been subdued since the High Lord had dropped the truth at her feet a week before, but thankfully, not distant. They'd spent a lot of private time nestled together, she reading one of her romance books—if one could call a book ripe with explicit fucking romance —while he went over all the reports about Autumn, scouting for hints he may have missed. Calculating when their Court needed to make a decisive move or have Eris execute his own.

The silence bothered him deep down. Azriel was used to quietude his own life as the priestess was in the library. But, around him, and her chosen sisters, Gwyn had always been the one to talk and he... he missed her voice. Her keen observations and her irreverent commentary.

The shadowsinger wasn't sure what to do. What piece to move—a fact that ate at the ego of a master strategist.

'You are doing fine, Shadowsinger. She just needs you and her friends. Her family. Support.'

But was he? Kind of Azriel's shadows to say, but the need to do more pulsed inside him, demanding he help. To ease and comfort Gwyn's ever-churning mind as she claimed she would do for him. To share the weight of her burdens. But she wasn't speaking about any of that, at least not to him. And fuck, didn't that sting after all their talks trapped in the cave.

"I'm glad Gwyn agreed to join Feyre and Nesta for lunch," Az admitted, allowing his mask to slip.

A sharp squeal sounded down the corridor, followed by a hoot. "Fuck! I mean shit! Crap! Godsdammit, when did you get teeth, little man?" Cassian yelled.

"Should you go check on them?" Azriel asked, his shadows already on their way.

Rhysand's smirk turned downright feline. "No. I believe it was the General that insisted he is the one to get some nephew-uncle playtime, correct? Besides, it's great practice for Cass one day. Or the very best reminder to take a contraceptive tonic." The High Lord shrugged, lounging, flinging an arm over the back of the tufted dove gray sofa. "Either way, I'm not turning down a minute of not being vomited on and a stiff drink."

Azriel snorted and raised his glass in cheers from his perch on the armchair across the way. They reveled in the sounds of the roaring fire in the hearth and the boisterous giggles joining low chuckles from the playroom. Azriel's eyes squinted over Rhysand to the windows, noting the fallen golden leaves swirling in the chilly breeze. Temperatures were dropping, and they were in the thick of autumn.

Shit. Did Gwyn have her coat, he considered, trying to recall if she had worn one or a cloak as he winnowed them in shadows to the river estate.

'She did,' his shadows whispered. 'The lovely sleek dark grey one the Illyrian Valkyrie bought for her. The Priestess will be fine.'

But would she?

Azriel hoped Gwyn was enjoying her time out with the girls and having fun. As long as it was only Feyre and Nesta, anyway.

"Are they meeting anyone for lunch?" Azriel asked, treading lightly.

Rhys leaned back fully, tossing an arm over his eyes, his drink gripped over his chest. "Mor is off doing her courtly duties in the Hewn City and later off to visit Vivienne and spoil their daughter. Emerie is working but promised to attend the next luncheon. And... Elain moved into the townhouse after the wall incident. She insists on taking care of herself, and far be it from me to deny my sister-in-law that request. But." He took a drink. "Lucien has been more insistent that she leave this court."

Azriel took a sip of his own and waited patiently for Rhysand to continue. Even though Azriel had a past with Elain, he simply wanted her to be happy, and that her mate was troubled? No matter what the circumstances, that unsettled him.

Rhys's throat bobbed. "He claims the bond is taut, near vibrating, close to snapping, but Elain has yet to reject it." He sat up, leaning forward to prop his forearms on his knees, swirling his rock glass, fixating on the amber whirlpool. "And I'm trying to walk a very delicate balance between what to do and say because she's my mate's sister. But after what Elain did to you in the hallway, Az? I'd be lying to say I'm not worried about her mental state."

A delicate balance indeed. To be a mate and a father on top of the other courtly woes of being a High Lord? Any envy Azriel felt for his brother slipped that moment.

"I am as well," Azriel admitted. "She hasn't been acting like herself since the mating ceremony."

Rhysand sighed. "I'd like Lucien to speak with her, at least to obtain a better read, but Feyre is against it."

"Perhaps Elain should be the one to decide if she would like to speak with Lucien."

"I agree," Rhysand said, his eyes drifting shut as he was sitting. Gods, new babies had to be fucking exhausting. Rhys's shoulders slumped, and he jolted upright before he fell over, spilling his drink over his pants and the couch. With a roll of his violet eyes, Rhys set the glass down on a low table and cleaned up the mess with a swipe of his hand. "Nyx has been having some dreadful nights with teething and unfortunately for Feyre darling and myself, his favorite place to sleep is on us. Which means no sleep for the parents at all."

"So you giving him to Cassian was more of a tire that poor child out a strategy?" Azriel's lips quirked. "Well played, Rhys."

"A nap for either Nyx or Cassian. Both would be preferable." Rhysand's chuckle ended on a weighty sigh as he ran fingers over a day's worth of stubble. "That's why I suggested Feyre go out for lunch as well." His expression turned pensive and pained. "She's been a little melancholy lately, and I didn't want her to feel… trapped again. Never again."

"Uh, Rhysie," came a deep shout from the hallway. "We've got a problem."

Rhysand was on his feet instantly, and Azriel followed suit.

"What, Cass? Is he hurt?" Rhys asked, stepping between the couches and chairs to the grand foyer.

"Uh, not exactly." Cassian's booming voice ricocheted off the vaulted ceilings.

They both stopped in their tracks at the sight, and Azriel was helpless to hold back his amusement. Cassian was holding Nyx at arm's length, the little boy's short wings flapping happily against the back of his pale green footed sleeper—which now had a not pleasant smelling dark streak running from rear to the neckline.

Rhysand put his hands in his pocket and bit his lip, clearly pleased. "I see. And you didn't think changing him would be the remedy, Cass?"

Cassian gagged, his skin tone bordering on green. "Look, I've been on a battlefield after bodies have laid out in the sunlight for days and I've never in my entire fucking life smelled anything this bad." He halted, swinging his head to gag again as Nyx cackled. "What the absolute fuck do you feed this poor kid to make that?!"

"I'll make certain to tell Feyre she produces inferior food," Rhysand said with a crooked grin and a wink at Cassian's attempt to breathe through his mouth.

The General dry-heaved and Azriel's shadows were rolling in hysterics. "I tried to bribe Nuala and Cerridwen to take him and they did their whole creepy wraith disappearing thing and fucking laughed at me. I even think Cerridwen waved at me. But I don't think I can change him. I—" Another heave and Nyx was giggling, patting his pudgy hands. "Nope. I can't. I submit. You win, Nyx."

Rhysand laughed, striding forward to take his son in his hands, gripping him similarly to how Cassian did, but he was brave enough to plant a smooch on his son's chubby cheek.

"You hear that, my son. You've already bested the feared Lord of Bastards, the top general of the Illyrian forces." Rhys turned his attention back to Cassian. "To be clear, this is shit I'd much rather be dealing with than any Merrill, Beron, the Queens, Koschei, or any of the other shit in our lives right now. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up, Nyx."

As Rhysand winnowed with a belly-laughing Nyx up the stairs to the nursery, Cassian bent over, his hands on his knees, drawing in deep inhales.

Azriel stood, hands in his pockets, and waited for Cassian to…

"If you say one fucking thing about this to Nesta, I swear to the Mother, Azriel, I will end you."

"You are so fucking dramatic, Cass."

The High Lady of the Night Court was laughing so hard she kicked the table leg as she revealed the scene now taking place at the house, courtesy of Rhysand.

Nesta had her elbows on the table, shaking her head in her hands. "Seriously? The same Cassian who wishes to have a baby. This is the powerful Illyrian warrior whom the Cauldron paired as my equal. Gods spare me, what am I going to do with that male?"

Wiping happy tears from under her eyes as Feyre cracked a grin. She said, "You should have heard him, Nesta. Holding Nyx out and away like he was a cursed object." Another fit of breath-stealing hysterics took hold as Feyre used her arms and pulled faces to enact the scene as live theater, attracting curious glances from other diners. "Oh, my gods, I needed that."

"Well, you painted quite the mental picture, Feyre," Gwyn giggled, reaching to the middle of the cloth-covered table to the giant tray of assorted cured meats, fruit, nuts, and cheese.

She took a sip of her wine infused with bubbles. Something Nesta ordered for her since Gwyn was quite the novice with drinking, only imbibing at their sleepovers now and then. Whilst building a pyramid of cheese on her plate, Gwyn eyed the dessert cart as a worthy opponent when Sevenda rolled one by.

"Don't worry, sweetie, there's chocolate," Sevenda said as she passed, winking at Gwyn, whose blush matched the liquid in her glass.

Nesta lifted her head and smiled, reaching for a handful of candied pecans. "I keep forgetting this isn't your first time here."

Gwyn sipped and shook her head. "Azriel loves this place. We're here as often as he's in town. Sevenda now spoils me with desserts. Or I should say, a certain Illyrian male encourages her to spoil me with whatever I want. But we usually sit outside; this is the first time I have been inside the bistro."

"Well, I love you, Berdara, but I would not freeze my ass off sitting out on the veranda in the midst of autumn winds even for you," Nesta said before guzzling fizzing flavored water. "But I would never have known this is your first time in here until you mentioned it. You've come such a long way. Proud of you, Gwyn."

Gwyn noticed, though. The clanging, sizzling from the kitchen, and chatter of the diners generally intimidated her to the point of freezing up. But nearly six months after her first guided tour by a certain shadowsinger into the city, she sat without fear. And wasn't that amazing?

"We all are proud. Speaking of which, how are you doing, Gwyn?" Feyre asked, and she was still awed that Feyre Cursebreaker, Defender of The Rainbow, even wanted Gwyn in her very presence, let alone at her table.

"Gwyn," Nesta started, eyeing her blooded sister over her glass. "You don't have to talk—"

But Gwyn truly did. And she wanted to because… She exhaled.

"I've spoken with Clotho and though she's sad, she understands and respects my decision," Gwyn ran her finger around the wet lip of the glass until there was a low constant hum, one she could match pitch. "The girls are sad, particularly the Valkyries. But if I'm, to be sincere—I don't think they'll be there for long either. Not with the current state of things. Clotho informed me to take as long as I like and then she can offer research work even after I officially leave, which I'm considering but... Nesta has been helping me pack my things. Well, the few things I own, anyway."

Nesta's smile didn't reach her eyes as she reached across the table, resting her hand over hers. Their friendship bracelet charms clinked when knocked together.

"But the House already changed one of the guest rooms into Gwyn's," Nesta snorted. "I walked in and there were new white and teal linens and curtains. House already packed an enviable new bookcase full of books and a wardrobe with new clothes. Including an adorable pair of pegasus slippers that look like an actual pegasus, which I'm stealing. "

Gwyn glanced down at the cranberry light-knit sweater dress with long sleeves and chocolate knee-high boots the House had prepared as part of her new wardrobe. The new Gwyneth. It was just flowing enough to feel like her robes, and she was pleased to have something beyond her leathers to make her comfortable in her own skin. Unlike a spider spinning a delicate web, the change would not be overnight.

"I've been spending my suppers and evenings at the House trying to normalize a routine," Gwyn explained to her High Lady.

Lately, her evenings were spent reading, chatting, or playing cards with Azriel, Nesta, and Cassian, or any other combination therein; as Azriel was often called to duty, toiling long hours in his office. Gwyn found herself in her small dorm bed most nights, with Nesta walking her down the stairs, embracing her at the door to her room.

And then there were the nights Az would escort her, bestowing a tender kiss to her lips, wishing her goodnight.

And though his gesture was slow and considerate, the gentle touch left her burning. Making her strip off her clothes as soon as her door locked behind her. There was no need to read a steamy scene to become aroused. Not after months of being under the shadowsinger's deliberate, precise handling.

In the dim light of her room, she'd let her hands willingly rove over her body. Kneading her breasts. Stroking and sinking into her warm sex. Touching herself in the way Az had taught, his decadent rich voice always in her ear filling her with sinful promises. As always, Azriel's face and name were on her mind and her lips when she finally reached the pinnacle and tumbled over, leaving her a trembling, panting, smiling mess. Which was a shame when the shadowsinger with a perfect ass was only floors above, probably more than willing to help find her pleasure.

But things had been different since they'd returned from Sangravah and neither had taken the time to push anything farther physically. Truth was, Gwyn knew Azriel was giving her space since the news of Calanmai. Not that she could blame him. Though as much as Gwyn appreciated the thoughtfulness, she'd be lying to herself if she didn't say she was ready for more.

Because Gwyn was ready to try new things. So ready.

Everything since the cavern was more open, stronger, and yet felt more precious and oddly fragile. Like receiving priceless porcelain as a gift; too beautiful not to view and cherish. And yet you were nervous to touch for fear of it breaking. And she had the sinking suspicion Azriel was seeing her as said gift.

She thought this had to do with her choice to still sleep in the dorms at night. Azriel wanted Gwyn up in the House and had been outspoken on the matter. Thought it was safer, and she agreed...to a point. But his longing, anxious gaze before he'd bid her goodnight plucked at her heartstrings.

But there was one other thing tugging at her heart, making it difficult for Gwyn to leave the temple dorms.

"Usually before bed," Gwyn began once more as the two Archerons listened. "When the children stay, Ananke and I read to them and we sing a song before they go to bed." A song about destined love and the sea her mother used to lull Catrin and herself to sleep as children. "Then Roslin, Deidre, and Thea help tuck them in and bring in dim fae lights so the little ones are not in the dark." They hated the dark, and Gwyn feared her shoving them in the cellar was the root cause. "I appreciate that Clotho said I didn't have to leave everything but, I'll miss that."

Feyre met her stare, her blue eyes sharp yet glistening. "The children will be taken care of and will want for nothing. We promise, as does Clotho."

Gwyn offered a strained smile. "I know. It's just. Nesta, do you remember that little girl I sang with on Memorium night? Got in trouble with Merrill for spinning?" Gwyn twirled a finger for emphasis. Nesta nodded, folding her arms over the table. "Tulia. She was merely two at Sangravah and she's... shy. Even at her young age, she saw a lot and, out of all the kids, she's become attached to me. She's opened up so much recently and I'm just terrified of her regressing. They killed her mother that night and we do not know who the father is because she is a Rite child." And gods didn't that similarity eat away at her.

Feyre stepped into the conversation. "Tulia will be taken care of and you will have full access to those kids and the library. I don't care if I have to go down to the High Temple myself and make them yield. Understood?"

Gwyn gulped down the rest of her wine and nodded.

"This is the Court of dreamers, Gwyn. They will be allowed to dream, especially children." The High Lady shared a poignant look with the eldest Archeron, toying with her lower lip before she continued. "Do you think the children would care to attend one of my painting classes?"

Azriel had the first night off in a blessed while. Well, not entirely. Seated on the dark gray settee, he scoured through a stack of documents from Autumn and Rask, finding absolutely nothing of note. No Merrill or Koschei either. With a frustrated groan, his palm skimmed over Gwyn's bare knee, her legs tossed over his lap as she sprawled full-length, her eyes fully engrossed in her book. Though he thought it was charming that she thought using her hands to conceal what kind of work she was deeply engaged in.

They'd spoken when she'd come back from her lunch this afternoon, rosy-cheeked and happy, and that made his heart sing and his shadows dance. And what she was wearing? Cauldron, she looked adorable. The color of the dress reminded him of currants, bringing out her eyes and her hair, turning her into the embodiment of Autumn. All the sweetness and spice of a warm apple tart. One of his favorites. He was sure she tasted the same.

But then there were those fucking fuzzy pegasus slippers glaring with dead button eyes beyond her crossed ankles.

'We fear the priestess's feet, Shadowsinger.'

Smirking, Azriel shook his head, locating his place on the page. Per Eris, all was business as usual and peaceful in Autumn since the solstice festival. Good and ultimately not.

Gwyn's legs shifted over his thighs again for the fourth time. Not that he was counting.

'You are, but not well. It was the fifth,' his shadows countered.

He turned back to his papers, seeing Beron had hauled out people from Rask and Vallahan. He'd have to ask Eris what the fuck that was about. Nuala and Cerridwen were leaving on a mission tomorrow for—

Gwyn's thighs moved, and her scent changed.

Fuck him.

Reports. He had reports to go over...

Another change over his lap and now he felt tight in his skin. Though he'd changed into looser pants for the evening, the band of his undershorts pinned the head of his massive erection and had him adjusting as well. It always surprised him by how fast Gwyn could get him as hard as fucking granite.

Concentrate, his brain ordered. His eyes refocused on the page. Beron's men have been…

Another crinkle and flip and her lush scent was even heavier. He squeezed her knee. Being this close to her heat was too much.

Setting the pile of papers over her long, toned legs, Azriel focused his full attention on her. He cleared his throat. Gwyn didn't seem to notice as she turned another page.

Moving slowly, Az forced the book lower so he could see her face. When Gwyn's teal orbs met his, they went wide and a pretty flush spread under her freckles and down her throat.

"Care to share what you're reading with the class, Berdara?" He teased with a half-grin.

Her eyes narrowed. "It's a book, Shadowsinger. Why?"

"Well," he crooned. "It still has to be more entertaining than my reports."

"Most likely." She lifted the book, and he pushed it back down. Her brows drew together.

"And I'm just wondering what has you all hot and bothered."

She choked, shocked. "I am not…"

"You lie, Priestess, and I thought we promised to be honest."

She suddenly paled, marking her place in the book before shutting it, cradling over her chest. "Don't call me that."

He arched a questioning brow. "Why?"

"I'm not a priestess anymore," Gwyn answered with a hint of sorrow.

"I won't if you don't want you to, but I have to admit, I've grown fond of your nickname."

"Even if that's not who or what I am anymore?"

Azriel reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "Priestesses receive esteem and devotion. You are to get on your knees before them in reverence. In my mind, you're still all of those things and are my priestess, Berdara."

And Azriel would worship at the temple of Gwyneth anytime she demanded.

She rolled her eyes, but as the pink deepened the apples of her cheeks and her lips pursed, Azriel knew she found his evidence enough.

"So, what were you reading?" He went to reach for her book, but she swiped it and hit him in the arm, which he rubbed and feigned pain.

"You're such an Illyrian baby," she smirked and sighed, relenting. "The novel is the new Sellyn Drake."

Ah, yes, Azriel heard much about Sellyn Drake while residing under Nesta's roof. And from what Cassian extolled about the author's creativity, his brother gave a five-star review in the bedroom.

Only this was Gwyn reading these books, and the shadowsinger was curious as hell to find out what was so damn arousing. But he wouldn't ask or pressure her to know more. If Gwyn wanted to share, that was on her own…

"This is a friend-to-lovers story and a slow burn. In this…scene, the female and her love interest are at the stage in their relationship where they are becoming intimately acquainted. The pleasant twist here is she has more experience than the male. Which I appreciate because I am over the virgin trope." He listened to her rant over trope before she got back on track. "Anyway, this is the first time they were trying things together."

"Oh," Azriel said, massaging the back of her hand with his thumb. Gwyn moaned softly, her eyes fluttering shut. And he thought back to the first time she'd allowed herself to be intimate and vulnerable with him on his bed. And every time since.

"She was touching herself," Gwyn continued, her voice breathy. "So was he, in front of her. And later they touched one another." Gwyn opened her eyes, peering straight at him in what Az could swear was a challenge. "And I really want to try it."

Everything froze except for his twitching cock at her words.

"Yeah?" He met her intense stare, searching for signs, permission.

"Yes," she said, loud and clear.

Papers and books went flying as Azriel yanked on her legs, pulling her until her ass was cradled in his lap. Then he kissed the living shit out of her.

Obviously, you see what's ahead for the next chapter but there's so much more. Can't wait to get working on it!