SUMMARY: Gwyn tells Azriel about her time in the Autumn Court. The two explore the Day Court and get into trouble. The Day Court receives a surprise visitor.
some small NSFW bits
Gwyn focused on the gold-plated tray lying before her. A sundry of rich fruits, cheeses, and cured meats. Left on the sideboard in the adjoining room to their suite. May Mother bless that poor, most likely scarred Day court soul who has made the delivery with a short memory.
The two of them certainly had not been quiet. Not in the bedroom or the bathing chamber. Or the time on the adjoining balcony, veiled under night and shadow and stars. Though, perhaps working for their High Lord had made them immune to such things. At least if the tales and rumors she'd heard from Nesta were true.
Yes, they had been… otherwise occupied. And Azriel had indeed kept her well occupied, making it his mission to counter her point. Well, in a way.
Despite it being the shadowsinger's birthday wish, she was the one who had reached oblivion. Nearly. Left a trembling and gasping mess, palms and flushed cheek pressed against the cool sunstone. And not a minute later, a soft pillow and bicep replaced the solid wall as she lowered down onto her side.
The arm beneath her had curled around her still heaving chest, drawing her against all the heat and hard muscle pressed in behind her. Fingers swept her hair away from off her face, slipping the tresses back until she could feel his breath whispering against her ear.
Those same fingers drifted lower, leaving shivers in their wake. Lower and lower, as Azriel said, "Gwyneth?" She couldn't speak, held her breath as those fingers tickled behind her knee. "Are you listening, Gwyneth?" She nodded furiously, and his answering low chuckle rumbled at her back, charged with confidence. "While I appreciate your earlier heartwarming sentiment, I disagree." She was too focused on the way his hands roamed to answer. Rendered incapable of speech.
His lips and words brushed over her skin as he said, "We agree on one thing. Before you, sex was meaningless. Means and ends." His cheek pressed against hers. "Everything has been different with you, Gwyn. Every single godsdamn moment with you has meant more." Gently squeezing her hand, he brought it to right above her breast. Over her heart. "I have used my body for many things. For war. For pain. For pleasure—but I never used this. Never until you."
Oh, Mother above, his words against her cheek. Then his mouth, open and wet, leaving a path of kisses down the column of her throat, his teeth dragging over the pulse. The seductive tease ended with a gentle kiss.
There was a snap and a rustling as his right wing spread and closed over them. Until they were surrounded, encased. Utterly just the two of them. In this mauve world of beauty and scars, only they existed. Then his hard thigh urged between hers and calloused fingers curled behind, around her knee. And her leg was hooked over his and his hips shifted forward.
Slowly, torturously so, he eased himself into her, his breath hitching with every small thrust. Gods. Her eyes fluttered shut. There was no keeping them open. Impossible. There was nothing to see, she could only feel everything—
"I love you, Gwyn." Those three words and his body filled her, moved her, over and over. Everything was a leisurely climb, a stroll. And when they finally reached the pinnacle, they didn't just fall. They jumped, hand in hand. He caught her. Held her through the plunge and resurface.
While exchanging breaths, kisses, and keening moans, still mostly liquid, she realized... Mother of the Cauldron, damn this obnoxious, stubborn, beautiful male. There was a difference. Not that she would ever, ever, not for any amount of gold marks. Not for all of Prythian would she ever admit such a thing.
So as he carried her into the bathing chamber and set them under the magical spray, and he'd thought he'd proven his point, against his lips she said, "I don't know about that. I think I need a reminder of the other example. For comparison's sake." Shuddering under the warm spray, he promised later. Later was all of five minutes. Only minutes until her palms were splayed on the wet stone bench, and his hand skimmed up her back. Kisses dotted her spine, following up to the nape. Her head wrenched back as he tangled his fist in her hair. Those same lips murmuring against her skin, reminding her, You know I love you, right? And when she'd given her answer, his dark reply was a dizzying, Good. And then her hands were slipping, clamoring. Clawing and she pushed back…
Gods, Mother save Gwyn if the mating frenzy was even more…
And bless her competitive, handsome, perfect male.
"Mmmm, Berdara." His arms hugged stronger around her and he nuzzled his nose into her neck. Gwyn swore she could feel a contented purr roll through him. "What are you thinking about in that wicked little mind of yours?"
From her seat in his lap—a lap which the shadowsinger had insisted she sit upon when they returned robed to their freshly made bed—Gwyn resumed her attention on the colorful, appetizing spread on the platter, lying smoothly, "Food. I'm starving."
After popping a grape into her mouth, Gwyn offered a small carrot over her shoulder—and then immediately pulled back, shrieking as she dropped the offending vegetable as if it had burned her.
"Berdara? You all right?"
"I-I almost fed you. We're waiting on the bond, remember?"
His smile brushed a kiss on her temple. "I don't think that's how it works, love. My understanding is there has to be a will. The intent in the presentation of food to your mate. Otherwise, I would assume there would be a lot of unintended matings. "
"Regardless, better safe than accidentally mated." She slid the platter over the blanket until it was easily reachable for both of them, adding, "This food is in no way an acceptance."
With a snort, his dipped chin touched her shoulder. "Noted."
Gwyn snagged the chunk of marbled cheese she was eyeing and continued with the conversation they started before her mind had wandered into far more salacious territories. "Oh!" She swallowed. Then wiped her mouth and hands on the ivory cloth napkin left with the food. "I met and made friends with Eris's smokehounds."
"I'm, unfortunately, well acquainted with Eris's prized mutts," he grumbled, his indecisive fingers hovering over the fruit before moving to select a cube of white cheese.
"So I've heard," she teased, sensing his eye roll. With his arms still banded around her, she twisted enough to give him the evil eye. "And mutts?! How dare you? They are the sweetest pups."
And Gwyn missed one in particular. Her own canine shadow.
Azriel's sigh was deep and dramatic against her cheek. "I'm not surprised you find some of the most feared creatures sweet."
She peered over her shoulder, tapping his nose, smiling. "Well, I fell in love with you, didn't I?" He nipped playfully at her finger. "Still hungry?" she asked with a smirk, jerking her chin to the platter.
"Not for food," he admitted, moving the robe's neckline aside to trail kisses over her collarbone. His broad, calloused hands splayed beneath the fabric, over her smooth stomach, pressing her back against him. Kiss by kiss, Gwyn felt him harden under her backside. "But I think we need to leave this room."
"Mmm… And why would we want to do that?"
"Menace," he hissed, face slipping into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. "A break. Some fresh air. Stretch our legs."
After planting a firm kiss on her cheek, he pulled away. She whined pitifully, like a smokehound begging for scraps. Only, unlike one particularly spoiled canine back in the Autumn Court, Gwyn did not get her way. Too-swift hands lifted her off his lap and onto the bed.
Lips pulled in an intentional pout, she watched the shadowsinger stride over to the pile of clean clothes, wings and shadows swishing. Sculpted to perfection, his shoulders and back. The first parts of him she'd really taken notice of when her eyes couldn't help but find him during those early days across the training ring. Briefly stealing glances when he wasn't looking. Especially after they worked together in their private sessions. One had to be dead not to admire the strength.
The towel he'd slung around his waist after the wash obscenely low, the vee of his hips mocking her. What were those delicious indents often referred to?
Ah, yes, Gerona's belt—or Calar's saddle. Very fitting.
The thought crossed her mind again as she watched every rippling muscle on Azriel's tattooed torso, his arms, his legs, as he returned with his light fabric burden. So easily divested with just a tiny flick of her wrist. A single wrench and that loathsome fabric would be… May the Mother help her because the only god she wanted to kneel before was the winged male strutting forward.
"My eyes are up here, Berdara," he teased, just as he had the very first time they'd been intimate.
Instead of furiously blushing, as she had so long ago, she propped her chin on a fist, gawked openly, and returned, "I know."
Fabric hit her face. She sputtered as the deep teal fabric he'd tossed landed in her lap. Sighing, Gwyn picked up the fabric, unfurling the flowing, loose material until it was its full length, the straps so long they coiled upon the floor.
"Pretty."
She lifted her head to the deep, smooth voice to find him staring and smiling. "Yes, the dress is very pretty."
"I wasn't speaking about the dress."
Her brow arched, and that smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. He winked. "If you would indeed prefer to leave this room, Shadowsinger, then we cannot be saying things like that." She stood and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. The breeze off the balcony and renewed lust prickled her skin.
"Is that so?" Azriel chuckled darkly. He dropped his bundle of clothes. Then yanked his towel.
"Berdara." His tone was a clipped warning as his head scanned the entrance and back to her.
"I take it you," Gwyn gasped with exertion as she climbed up, her fingers reaching for the next rung above. "Were the one to err on the side of caution among your brothers when you were young and adventuring? The voice of reason?"
Azriel scoffed. Of course he was. Knowing Cassian, did she even need to ask? Was it not a clue that the nearly five-hundred-year-old male still needed a chaperone two years ago?
She chuckled softly at his non-answer, moving higher and higher into the tower. Yes, perhaps he had been a cautious child. But that was only because he knew they often hid dangers right below the surface. Behind carefully crafted veneers of safety and civility.
Which was why, even in this tower high above, only accessible by flight or winnowing, he kept glancing at the massive doors to his left. And why every fresh whiff of hay and soft chuff had him on edge.
'Safe. No one is coming,' his shadows murmured, their tone suggesting they found the entire situation amusing.
'No one is coming yet,' he amended, knowing that their time was slipping away with every ray of light gained over the horizon. After all, this place was particularly off-limits to those without an invitation. But when Gwyn asked, her eyes and smile large and bright, how could he refuse?
'Never. You are hers as we are yours.'
'We will never let harm come to our Valkyrie. Our mate.'
So, with the shadows promising to stay on guard, he relented.
Azriel was unsure of what surprised him most that day. His beautiful, often brave-to-a-fault mate, balanced precariously near the top of a nearly twenty-foot tall iron gate. Ripe apple in hand, currently attempting to lure Helion's infamous prized stallion across his pen. Or that on their dark early morning flight over to the tall tower holding the winged creatures Gwyn wanted to see so badly, she'd casually mentioned, Oh, and then Eris escorted me to a pleasure house.
He'd nearly fucking dropped her. There was a split second where he did, his grip loosening just enough, the shadows forming under her like an onyx net. But by some great miracle, he swooped her up before she'd experienced freefall. If Gwyn noticed his slip, she didn't show it. The copper-headed beauty was too busy snorting with laughter, the freckles crinkling on her nose.
"What was that about?" she'd asked between giggles, arms still circling his neck.
"Apologies. I just… I could have sworn you said pleasure house and—"
"That's exactly what I said, Shadowsinger. Eris escorted me to a pleasure house." He remained silent as she went on. "Oh, I met this gorgeous, wonderful female. Aurelia. And she was kind and intelligent and brave. Strong-willed and witty. You should have seen the way she sassed Eris around… What's wrong?"
"I'm… Did you go there… of your own volition? He didn't pressure you?"
"Well, he didn't exactly explain our destination, only that we were venturing into a village for—"
He couldn't stop the curt, furious snarl that ripped from his throat, or how he felt and heard her heart jump. She slipped a hand to rest upon his chest, over the thunderous rhythm pounding inside. His eyes were hard, and his fingers were digging into her flesh.
"Az, are you mad at me?"
"No." He exhaled deeply. "Not at you."
"Well, then why—" The realization hit her like a surprise punch. She shook her head violently back and forth. "Wait. Do you think Eris and I…" His rasping, deep growl was answer enough.
Cackles erupted from her quaking body. Azriel blinked down inquisitively. "Oh, Shadowsinger," she started, patting him on the shoulder. "Allow me to explain why all your worries are completely unfounded."
Even as she explained everything as they had flown over the city, the fae lights still flickering below as the sky lightened and she urged him to go to the tower before the dawn broke. He couldn't believe it. Perhaps more like he didn't want to believe.
To believe that Gwyn, his Gwyn, was related to his oldest enemy.
'Our Valkyrie is not the enemy,' his shadows reminded him.
"I know that.' He knew that with all his heart.
Yet still, the shadowsinger could not stop himself from examining her features, craning his face toward the female still hanging onto the gate in her dress. Her eyes were all nymph, large, and tinted like lapping waves. But… the hue of her hair and those freckles. The shape of her nose. The way her lip curled when she was being cunning. Another attribute perhaps…
No. No. Later. Instead, his eyes focused on the satin slippers with no grip on the rung, waiting, ready to catch her if she slipped. Which was inevitable.
"Relax," she called down, grinning as she made it to where she wanted. "I'm a rather proficient tree-climber. And thank you for keeping your promise and not trying to stop me when I feel the need to do something."
He scrubbed his hands over his face. "This wasn't what I meant."
"Well, then you should have chosen your words more carefully." She stuck out her tongue.
He smiled up at her crookedly. "You're a pain in my ass, Berdara. Just be careful."
"I'm not worried, Shadowsinger. You'll catch me if I fall."
He always would.
The mighty black-winged stallion stomped his front hoof on the dirt floor and neighed. She merely stuck her hand with the enticing fruit in further. Shaking out his mane and snorting, turning briefly to the stall next to him housing his sleeping mate, he shifted closer.
"That's it. Yes, this juicy, delicious apple is for you, good boy."
Good boy? Azriel bristled at the sentiment. The good boy walked over to where the Valkyrie was perched. "Gwyn, if that beast bites you, it's your own damn fault."
"It's all right," Gwyn whispered, her voice musical and gentle, welcoming. "I'm a friend. You really are as handsome as they claim." She climbed a lower, where the gap in the iron rungs of the gate was widest.
Wings flapped, the breeze from takeoff blowing back the copper tresses that had escaped Gwyn's braid. His breath stilled as the barely tamed beast inched closer, his massive head bobbing in time to his gait.
Azriel's arm reached up to her on instinct. "If you slip—" 'If she slips, we will catch her—winnow her to safety."
"If I slip, you and your shadows will catch me and winnow me to safety," she said, repeating the shadows' vow nearly verbatim, not taking her wide eyes and smile off of the majestic creature now mere feet from her.
Azriel eyed his shadows, who at least had the decency to move back. They swept up and around Gwyn, hiding behind her shoulder. Traitorous wispy beasts.
"Oh, don't be angry with them. They aren't being sneaky, revealing any deep secret. Besides, I believe I know all of those now. I can only hear them when necessary, I think." She paused, frozen, watching as Meallan sniffed the treat. "I'll admit it's still strange. Perhaps it's the bond that allows me… somehow?" She shrugged, and he started.
Arms crossed over his chest as he kept his gaze firmly on her, Azriel nodded in thought. His shadows hummed in confirmation. Yes, of course, the bond. That's the only thing that made sense.
'We tried to tell you, Shadowsinger.' A few deigned to swoop down toward him, nudging his hand like a scolded dog looking for a redemption pet.
His lips twitched. 'Was that what all that your hearts sing the same song gibberish was about then?'
They didn't answer. In a blink, they were once again positioned by Gwyn just as the massive stallion flapped his wings lazily, hovering, nibbling bites of the apple from her open palm.
"Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Az! Az! Are you seeing this?" Her fingers bravely reached out to stroke the ends of his mane, and she gasped. "His hair is so silky." The pegasus nickered, nuzzling into her palm as he finished the fare. A muscle in Az's jaw twitched. "You are a handsome boy, aren't you?" Meallan spread those night-black feathered wings wide. "Yes. I see. What pretty wings you have!"
And for the second time in his life, the shadowsinger found himself jealous of a damn pegasus.
Azriel couldn't fucking help it. Couldn't stop it. Not as Gwyn's speckled fingers carded through the winged horse's locks. The smile in her voice complimented the male pegasus. Illyrian wings snapped open. Spread as far as they would, stretching until there was a burn on the spines between the leatherlike membrane.
The wrong thing to do in front of a barely broken pegasus. Meallan didn't see jealousy in the display—he saw a threat. A presenting challenge. One a single stall away from his own slumbering mate.
Shit.
Visible snorts swirled about like smoke, coming hard and fast out of Meallan's snout. He reared back, blowing and snorting. And all the while, Gwyn still hung there. Her hand was still on the other side of the barrier.
Hoofs pounded on the iron, shaking the entire gate from floor to ceiling. Over and over. Azriel leaped up, his wings opening and flapping once at the same time he saw Gwyn's fingers loosen and her feet slip. She squealed and with one more wingbeat; he had her and landed them on the stone ground.
Knee still braced on the floor as he looked her over, cradling her to his chest. Made sure she still had a damn hand and all her fingers. Her cheeks were rosy, and she beamed, panting out, "That was amazing."
Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before helping her to her feet. While she straightened her deep teal dress, making sure the long ties wrapped around her waist and around her neck were secure, he cradled her face between his hands. "Never a dull moment. What am I going to do with you, Gwyn?"
She pressed her lips into his palm, then took his hand as he led them toward the main door. "I can think of a great number of things. But I suspect, between the two of us? Life will be an adventure."
"So, you just carry this around with you? All the time?" Gwyn said, spinning the blindfold on one finger. Azriel tipped his head back to the sky as if he were pleading with the Mother for an end to this conversation.
She bet he was regretting putting his jacket over her shoulders when she'd said she was cold. Even in this court, Autumn was making itself known, the wind nipping at her skin. Even though the battle leathers were cut and dirty, Azriel had chosen to wear them over what had been left at their door before they left. In his words there was, No way in hell I'm putting my ass into Day Court attire. Pity.
But then again, had he chosen to show off his legs, she wouldn't have had the warmth of his jacket. Nor would she have found the little secret when she was rootling around in the inner pockets. One that may indeed come in handy. And she was already plotting how to pilfer it for other things beyond spycraft.
"Well, how nice of my esteemed guests to finally deign us with their appearance," a deep voice boomed as they climbed the last step onto the Day Court palace's main terrace.
Gwyn's eyes went wholly wide as she saw Helion, High Lord of the Day Court, standing on the far side. Dressed in a white chiton with gold trim, his dark brown skin and black hair were like the darkest night against the day. An utterly beautiful contrast. Gilded cuffs coiled around his well-muscled biceps. The sun crown glowed in the sunlight, reflecting gold on the sunstone balcony.
His posture was regal-mannered. Well, except for the grin on his face. The hand on the lower back of the female beside him.
Jora, the former Lady of Autumn, stood beside Helion, hands clasped in front of the cinched waist of her sleeveless two-toned gown. Rich sapphire and amethyst, the gems on the silver bangles around her wrists, matching perfectly. The colors, the draped neckline, emphasized her porcelain skin and fiery eyes and hair. And her freckles—the same she had caked under makeup for so many years—were fully on display.
Jora smiled and the rust specks on her nose crinkled. Happiness shone like a thousand suns in that smile. And Gwyn knew that feeling all too well.
The Valkyrie strode forward. Within two steps, she noticed another silhouette step into the light. His tied back auburn hair glinting like embers, the golden branches circled upon his noble brow. The dark cranberry and gold embroidered suit said High Lord, but the weapon belted at his waist and brown leather doublet said he fought to get there.
Eris Vanserra, the newly proclaimed High Lord of the Autumn Court, stood to the right of his mother and the High Lord of Day. And as soon as the shadows and Azriel saw the male, they bristled. Azriel's hand came to her lower back, his other on Truth-Teller. And if she didn't think she noticed him flare his wings again, then he was wrong. Illyrian baby.
"Az, it's all right," she whispered, reaching down to squeeze his hand. He squeezed back.
Then she took a step forward to the trio.
Helion's eyes darted from her face to her hand, a smirk overcoming his handsome features. "A blindfold. Now I'm curious."
"I'm not," Eris grumbled, his lips a thin, pale line.
"No, please tell me. Perhaps this is the reason you two were holed up in my home like thieves."
"Helion," Jora said, her voice a soft warning.
"Perhaps that is the reason for the past three days without so much as a thank you to your gracious host."
There was a light thwack! Jora stared up at the High Lord as he rubbed his arm. Those russet eyes narrowed. "Oh, leave them alone, Helion. As if we were any better!" she whispered.
"No, I suppose we were not, Jory." He bent down to kiss her cheek, which blushed as he rose back to his full height.
Not unlike what Azriel had done minutes before, Eris looked skyward for help from the gods. "May the Mother kill me. Can we just get on with it?"
"Get on with what?" Gwyn asked as Jora took her hands and pulled her in for a hug. Wrapping her arms around the one she truly would consider blood, she asked softly, "Are you all right?"
"I'm more than, Gwyn." She paused, embracing her a little tighter, and Gwyn burrowed her cheek into her shoulder, still scented like spice and woods even in this new court. "I have my power back."
Hands still on Jora's shoulders, Gwyn pulled back, vision blurred. "Truly?"
"Yes," Helion answered, his hand still where it had been before. "It's fully returned. Though, it will take some practice. But my mate and I have been putting it to good use."
As Eris loosed a groan of prolonged suffering, Azriel snorted.
"Wait, Jora is your…?"
"Oh, for Cauldron's sake. Yes, my mother is his mate. It's a whole sordid tale," Eris spat, running a hand over his jaw. "Now, if I may continue with what I came here for before I was so rudely interrupted."
Whatever Helion muttered under his breath had Jora scowling, elbowing him in the side — It was as if being close to him, her mate's light sparking the dried kindling inside her, stoking her flames. Jora had once again found her fire.
From the indiscernible softness in her eldest son's eyes, seeing his mother strong and healing hadn't left him nearly as unaffected as he tried to appear. He stepped forward, and Azriel answered, the wall of his chest pressing against her back.
Eris rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his mother. "We have made everything official. Those who were loyal to Beron were taken care of. I'm working on an official proclamation to have you absolved and permitted back—"
"While appreciated, my son, I do not wish to return to that court."
"But Mother—" Eris's statement was cut short by her raised hand.
"No. That court turned a blind eye to my existence for centuries. I will not be missed. It has not been my home for a long while." She peered up at Helion, her auburn brows furrowed. "My home is here now."
"Jory, your sons." Helion's amber eyes pointedly met Gwyn's before he went on, "Your family, are welcome here. You will not have to live without any of them. I promise you."
With her mate's lips still kissing away the frown lines, Jora nodded. "And your brothers, Eris? How are they faring?"
The Vanserra brothers survived and had proven their fealty to the eldest of them. And Eris's shrewd bargain prevented them from killing him in the future. Smart male. Brom had officially taken the role as General of Autumn's forces. As a gesture of goodwill, Asher was on his way to allied courts as an emissary. An arduous task. Assuming the rifts caused by Beron could be repaired, it would no doubt take years.
"And Soren?"
"He told me to send his sincere regrets that you could not attend his wedding. After everything that evening." Eris paused, his eyes falling to Gwyn. "We tracked Aurelia down to the dungeons. The ones where he." He jerked his chin to Azriel. "Was held captive. Auri was a little bruised and bloodied, but alive. At first light the next day, Soren and Aurelia ran off and eloped. All is well."
Gwyn could barely contain her delight at the news. She hadn't known either of them long, but knowing that they had risked so much to be together? Good on them. They deserved a future together. They all did.
The flinty, newly exalted High Lord of Autumn was no exception.
Eris reached inside his jacket, withdrawing something from beneath the fabric. And when Gwyn's eyes beheld what was in his outstretched hands, she gasped. Taking the irreplaceable folded parchment and the hilt of the dagger, the cobalt stone on the pommel cold against her palm.
"The parchment was found in your former chambers. The knife in the dungeons in the search for Aurelia." He didn't elaborate on the fact that it had been embedded in the back of one of his father's soldiers when found. No doubt for his mother's sake.
She clutched the items to her chest. These precious things she'd figured lost that Eris had thought to return without prompting. As if he knew she'd…
Surprise widened those amber eyes as Gwyn flew forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. He was a statue, stiff as stone. Ice. As if thawing, a single arm patted her back gently if awkwardly.
When she stepped back, she felt Azriel at her side in an instant, his own hazel eyes large and darting between them, as if he too couldn't believe either of their reactions.
"Thank you," Gwyn said. "And I'm sorry for just jumping on you."
Eris simply cleared his throat and dipped his chin. "Speaking of jumping, I have something else for you." He whistled a familiar command. Gwyn turned her head, not holding out hope. But there, materializing from the morning mist, came a familiar patter of paws and clatter of nails on the stone.
"Bark?"
The gray and white, brindle hound ran for her, knocking her over with a leap. Laugh after sputtered laugh rose out of her as a long pink tongue licked her face.
"All right, all right, I missed you, too, pup," she giggled, pushing the smokehound off of her chest. Confused, hazel eyes and shifting shadows from above looked down at her. "That's Bark. Eris's smokehound I was telling you about."
"Not mine. Not anymore," Eris chimed in. "Now, he is your problem."
"What?" both she and Azriel asked at the same time.
"You have rendered him completely useless, Gwyn. Unreliable. No longer listens to my commands. Begs for treats. All he's done for three days is sit in front of your chambers, pawing, and whining. He's lost his edge and is no longer of use." His gaze flicked up to the Illyrian warrior above her. "Consider it a gift for service to your court."
"No, Gwyn, absolutely fucking not. We are not bringing a godsdamn smokehound—"
"Bark," Eris commanded attention, the name sounding foreign on the High Lord's tongue. Despite his claim, the smokehound sat at his feet, tail thumping. "To the Night Court." And with a happy yip, the hound vanished with the surrounding vapor and salt of the sea below. Like a specter on the wind.
Azriel's face was indifferent as he offered a hand to help Gwyn to her feet. Though she knew he was fighting to sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose. But he had to keep his visage in front of Eris. Now maybe for additional reasons.
A familiar palm, warm and wide, pressed into her lower back, the shadowsinger's chest brushing her shoulder. A silent, we'll discuss this later, in the motion.
"Any more surprises?" Azriel's voice said he hoped not.
They all turned to the sound of swirling winds and crackling logs. A traveling, tight maelstrom, diminishing to reveal wide, unbelieving eyes. Tired eyes. Untrusting eyes. One gold and whirring. The other gleaming russet.
Disheveled from head to toe, Lucien Vanserra took a tentative step forward. "I had to see for myself."
Gwyn's attention went back to Jora, her trembling hand over her mouth, tears rolling and rolling down her freckled cheeks. Her voice was a rasp with his name. "Lucien?"
Her youngest son's throat bobbed on a hard swallow. Then another. "Mother?"
Then it was as if no time had passed, a loving, adoring son running into the arms of his mother. Apart for so long. Weeping, they clung to each other and fell to their knees. Lucien rocked her as he whispered into her hair, his large hand cradling the back of her head. "I know. I know, Mother."
Gwyn couldn't squelch her own tears watching the reunion. Azriel's palm on her rubbed soothing circles into her. Eris merely looked on, no emotion on his face.
Helion thumbed away a tear, his eyes darting back and forth between his mate and her youngest son. With a final shake of his head, he nodded to Eris, who bobbed his head in answer. Turning his attention back to his guests, the High Lord of Day suggested, "Let's give them some privacy. Come, let me take you officially around the Day Court." He said, leading them down the stairs. "Gwyn, I hear you're quite the scholar. Perhaps you would be interested in our vast libraries."
But even as Helion spoke, gesturing toward the court beyond, Gwyn couldn't help but notice the subtle glances over his broad shoulder—back to Jora and her sons.