"I am going to murder your Spymaster," I hissed down the bond as I settled into bed for the evening.

Rhys's reply was a few minutes delayed, but laced with amusement when it came. "Technically, Feyre darling, he is our Spymaster."

"Semantics," I shot back. "I'm still going to kill him."

"And what has Azriel done to earn such a punishment?" Rhys drawled, genuine concern now tingeing his voice.

"He won't stop smirking at me," I complained.

I could practically see my mate rolling his eyes. "That seems like a harsh sentence for a crime I'm not sure has been committed, my love. You're becoming quite the tyrant."

I gritted my teeth at his words. "Well either I'm going to kill him or I'm going to fuck him, and I didn't think you would like option two," I shot back.

I felt his possessive snarl at my words, and heard the strain in his tone as he responded. "And why, Feyre darling," he growled, "are those the only two options?"

"Because," I snapped, "that bastard is taunting me."

Azriel and I had continued my flying lessons even after the war, and since I was now pretty good at flying myself around, he had decided it was time to add weaponry to the mix. The additional weight kept throwing off my landings, sending me careening into trees, rocks, and even the shadowsinger himself. His quick reflexes had saved my nose from being broken multiple times, but every time those strong yet gentle hands caught me I was reminded of that evening a few weeks ago when Rhys and I had invited him back to our bed. I couldn't shake the feeling of those hands elsewhere, and with my mate gone for more than a week already to visit the Illyrian camps and check in with Cassian, I was already on edge. So it was no surprise that I felt a sharp spike of arousal at his touch, platonic though it may be. And he, of course, could smell it on me, and never failed to give me a smug, insufferable, purely male grin.

I told Rhys as much, and felt the caress of his own desire through the bond, even as his voice became light and teasing. "You were the one who suggested he join us in the first place," he reminded me with a chuckle.

"Well I didn't hear you complaining," I shot back. "Especially when his hands were on your wings."

That earned me another low growl, and I grinned as I shot him an image - of his head thrown back in ecstasy beneath me with one of Azriel's scarred hands reaching around to run down the membrane of his wing. This time I couldn't tell which of us the stab of desire came from.

"Feyre, darling, you are utterly wicked," Rhys purred.

"When are you coming home?" I asked, accompanying my question with the burning need currently raging through my body.

"It… will probably be another week," he said with a sigh. "I still have 3 camps to visit. In fact, I am leaving tomorrow to go to the next one."

"What the hell am I supposed to do for another whole week?" I demanded.

Rhys went silent for a moment, then slowly, as though the words pained him to even think, he responded, "Well, I suppose you could do Azriel." I froze, stunned, as he continued, "However, I would request that you include me if you do." He must have sensed my confusion, because he added, "Mentally, of course. I want to experience it with you." He paused again. "I think I might rip out his throat otherwise."

I was still shocked by this concession, but managed to force my brain into coherent speech. "Are - are you sure, Rhys?" I asked. "I was mostly teasing."

"Your pleasure is no joking matter," he replied with mock-seriousness. Then, with a sensual laugh that sent heat pooling to my core, he added "I admit that I wouldn't mind if you made him beg."

I felt my lips curl up into a feral grin of my own at the thought of what it might take for the battle-hardened warrior to plead for anything, and Rhys's answering delight erased any lingering doubts. "I love you," I told him. "Only you, Rhys."

"And I love you, Feyre darling," he said. "Do try not to wreck him too thoroughly, will you?" he quipped. "After all, we do actually still need a Spymaster."

"No promises," I retorted, closing my eyes and sinking into the soft pillows behind me. I felt his caress down the bond, gentle and sweet, and murmured a "Goodnight," before I drifted off to sleep.

The next two days were busy, between running both our Court and art classes at the studio, but on the third I sent word to Azriel to see if he was available for another flying lesson. His reply came at lunch - he was in a meeting and would come to the river house in a couple of hours when he was finished. I couldn't help the grin that crept up my face as I read his note, even with Elain and Lucien staring at me across the table.

"Good news?" Lucien asked, one eyebrow raised.

I flicked my eyes in his direction before folding the paper in my hands. "I'm going flying this afternoon," I told him, trying desperately to keep a blush from my face. I gave him a smile, trying to focus only on the joy of feeling the wind beneath my wings as I soared through the air.

He still looked slightly suspicious, but thankfully Elain cut in. "Is it really so different flying yourself rather than being carried?" She, of course, had flown several times with Azriel, and hadn't seemed to particularly care for it.

"Yes," I replied honestly. "I can't explain it, but the feeling of weightlessness, of freedom, just doesn't compare. Regardless of how beautiful the male carrying you might be," I added with a wink, and was pleased to see both my sister and her mate flush. I smothered my satisfaction at their reactions, knowing they'd make a point to avoid the shadowsinger when he arrived. "And what will you two be up to this afternoon?"

To my surprise, Elain blushed harder, although Lucien recovered himself enough to answer. "Elain invited me to accompany her to a concert," he said. He pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it. "In fact, we need to get going if we want to be there in time for the opening. Are you ready to go, Elain?"

My sister pushed back from the table and murmured something about needing to grab her cloak. Although the day was warm, she had always been the fragile one of our family, and any temperature less than "sweltering hot" had her reaching for something warm to wear. I watched Lucien as his eyes followed her out of the room, and raised my eyebrows at him when he turned back to face me. He shot me a dirty look before rising and sweeping from the room himself, and I grinned at his retreating back. It seemed as though the "diplomatic mission" Rhys assigned them a few weeks ago had certainly served its purpose.

I heard the front door close as I finally left the dining room to change into my flying leathers. Once dressed, I headed to my office, intent on answering a few letters, but had barely finished the first when I heard the door again. "Feyre?" came Azriel's call from the foyer, and I couldn't help the sudden jump of my pulse at his voice.

"In my office," I called back, setting aside the papers in front of me. I heard the tread of his heavy boots in the hallway and then he was in the doorway, his shadows swirling and hazel eyes soft as he gave me a small smile. I grinned back at him as I stood and stretched my back slightly. "You're earlier than I expected," I said by way of greeting.

He shrugged, crossing his arms. "Unfortunately, my spies had no new information for me today. Ready to go?"

I nodded and reached out a hand as I crossed the room. He enveloped it with his own when I was within reach, and I winnowed us to the lake shore where we had spent so much time together, practicing. When we arrived, I saw a small pile of swords, shields, and other assorted gear, and I groaned as I dropped his hand.

"I don't know why you're complaining," Azriel teased. "You're the one who wanted lessons. Now go do a few warm-up laps around the lake."

He strode for the pile so I summoned my wings, which I could now do with half a thought. As I launched skyward, I reached down along the bond toward Rhys, caressing his mental shields until I felt them open for me.

"Hello, Feyre, darling," he purred. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Are you busy right now?" I asked, shooting him an image of the lake below me and the lone winged figure standing beside it.

"As it happens I have until this evening before I am expected at my next meeting," he said smoothly, but I felt a sliver of arousal curl its way down the bond.

"Good," I replied. "That means I can make him suffer longer."

"You cruel, beautiful creature," he responded, wicked amusement in his voice.

I finished my second lap around the lake and came in for a landing, angling myself so I brushed Azriel's wing with my own as I dropped to the ground next to him. I saw him shudder slightly at the contact, and I sidled closer under the pretense of examining the weapons he had laid out in front of him.

"We'll start with the practice sword," he said. "I want you to try and unsheathe it without hitting your wings. Then we can try it in the air." He helped me buckle it on, the blunted blade angled directly down my spine. I felt each touch as though it was a brand on my skin, even through the leathers. I caught a hint of his usual smirk as he moved a few steps away, before he turned slightly to demonstrate the maneuver. With his wings slightly flared, he mimed reaching over his shoulder and grabbing the hilt of a sword, pulling it up and forward with exaggerated slowness as he tilted his head out of the way.

I copied his movements as I reached for my own weapon, and while I managed not to smack myself in either the head or wing, it took three yanks to pull the blade from its sheath completely. And when I tried to return it, I missed entirely and the blade clattered to the ground. I shot Azriel a look that dared him to laugh, but he merely came up behind me to place the blade once again down my back. I briefly felt the heat of his body, but then he stepped around me and said, "Again."

My second attempt was slightly more successful, but nowhere near the fluid grace I had seen the Illyrians use countless times. Azriel came to my side and wrapped his hand around mine, guiding me through the motion, adjusting my elbow into the correct position. I may have imagined it, but I swore his fingers lingered on mine for a heartbeat longer than absolutely necessary before he again took up a position a few feet away.

After a few more tries, I was smoothly drawing and sheathing my sword, and Azriel indicated that I should try it airborne. I launched myself into the sky, the shadowsinger right behind me, and he hovered nearby as I reached for the hilt. I was so focused on the motion of my arm that I didn't realize I pulled the blade free on an upswing, and clipped the edge of my wing. The surprise of the impact sent me tumbling head over heels, but before I could fall too far I was caught by a pair of strong arms. I looked into Azriel's face and snarled as his lips twisted, fighting back a smile.

"I know, I know," I groused, as my wings again supported my weight. Azriel just squeezed my elbows before letting go to dive and retrieve my sword, which I had dropped when I fell. My next attempt was slightly more successful, but I found it difficult to coordinate the various muscles in my shoulders and back and still hadn't mastered the motion when I called a halt ten minutes later.

"That last try was pretty good," Azriel offered as he landed silently beside me. I snorted and waved him off, rolling my shoulder to ease some of the tightness. "Really," he continued, "it takes years for Illyrians to master fighting and flying. For someone who has only had wings for a short time, you're making remarkable progress."

I was flattered by the compliment, so my voice was earnest as I replied, "Well, I've had a great teacher." Azriel ducked his head, but I caught the flush creeping up his high cheekbones and pleased expression on his face. He moved behind me to unstrap the sword from my back, and I dragged a finger along the tip of his wing as he passed. "Don't let it go to your head," I called over my shoulder. "The last thing I need is something else for you to be smug about."

Azriel pressed closer, brushing his body against my wings, and it was my turn to shiver when his fingertips grazed those thin membranes as he pulled the sword away. That insufferable smirk was back as he strutted over to the pile of weapons and tossed the sheathed blade onto it, then surveyed the rest as though deciding what to torment me with next.

I slid down the bond again and found Rhys waiting for me. "Would you like to watch me give your brother a heart attack?" I asked without preamble.

"Honestly, he needs a little more excitement in his life," Rhys answered with a chuckle, and I retreated back into my own mind, feeling him come with me.

I walked over to stand next to Azriel. "Shield next, or spear?" he asked without turning toward me.

I carefully reached two fingers out to run down the top edge of his wing, vanishing my own in the process. "I had something else in mind," I said, making my voice low and sultry.

Azriel whirled, grabbing my wrist, his eyes wide. "Feyre," he began in a warning tone.

"Azriel," I responded with a small, feral smile, running my other hand brazenly down his chest and stomach, stopping just below his navel. He grabbed my other wrist as well, looking around wildly as if to determine whether anyone else had seen, but we were the only two souls for miles.

When his gaze again met mine, I raised an eyebrow. "You know, you really shouldn't grab your High Lady," I teased, and he dropped my wrists as though scalded. I returned a light tough to his abdomen with both hands, brushing the very top of his waistband. His hands balled into fists at his sides as his breathing became faster and shallow, panic written across his features as he stared at me.

"I never thought I'd see Azriel so distressed by a beautiful female with her hands almost down his pants," Rhys chuckled into my mind, and my smile widened at his amusement.

"Feyre," Azriel started again as my fingertips continued their roaming, "What are you doing?"

"Come on, Azriel, did you think I was going to let you just smirk at me every time we're alone together?"

His swallow was audible, his muscled clenched so tightly he was trembling as he gasped out, "Rhys -"

"Oh, Rhys knows," I said, waving a hand dismissively. I cocked my head as though listening to something only I could hear. "In fact, he wants me to make you beg." I felt my mate's approval as Azriel gaped at me, and I fought back a laugh as I watched surprise, understanding, and desire battle for control of his face. "I'm inclined to agree," I continued. "Males look so pretty on their knees."

Azriel still seemed frozen in shock, so I slid my hands up his chest again and started unbuckling his leathers. The motion snapped him out of his trance and he did indeed drop to his knees, grabbing my hands with his own. "My Lady," he said seriously, "please accept my sincere apologies." A flicker of a smile crossed his face, and his tone lightened as he added, "How can I possibly make it up to you?"

I pretended to consider my answer as Rhys laughed again. "Well," I drawled, "for starters you can lose your clothing." I stepped back to lean against a tree as Azriel continued where I had left off, removing first his leather jacket and then the shirt underneath. I admired the view of his toned shoulders and back, his muscles shifting beneath his swirling tattoos as he bared his upper body.

"Honestly," I groused to Rhys, "it's not fair how many muscles you Illyrians have."

"I've never heard you complain about them before, Feyre darling," he replied smoothly. "Especially when they allow me to do things like this." He sent me an image, a memory: his strong arms holding me up against the wall of the cabin while he drove into me over and over, both of us slick with sweat.

Heat spread through my body, shooting between my legs as I turned my attention back to Azriel. He had sat on a nearby rock to remove his boots and socks, and was now pulling down his pants and underwear, his considerable length springing free. I gave him a long, appreciative look as he stalked back toward me, and he braced his hands on either side of my head as he stopped inches away. His wings flared slightly as he leaned down to bring his mouth close to my ear. "What can I do for you now, My Lady?" he whispered, his breath tickling the side of my face.

"I'm feeling a bit overdressed," I said breathlessly, all attempts at keeping my composure gone.

The lazy, male smile he gave me had my toes curling in my boots, but he said nothing else as his hands moved to my leathers, unbuckling the jacket and tossing it into the grass. His fingers hesitated at the hem of my undershirt, but a small nod from me had him pulling it over my head and placing it carefully on top of my jacket. He paused a moment to take in my naked torso, his pupils wide, and Rhys growled softly in satisfaction as he read the desire in Azriel's gaze.

"That's how every male should look at you, Feyre," he murmured as the shadowsinger knelt once again. He deftly untied my boots and slid them from my feet, and I wound my fingers into his soft, dark hair to keep my balance. I kept them there as his hands came at last to the waistband of my pants, where he made quick work of the ties and was then peeling them down my legs, taking my underwear with them. I stepped carefully out of the garments, which he tossed aside as well. His hands came to my hips as he looked up at me and raised his eyebrows in a silent request.

In response, I pulled his face to my neck, where he immediately began to press soft kisses. He brought one arm around my waist, while the fingertips on his other hand began tracing small patterns over my hip and stomach. As he touched me, Rhys wrapped his mind around mine and began a similar motion: light, stroking sensations that only heightened the feeling of Azriel's mouth and hands. I twisted my fingers more tightly into Azriel's hair as I pulled him down toward my breasts, and he wasted no time running his tongue over a peaked nipple. The hand not around my waist came up to brush over the other, and I let out a small, involuntary moan at the contact.

I let him keep a slow, teasing pace for a few minutes before tightening my grip and pulling his face even closer to me, indicating that he should increase the intensity. He responded by lightly closing his teeth around my breast, which sent a stab of desire straight to my core. Rhys increased the pressure of his mental hands as well, and I gasped at the renewed assault on my senses and allowed my head to fall back onto the tree behind me. I felt Azriel smile against my skin and drop his hand from my breast, running it down my abdomen and hips to linger at the junction of my hip and thigh.

"Touch me," I ordered, looking down at him, and hazel eyes met mine as he slowly ran a finger between my legs. "Come on, Az, I know you can do better than that," I teased, earning a near-silent snarl as that finger returned to slip into my slick folds. I threw my head back again as his thumb swept across the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, moaning as he circled it with slow, languid strokes. My knees almost buckled when he added another finger, and I was thankful for the support of his other arm still around my waist.

"As it turns out, Feyre darling," Rhys said conversationally, "I happen to know that Azriel is extremely sensitive at the base of his talons."

"Is that so?" I replied, and disengaged one of my hands from his hair to run it around the circular ridge of bone along the top of his wing. It was my turn to wear a wicked grin as I dragged a groan from the back of his throat, although I almost forgot what I was doing when he curled his fingers inside me. I tightened my grip experimentally, and was rewarded by a gasp that almost pulled me off-balance as Azriel threw his head back in pleasure. "It seems like you were correct," I told Rhys, and I felt his self-satisfied hum as I returned to a soft, teasing touch.

Azriel increased his efforts and I matched every thrust of his fingers with a stroke of his wing, until both of us were panting and desperate. I dropped my hand to his shoulder as I felt my release rising, and he whined, at the loss of contact. I was too close to care, and the next sweep of his thumb sent me over the edge, digging my fingers into the solid muscle beneath them to anchor me to reality. Rhys wrapped his mind around mine tightly, and I felt a wave of his own pleasure wash over me. Azriel kept thrusting slowly as I came down from my high, his other hand gripping my hip as tightly as I held his shoulder.

When I was once again capable of conscious thought, I smirked down at the shadowsinger still on his knees before me. His gaze was still clouded with lust as I tilted his head up, his mouth slightly open as he breathed heavily. "What do you think, Rhys," I asked. "Should I put him out of his misery?"

"Oh, I think he can do better than that," came his reply, evidently delighted to see his friend so undone.

Azriel made to withdraw his hand from between my legs, but I stopped him with an imperious look. "Again," I ordered, "but this time, use your mouth." He sank back onto his heels, unwrapping his arm from around my waist to coax one leg over his shoulder and kiss his way down my stomach to where his fingers still lingered. I grabbed onto the tree behind me for balance as his lips found the apex of my thighs, his tongue snaking out to continue the motion his thumb had been making just moments before. With my other hand, I resumed the light, teasing strokes along his wing and was rewarded with another groan and thrust of his fingers.

"I'm willing to bet he finishes before you do," Rhys commented casually. "Between your exquisite taste and lovely, cruel fingers, he doesn't really stand a chance."

"And you could outlast me?" I asked between moans of pleasure.

"Why don't we find out as soon as I get home, Feyre darling," he replied, and I shuddered at the sensual promise in his voice.

I relayed our silent conversation to Azriel, whose eyes gleamed with challenge as he redoubled his efforts with both tongue and fingers. I matched his intensity with my hand on his wing, daring to scratch lightly with my fingernails as I curled them around the base of his talon. He whimpered, and Rhys laughed in delight. "I didn't even know he was capable of making a sound like that," he mused. I didn't reply, too intent on drawing another delicious noise from the male before me, and Azriel's movements became desperate as he struggled to bring me to climax prior to reaching his own.

Before long, I was babbling a constant stream of "Yes," and "There," sprinkled with breathy moans as he pushed me over the brink a second time. Azriel let out a soft sob of relief as he immediately followed, spilling into the grass at my feet. He slumped forward, resting his forehead on my stomach as he at last withdrew his fingers and let my leg slide off his shoulder. I ran my hands soothingly through his hair as his breathing slowly returned to normal, leaning heavily on the tree behind me.

As the haze of pleasure began to wane, I noticed the rough bark at my back beginning to scrape uncomfortably at my sensitive skin. "Azriel," I began tentatively, "can we move?" He tilted his face up toward mine and I gestured at the tree. "This isn't the most comfortable place I've ever been."

He gave me a small smile, and in one quick movement was on his feet and sweeping me into his arms. I pressed a chaste kiss to his throat as he walked us into the lake to clean off the dirt, grass, and leaves we had accumulated. He gently set me down before wading to waist-deep water, and I unabashedly stared as he wiped himself down. "As much as I would like to watch you torment him some more, Feyre darling," Rhys said, "I do need to do a bit of planning before this evening's meeting."

"I think that's enough fun for now anyway," I replied, and I felt a last squeeze of his mind before he retreated back down the bond. I wiped down my own arms, back, and legs, and quickly dried off in the hot sun. I had pulled on my clothing and was reaching for my boots when warm, strong arms hauled me into the air once again. Azriel, still bare from the waist up, curled me into his chest and nuzzled my neck before pulling back and grinning widely.

"Do you accept my apology, My Lady?" he asked with mock sincerity.

I pretended to consider, running a finger over his tattoo as I hummed. "You know, if you keep manhandling me like this there will be more to apologize for," I teased.

He threw his head back and laughed, the joyful, unrestrained sound I rarely heard and treasured all the more for it. I giggled as well, and he set me gently on my feet before giving me a deep bow. "Please keep a list of all the infractions for which I need to atone," he said as he straightened, hazel eyes twinkling, before turning to finish dressing.

My cheeks burned as I sat to pull on my boots, and I resolved to sit as far from him as possible at dinner that evening in hopes of keeping a straight face when the others asked how our lesson went.