Chapter 5 — Azriel / Feyre - A Court of Splintered Harmony

“Are you going away for a month or a year?” Cassian demanded from where he’d perched himself on the edge of Mor’s lavish bed. Azriel, standing at the window overlooking the grand front drive of the river house, didn’t laugh. Standing in here, in her space, so full of her scent . . . His heart lay heavy in his chest.

“Vallahan and Montesere,” Mor simpered behind the armful of dresses she hauled from her armoire over to the bed, “have very different climates, and very different clothing requirements for meals and functions.” She dumped the latest pile of clothes onto the bed and surveyed the mountain she’d created.

“Aren’t you just going to wear variations on that red getup?” Cassian asked, dangling a pale blue gown from his fingertips. “This one seems unnecessary.”

Az couldn’t help his slight smile. “Agreed,” he muttered.

“I like to have options,” Mor said, snatching the dress from Cassian’s hands. “Don’t crinkle it.”

“You’ve already bunched it into a heap,” Cassian shot back.

“Well, don’t make it worse.”

It had always been like this between them. Squabbling like siblings, endlessly teasing each other. It had once provided a steady, comforting background noise for Az—one that even his shadows seemed to enjoy—but so many things had changed lately. Perhaps too many.

Az found himself saying, “I thought you were only going to Vallahan. I’m about to send Nuala to Rask. And Cerridwen to Montesere.”

“I intend to be only in Vallahan,” Mor said, refolding her dress with expert care, “but if a situation arises and I need to go into Montesere, I want to be prepared. And I don’t want to lose time by coming back here for an entirely new wardrobe.”

Fair enough. But for Mor to take all this on her shoulders, even with her considerable power and talents—

“How many fur cloaks do you need?” Cassian demanded, drawing Azriel’s attention back to where his friend now held up an ermine stole like a dead snake.

Mor clicked her tongue. “You can leave, Cassian, if you’re going to question every item that goes into my trunk.”

“Trunks,” Cassian corrected, nodding to the five massive leather boxes sitting open near the door. “Even Rhys doesn’t travel with this much.”

“Oh, he does,” Mor trilled, primly folding the mountain of clothing. “He hides it all in one of those little pocket realms so you two can’t make fun of him.”

Cassian snorted, but Az gazed out the window. He was in no mood to talk about Rhys—to laugh about him. Not with Mor packing for this trip. She shouldn’t have been going. She’d done more than her fair share of diplomatic work already.

Az should be the one leaving. With one word, Rhys could have made it possible.

He’d already debated venturing to Vallahan himself, but ignoring orders wasn’t something he was entirely ready to do. Even if it grated on him to not know what was happening, like talons running down his spine.

“I’ll be fine, Az,” Mor said, and he realized she was watching him. Reading him perfectly whether he wanted her to or not. She’d always been able to do that.

Az cleared his throat. “I could go with you. Stay hidden.”

His shadows, idling by the doorway, stirred in response. Yes, the pack of them seemed to say, let us do our work.

“If you were discovered, any goodwill I’ve created would vanish,” Mor said firmly, setting another folded dress onto her growing pile. “Stay here, Az. Help everyone come up with an alternate strategy in case I fail.” A snarky glance at Cassian. “They’re going to need all the help they can get.”

Az didn’t smile. Not even as Cassian flipped her off and asked, “Remind me why I’m going to miss you again?”

Mor began stacking her folded clothes into the first of the trunks. She moved with sinuous grace—with a warrior’s surety, yes, but with an ethereal sort of beauty and elegance that still made Az pause to admire her.

He hadn’t been what she wanted. He never had been. It was her choice, her heart—he knew that, and he accepted it. But he had spent so long waiting for the day when she would confirm that all those centuries together, all the things they’d been through, hadn’t been for nothing. He’d tended that secret fire for five hundred years.

Now it was ash in his scarred hands.

Even his shadows knew better than to provide a read on what Mor was feeling right now. They’d already done enough when it came to her.

Mor began bickering with Cassian again, so Az broke in, “Cass, we’ll be late for the meeting with Devlon.” He wouldn’t normally have given a shit about that, would have been glad to keep Devlon waiting for hours, but he had to get out of here.

Cassian groaned with distaste. “Right.”

Mor frowned. “You’re heading to Windhaven now?”

The same dismay had swept through him when Rhys had given them the order. To stand down from acting against their enemies and go to Windhaven instead . . . it chafed against every instinct.

“Quick meeting,” Cassian assured her, jumping to his feet. “Expanding the patrol routes. Stupid, but necessary. Az is providing the eye candy, of course.”

Az’s shadows whispered, He’s glad for the excuse to do something—to avoid thinking of his mate.

He blocked them out as Mor smirked at him. “Did you give Cassian the real time for the meeting or the fake time?”

“Don’t start that again, please,” Cassian grumbled, tossing the stole into the trunk. “I thought we hadn’t done that in a century or two.”

It had been an experiment once, after Azriel and Rhys had grown sick of Cassian and Mor always showing up late. Az had started telling them a different time for meetings and events—one that was thirty minutes earlier.

And for one blissful month, neither Mor nor Cassian noticed that all the clocks in their rooms and residences had also been moved ahead. And neither of them had been late for anything.

Azriel learned that Cassian had become aware of his subtle nudging when his brother had left the pieces of a two-hundred-year-old grandfather clock under the covers of his bed. Mor had merely thrown her mantel clock at Azriel’s head at the next meeting. After showing up twenty minutes early.

“All the clocks are set to their normal times,” Azriel assured them, striding into the hall. Better to get this absurd visit over with. His shadows flowed to him, gathering at his shoulders as a phantom cape.

“But the winds heading out there are nasty today—we should give ourselves a cushion.”

Neither of them blinked at his statement. They were used to him knowing about the weather not because of a report but because he’d awoken to information from his shadows. Roaring blasts off the eastern peaks, his shadows had murmured this morning, slicing dangerously through the valleys.

Maybe he’d get lucky and those winds would be so swift they’d rip his shadows from him for good.

“Be careful,” Mor advised. Cassian waved her off, but Azriel didn’t bother to reply as he stalked for the stairs, the Siphons on his hands radiating a glacial blue.

Be careful.

It was hard to be careful when so much of his heart had stopped caring at all.

“Remind me why this Naming Day celebration was a good idea?” I asked Elain as I stepped into the dining room, half of which had been converted into gift storage.

My sister, standing in front of the ever-growing pile of presents at the far end of the room, shook her head. “Because it’s a part of Fae culture, and you are now, too.”

I grimaced at the veritable mountain before me. “These gifts feel an awful lot like . . . tribute.” They’d come in from nearly every corner of Prythian. The one closest to me—a night-black rocking horse carved to resemble Helion’s prized flying stallion, Meallan—was perhaps the most subdued of them all. Magic pulsed around the pile, likely from delightfully enchanted toys. I’d still had Amren check each one as they had arrived.

And after all that talk on Storr about cursed Naming Day gifts, I planned to have Amren check them again before the party. The Mistress of the Unseen and the Queen of Vallahan had clearly wanted to spoil my joy, add some fear to what should have been a treasured, peaceful moment. They’d succeeded.

But considering my argument with Amren earlier, I’d ask Rhys to inspect the gifts instead. I had little interest in speaking to the female, and was certain she had little interest in speaking with me, let alone helping me with anything, even for Nyx’s sake. The way she’d spoken to me, the way she’d decided there was one way to go about this—her way—had irritated me. It had nothing to do with me being High Lady. I hadn’t been thinking of the title or my crown beside me when I’d gone toe to toe with her.

And yes, perhaps I had leveled a low blow with that question about what advice Amren had given when Amarantha had appeared on these shores decades ago, but Amren did make mistakes. Not often, but she had made them before. I trusted, respected her wisdom, but for her to grow angry when it wouldn’t be blindly followed . . . it had put my temper on edge. And it remained that way, even though I tried to release it from my body with a few long breaths as I surveyed the presents.

At least there were some gifts here that didn’t need to be checked by Amren or Rhys—perhaps already my favorite of the bunch: the array of painted cards. All from children in the painting classes I still carved out six hours a week to teach. All of them saying in some form or another: Congratulations! Welcome, Nyx!

The children loved the days when Nyx came with me to class. Loved to show him their paintings, talking to him as if he could understand every nuance and brushstroke.

Seeing those proud faces—no longer the shy, frightened children they’d been in the aftermath of the war—made an extra task I perhaps should have let go utterly worth it. And beholding these cards now, created under the guidance of my business partner and friend, Ressina, lit a star-bright, unextinguishable kernel of joy in my chest. I already knew I would treasure those cards more than any expensive, magical gift we received.

“You are High Lord and Lady of the Night Court,” Elain said, turning from the presents that she’d been arranging into some semblance of order. “It’s only natural that other courts and influential people would want to send these, to remain in your good favor.”

I rocked the toy horse with one finger. “I don’t like that my son’s Naming Day celebration is being treated more for political gain than actual enjoyment of his existence.”

Elain nodded her agreement, but glanced behind me. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Napping,” I said, grinning. “He guzzled so much milk down during the meeting earlier that he might sleep for the next year.”

Elain smiled faintly. “Meeting?”

Meeting—and an ugly argument with Amren. But I waved a hand. “Just about the ordeal on Storr today.”

“Right.”

I winced as I realized my error. “I should have invited you, too. I’m sorry. I assumed you were busy with the party planning—” She’d seemed so happy to plan Nyx’s Naming Day celebration. I hadn’t thought to ask if she wanted to join us for the debrief, certainly not about such a miserable subject. But I was glad Elain hadn’t been there to witness my fight with Amren.

Elain quickly shook her head, though her features had tightened. “You have enough on your plate already to bother remembering which sister to invite to your meetings.”

The truth was, I hadn’t invited Nesta—she’d just become part of the unit, and I routinely gave her the same information that I passed to Mor or Cassian. Even if recent events had strained some of that ease of communication and welcome between us all.

But Elain . . . I buried my guilt down deep. “I can give you an update if you want,” I offered. “It’s grim, though. We think Rask, Montesere, and Vallahan are seeking a Made item of their own—likely at Koschei’s urging or manipulation. We need to find it first. Mor is going back to Vallahan after the party to see what she can find out, but . . .” I sighed. “Who knows?”

Elain angled her head. “Do you want me to try to . . . See it?”

“No,” I said, sighing again. “Thank you, but no—Nesta tried scrying before the meeting but couldn’t discover anything. I thought, because she’s Made, that whatever spells are hiding the object might not apply to her, since it seems no spells can even hold Nesta, but it was no use.” I didn’t add the obvious: that if Nesta couldn’t find this thing, Elain, Seer or no, likely couldn’t, either. Nesta’s power had always been stronger.

“All right,” Elain said quietly, and turned to the pile of gifts. “It’s going to take you a month to open these, by the way.”

I let her drop the subject and followed her lead. “Writing all the thank-you notes will take longer.”

“Maybe there’s some magical charm that could write them for you.”

“If someone has invented that, I’ll kiss them right on the mouth.”

Elain laughed. A rare sound these days, I realized. When had I last heard her laugh—or seen her brown eyes really light up like that? I couldn’t remember. Another pang of guilt pealed through me.

Once the Naming Day was over and done with, maybe I’d pull Elain aside for a heart-to-heart. Last year, she’d mentioned the trauma she had endured at the Cauldron’s hands—and how much it hurt her that our focus had been solely on what her trauma did to us, rather than what it had done to her in the first place. I’d never followed up.

I was a terrible sister.

But now wasn’t the time for that talk. So I asked, “Everything is ready for the party?”

“Yes,” Elain said, tucking a strand of hair behind an arched ear. “The Velaris High Priestess has her acolytes preparing the city temple based on the specifications I gave them—I know they’ll want to have their own Equinox ceremony before, so the trickiest thing has been balancing their ritual requirements with the decorations we’re bringing in. But it should be all sorted out, and everything here should be in order for the luncheon afterward.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Not only for planning this, but for taking it off my plate, and Rhys’s. He loves to throw a good party, but I think this would have stretched him too thin.”

Elain laid a hand on her heart. “It’s my honor. And my pleasure to do it for Nyx.”

“He loves his Aunt Elain.” Though Nyx had a nursemaid—Ana—who tended to him during the hours when Rhys and I couldn’t, Elain often gladly took over her duties, walking Nyx around the grounds, reading him books, and doing the one task I truly had no stomach for: changing his soiled muslin diapers.

Elain’s doe-brown eyes softened. “And his Aunt Elain loves him.”

For a second, I could have sworn I detected a note of longing. Of pain.

But I had another meeting to rush to, with the Minister of the Palace of Thread and Jewels to discuss much-needed repairs on the south colonnade. They were about three hundred years overdue. And while my sister’s well-being was important . . . I was High Lady of this court. My people were dependent on me.

So I said, “Thank you again. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“I might be late,” Elain said. “The burlap for the garden just came in and I’d like to get some on as many of the topiaries and beds as I can before winter gets too close.”

Something tight eased in my chest. Good. Elain would be kept busy, at least, with that. She’d have something else to do beyond sorting through all these presents.

With a nod of farewell, I winnowed to the front lawn, stepped beyond the wards, and winnowed again to the heart of the city proper.

* * *

It had indeed turned out to be one of those days when I couldn’t seem to find a moment to breathe. As I crawled into bed beside Rhys, my mate propping our son in a sitting position with some pillows, Nyx’s little wings flapped—or rather, one did, as his body and mind were still figuring out how to get both to move together at once—when he saw me. He broke into a gummy smile that I couldn’t help mirroring. “Hi, my love,” I said, tickling his warm belly. “What are you doing in here this late?”

Rhys, a stack of paperwork balanced on his lap, said without looking up, “He didn’t want to go to sleep.”

I hummed and stroked a hand over Nyx’s softer-than-soft hair. “He didn’t want to, or you didn’t want to be the bad guy?”

Rhys flipped a piece of paper over to read the back. “The rest of the world thinks I’m a monster. I don’t need my son thinking it, too.”

I clicked my tongue. “You couldn’t resist that face, could you?”

Rhys sighed. “No. Between the face and the wings, I have no defenses.”

Nyx beamed up at Rhys, as if he understood perfectly what his father was saying and the effect that little dimpled face had on the most powerful male in the world.

“Come on, you,” I said, grunting as I heaved Nyx into my arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

Nyx babbled happily in my ear, and I caught Rhys staring at us as I walked back around the bed, aiming for the nursery door. “What?”

Stars glimmered in his eyes. “I don’t have enough words to convey “how much I love you,” he said hoarsely. He nodded toward our son.

“How much I love him.”

“You gladly change his messiest blowouts,” I said. “Just by that alone, I know how much you love him—and me.”

“I never thought I’d be a father.” He rose to his feet, walking to me and Nyx. He stroked a knuckle down Nyx’s rosy cheek, and Nyx reached up with a fat finger to squeeze one of Rhys’s. Rhys’s smile was soft enough that my chest ached. “Never thought I’d be someone’s mate.”

“I know.” I scanned his beautiful face, the old shadow that passed over it. “But there’s no better father anywhere in this court—this land.” Probably this entire world. “And no better mate, either.”

“Motherhood has made you too nice,” Rhys said, flicking my nose affectionately. “Where’s the Feyre who threw a shoe at my head?”

“Where’s the Rhys who fucked me against a wall so hard the pictures fell off?”

Rhys burst out laughing, the sound like music. “Such a mouth, for such a fine lady. And in front of our innocent son.”

I cuddled Nyx, who was happily cooing between us. “Trust me,” I said, hauling Nyx toward his room, “with Cassian for an uncle, he’s going to grow up hearing far worse.”

Rhys followed me into the nursery, the space bedecked in variations of cream and sand, the ceiling I’d painted during my pregnancy to resemble the night sky. Rhys had enchanted it so that the stars twinkled and rotated with the seasons. The black wood cradle was just inside the door—so we could hear every little sound Nyx made—and I took a seat in the overstuffed dark blue armchair beside it, freeing a strap of my nightgown as I did.

Nyx knew the routine, and happily found my breast, nestling against me, a tiny fist clenching at my upper chest. My breasts tingled with the rush of the milk letting down, a tangible release I felt through my body, and then Nyx was sucking away, his limbs going almost impossibly softer as he relaxed.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Rhys said from the shadows of the doorway. “It was the first time I saw it, and it still is, even all these months later.”

“The first time you saw it, you were still such a crying mess that I’m not sure you registered what was happening.”

“Forgive me if I’d just been through an ordeal, Feyre darling.”

“Worse than dying?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” I stuck out my tongue in his direction. He laughed, low and soft. “My High Lady.”

I smiled, petting Nyx’s head. His eyes fluttered closed, his long, dark lashes splaying over his rosy cheeks. “We made a very beautiful baby,” I said.

“We did.” Rhys’s voice was strained, and a glance up at him showed tears in his eyes. Not from sorrow, I knew, but from the same joy I felt, so great it could crack my heart wide open. No matter the long nights and exhausting days—it was all worth it.

I’d created a family. My friends had been my family before, and still were. But this boy in my arms . . . I was his mother, and Rhys was his father, and we were, forever and always, a family.

Nyx’s mouth popped off my breast, his head lolling back, utterly asleep. As steadily as I could, I rose to my feet and walked to the cradle. Madja had advised us to only keep the little mattress in there—no bedding, no pillows, no toys—to avoid the risk of suffocation. If I had my way, Nyx might very well be sleeping on a bare mattress until he was a grown male.

I caressed Nyx’s warm, velvety-soft cheek. “I love you,” I whispered, and stepped back from the cradle.

Rhys leaned down to brush a kiss on Nyx’s head. “I love you more,” he whispered as well.

I scowled at my mate, and Rhys kissed me, too, before he straightened. In silence, we walked back into our suite, Rhys softly shutting the door, his wings tucked in tight so they didn’t so much as rustle.

“Don’t bother buttoning up that nightgown,” Rhys growled softly behind me when the door was shut. “I plan on licking those breasts for a good—”

Rhys drew up short when he turned to me. I’d already climbed into bed, nestled amongst layers of pillows and blankets, and was leafing through his giant pile of paperwork. “You’re working?”

I lifted a piece of parchment from the middle of the stack. “I want to make sure we approve these spending proposals for the repairs on the southern colonnade at the Palace of Thread and Jewels before tomorrow morning.” The sooner they could start working on it, the better.

“Nyx is asleep.” Rhys walked to the dressing room, but paused in the doorway. He slyly assessed me over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be getting naked?”

I made a show of surveying my cozy long-sleeved nightgown. “Why?” I asked innocently, even as my toes curled under the blankets.

He faced me fully, unbuttoning the top of his black jacket. “We usually spend our nights doing something other than paperwork.” Another button came free. “What was it, now?”

I returned to the proposal, though I didn’t process any of the lines before me. “Sleeping for as long as our son will let us?”

“That doesn’t sound quite right.” His voice had lowered to a gravelly purr.

“Getting into vicious fights with Amren?”

His eyes glittered. “I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

I flicked my stare over the top of the papers. He’d shed the jacket and was slowly removing the dark shirt beneath. Golden, tattooed skin gleamed in the faelight, and my core tightened, aching.

But I wasn’t ready to give in, not quite yet. “You’re not going to scold me for the Amren fight?”

“It’s between you two—and I agree with you. I just didn’t have the balls to say it.” A wink, as if he knew exactly where my eyes would go after that.

But I refused to look below his waist as I huffed, “I’d think the grandmotherly nightgown would convey all the interest I have right now, Rhys.”

His long fingers unhooked the first button on his trousers. He’d already taken off his boots upon entering our suite, so there was little resistance as he let the pants drop to the floor.

I gaped. “You weren’t wearing underwear?” Never mind that my mate was already hard, his proud, thick cock setting my mouth watering.

“You looked so stunning this morning that I forgot.” He stalked toward me, wings flaring slightly. He pulled the blankets off me one by one. “You distract me, Feyre darling.”

“Did you deliberately go without them so you’d shock me?”

He grinned, pure predator closing in on his prey. “Are you shocked? Or . . . delightfully surprised?”

He pulled the last of the sheets off me, revealing my bare legs. And the scent of arousal I didn’t bother hiding. Rhys let out a low rumble deep in his throat. “The grandmotherly nightgown doesn’t seem to be having its intended effect.”

I loved this, lived for this—the chase between us. I set aside the spending proposal. Slowly got to my feet. Held his gaze the entire time I pulled the laces on the front of the nightgown free. Let it tumble to my feet.

Naked lust flooded Rhys’s expression as he took in my bare body, the breasts full and swollen. “Now look who’s not wearing any underwear,” he teased.

My nipples ached—and not from the milk already building up behind them. Rhys took a step toward me. Just one. And then dropped to his tattooed knees.

Only for me would he do this: kneel on those mountain-tattooed knees, the promise to kneel to no one and nothing but his crown. But for his mate, his High Lady—

I let Rhys hook one of my legs over his shoulder, right under a wing, as his hands came around to support me, fingers kneading into my bottom with luxurious pressure. “I love you,” he murmured as he lowered his head to my bared sex. “You have no idea how much.”

At the first decadent sweep of his tongue up my core, I managed to pant, “Oh, I think I know.”

I felt his smile before he licked again, slow and taunting. “You’re so wet I could fuck you this instant.”

I bit my lip to keep in my moan. The baby was in the other room, and we did have to keep our voices down to avoid waking him—

Another savoring lick. “But I think I’ll taste you for a little while, Feyre darling.”

In one smooth movement, he hoisted me right onto the bed, positioning me at the edge of the mattress.

And then he buried his face in me. My skin flared with heat, too tight on my breasts, my bones. I clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my groan. He knew what he was doing—a few licks and I was utterly bent to his will.

He sucked at the apex of my sex, rolling the bundle of nerves over his tongue right as he slid a finger into me. My hips rose off the bed, and he pinned me with his other hand, holding me still for his ministrations.

“All this time,” he mused, slipping another finger into me, pumping in a maddeningly slow rhythm. “All this time and I still can’t get enough of you.”

“Rhys.” His name was a plea.

“I love you beyond reason.” He maintained that slow, taunting pace with his fingers, licking me once. “Even when you bite my head off, I love you more than I can express.”

“I think you love it when I bite your head off,” I managed to get out. “And I’ll bite your head off right now if you don’t get inside me.”

A dark, sensual chuckle vibrated against my most sensitive flesh. His fingers withdrew, slowly, teasingly. He lifted his head, revealing lips shining with my wetness. Only heat blazed in his remarkable eyes. “If milady wishes it so . . .” He rose to his feet and climbed atop me. The weight of him, his wings blocking out the light, his sheer presence threatened to send me tumbling over the edge before he was even in me.

I reached between us, hand wrapping around his cock and squeezing hard. Rhys hissed, but nipped at the delicate arch of my ear as I drew him closer. “Put me inside you,” he breathed into my ear, a hand rising to gently—so gently—massage one of my breasts.

I did as I was told. And at the first nudge of him, I parted my knees wider, hands slipping around to grab his perfect, firm backside to practically haul him to me.

But he resisted, laughing darkly as he peered down at my face. “Say it.”

I dug my fingernails into his ass. “Say what?” I panted.

“That I’m yours.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help my smile. “You’re mine, Rhys.”

He rewarded me by sliding in an inch. “And?”

I inhaled sharply through my nose. If I didn’t get him inside me, if he didn’t start moving—“And I’m yours.”

Another inch, stretching me already. “Damn right.” Another inch. Another, and another—as if he couldn’t help himself. I certainly couldn’t help the moan that finally escaped me when he at last seated himself fully. But he still didn’t move. He just propped himself up on his elbows, staring down at me for a moment before he said, “I won’t let anything change that.”

He started to withdraw, preparing to make that first thrust, but I halted him with a hand on his chest. “What does that mean?”

He took my hand and kissed each finger. “It means that with all that’s happening in the world, this beautiful, precious life we’ve built . . .” He did withdraw then, nearly to the tip, but held my gaze before he said, “I won’t let anything jeopardize it. No matter what, Feyre darling.”

I might have asked more, but he slammed in. And at that first, powerful movement of his body into mine, I let pleasure sweep me away.