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Chapter Text

“The borders were cleared from any rebels, but there were signs of camping within the mountains,” Azriel reported, pouring himself a generous glass of Rhysand’s expensive whiskey.

“The camps looked long abandoned, but the stew in the pot showed otherwise. There was no mold or bugs, so they couldn’t have been gone for too long—a few hours or so, a day max.” Gwyn quickly added, holding a hand out in a silent request for a glass. 

The Shadowsinger hadn’t even hesitated when handing her his drink, letting her gulp before taking a sip of his own. 

Rhys watched plainly as Azriel set the glass on the table between them; it was an offer. 

Feyre darling, Rhys mentally called out to his mate as he listened to the pair.

This better be important. I was just about to nap after setting Nyx down for his; had it not been for the slight humor in her tone, the male would have been sorry for disturbing his mate, but he also knew she was the biggest busybody he had ever met. 

What do you know of our Shadowsinger and lovely Priestess? The High Lord tilted his head as Gwyn continued to speak, Azriel easily filling the gaps of their shared mission. 

Why? What is happening? Feyre’s voice perked with such interest that Rhys could not help but chuckle at his wife's shameless nature. 

I take it that means I’m not in trouble for interrupting your nap time? 

Keep wasting another second, and I’ll teach you to be sorry, Feyre purred in his mind. Rhys had the right mind to shield his scent before reaching out to her. He doubted his company would enjoy the arousal his wife brought him. 

Rhys quickly replayed the scene to Feyre and heard his mate swoon. Az isn’t a male who likes to share what’s his. What else are they saying? 

Letting Feyre see through his eyes, the couple watched as the spies in front of them leaned against the arms of their chairs closest to one another. Even with a small side table between their positions, they drew nearer. 

They continued to share their drink, even as Gwyn got up once more to refill it, even though she could have easily poured them each a glass. 

However, it was his shadows that gained their focus as they slowly slithered over her shoulders, weaving themselves in her hair and crawling down to dance between her fingers. 

Has his shadows ever behaved like that? Feyre questioned in a tone that let him know she already knew the answer. 

No. 

Rhys watched as Gwyn’s eyes followed his line of direction as if sensing that he had stopped listening to their reporting a few minutes earlier. 

“Ah,” She settled with ease, her sudden change earning Azriel’s attention. “They are such precious little things,” Gwyn remarked, wiggling her fingers while his shadows swirled, happy that she was noticing them. 

Precious? Feyre mused. They are one of the court's deadliest allies, and she has reduced them to mere puppies. 

Azriel stared at Rhys as his jaw locked tight, knowing the busy-body antics of his brother and his mate. 

“Really?” Rhys smirked before returning his brother's gaze and throwing him a wink. 

Azriel stood to his full height, cutting off the conversation with a sharp nod and rosy cheeks, “The report will be on your desk tomorrow.” 

“Leaving already?” Rhysand replied in a voice that was anything but innocent. 

“If we don’t leave now, Gwyneth will be late for Dusk services.” As if just realizing the time, Gwyn quickly stood and shared her goodbye before she and Azriel set off into the skies. 

Feyre teased that if they were really in a hurry, he would have used his shadows to take them and not flown, to which Rhys agreed. This was a nice surprise—unexpected but nice. 

Yet again, as always, Rhys agreed with his wife. 

It was game night at the House of Wind, and Nesta grew excited as the house prepared the living room with extra seats, blankets, and pillows for a lively night that was to come. 

Gwyn and Emerie promised to spend the night as always, and Cassian had already stormed Rhys’ liquor supply for his most expensive bottles. Even Azriel played an extra role, swinging by the Valkyries' favorite bakery in Velaris. However, the vast amount of pistachio desserts did not go amiss under Nesta’s watchful gaze as the house set out the pastries in a stunning arrangement. 

By the time they made it to their third game of the night, everyone was well flushed in the face, besides Nesta, who nursed a cup of water in her hand; however, she did not let her sobriety stand in the way of her fun. In fact, the older Archeron sister let out a roaring laugh straight from the pit of her stomach, clenching her side as Emerie’s wings flapped around stressfully, dragging her foot on the ground before kicking it back. All while her handsome brute of a mate stared at her friend in utter confusion. 

“Pass!” he demanded, waving his hand, urging her to pick up a new slip of paper before their time expired. 

“Mother's sake, Cassian, it is not that hard!” Emerie shouted at the male, crumpling the paper and tossing it to the side. 

“No talking!” Gwyn scolds, jolting to her knees on the couch with her finger pointed at their wing friend. 

“Careful, males have trembled at such gestures.” Nesta joked. 

“Good thing, I’m no male. Keep your fingers to yourself, Berdara.” Emerie pouted before sticking her tongue out. As she dug in the bag and pulled out a new slip, she was just about to start when the shadowsinger rose to his feet. 

“Time.” 

“What? No? We should still have at least another thirty seconds?” Cassian argued from his spot near the fireplace. 

Nesta shook her head contently. 

“You certainly do not.” Azriel scuffed, but Cassian only crossed his arms in defiance. “It took you exactly sixteen seconds to guess Ramiel , eleven seconds to guess Ataraxia, and an outstanding twenty-five seconds to skip Pegasus —” 

“YOU EXPECTED ME TO GUESS PEGASUS FROM THAT?” 

“EVERYONE ELSE KNEW IT WAS PEGASUS EXCEPT YOU!” 

Nesta, Gwyn, Azriel, and even his shadows nodded in agreement with the female Illyrian.  

“Whatever,” Cassian said, pushing back loose locks of his hair as he downed the last of his drink in one fluid gulp. No one missed the sight of Nesta’s hungry gaze following his every move. “It’s not as easy as it looks.” 

“Please, you are giving these two competitive assholes more ignition to want to beat us.” Emerie tsked before plopping on the cushion beside Nesta, throwing her arm around her friend's shoulders. 

Gwyn stood to her feet with nymph grace, gliding over to the other side of the room, and Azriel only watched her with a focused gaze. But as their whimsical friend spun on the balls of her feet, Nesta could tell not even he was immune to her charm as the corner of his mouth turned up. 

Nesta bit her lip, holding in her grin, as the lethal pair looked each other in the eye, knowing they would accept nothing less than victory.

“Ready, Shadowsinger?” 

“Let's begin.” 

With that, Nesta flipped the minute–hourglass on the table and watched with excitement as Gwyn quickly pulled a slip of paper from the bag, unfolding swiftly. 

She smiled as she looked at the slip before pointing to herself and then holding her hands together as if to show she was praying. 

“Priestess.” 

She quickly went for a new slip, and this time, Gwyn let out a jolt of laughter as she balled the paper in her hands. With a nod to show she was starting, she pointed at the shadows at Azriel’s feet. 

“My shadows?” Azriel questioned, but he didn’t look confident. 

Gwyn shook her head, pointed to his shadows once more, and then pointed at Cassian, making her body tremble in fear.

Then, Azriel, too, let out his own high-pitched laugh, “Bryaxis.” 

Gwyn silently cheered as she reached into the bag. Nesta equally chuckled as Cassian folded and unfolded his legs with narrowed eyes. 

Their following three points came with ease, and Emerie and Cassian expected their loss gracefully until Gwyn pointed to Nesta and pretended she was reading a book. It took Azriel all but a second to correctly guess, 

“Nesta reading smut.” A second before Cassian called time.

“No way, that is the right answer!” Emerie argued, standing to her feet and snatching the slip from Gwyn’s hand, who in return ran to Azriel. 

“They were using his shadows to cheat! They were with her the whole time!” Cassian said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Nesta studied the pair as Azriel lifted his arm up for a high five, but Gwyn instead wrapped her arms around him and jumped up and down in excitement. His body stilled only for a fraction of a second before circling his limbs around her gently. Her strands of auburn hair lightly caressed the skin of his chin as he looked down at her with a smile. 

At that moment, Nesta couldn’t tell if it was the liquor or pure emotion that caused their cheeks to flush with shadows of crimson.

It had been one of those rare evenings when the entire Inner Circle attended the River House for one of their standing weekly dinners, and when Elain said everyone, she meant, well, everybody , including the newly added Valkyrie. 

Elain wasn’t sure what to make of the two new females. They were kind, for certain, but a part of her had not grown accustomed to seeing her eldest sister act so freely among others. 

The two Valkyrie and Carynthian’s had become such an integral part of Nesta's life, each closing in their own way, but Elain couldn’t help but feel jealous of the Priestess, whose hair reminded her so much of the male who was conveniently away in the human realm. 

She had done nothing wrong; on the contrary, on all accounts, Gwyn had been one of the kindest females she had ever encountered, fae and humans alike. 

But unlike Emerie, Gwyneth lived in the Library at the House of Wind, and although she didn’t know her story, she knew enough about the Library to know why women like her were there. It was enough for Elain to pity the woman, making her feel ashamed for feeling unwarranted bitterness toward the girl. 

She worked in the Library with Nesta, trained with her sister, and spent frequent nights at the House of Wind, either for game names, a sleepover with all the girls, or just staying in the guest bedroom. A guest bedroom that had unspokenly been labeled as her room. 

Elain grew sad as she thought about Gwyn getting the best parts of her sister. Her chest tightened as she heard Nesta refer to the girls as her chosen sisters. 

But at the present moment, it wasn’t Gwyn’s relationship with her sister that chafed at her, but rather her relationship with—

“Did my brother get you to your services on time, Gwyneth?” Rhys spoke from the end of the table, plopping a carrot in his mouth as he stared between the spymaster and the priestess as if he knew something the others didn’t. The humorous gaze in Feyre’s eyes was a testament to it. 

Gwyn choked on the fresh piece of bread she chewed in her mouth, not expecting the High Lord to call on her so directly. 

From his spot beside her, Azriel threw draggers with his eyes at Rhys before dragging Gwyn’s glass of water closer to her. 

“Yes, the service was lovely,” Gwyn raised her water to her lips as she cleared her throat. 

“What do you do at the services?” Feyre asked, “If you don’t mind me asking? My experiences with priestesses haven’t been ... the greatest.” 

Elain watched as Gwyn’s eyes softened. Everyone had heard of the horrors of Ianthe, but none knew the full extent the blond priestess inflicted on others. She wondered if Gwyn related to her mat –to Lucien in more ways than just their flamed hair. 

“Of course,” Gwyn began, taking bread in her hand. Azriel leaned forward in his seat, reached across the table, grabbed the butter from in front of Elain’s plate, and handed it to her. 

“Usually, at temples, the High Priestess leads the service, but since Clotho is unable to do so, one of the older Priestesses offers a prayer to the Mother and reads passages or poems in her honor. Each service starts and ends with hymns and songs. It truly is a lovely experience.” Gwyn explained while she lathered the roll with the spread. 

“What she won’t tell you is that she leads the choir,” Nesta smirked against her cup. 

“Truly?” Mor asked with wide, amazed eyes. 

“I am part of the choir, yes.” 

“She is the choir; don’t be so modest about it, Gwynnie.” Cassian boasted, smirking wildly at the girl as she blushed in her seat. Ribbons of darkness slithered around her in excitement before disappearing beneath the table. 

They never did that with her. 

And then there was Azriel, who said nothing yet stared at Gwyn with such admiration, such pride that made Elain’s stomach knot. 

As if summoned to ease her nerves, Nuala and Cerridwen stepped into the dining room holding trays of food to place in front of the group. Immediately, everyone worked on filling their plates and passing the dishes around the table.

“Just put it down on the table.” Elain heard Azriel whisper as Gwyn fiddled with a corn dish in her hands.  

“It won’t…” there was a question there, one that Elain had not understood, but she heard it. 

“No.” He swiftly replied. 

The inner circle carried a steady flow, passing the sides to the person on their left until everything went around once. It was smooth considering the room of hungry fae who already had more wine in their bellies than food. 

The conversation around the table started once more as Mor began questioning Emerie on her new designs for Valkyrie fighting leathers. The Illyrian eyes gleamed, just like her sisters, while she explained her plans and layouts for their uniforms and how they differed from the existing black leathers they used. 

The table chatted with excitement, several conversations overlapping at once, yet Elains attention was focused on the pair diagonal from her. 

Gwyn reached across his plate and grabbed Azriel’s untouched bread while his shadows scooped some of her neglected greens. Neither acknowledged the moment, as if it was a regular routine. It made Elain wonder, just how often the pair enjoyed meals in each other's presences?

It was at that moment a familiar scent drifted into the air. Just for the briefest second, Elain looked around the table to see if anyone noticed the shift, but everyone stayed lost in their own conversation. Everyone except…

“So you said you sing, girl?” The tiny ancient female's voice carried over all others from her spot beside Feyre. 

The table fell into a hush, and even Rhys was surprised by Armen’s interest in the priestess. 

“My name is Gwyn,” she responded, ignoring the woman’s question. Elain found herself smiling at that; not many were bold enough to deny Armen’s inquiries. 

“I know your name, girl,” Amren spoke with a twisted grin that was unbecoming of the female. “Gwyneth. Priestess. Valkyrie. Carynthian. Spy. You are a woman of many titles.” 

Azriel’s shadows slithered around the back of Gwyn’s chair, one coming close enough to perch itself on her shoulder. Armen’s smile widened as if she was expecting such a reaction. 

“Yes, I sing.” 

“As was already said,” Azriel replied in a low, steady voice, hiding his lips behind his glass. 

“Easy.” Varian leaned to his side, kissing her shoulder with a whisper. 

Amren lazily raised her hand, caressing his chin without taking her eyes from the pair. No, she stared them down, increasingly amused by the passing seconds. 

“So it was, Shadowsinger, but I suppose you can also relate. Being a singer and a male of many titles. Azriel. Warrior. Carynthian. Spymaster.” 

“So tell me, girl, do his shadows sing for you?” 

Azriel's grunted coughs filled the room. The male was choking on his drink while his family watched him with amusement, as if they all knew something he didn’t. 

“They certainly dance for her. I’ve seen it at the house—Ow, Nes, what the hell?”  Cassian pouted, rubbing his wounded arm.

“Will there be dessert? I think I’m ready for seconds.” Emerie voiced an attempt to change the direction of the conversation. 

But…

“Do they? Sing for you, I mean?” Elain found herself asking before she thought better. 

Gwyn stared at her carefully, considering her. The high fae’s eternal gaze searched and reached deep within her. Had she not experienced the wickedness poured into her by the Cauldron, she might have shivered at the sight. 

“Sometimes,” she answered simply, and the shadows on her shoulders seemed to brighten, even while their masters grew dimmer.

“Are you content with your answers?” Azriel snapped at Amren with his teeth snarled. 

“More than you know, boy.” 

“I never pinned you as a busybody.” Gwyn mused, and though her humor did not meet her eyes, her lightness eased the air between them. 

Elain might have imagined how Gwyn’s arm moved towards Azriel under the table, only to be covered by the shadows. 

“What can I say? The years have made me softer,” Elain almost scoffed; they most certainly did not. 

By the end of dessert, the group had broken off into fractions, moving the entertainment into the sitting room, where everyone continued to drink. Even Elain nursed another glass of wine as she watched everyone pair up. 

There was a time she would be able to stay by the shadowsinger side and avoid the gaze of the one male who was most desperate for it. Still, Azriel seemed content with his place next to the Valkyries, next to Gwyn, and Lucien was well off into the humans lands without even a word. It bothered her more than she cared to admit. 

As she twirled her glass for the tenth time, she no longer carefully sneaked quick glances at the pair. No, she bluntly stared as her mind ran rampant. Their friendship was past what she could imagine with the male, but that was okay. She never expected anything from him, but seeing him…moving on hurt her. 

Not moving on from her but in the sense that he continued ahead just like everyone else while she remained frozen in place and time. 

She could firmly say she wasn’t bitter at him, or for Gwyn for that matter. Only towards herself for locking herself into her own trauma and not letting anyone else in. Not becoming a spectacle like Nesta had, forcing them to intervene, while no one noticed her withering away. 

But there had been someone who noticed. Someone who didn’t make a scene or cause a show as he gifted her gloves. Ones that sat untouched and unused in the back of her drawer. She wondered how he knew when her own family hadn’t? Azriel hadn’t When did the male noticed the scars on her hands that healed all too quickly? 

A part of her felt as if she pushed him away too quickly, the constant nagging feeling to reach others, but she knew it was only a reaction. Something chemical inside was eagerly awaiting her to engage in their bond. It scared her. It wasn’t her choice, and she wouldn’t the bond because the Mothers willed it. 

It was her choice to decide, and she thought she had with Grayson. But he abandoned her to the wolves. 

Then Azriel, but that would be over before it began, for the better it seemed. He and the priestess whispered away, creating a space only for them two, even in a room filled with others. And those pesky shadows she once assumed to be shy hovered her just as easily as they did their master. 

Elain could admit that they looked good together , whether they had to themselves or not. His face was much lighter than she had ever seen. And although she didn’t know Gwyn well, she saw a softness in her that she saw so clearly in all the other pairs around her.  

However, Lucien was not her choice, and maybe if they met in other circumstances, she wouldn’t dismiss his kindness or beauty, which struck her hard and true, just as she did Hybern. Maybe, she’d give him a chance to properly court her, if that is what he wanted.

She wondered if she could ever have what her sister did with their mates. Though Mother forged, the bonds between the pair were undeniable. They weren’t perfect, either her sisters or their mates, but they worked, and they continued to grow in ways they couldn’t without one another. 

A sharp cry filled the upper level of the house, and Rhys and Feyre sighed with contentment. 

“Alright, everyone. You heard the little Lord. You don’t have to go home, but I fear you must take this party elsewhere.” Feyre went upstairs first, while Rhys offered his goodbyes. Elain hadn’t bothered to move, knowing she would remain at the River House for the night, just as she had every night. 

The group began making plans, Cassian and Mor itching to head to Rita’s for a night in the city. 

“Gwyn and I are off. I will take her home.” Azriel spoke as he helped Gwyn into her coat. 

“Not going to join? It is a little late for Dusk services is it not?” Rhys teased. 

Gwyn rolled her eyes as she clasped her buttons, though a smile sat on her face. 

“Rita’s is a bit…crowded.” That was all she said, all she needed to say before the probing stopped. Everyone understood, and somethings were better left unsaid.  

“Will you be coming afterward, Az?” Mor asked. 

Cassian shook his head knowingly, fighting a smile on his face as their brother slantingly dismissed their words, turning to Gwyn with a hand placed on the small of her back and gently nudging her to the door. 

Elain watched as they made their way to the door. She hadn’t realized how tall Gwyn was, her water nymph heritage shining through as she stood near Azriels chin. 

“Goodnight, everyone.” Gwyn turned over her shoulder with a wave. Everyone responded with their own, and just as she was turning away, their eyes met. 

Gwyn gave her a smile, something soft and delicate she usually saw reserved for her sister. She tilted her head and raised her hand once more, and with flushed cheeks, Elain quickly did the same. When was the last time someone addressed her alone?

Yes , she thought to herself, spy and spymaster, Valkyrie and Illyrian warrior, both Carynthian, both powerful and beautifully dangerous. They were visionary and complementary. 

And Elain wished them well. 

Chapter Text

Cassian stumbled on the tips of his toes, wings beating furiously as he crashed and landed on the House of Wind terrace. Groans slipped past his lips as he dragged himself into a sitting position. His vision spun as he stared into the night with dazed eyes, his spinning head making the twinkling balls of gas look like shooting stars.

He might have a concussion, he concluded, but he couldn’t be too sure. All he did know was that he was thoroughly and embarrassingly drunk off of cocktails he made fun of Mor of drinking. The beverages were so sweet he doubted any presence of hard liquor until he was several cups in, and he suddenly couldn't walk straight.  

By the time they ended the night, Mor could barely winnow five feet in front of her, forced to walk to the River House while Cassian was determined to make it back in his bed with his beautiful, fierce, and divine mate. 

Nearly escaping the collision with a few birds and swallowing one too many bugs, Cassian made it back unharmed, mostly. He knew his hard landing would have him sore, and Nesta would only have more reason to tease him about being an old man. But this old man was ready to show her how all the centuries of existence without her built his stamina. Oh, this old man is prepared. 

Crawling across the red-dusted training ring, layers of dust collected on his hands and knees. He was thankful for it being so late into the night that no one would be able to see him in such a compromising position. 

The Lord of Bloodshed, General of the Night Courts armies, pitifully grabbed onto the stone wall to climb to his feet. He took a deep breath and focused on steadying his mind. He even thought about doing one of those mindstill techniques Gwyn had shown the girls, but closing his eyes set a wave of nausea through his entire body, and he quickly abandoned his effort. 

At the very least, he needed to get to his bed or to their room. He’d be content with sleeping on the floor as long as he was surrounded by Nesta's temptress scent. The phantom smell filled his nose, and he felt himself grow hard. 

Nesta. He needed Nesta. 

Ungracefully, Cassian began his trek across the House of Wind with only one place in mind; he moved with determination as he scaled himself across the wall. Climbing up the stairs had been a battle in its own right, falling and laying out on the steps three times before willing his body up again. 

His head continued spinning faster with each passing second, and he felt like a groggy mess as he reached the end of the hall. 

Nesta. He needed Nesta….but a short break wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

Sliding down the wall, Cassian sunk onto the floor and leaned his head back, taking steady breaths. After a few seconds, which could have been minutes, he started preparing to lift himself again until a dark mist appeared on the other side of the hall. 

Not mist, shadows. 

Cassian almost cheered with happiness, believing his brother had come for him, sensing his struggle. Still, instead, Azriel’s figure walked through the haze and stood in front of one of the empty guest bedrooms. 

Wait, it's not empty. Gwyneth stayed the night. He remembered. The oversized Illyrian squinted his eyes, trying to keep focus as he stared at the man. His clothes were in disarray, and his face was slightly smudged in dirt. It was clear he was just arriving back from a mission. 

So he waits, forcing himself to sober just a little more, and he watches as Azriel lifts his hand with no hesitation and knocks on the door. It takes a few seconds before Gwyn is at the door, rubbing her tired eyes, a clear sign she has just awakened. Her hair was thrown up in a loose bun, and she was dressed in only an oversized t-shirt, one of Azriel’s. 

“Azriel?” Cassian could hear Gwyn's question in surprise. 

Cassian’s eyes felt heavy as he pressed himself further into the wall to keep the room from spinning. His lips hung open, and he continued breathing. If only his enemies could see him now. 

With the constant ringing in his head, he couldn’t make out the Shadowsingers soft spoken words, but Cassian noticed how her cheeks flamed red. The tips of his brother’s fingers reached for the edge of her shirt, lightly tugging, letting his knuckles caress the skin of her thighs as he continued to speak. 

Gwyn opened the door wider, allowing Azriel and his wings ample room. But before he fully stepped into the room, his arm snaked around her waist and gently pressed his lips against hers. Gwyn reached back with equal endeavor and clenched her hands around the straps of his leathers as she kissed him back. 

Just then, another wave of nausea flooded through Cassian, and he quickly slapped his hand over his mouth to will it back down. 

He watched as Azriel’s shadows shot to his ear, whispering to their master. His brother reluctantly pulled away from the priestess. He looked down the hall where Cassian sat inebriated on the ground, staring at the two. 

He chuckled awkwardly, his mouth drying from being left open, so he did what he did best and began to ramble. Azzie, what are you doing scandalizing our poor Gwynnie at this time of night?” 

His brother didn’t find a sense of humor, but Gwyn laughed at least. “I don’t think I have ever seen him so drunk,” she whispered beside Azriel. 

“I wish I could say the same.” the broody boy grunted, moving to walk into the room, but Gwyn stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. 

“Help him!” 

“No, he needs to learn his lesson  and not get so fucked up that he can’t make it to his bed.” 

“Azriel.” Gwyn spoke with determination, crossing her arms over her chest, “If you don’t help him, I won’t—” 

Cassian didn’t hear the rest of what the priestess whispered into the Shadowsinger’s ear. Still, soon Azriel swiftly came over, lugging his dead weight from the ground with a distinct scent of arousal looming between. 

“Let’s go,” Azriel grunted, and Cassian felt light on his feet as his brother's shadows carried him begrudgingly. 

Cassian felt his stomach flip, his body becoming disoriented as Azriel's shadow walked them without warning. He hit on the door once with a hard and true knock but didn’t wait for a response before opening the door. Nesta looked surprised from her spot in the middle of their bed with a book in her hand. Mother, she is so beautiful. 

“For you,” Azriel spoke with slight humor as his shadows tossed Cassian on the bed. 

“What the hell?” Nesta began, but Azriel was already out of the room, no doubt heading back to a particular Valkyrie. 

“You drunk brute,” Nesta whispered as she caressed Cassian’s cheeks before walking to their wardrobe to get him a change of clothes. 

Cassian made his way into the dining room with a loose sway, pinching his nose bridge to relieve his pounding headache. 

It was too sunny, and the house had entirely too many windows. 

As he approached the archway, he could hear everyone’s loud chatter, and Cassian was beside himself with excitement about joining, but he needed food. 

“He lives,” Nesta said humorously as she looked at her mate. They were well into their lunch meal, and Cassian realized just how late he had awoken. 

“How did I get back yesterday?” he asked curiously as his memory came and went in a fog. The last he remembered was beating Mor at a drinking game; the rest went dark after that. 

“You don’t remember?” Gwyn asked innocently, but he knew her well enough, and the shared look between and Azriel was loud. However, he was too hungover to question what they hinted at, so instead, he just grunted in reply, reaching for the bread at the center of the table, and began munching away. 

“Azriel brought you back to the room after finding you passed out in the hall. I don’t even want to think about you falling across Velaris in that state. What were you thinking?” Nesta scoured. 

Cassian mind tried to remember his flight home, trying to remember coming into the house, but he drew blank. Instead, an image of Gwyn standing at her door wrapped in Azriel’s arms as they engaged in a heated kiss played in his head, and Cassian jolted in his seat. 

“Are you okay?” Gwyn asked, pouring water into an extra glass and handing it to the male. 

Cassian only nodded, but his thoughts lingered back to the mental image of the late-night couple. Did he imagine that? Did his drunkenness create a fake scene that felt more real than not? 

His eyes darted between the pair, but they gave nothing away as Gwyn talked with Nesta, and Azriel watched them silently as he picked at his plate. 

Cassian groaned, sinking in his seat as his head pounded and the taste of bile began to form in his throat. 

Whatever it was, he would figure out fact from fiction later.