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Eris parts the shadowsinger’s legs, his knee sliding upwards which makes a groan erupt from somewhere deep in Azriel’s throat. It is like music in Eris ears, he revels in it.

His lips curl against his mate’s when he stops the kiss momentarily. "Such noises, huh?" the High Lord drawls, and nips at his lover’s lower lip. Desire sparks in the Autumn Court male’s eyes, burning flames aglow in the dim room.

Azriel hisses, his scarred hand curling around the High Lords that is braced on his hips, his gaze focused on Eris eyes.

"This is so damn wrong," the shadowsinger breathes, but is the one to re-connect his lips with the High Lords once again.

"So wrong," Eris purrs, the vibrations tingling Azriel’s lips.

"I hate you."

"I hate you more, you Illyrian brute."

His nostrils flaring, Azriel pulls back from the kiss. "Fucker," he brings out, the power of their desire too strong to stay apart for too long. Their lips touch again, feeling numb and swollen already. Eris’ hand slides over Azriel’s thigh, accompanying his knee, palm smoothing over Azriel’s groin, over the noticeable bulge straining against his tight leathers.

"Need me to take care of that?" Eris whispers and squeezes softly.

Azriel feels his eyes roll back, his stomach flexing. He hisses once again, pulling back sharply. His onyx hair shift with the movement and for a moment the breath gets knocked from Eris lungs. Gods, his mate is truly the most handsome male in the entire world.

Eris smoothes his palm up, fingers curling around the waistband of the spymaster’s pants. "Say please," Eris coos, his breathy chuckle tickling Azriel’s face. Eris pecks the corner of his mate’s mouth, the tips of his fingers slipping inside the trousers.

Azriel groans, the throbbing need between his thighs nearly too overwhelming. He needs Eris in every possible way. "Plea—"

"What the hell?!"

A door hits the wall with a loud thump and something clatters on the ground—a sword. Cassian’s sword.

He stands in the threshold, his eyeballs nearly falling out of their sockets, mouth parted, one hand hanging in the air, the other now empty of a sword.

"I…I thought…I though you were… I honestly have no idea. But that…that I did not think about." Cassian is too stunned to form one coherent thought nor sentence. He just stares, eyes jumping between the red haired mail and his brother.

Being too startled neither Azriel, whose hand is still entangled in Eris hair, nor the High Lord, his hand was halfway down the spymaster’s pants, move. 

Finally snapping back to reality, Azriel lets his hand drop, sitting up straighter on the couch which is difficult with the tall High Lord half hovering above him.

Cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck, shadows creating a fuzzy nest of swirls around their owner. Azriel calms them with the clearing of his throat.

Azriel’s lips part, a weak attempt to say something, but no words leave his mouth.

Eris keeps silent, knowing how much pressure there was on his mate in that moment. Knows what this here meant. He still cannot not fully hold back. He needs to comfort his mate somehow. He lets his hand travel to Azriel’s, softly squeezing when his fingers curl around Azriel’s scarred one. He wants to signal him that he is there, that Azriel is not alone in this, that he does not have to face it alone if tough comes to shove.

A small shudder courses through Azriel. Not because he does not want the High Lord’s touch. No, it is because of his gesture. The thoughtfulness and kindness behind it. He tries to comfort him and it works. Azriel’s heart swells in his chest – Eris truly cares about him and that…no one has cared about him in that way.

"I can explain," Azriel finally manages to say.

Cassian blinks his eyes rapidly, his normally tanned cheeks turning a paler shade. “Yeah…yeah, I guess some explaining is quite a good idea,” Cassian mumbles, still standing frozen in the doorframe. He looks like he has seen a ghost. Eris squeezes Azriel’s hand once again, warmth and love reaching him through the bond. “I guess I should leave you two alone to talk. I can stay, of course, but I don’t…I don’t want to impose myself,” the High Lord states politely and has Azriel’s heart skip a beat. Eris truly seems to care about him and this feeling…this feeling is beautiful.

A small, sheepish smile blooms on Azriel’s face and he dips his chin at the High Lord. “I think we should talk alone first, but...thank you.” 

Eris carefully pushes off Azriel and consequently of the couch, straightening up to his full height. And although he did not want to look, Azriel does. Once again he is fully and completely enamoured by the beautiful male standing in front of him. 

Eris smoothes his palms down his shirt, and then his pants, strolling towards the Illyrian general and the door.

“It is not his fault. If you want to hate someone, hate me even more than you already do, but don’t hate him. There is no blame on him. I approached him. I was the one to address the bond first. Azriel…he is not to blame,” Eris mumbles, his gaze stern when it meets Cassian’s. 

His jaw is clenched and Cassian has to admit that he is quite taken by surprise about the High Lord's sincerity, his soft tone, his…kindness towards his brother. It pulls a lever in his mind and slowly awareness fills his brain. If Eris was truly Azriel’s mate he would…he would find a way to accept it. Azriel was the first to accept Nesta, without a second thought. Cassian would to the same for his brother even though it would be odd and agonising at the beginning, imagining his brother with…Eris Vanserra.

Said male closes the door behind him when Cassian steps fully into the room, heading to sit next to Azriel on the couch. He clears his throat and draws in a deep breath. “So?” 

“So…” Azriel lowers his gaze to the ground, elbows braced on his thighs when he lets his head hang low. 

“So it is really true then?” Cassian carefully asks. Gone is the shocked Illyrian warrior, he is all understanding, gentle. “He is your mate?”

“You assumed it already?” Azriel tilts his head to the side, gazing up at his brother. 

Lips pressed in a thin line, Cassian bows his head. 

“Yes, he is. And as much as I hate it…I cannot just fight it. I want him. And I think…I think I love him. Have loved him since such a long time.” Cassian clasps his brother’s shoulder in his big hand, squeezing tightly. “I know this is a problem, but I have longed for a mate so long. I cannot just—“ “And you should not. You should love him. Be with him. It is fucking hard to understand that one could love him, someone like him, but if you do…I will be alright with it, Az.”

The corner of the shadowsinger’s mouth tips up when he straightens up. He does not quite comprehend how Cassian understands so easily. The Illyrian general truly has a heart of gold, Azriel thinks. 

“It is fucking messed up, don’t you think?” A whole-hearted laugh leaves the Lord of Bloodshed and he tips his head back. “It is completely messed up.”

Azriel grins and punches the pillow next to him. “Eris Fucking Vanserra. Out of all people, it had to be him…” “Well, the Cauldron chooses wisely and for a reason,” Cassian states, all humor gone, nothing but sincerity left. 

The two of them talk for a while longer, Eris patiently waiting outside until he is called in, hesitantly waiting by the door. His one leg is crossed behind the ankle of the other, hands folded behind his back. He meets Azriel’s gaze only shortly, but still has to smile.

“I assume I will have to deal with you now more often?” Cassian grumbles, a predatory expression on his face when he asses the High Lord of Autumn.

“I will try to not cross your path too often, Lord General,” Eris says in a low voice. A muscle in his jaw flexes when he sees how close his mate is sitting to Cassian, their knees touching.

“I will rip you to shreds if you hurt him. If you put one toe out of place, alright?” Cassian cautions, his hand squeezing Azriel’s shoulder again. He slowly gets up, his eyes never leaving Eris’.

Eris bows his head, pushing off the wall. “I would never hurt him,” he says, gaze jumping to his mate. 

Cassian nods, bumping his shoulder against Eris when he passes him—on accident or not, no one knows. 

“I will leave you alone now. But do me a favour,” Cassian says, “before you continue with what you have started, make a plan first how you are going to explain this to the others.”

Eris and Azriel both nod in understanding.

A loud exhale leaves Cassian when he leaves the room. He throws his hands up, releasing another breath, “Good lords!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gods, I’ve needed this all day.” Azriel’s voice is low, leaden with desire. His fingers tug at the infuriating number of buttons concealing Eris’s creamy freckled skin.

“You had me this morning.” Eris grins, tossing his crown onto an armchair and relishing the light feeling of its absence. “Still so insatiable, Shadowsinger? Even after all these years?”

With a fist full of Eris’s shirt Azriel tugs his mate closer. “You’re just as bad as I am, High Lord.” He says the title mockingly, but he’s smiling too much for it to be anything other than an endearment.

“Can you really blame me? After everything we went through it’s still hard to believe that we made it here sometimes.” Eris drags a ringed finger across the tattoos on Azriel’s bare chest.

“But we did.” Azriel’s shadows twine around them both, half-shrouding them from the glow of the fire.

Smiling, Eris slides his hand up Azriel’s neck and into his hair, holding him, reminding himself that his mate is truly here, in spite of all the odds. “We did, didn’t we.” It’s a statement, not a question.

What would Lucien know about that, he thought miserably, his feet touching the first-floor landing. It wasn’t like he’d asked for her. If he’d it his way, the cauldron would given Elain to Azriel and the spymaster could spend eternity bound to a female that wanted nothing to do with their kind. He might have found it funny, the notion that Azriel thought she’d fall into his arms when Elain had made it abundantly clear she hated the mating bond.

Maybe he’d have a shot, then. Lucien stepped past the drawing room they’d exchanged gifts in when he caught a flash of that honey-colored hair all the Archeron’s shared. Feyre was up. Well fuck. He’d never be forgiven if he snuck right past her. He sighed and turned.

“Knock, knock,” he said before looking in. “Feyre, I thought I’d…” His words died in his throat when Elain looked back, her hands wrapped around her throat. “Never mind.” He wasn’t touching the red eyes and blotchy skin of the softly crying Elain with a ten-foot pole. He turned on his heel when something physically stopped him.

The fucking mating bond snarled in his chest, a physical beast that demanded he care for his mate. Fuck me, he thought furiously, keeping himself exactly where he was. He turned again, wary of the female that had caused so much drama. He wondered if she knew. Elain’s hands were still wrapped around her neck as a set of fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

“Are you alright?” He asked, every inch of him rebelling at the thought of comforting her through the rejection of another male.

Elain’s whole body seemed to tremble while Lucien warred with the bond, demanding it let him leave.

She doesn’t want him.

Lucien sighed and offered her a mocking bow while even the mating bond conceded. He turned for the third time, reshouldering his bag, and stepped out of the drawing room. Ten steps and he’d be at the door.

“Wait!” She called. Lucien’s whole body went taut as he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sky.

Have I displeased you? He silently asked the mother, walking back to the drawing room. He knew she could tell he did not want to be there, that he’d been trying to make his escape judging by the expression on her face. Was she planning to torture him a little, on her way out?

“Can you help me?” She asked, removing her hands from her throat. A red rosebud hung from her pale throat on a silver chain, and it was clear she’d been trying to remove it when he walked in on her.

Lucien dropped his bag to the floor and walked to her, her scent a punch to the gut. Honey and jasmine and something warm, like a breeze over a sunlit sky. All of that was mingled with fear and the better part of him wanted to tell her no and demand she tell him why she was so scared. He didn’t. What good was upsetting an already crying female?

She swept thick, honey-colored curls over one shoulder and it was Lucien’s turn to tremble, his stomach bottoming out. Had he ever touched her? He couldn’t remember a time. He reached for the tiny clasp, his fingers brushing over the nape of her neck. He swallowed hard as the chain was freed, sliding away into her waiting hands.

“Thank you,” she murmured as Lucien immediately put distance between them. His entire body was too aware of her and though he was angry, he didn’t know that he could stop himself from touching her again if he remained close. He wanted to guard her, to put his body in front of hers and snap and snarl until every male in Prythian was aware that she was his mate.

He reached for his bag. “Are you leaving?” She asked again and it occurred to Lucien she had asked him two questions and he had said nothing in response. He flexed his jaw, his back turned to her, and slid the strap of the bag back over his shoulder.

“I am,” he replied carefully. Elain wiped her cheeks with the palm of her hand and Lucien thought she was still so heartbreakingly beautiful, despite her hurt. Elain nodded, looking down at her feet and he wondered if he ought to just say goodbye.

“Will you be back?” She asked, her words nearly a whisper.

“Would you like me to return?” He asked, emphasizing her part heavily. Their eyes met again and Elain hesitated.

No.

He turned then, his anger cascading over him, intending to leave her in the drawing room. She didn’t owe him anything but neither did he. At least he was trying. If she didn’t want him around, he didn’t need to come any more than was necessary and he certainly didn’t need to see her.

“Lucien!” Elain breathed from behind him. He stopped again, cursing himself and the tether that bound them. “Lucien I didn’t…I uh…”

“I get it,” he said, his words clipped, turning to face her again. He shoved down his instincts demanding he treat her with care. Maybe someone should tell her to get fucked, even once instead of the constant handholding she was subjected to. “I’m the wrong male. That’s fine, Elain. I don’t want to be in your way.”

His hand reached for the doorknob when she surged forward, her brown eyes still sparkling with tears. “What does that mean?” She demanded.

He laughed dryly. “I guess you didn’t hear the little reprimand the High Lord gave Azriel regarding you?”

Her face paled.

“Don’t let me get in the way of true love,” he commented sarcastically. “I wish you and the bat nothing but the best.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not in love with him,” she half-whispers.

“You understand that’s worse, right?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. She looked him up and down.

“I don’t belong to you,” she began but Lucien rolled his eyes.

“When did I ever say you did?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve made a lot of assumptions about someone you don’t even know.”

“Would you even be here if it weren’t for this?” Elain asked in return, one finger gesturing between their bodies.

“Would Feyre?” He snapped back. Elain hesitated and Lucien could see she hadn’t considered that. Something sparked in her gaze and Lucien waited to see if she was going to soften.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Great,” Lucien replied, yanking on the door handle. “I don’t owe you shit, either.”

He stepped into the cold, strangely pleased when she followed him out.

“What does that mean?” She asked, the door snapping behind her. She immediately wrapped her arms around her body and, cursing himself, Lucien began unbuttoning his jacket.

“Why do you think I ought to stand here trying when you don’t believe you owe me anything?” He demanded even as he handed her the emerald-colored jacket. She snatched it out of his hands and threw it to the ground like a petulant child.

“You wanted this—”

“The hell I did!” He interrupted. “Do you imagine I am having a good time, watching you desperately try to avoid me? Because let me assure you, this is not my idea of fun.”

“Then why do you keep coming around?!”

“Because you haven’t rejected the bond!” He replied, letting some of his desperation leech into his words. “And until you do, I’ll keep coming to Solstice and waiting, my entire life hinging on a choice you seem duty bound to ignore. Have you ever considered, for even a moment of your now immortal life, that you do owe me something?”

“I don’t owe you shit,” she whispered in response, all rebellion. Lucien couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of his throat, causing her to jump. Of all the things he might have imagined, her repeating his own words back to him was not one of them. He shook his head, meaning to turn and winnow away but Elain was watching him and he thought her lips curved upwards just enough to seem as though she were suppressing a smile.

Lucien offered her the same mocking bow he’d once given her sister, bending deeply at the waist, arms thrown out, so she knew it was not courtly in the slightest.

“Enjoy your night, Elain.”

“Lucien!” She snapped, very clearly exasperated. He shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold, which he barely felt. He took a step between them, hooking the lip of his jacket on his boot and tossing it into the air where he caught it and draped it over his arm.

“What?”

Her eyes glanced back at his jacket, arms tightening around her body and for the second time that night, Lucien handed her the jacket. She didn’t budge and he sighed.

“Take the damn jacket, Elain.” “You’re rude,” she accused, snatching it out of his grip. And though Lucien was irritated with her, some of his anger washed away at the sight of her buttoning herself into his jacket.

“Yeah? Well you’re spoiled.”

Real mature.

She paused and then she smiled, as if he’d told her she was beautiful. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

“You’ll forgive me if I’m all out of sonnets.”

She laughed that time. “You’re so mean.”

Lucien hesitated. Did she like it? He took a step towards her and Elain, to her credit, held her ground. All traces of tears were gone, replaced by the open rebellion staring him in the face.

“You like it,” he accused. Elain didn’t deny it. Instead she took the tiniest step towards him, so close Lucien could touch her face. He reached between them, taking a fat curl between his fingers, knuckles brushing over her cheek.

“I’m not a doll,” she murmured, eyes wide as she held her ground. “I can handle it.”

Of that, Lucien didn’t doubt. He knew she felt his agreement, shimmering down their shared connection.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted me to stick around.” “Good thing you know better,” she shot back, all teasing. Lucien, unable to resist testing his luck, dropped his hand and made to turn.

She grabbed his hand and his blood sang at the contact, the instinct to grab her and take her away from this place nearly overwhelming.

“Stay,” she breathed. “Get some sleep…you look terrible.”

He smiled, looking down at her hand clasping his own. “At least we share that commonality.”

Her mouth dropped open, eyes sparkling. “How very cruel of you. Will I see you in the morning?”

“If you’re lucky,” he replied, smirking. All his confidence died the moment she brought his hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“If you’re lucky, you mean,” she replied, letting go. Elain turned, flouncing back into the house without so much as a glance backwards while Lucien stood beneath the fae lights flickering on Feyre’s porch, hand burning. He tried to figure out what had happened and how they’d gone from crying and yelling to…insults and a kiss.

Still, he did as she asked and came back into the house and walked back to his room…where Feyre waited, a smile playing on her lips.

“Good night?” She asked him, making it plain she’d heard at least part of what went down between him and Elain.