"Oh, you've named it!" Feyre gave her a wide smile. She considered telling her new friend about Bryaxis' actual name, but decided not to.

It surprised her, though, that someone as wise as Gwyneth didn't know the legendary creature's name.

The building of Azriel's penthouse was already visible at their right. He had chosen this location centuries ago to be afar from the downtown bustle, but close enough to make it back home walking if the drinking ended up being too much.

"When I first met her, that was the name she gave me, my lady."

The place fitted Gwyn perfectly fine as well. She had all these stores to shop at, and the view from up there was marvelous. They reached the door. Feyre rested against the stone wall and covered her eyes from the setting sun with her tattooed hand. "I had no idea it was a she."

Gwyn wasn't listening to her. Not really. Locks of auburn hair cascaded over her shoulder when she reached for her keys inside the vegetable-filed basket. "Aren't all of us shes in there?"

Another small talk topic died as they entered the building, and Feyre didn't bother starting a new one. Not when they were about to walk up the stairs to the fifth floor.

"Obviously people like you and me are, I guess, I never thought about the Merrill kind..." Forgetting Bryaxis, Feyre focused on not tripping in front of Gwyn.

With each step, Feyre missed a pinch harder the physical tasks her body could endure before she gave birth. With each step, Gwyn grew more and more chatty somehow. The proximity to her house seemed to inspire her spirit. As long as it didn't require Feyre to answer, the High Lady was more than happy to let her talk.

"If you get tired, you can put a hand on the wall to help yourself." Before they reached the fourth floor, both female were doing it. "I think Az will be home. Will you stay for dinner with us?"

The breath of air Feyre took as she reached the door of Azriel's apartment tasted better than she had imagined it would. She reminded herself that, in exchange for her resilience, she had gotten the most beautiful baby in the world... and smiled. Nyx's laughter in her memory pushed her to give a very flushed Gwyn a grin. She was already opening the door for her.

"What will you make?"

"Soup." She lifted the basket and invited Feyre in.

Light slipped thought the half opened window across the room and hit Gwyn's face. Feyre held her breath, and for a moment believed the Sun had come out today just to shower this female with its rays. She was extraordinarily beautiful.

"I would love to have some."

Feyre had been here before, she knew the way to the kitchen. Together, they took everything out of the basket and put it over the kitchen table.

Across the house , she heard a tap being closed and a door opening. The sunset light flood the room and stole golden glimmers from Azriel's hazel eyes when he entered the kitchen. He was wearing black trousers and a very loose linen shirt. His hair was damp, and he was taking care of it with a towel.

"How was your shopping?" He asked no one in particular.

His shadows circumvented the remaining of sunlight and went straight to Gwyn, two of them tangling between her copper strings of hair.

"Hello to you too." She giggled. "We bought everything we needed. Feyre knows all the vendors, we had lots of fun."

Az gave his High Lady a quick hug. They had just met that morning in the river house, when Azriel had taken the opportunity to suggest she spent the evening with Gwyn. The female had recently reunited the courage to abandon the House of Wind, and sometimes the loud streets overwhelmed her.

Feyre had been happy to show her around and help Gwyn fall in love with Velaris like she had on those first walks with Rhys.

"And now we are about to make soup for dinner." Feyre told her friend. "Do you want to help?"

From a drawer, Gywn got a knife for Feyre and another one for herself. Over the wooden countertop, they started chopping the vegetables for the broth. Azriel stayed there, leaned against the door frame.

"I actually wanted to talk to both of you." He scratched his chin. The shadows floated around him, slowly riding up his legs. At his words, they halted.

"About what?" Gwyn asked without looking up from her chore.

Feyre noticed Azriel communicating with his shadows. It was subtle, but she had learned to tell when he momentarily left the conversation to have a parallel one with the extension of himself that they were.

Then, the shadows left the kitchen, and suddenly Gwyn's attention was fixed on him, as if she had sensed the shift in the air as well.

"Actually, clothing. Have you bought anything today, Feyre? I know Gwyn loves a shop downtown, pretty close to the river house there is a store she is quite fond of."

"Why would you ask her that?"

The cautious edge in Gwyn's voice told Feyre there was something she didn't know, that Gwyn suspected and Azriel hid. "Just curious. I know she's been going to stores lately, finding her own style, playing around. Right? With Mor." It was impossible for Feyre to tell where the catch was. He was the picture of a cat playing, but right now, Gwyn looked scarier, with that warning in her pupils aimed straight at the shadowsinger.

She had indeed gone shopping more regularly lately.

"Yes, we went a few days ago, but I didn't buy anything for myself. It's not like I need any more clothes, Rhysand has closets full of dresses for me."

The most exquisite silks and embroidered fabrics hang in her wardrobe, waiting to be worn. Feyre picked up the knife and went back to chopping.

"Why, did you want to come?"

Though the corner of her eye, she caught Gwyn aiming at Az yet another deathly stare. But he was already speaking.

"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? The fun is in dressing yourself. You can't rely on me, or Rhysand to pick outfits for you."

Despite Gwyn's intention to shush him, it was late. Feyre once again dropped the knife and twisted her body to face him. Rhysand did still pick most of her looks when they were on official Court schedule, but no one had pointed that out as a weird thing before "What does that mean?"

"No, Feyre, leave this to me. This is a problem he has with me. Come on." Gwyn dared. He held her gaze, but his mouth remained sealed. "Say it." She snarled between clenched teeth.

The look on his face was feral all of a sudden, and Feyre realized his comment on how she picked -or rather didn't pick- her clothes was an excuse to target Gwyn. He took a step closer to the redhead, his jaw tense, as if he was conjuring all his willpower not to snap right there and then.

"I can't stand how you mix black clothing..."

"There you go-" Gwyn mocked.

"...that doesn't match!" He finished with a half-scream. A bird that had been resting on the railing of the balcony flew away, scared.

Gwyn put on her fakest smile and her hands on her hips. Feyre braced herself and mentally prepared, just in case she needed to intervene. Azriel was showing a kind of anger so different from the cold rage she had always known, that Feyre found herself unable to properly assess the situation. How bad was this fight about to get?

It won't cross any line, she told herself. She wouldn't allow it. Power tickled in her fingertips, ready to be called into action.

"Black is black." Gwyn was now arguing. She turned to face Feyre. "Right?"

She felt out of place. Like this fight was too violent despite the arm length separating them, and too intimate all at the same time.

"It has different shades!" His voice was authoritarian, but his tone remained quiet. The way he spoke had made High Lords flinch in the past. Gwyn seemed unaffected by it. "You know I hate it, and you still do it. You put your silly little outfits on and walk in front of me" his patience finally reached its limit, "when you know I can't fucking stand it!"

"Stop the two of you right now." Feyre had enough. She extended a hand between them, forcing the pair to step away from each other. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Neighbors, passersby... they probably had heard the fight. She couldn't allow this to continue. Feyre gave the bond a little tug and felt Rhysand's curious presence at the other side. Feyre wanted her mate to listen as well, because she wouldn't say it twice. Her clothes! Azriel, who might wear the same hue of black everyday, but hadn't bought a shirt in years, had the audacity to call her out for letting Rhys help her get dressed... And poor Gwyn too!

"You have invited Gwyneth to live in here with you, and from the moment you extended such invitation of your own free will, this place became hers as well." She started. "For better or worse, the two of you share this space, and within the same lines that confine this property, your right to consider any decision she makes a mutual thing, ends as well."

In the heat of the moment, it was hard to tell between Rhys' amusement at the scolding his brother was getting, and his quiet anger at how he had dared comment on their relationship. Worse, he had used it only as an excuse.

"What Gwyn wears is her choice. Hers, and hers only. She has flaunt with pride the gray tunic of the priestesses for decades, and you have no right to put a timer on when her margin to experiment ends."

He didn't interrupt her speech, but was ready to jump in as soon as she made a pause long enough.

"It's not about taking choices away, Feyre. I have been" He sighed, and from his frustration, Feyre knew he had actually tried to tell Gwyn about it before, probably in kinder ways, "I've been trying to help her find herself in every day clothing. I went shopping with her and Nesta when she asked... Have I not?"

Gwyn actually nodded, her cheeks colored with a faint tint of red.

"The one thing I've made clear since the beginning is that I hate it when people mix shades of black. It is ugly."

"It's still her wardrobe." Feyre insisted. "And if you can't respect that..."

Az put his hands in the air. Feyre was surprised by how expressive he was acting. His shadows were still nowhere to be seen.

"I just told you..."

"She is not finished." Gwyn cut in.

Azriel and Gwyn's heads turned in unison. Four pairs of eyes were suddenly fixed on her, and Feyre, with her back straight in a regal posture, knew exactly what to say. "We are leaving for the House of Wind."

"Exactly." Gwyn dropped her knife as well.

Nesta would take them in. She would even kick Cassian out if he dared defend Azriel's actions. And Feyre would fly Gwyn and herself to the safety of her sister's house.

Head held high, Feyre walked towards the balcony. The sunset would be the only witness to their victory, but it was enough. She needn't call for Gwyn, for the female was already behind her, taking her hand.

Against all logic, Feyre's body changed as her wings spread on her back. Her illyrian muscles were untrained, but still stronger than her fae form. She respectfully placed a hand on Gwyn's back, and after getting a slight nod from her, Feyre put the other under her knees to rise her from the ground.