#gwyriel

Gwyn laid across the chaise in a perfect pose, one hand draped across her abdomen, the other resting above her head. She looked just beyond Azriel, above his shoulder into nothingness.

He drew her, eyes flicking up every few seconds to memorize another inch of her, but it was going horribly wrong.

His mind wasn’t in it, nor was his heart. He was far too distracted, and she could tell.

“Why do I have the feeling only half of you is present?” She asked, a lovely thin brow arched.

Azriel sighed, dropping the charcoal in his hand before pinching his brow. “It’s been a…long few weeks.”

“Does this have to do with the girl you’re in love with?” She asked, eyes alight.

Azriel’s gaze snapped to hers and he frowned. “Are you known for putting yourself into other peoples business?”

Gwyn thought about it for a moment. “Perhaps us poor folk are not as shy and timid in our conversation as those of you with wealth.”

Only Gwyn could make him feel inferior for having money. He didn’t disagree though. It wasn’t that he wasn’t thankful for his full coffers, but there was something to say for not worrying about what others thought of you. Of not worrying about your status or reputation.

There was a reason he hadn’t denied his feelings for Elain to Gwyn when she’d brought them up. She was the only person he could admit that he may be thinking he even had feelings for Elain. If anyone in the ton found out?

Forget the scandal of Rhys and Nesta refusing to marry. Forget Elain’s broken heart after that prick married another young lady.

A young man lusting after his own brother’s bride-to-be might be the most salacious gossip the ton of Velaris had ever heard.

Which is why it had to stay a secret from them.

“They announced their engagement,” he said, at last. “My brother and…the lady in question.”

Gwyn looked at him for a moment and he knew her intrigue was genuine. She sat up, forgetting her pose entirely. “And how do you feel about that?”

Azriel’s first instinct was to snap at her. Sharing his feelings was not something that Azriel felt passionately about. In fact, his inner soul was his own and he hated letting others near it. Yet, he enjoyed talking with Gwyn, enjoyed her company. She had become a good friend, surprisingly enough. 

“I am angry,” he confessed, quietly. “And I have no reason to be, so I feel guilty for that anger.”

Gwyn nodded as if she completely understood. “You should feel no guilt for how you feel about this woman. Love knows no bounds. The heart wants what it wants, and there should be no shame in that.”

Azriel scoffed, not because he did not absorb her words, but because she simply did not understand the ways of the ton. “If others were to find out about how I feel for Elain—“

He caught her name the moment it slipped his mouth but Gwyn did not even blink an eye. She continued to watch him, continued to listen.

“It would cause scandal,” he finished, staring at his unfinished drawing.

“And do you care?” She asked, head cocked to the side. “If you are the center of scandal?”

“No,” he confessed, “but I care if she and Cassian are.”

“You care for both of them,” she said, though he would have thought that was obvious.

“Of course, I do.” He raked a hand through his hair, not caring if he smeared charcoal along his forehead or in his hair. “Cassian may not be blood, but he’s my brother, no less. And Elain…” Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “If you knew Elain you’d understand. She was…so withdrawn at the beginning of the season, ashamed of the way her last season had ended.” As he stared at the paint-splattered wood floor beneath him, it occurred to him that Gwyn likely knew none of the background regarding Elain’s failed debut into society. He wasn’t going to explain that now, not when it wasn’t even his story to tell. “She had finally started to open herself again, to blossom and show the world just how beautiful and kind and selfless she is. I had thought that maybe, I was…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gwyn’s nimble fingers were suddenly beneath his chin. He hadn’t even heard her stand, but suddenly she was before him and was tipping his face up to look into her own. “You thought that maybe you were the reason she’d bloomed.”

How did she see through him so easily?

“It was a foolish thought,” Azriel said, quietly.

Gwyn shook her head, her hand falling from his chin. “I have not known you for very long, Azriel, but I know who you are, your spirit. You must see yourself in a better light, for that is what you deserve.”

Azriel blinked, thrown off by her statement, her compliment. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just continued to stare before he said, “You moved from your position. It took me twenty minutes to get you in the right spot.”

Gwyn’s face lit up as she laughed. With a shake of her head, she walked back to the chaise and attempted to get back into position. “You’re too serious, my lord.”

She crooned the last words and Azriel snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Do not call me that.”

Her grin widened and he chastised her. His subject did not smile.

The second her face fell into neutralness and Azriel put the tip of his charcoal to paper, she said, “You need a distraction.”

He was lucky he hadn’t lifted the heel of his hand, otherwise the piece would have been ruined. “A distraction?”

She hummed in confirmation, which Azriel assumed meant she would have nodded, had the angle of her head not been exactly where he wanted it. It also meant she wasn’t going to elaborate, not without some coaxing from him.

The initial shock of her words gone, he let his eyes drop back to his piece as he started to sketch again. “What kind of distraction?”

It was a stupid question, he knew exactly what kind of distraction she offered, but…he hadn’t expected it. Many of the female students were more than willing to pose for their male counterparts, as Gwyn did. They often stripped down to nothing, letting themselves be put into positions that could be considered quite compromising, but loving every second of it. It was a type of freedom that Azriel, as a man, would never understand.

But never Gwyn. She would pose for him and a few others he knew, but never nude. He’d never asked, had never thought to, with his head so wrapped around Elain.

There was a glint in her teal eyes that Azriel could see from across the room and she shrugged, her body falling right back into place and staying there.

The room filled with comfortable silence as he drew Gwyn, far more invested than he’d been minutes before, as he let the thoughts of the damn ton and his expectations leave his head.

Maybe a distraction was just what he needed.

<.>

Rhysand was alone.

He had rarely been alone lately and he had to admit that he did not like it much. Azriel was at the academy and Cassian was off getting fitted for his wedding jacket. He still couldn’t believe the bastard was getting married.

Marriage.

He thought of the word more often these days, thought about the vow he made to his father, that he would not pass down that horrid man’s name, that the Lunasa family name would die with Rhysand.

It was a vow he stood by.

Yet, that vow had grown more difficult to keep in recent days. 

There was not a moment that went by that he was not thinking of Feyre. Her smile, her scent, the way she kissed him, the sounds she made while he pleasured her…it all consumed his thoughts. There had never been a woman so tempting to keep as her.

Rhysand had been with women before. Not only those down by the docks, but ladies of the ton, as well. There was a time when the Queen had made it her personal mission to marry off Rhysand, but he never did. None of them ever made him feel a thing.

Until Feyre.

A vow that he’d made almost ten years ago was falling to shreds in just a matter of months.

Or that may have just been his resolve as Feyre dug herself deeper and deeper into his skin. With every kiss, with every touch, with every breath they shared, he was becoming weaker, had begun to imagine things he had no place imagining.

Was she a morning person or did she prefer to be up with the stars, like him? How many spoons of sugar did she take in her tea? Did she sleep on the right or the left side of the bed?

Something told him she was the type to sleep in the middle and spread out until she was comfortable.

If he wasn’t careful, he wasn’t going to just let her beneath his skin, she was going to burrow into his soul, into heart.

Which was something he absolutely could not allow.

Even if it was already happening.

With a curse he pushed away the stack of papers on his desk that he should have been going through, but wasn’t.

He wasn’t being fair to her, he knew that, and he hated himself for it. She needed a husband, it was what she wanted and what she was looking for, even if she had recently convinced herself otherwise. Just because she didn’t want to marry the prince did not mean that she did not want to marry, ever.

There were plenty of times when he told himself that he should leave her alone but he just couldn’t. She called to him, and he could not deny her of anything. She had consumed him, body and soul, and he would happily let her consume him until the day that she no longer looked his way.

But it wasn’t fair.

None of it was fair.

It wasn’t fair that Rhysand could not marry.

It wasn’t fair that he could not have children.

It wasn’t fair that he had found a woman that he could see himself with and knew that the time they spent together was slowly ticking away.

Their little charade had become far too real and he had no idea when that had taken place. As much as he wanted to say that it was the night in the theater, he was fairly sure he was long gone by then. If he hadn’t been, he never would have made such a selfish request, for her to meet him, for her to have given herself to him.

A chill ran down Rhysand’s spine as he repeated his own words in his head. It wasn’t as if they were a sudden realization, but it was the first time he’d considered the implications and consequences of what they’d done.

Feyre had given herself to him, given all of herself, without a second thought. Her virginity, her maidenhead, her innocence. The most prized and protected thing a young lady of high society possessed, especially the Diamond, and he had taken it from her.

He’d ruined her.

He prayed that whoever she ended up marrying one day wasn't one of the pretentious bastards who brought a physician in to check the legitimacy of her virtue. Usually, those were the old men who were looking for something young and pretty to breed and pop out an heir, and the thought of Feyre ending up shackled to one of those pricks…

It suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t just the thought of Feyre marrying some old, decrepit lord with one foot in the grave that ignited a brewing storm in his belly. It was the thought of her marrying anyone.

The claim he felt he had over her was wrong on so many levels, not just that he wouldn’t marry and he knew he was playing with her heart at this point.

He was playing with his own as well.

<.>

Nesta sat outside on the patio in the dark, looking up at the stars. She had no idea how long she’d been out there, had no idea if it had been minutes or hours.

But there she was, thinking of the ball two nights before.

She had almost kissed him.

She had wanted to kiss him.

Had wanted to do far more.

Now, she was racked with guilt. Feyre and her had not spoken after she had walked in on them, not really. She had told Nesta she would not tell a soul, but that’s all the conversation consisted of.

They had not spoken a word to one another since.

She hoped Feyre was telling the truth, that she would keep it to herself. It was no secret that the sisters did not always see eye to eye. In fact, they rarely got along since the death of their mother.

And if Elain were to find out what had conspired between Nesta and Cassian? Nesta would never recover. 

She wasn’t sure if Elain ever would either.

Shame coursed through Nesta as she thought about how she’d avoided Elain since they returned home. She’d feigned a headache in the carriage on the ride home, but there were only so many excuses she could come up with before Elain wondered what was wrong.

The damn burning in her eyes returned and Nesta cursed her stupid emotions as she closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she was powerless to stop them.

The creaking of the door opening behind her had Nesta tucking the robe she was wearing tighter around herself, turning to see—

Feyre froze as she took in Nesta’s seated form. She was wearing a dark cloak, the hood pulled up to hide her face and hair. Her eyes looked around the yard behind their home, but she didn’t see anyone or anything. Hesitantly, she approached her sister. “What are you doing out here?”

Nesta wiped at her face. “I could ask you the same thing.” She tried to infuse the words with her usual bite, but they came out shaky.

Feyre hesitated. “I couldn’t sleep. I was going for a ride.”

Nesta’s brows rose, even though she had snuck a horse out of the stables on multiple occasions. “That’s not very safe, Feyre.”

Feyre’s surprised expression hardened. “Don’t you dare start lecturing me on making good decisions.” 

On any other day, Nesta would have snapped. She would have fought, would have spat. But today, she was emotionally drained, and even she surprised herself when she said, “You’re right.”

Feyre stilled, as if it were the last thing she expected to hear. Perhaps that’s why she walked to where Nesta sat and plopped down beside her. 

After a moment, Feyre asked, “Do you wish to talk about it?”

“About what?” She asked, before she could stop herself.

Feyre’s voice only quieted. “Nesta.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek and Nesta angrily wiped it away. “Nothing happened,” she began, at last, “I need you to know that nothing happened between us.”

Feyre looked skeptical but nodded. “So, what did happen then?”

Nesta couldn’t respond because she had no idea. What had happened? One minute they were spewing hate and the next she was so lost in his gaze that she couldn’t imagine functioning properly again until he had claimed her. 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, voice low. If Feyre hadn’t been sitting right next to her, she likely wouldn’t have heard her. “He just… He enrages me and— and he infuriates me and when I’m around I lose all sense of myself. He…consumes me.”

There’s a pause. “I understand that.”

Nesta’s eyes find Feyre’s, so much like her own, but also wholly different. Where Nesta’s were often cold and wary, Feyre’s held a fire that she could never quite find in herself. 

The flame currently burning in them was low, but Nesta could feel the intensity, even as they left her and looked back out over the sprawling law, right to the fence and trees beyond. “You feel his presence the moment either of you enter a room. His voice is like the sweetest lullaby you’ve ever heard, but also a call to something inside of you that you never knew existed.” The corners of her lips tilted up in a secret smile. “The barest of touches sends your heart racing and you don’t know how to slow it down or if you even want to try.” Throat bobbing, Feyre tilted her face to the stars. “I understand that.”

Nesta was staring, not only because everything Feyre had said had struck true, but because…she really did understand.

“Where were you going tonight, Feyre?”

It wasn’t accusatory, the question was genuine.

Eyes still on the stars, Feyre replied, “For a ride.”

The words were light, and there was a small smile still on Feyre’s lips, and Nesta decided then that she wouldn’t press. Even as ideas of where her sister was going flooded her mind, she didn’t voice them. 

“But now I am going nowhere,” Feyre continued, and Nesta continued to watch her sister curiously. “Now I am sitting here with you, basking in our secrets.”

Secrets.

Secrets that would stay between them, secrets that no one else would come to know. There was a comfort in that, a comfort in all of this, that Nesta did not have to bear her feelings for Cassian alone. Although nothing would ever come of it, someone else would know of what she felt for him, and she thought for a moment that that would be enough. 

In the moonlight, Feyre took Nesta’s hand and they remained there, staring up at the stars in silence. Nesta found a beautiful sense of peace for the first time in a long time. 

____________________________________________________________