Cold hits me like a punch to the gut and I suck in the fresh, outside air before my sight clears enough to see the cabin I stayed at with Cassian among snowy mountains.
"Fucking hell, why?" I hiss and wrap my wings around both ladies to keep us warm. Mor points to a field on top of the mountain where our males kneel behind piles of snow, lobbing snowballs at one another. Even as cold bites into me, I beam at the sight.
"Are those snow forts?" Feyre asks and Mor nods with a soft smile on her face as well. A particularly well-aimed snowball smashes into Cassian and I can't help but laugh quietly.
"You bastard!" Rhys laughs and warmth fills me at the joy in it.
"They're having a snowball fight." Feyre states as Mor lowers a shield to block out the howling wind. Mor's golden curls bob as she nods. "Three Illyrian warriors, the greatest Illyrian warriors. Are having a snowball fight?"
"I'll choose not to take offense to that since I'm not technically an Illyrian." I drawl and she spares me a look of disdain which I giggle at.
"Since they were children," Mor affirms.
"They're over five hundred years old." Feyre goes on, still flabbergasted.
"Do you want me to tell you the running tally of victories?" Mor asks while our friend gapes at her. Snowballs are still flying across the field with wicked aim that crash into their targets brutally. "No magic, no wings, no breaks."
"They've been out here since noon." She emphasizes as her teeth start chattering and I bring my wings a bit closer around them.
"I've always stayed in to drink," Mor says and my eyes roll.
"Course you do." She elbows my side and I snigger.
"How do they even decide who wins?"
"Whoever doesn't get frostbite?"
Another laugh slips from my lips as Feyre continues through clacking teeth, "This is ridiculous."
Mor shrugs, "There's more alcohol in the cabin." We watch the males as they continue happily without noticing us at all. A wide grin breaks across my face as my mate launches two snowballs into the air which rain down on Rhysand.
"Asshole." He barks before Mor loops her arm in one of ours.
"I don't think your mate is going to win this year, my friend." She says to Feyre and despite it being silly, I feel a little pride sneak into my chest that my mate will more than likely conquer. We all head into the painted cabin to bask in the warmth rather than freeze in the chill outside.
When the males finally come in, they're freezing, grinning, and covered in red and snow. Rhys slides by to give Feyre a brief kiss, then they move on to 'steam in the birchin.' Thankfully, Mor explains.
"Another tradition. An Illyrian custom, actually—the heated sheds. The birchin. A bunch of naked warriors, sitting in the steam, sweating." She says with a grin that grows wider when Feyre blinks. "About the only good custom the Illyrians ever came up with, to be honest." The image of a group of sweaty warriors in an enclosed space is not appealing to me in the least. However, being alone with Azriel in a heated box with our sweaty bodies sliding against one another is more than tempting.
"I'd be glad to introduce you to the birchin." Azriel's low voice speaks over the bond. "But perhaps not now."
"You mean you wouldn't kick out your brothers so I could join you?" I tease, but I'm surprised by a soft rumble on his end.
YOU ARE READING
Risk and Reward
Fanfiction"It was perfect. Everything we'd dreamed it would be. The only thing that wasn't perfect...is me." After the events of Shadowsinger, Solstice is coming up. The war is over and battle is done, but that doesn't mean the difficulty ends. Everyone in th...
