A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 11 - Without You

"That's the past for you. Not only does it come back at the most unexpected, and inconvenient, times but it's set in stone."

- Jeffery Deaver

Song: Never Enough - Loren Allred

Azriel and Gwyn waited for the High Lord in his study. It wasn't until the priestess was sitting still, that she was flooded with worries relevant to the situation at hand. The whole flight over she'd only been able to think about the beast in her blood and her relationship with Azriel. Now, sitting in one of the two chairs across from the large mahogany desk, the reality of the situation hit her.

Why did the High Lord wish to see Gwyn? Was she in some sort of trouble? Was it because she vomited in his son's room? Did it have to do with that look he had given her when she'd wept over Azriel's crumpled body? Why did he need to see her of all people?

"Are you alright?" Azriel asked.

Gwyn didn't look up from her fidgeting fingers. "Yes."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadowsinger eye her doubtfully. His shadows had likely called her bluff... "You've got no reason to be concerned. We aren't in any sort of trouble."

"Then what is this about?" she whispered, looking at him.

Azriel's faint smile was amused. "Gwyn. What could you have possibly done to earn a scolding from the High Lord of the Night Court?"

Gwyn's eyes grew round, fingers moving from her lap to the arms of her chair, nails digging into the wood. "Maybe he's figured out I'm part lightsinger and..."

"And?"

"And... and is banishing me."

Azriel was stone faced for a moment, eyes locked with hers. Then his mouth turned up at the corners, brows furrowing. He snorted. " Banishing you?"

"It isn't funny..."

"Gwyn, you are the last person that Rhysand would banish. "

"You don't know that."

Azriel snickered, shaking his head. " Banishing. Gods, how much fiction do you read? The theater..."

"You're going to feel very guilty when I'm banished." She fought the smile threatening to break out on her face. Perhaps she was being a little over dramatic, letting her nerves get the best of her. "Maybe he's learned that I vomited in Nyx's room..."

"No. I cleaned that up. Haven't said a word."

"It wouldn't be the first time someone vomited in my son's room. He's prone to doing it himself."

Gwyn's spine straightened. She looked over her shoulder to see the High Lord enter the room, a sly smile on his lips.

"But usually it's on mine or Feyre's shoulders." He crossed the room and took a seat at his desk, glancing pointedly at Azriel. "Awfully kind of you to clean it up. Trying to get in Nyx's good graces, Az?"

"Naturally."

Gwyn swallowed, holding the chair tighter. "I am so sorry, High Lord. I had—"

Rhysand waved an errant hand, leaning his elbows on his desk then steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "It's Rhysand, and please do not trouble yourself."

The way he spoke was as though she were an old friend and not some priestess from his charity who'd attended two of his parties. Not the trembling female his brother had rescued in Sangravah. Not the drunk who vomited in his son's nursery... It was surprisingly refreshing to bypass the uncomfortable "I'm Gwyn and I live in the library because I've been a victim of unspeakable horrors" phase of getting well acquainted with someone.