A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 35 - Echo

"Let us be certain of who we want to be. Let us choose for ourselves our path in life, and let us try to strew that path with flowers."

- Émilie Du Châtelet

Song: When the Darkness Comes - Colbie Caillat

It was still dark outside when Gwyn woke, moonlight streaming in through the windows of the guest room and bathing the floor in white.

To her right, lay Azriel. His leathers removed but still wearing his tunic and breeches. The shadowsinger had made a barrier of pillows between them and Gwyn smiled faintly at the sight. Even though she'd slept in his arms just days ago, Azriel knew without her even saying a word that she needed her space. At least for a few days.

So much had happened. A group of men had handled her and the High Lord of the Spring Court had asked that her shirt be removed, and Azriel had seen her half naked—

Oh.

Azriel had seen her half naked.

Gwyn blinked, glancing over at the shadowsinger. Those were certainly not the circumstances she'd imagined Azriel seeing her unclothed in. Gwyn had imagined a warmly lit room with a roaring fire or a warm bath. Definitely not a stiff divan with her torso littered in bruises and wounds...

Still, what had he thought of her? Did he think, even for a moment, that her breasts were beautiful? Did he admire the curve of her back or the dip of her waist? Did he count the freckles dotting her skin?

I hate to break it to you, Gwyn, but he was probably focused on removing the arrow in your side... Catrin scoffed.

Her twin was right, and Gwyn was suddenly embarrassed by the muscles curling deep in her stomach. She was hot - too hot beneath this weathered duvet. And her legs. Gods, were they restless.

As quietly as possible, Gwyn slid out of the bed and grabbed the robe draped over the armchair Azriel had previously sat in, slipping it on over her nightshirt.

The stitched wound in her side stretched unpleasantly. She pressed two fingers against it and they came away dry. As long as she didn't tear the stitches, she should be fine to move about freely.

With one last look at Azriel, Gwyn silently exited the guest chambers and found herself in a long hallway, illuminated only by the moonlight outside the windows of the other guest rooms.

Just a quick walk around the manor to cool her head. That's all she needed.

She strolled the corridor, frowning at the hall. There were empty spaces with varying square and rectangle shapes staining the walls. Like portraits had been removed. Portraits, Gwyn assumed, that may have been painted by the High Lady of the Night Court. It was no secret, her past with Tamlin.

Gwyn wasn't particularly sympathetic towards the male, but it seemed a shame to do away with artwork.

At the end of the hall, Gwyn's jaw nearly dropped. She was at the top of the grand staircase and facing the west wing corridor. It was covered in ivy from floor to ceiling, reclaimed almost entirely by the earth.

It looked like something out of one of her books.

Unable to shy from her curiosity, Gwyn padded to the plant-dressed corridor, gazing up at it in wonder. It was beautiful. Beautiful in a wild sort of way.

A path had been carved through the greenery, the floor carpeted in ivy that was ironed down by tread marks. The leaves that hung from the ceiling were high enough to walk under.