𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Arwen had been poked and prodded, assessed and tested in every which way. To the point where she was no longer upset and gone was the disorientation, now just tired and hungry. And she still hadn't had dinner. They had asked her questions like she knew the answers, then gave the same ones to Madja who looked over her. No answers came.

She had just vanished. Physically. What would have happened if she hit the ground? Rhys had caught her seconds before, then she slipped through him again. But as soon as her back hit the water, the pain had been excruciating and enough to knock her out.

A rapping at her door broke Arwen from her self-absorbed trance. "Come in." It was Azriel, who opened the door, his handsome face peeking before his leather-clad body did. Her smile was already growing but shot wide as a plate full of food appeared with him. "Is that for me?"

"No, it's mine," he said. "Thought I'd eat it in here."

Rolling her eyes, she stormed from her seat at the vanity and snatched the plate from his hands. Arwen made it a step away before spinning on her heel. Azriel stood with his hand still hovering, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "Thank you," she told him. Her mind was so fuzzy it was hard to think. "Sorry, I'm just so hungry and—"

"It's fine." He added a lift of his lips, dropping his hand. Arwen took her plate and sat on the edge of her bed, balancing it on her thighs and was already cutting into the meat. He remained in the doorway for a moment, contemplating just leaving her be. "How are you feeling?"

"Crazed," she answered in a humourless chuckle. "I don't know, Az." The nickname always turned something in his stomach. Cassian and Rhysand caught him up as they spoke to Majda about how she had been feeling strange all day. He listened intently to every word. "I really don't know." She chewed fervently on her dinner, using her utensils in place of her hands as they waved around. "I mean—I just moved right through everything!"

Azriel nodded in agreement as he took in her room. He hadn't been inside it for years. Not since he felt the bond snap into place. It wasn't like he was in here often before that either but made a point of avoidance more regular. He wasn't sure if he should stay but knew her well enough that she'd it clear for him to go if he wasn't welcome. He chose to sit on the chair near her vanity, turning it to face the bed.

Arwen sighed and smiled again at him, pleased that he decided to stay a little longer. She missed him. Missed him being Azriel—not her mate. The one that would sit and read silently with her when Cassian had managed to piss her off or offer her hiding spots in his shadows when her brother or mother came looking.

She looked down at her steamed beans. "Do you want my beans?" Poking one with her fork, she extended it towards the spymaster.

Azriel hesitated a moment, but leant forward and took the green bean from the prongs. Arwen nudged them all to the far side of her bowl, gesturing with her head for him to join her on the bedding. He sat down, bringing the bean to his lips.

She didn't even have time to gasp.

Her hand slapped his, the bean flying across the carpeted floor of her room. Azriel's jaw unlocked before he suddenly realised why she had done it. He had almost eaten food offered to him by his mate.

Arwen's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to slap you."

He flexed his hand then clenched it shut. "No, that was probably the best thing to do." Arwen hummed and dove back into her meal. Gods, she really had been hungry. Or just wanted to avoid speaking any more to him.

But he was proved wrong to that second thought when she gave a bitter chuckle. "Maybe someone put a curse on me." Azriel smiled at her amusement, but he tucked the idea away to bring up to Rhys later who was worrying himself downstairs. He had wanted to bring her dinner up, but Cassian stalked across the room, took the plate from Rhysand's hands, handed it to Azriel and shoved Rhys into a seat. Apparently, the calm exposition of the shadowsinger was thought to be better company than a nail-biting High Lord for the half-Illyrian female.