A Court of Truths and Revival

Feasting

AZRIEL

Azriel wasn't often glad to have been born an Illyrian bastard. There was no light in his life before Rhys and Cassian. There were his sadistic half brothers, his cruel father, his broken-down mother, and shadows he couldn't yet understand. Even once he was thrown into the Illyrian camp and found his true brothers, his heritage was less than ideal.

But now, it seemed to have finally provided a small mercy because Keir could not stand the idea of housing a winged torturer in his home. The gossip that will ensue, he had moaned into his pale hand moments after Rhys and Feyre left. I'll be ostracized over it.

Azriel had smugly said nothing as Keir shifted his plans after his complaints. He'd wondered if Seren would rise to the many insinuations about impropriety that Keir threw her way, but she merely glared at her uncle. Her voice seemed to have been stolen from her and he couldn't stand it.

When Keir left to weave together an alternative plan for where they were to sleep, Azriel almost surged from his chair so that he could finally recite the many things he needed to say, but ever the annoyance, Keir sent in two sentinels to keep an eye on them as they remained in the dreary council chamber.

An odd sort of tension began to stretch over the glass table. Seren was exceedingly good at looking bored, but there was a certain stiffness to her drumming fingers and softly tapping toe that left Azriel certain her mind raced.

Rhys hadn't told her that he was to join—her reaction made that obvious. If only Rhys knew what he played at. Azriel was still of the opinion that Seren needed space and time, but now she would have neither and he was to be thrown into it. In part, he was furious but he'd yet to decide how much of that fury was reserved for Rhys and how much for himself, since this tension between them could have been avoided if he'd caught her earlier and made amends. They could work as a team to uncover whatever Keir might know about Koschei and the Dread Trove while undermining him through every step of this marriage farse, but not until the awkwardness between them was settled.

"Seren..." Azriel quietly began, thinking it about time the stagnant silence between them ended.

Her eyes flicked up to him as if she'd been waiting for it, but one of the pale guards let out a chuckle. "A shadowsinger with no shadows in sight and dark princess with no crown to inherit."

Azriel didn't often growl, finding the sound unnecessary unless he was really worked up, but his intent stare was dangerous enough to cause the stench of fear to begin emitting from the male who'd spoken. He wanted to know everything about the male so that he could pay him a visit later, but his shadows weren't there to provide information. They cowered and wept in the farthest, darkest corner of the room, afraid to approach him with Seren so close.

A shadowsinger without access to his shadows. It was to be a problem, but no matter how many times Azriel had urged Rhys to push Helion to help Seren sooner, his brother's mind had not been changed about Azriel staying with Seren. How was he to protect her without his wispy spies? The archaic way, Rhys had said. Steel and sharp eyes.

And soul, Azriel had nearly blurted out to Rhys during that argument. Even now, he couldn't keep the befuddling thought away.

Seren's fingers paused their drumming and her head angled toward the guards. "If I wish for a crown, I'll take one. Have you already forgotten what I can do?"

Azriel's heart beat faster at her threat, despite it not being aimed at him. The coldest version of Seren was a threat to them all. He didn't honestly know if she was speaking ambiguously or if she was considering challenging Rhys and Feyre. It would be better if he never found out. He'd sworn fealty to his brother, and he'd never recover if that oath of allegiance pitted him against Seren.