Decade | | Azriel

5

The next morning, there was a bag of gold coins in front of the door to Azriel's apartment. He knew where it was from, even if the receipt attached claimed the money was a refund for a suit he had returned.

Azriel counted it out, anger burning inside of him. It wasn't even just for the days he had missed because he left—she had him refunded for the entire weekend.

The anger wouldn't go away, and he found himself heading off in search of Rhys or Cassian. He didn't really care which one of them he found at the moment. He knew either of them would understand the fury burning him up inside, would understand he needed a release.

He found Cassian at the town house, having a debate with Mor about something he was well aware he was wrong about.

"What happened?" Cassian asked, debate long forgotten as he stood up at the sight of Azriel, at the feeling of his anger pulsing through the air. Mor stared, trying to remember the last time she had seen Azriel angry in this way. He looked like he wanted to scream. He usually masked his emotions so well, but he was the living embodiment of fury right now.

"I don't want to talk about it," Azriel spoke stiffly, "join me in the sparring ring?"

Cassian gave a feral grin.

"Always happy for an opportunity to kick your ass," he said graciously, "let's go."

Mor accompanied the pair to the training ring at the House of Wind, if only to make sure Azriel didn't take it too far.

There was no conversation before Azriel and Cassian launched at each other the moment they were in the ring. It wasn't the artful way the two trained warriors usually fought. This was just...messy. Mor didn't think that was ever a word she would use to describe Azriel. Even the torture he did in the Hewn City somehow managed to be neat and organized, but this fight was messy.

They growled and roared like beasts as they attacked each other. It was enough to attract Rhys's attention from inside the house where he had been getting some work done. He came rushing out, stopping short at the sight.

"What's going on?" Rhys asked, eyes wide. He moved to step in, but Mor set a hand on his arm.

"Not yet," she muttered, her cousin's arm tense under her hold.

"What happened?" Rhys demanded, trying to figure out if this was a real fight or not. It wasn't anything like the way they usually sparred. It was feral.

"Azriel showed up angry and asked Cassian to spar," Mor informed him, "no clue what pissed him off so bad."

Rhys winced at a particularly brutal hit, the sound of bones cracking. Mor released her hold on Rhys's arm then, deciding against holding him back from stepping in any longer.

Rhys pulled Cassian and Azriel apart, finding that the cracking bones had been Azriel's hand. He missed a punch and landed it on the ground instead of Cassian, and it was hard enough to break his hand. He kept hitting anyway, wild and beyond control.

"Azriel," Rhys shouted, positioning himself between Cassian and Azriel.

"Get out of the way, Rhys," Cassian rasped, "he's not done."

"He broke his fucking hand," Rhys snapped, "he's done. One of you go get a healer."

"I don't need a healer," Azriel growled, ready to launch into another fight.

"I will tie you down and knock you out if that's what I have to do but a healer will work on your hand. You can keep the rest of the wounds if you must but the broken bones will be dealt with whether you like it or not," Rhys said, his tone entirely different now. This wasn't the way he normally spoke with his family—this way the way he gave orders as the High Lord.

Azriel gave a low growl but didn't protest any further. He could argue with his brother, but he couldn't refuse an outright order from his High Lord. Rhys wasn't playing fair.

He prowled inside and sat in at the dining room table, hardly registering the pain he was in. Cassian and Rhys trailed in after him and Mor went off to get a healer.

"Explain," Rhys hissed out the order, taking in his battered and bloodied brothers.

"Az needed to work some shit out," Cassian replied simply, "just some stress relief."

"You nearly killed each other," Rhys pointed out, his anger replaced by a deathly calm, "what shit did you have to work out, Azriel?"

"None of your business," Azriel replied, though his mind quickly drifted. He tried to imagine it, to imagine Rhys carrying her out of the Spring Court—away from the male she was supposed to marry. Rhys probably knew her name. There was no way he didn't. He didn't know if he wanted to beat Rhys for having the knowledge Azriel had failed to earn in the last decade or if he wanted to drop to his knees and thank his brother for saving her.

"If you don't want it to be my business, don't bring it in here like that," Rhys demanded, gesturing at Azriel and Cassian's ruined faces.

Azriel stayed silent, a glare on his bloody face.

Rhys scoffed and rolled his eyes. Mor arrived with Madja, and Rhys asked that she tend to Cassian first despite Azriel's broken bones.

"Cassian, go rest," Rhys instructed, though his eyes didn't leave Azriel as Madja tended to him. Cassian took the dismissal for what it was and left despite wanting to stick around.

Azriel stared right back at Rhys, as if he was just daring the High Lord to try questioning him again. Neither of them spoke until Madja was done and they thanked her before she left.

"This is childish," Rhys told Azriel, "especially for you."

Azriel's bruised jaw clenched.

"My apologies, High Lord," he apologized sarcastically, earning an eye roll from Rhys.

"You're usually in a far better mood than this after your Friday night activities," Rhys quipped, watching closely to see if his guess was correct. Apparently, he didn't need to bother being so observant because Azriel outright growled at him at that. "Who is she then?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he denied dryly, knowing it wasn't very convincing and finding that he really didn't care whether or not he convinced Rhys.

"Every Friday night for a decade, and half the time you don't even come back until Monday morning," Rhys pointed out what they both already knew, "who is she, Az?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he repeated, eyes cold and distant.

"Why do you hide her?" Rhys pressed, and Azriel's stare somehow became even colder.

"There's no girl, Rhys. It's not some tragic romance. Not all of us get so broody over things like that," Azriel scoffed, and Rhys smiled slightly because he knew Azriel was lying.

"Whenever you decide to introduce us, I have every intention of telling her about the time she drove you so mad you shattered your own hand."

Azriel's mind flashed back to the other night.

"You're going to drive me mad," he had told her, "utterly mad."

"Haven't I done that already?" she asked, giving him a pout.

Yes. Yes, indeed she had done that already.

More than that, he thought of her ex-fiancé and his temper and he felt nothing but icy dread at the idea of her ever learning about this.

"There's no girl," Azriel repeated, and Rhys was surprised at how he sounded sad when he said it. He couldn't remember the last time Azriel had sounded sad.

"Az...will you be home next Friday night?" Rhys asked, his voice much softer now.

"Yes," Azriel muttered, "I think I will."

Rhys felt a pang of sympathy for his brother.

"Get some rest," he told him, "be careful with your hand."

Azriel stood and started to leave but he paused at the door and looked back to Rhys with unmasked desperation.

"Don't tell anyone about her," he requested, "please. If anyone asks, just make up some lie. I don't care what you say as long as it's not the truth."