The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 15

Azriel wove his fingers with Gwyn's as they made their way down the stone path that led to the River House, the too short sleeves of her borrowed coat brushing against his forearms. He mentally chided himself again for not thinking to make sure she owned one of her own. They hadn't been back to Velaris since the weather had turned – the need for a coat far from their minds.

As they approached the door he squeezed her hand gently. "You ready?" he asked. This was her first family event, having not yet made it to a family dinner. She had been a bit more guarded and aloof these past few weeks, which concerned him. But whenever he asked she would assure him that she was fine, just tired and busy with work in the Library.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I think," she breathed, flashing a timid smile. He grinned back at her, lifting their joined hands to his lips, brushing them along her knuckles.

"If it gets to be too much just say the word and we'll go back to the House." When she nodded, he let her go to open the door, ushering her in with a reassuring hand on the small of her back. He kept it there as they made their way through the foyer, pausing with her before a coat rack and helping Gwyn out of the borrowed wool jacket. Her velvet dress was simple, but elegant, the color of the evergreen trees that dotted the mountains throughout Illyria. The neckline skated just below her collarbones, revealing the tantalizing valleys behind and between them. The bodice and long sleeves were fitted, much more than the dresses she had worn before. If he thought her leathers were flattering then this was in a whole different realm of existence. It was as if the copper-haired priestess kept herself hidden from all but a fortunate select few, and he understood that to a certain extent that was, indeed, the case.

But when Gwyn donned the finery she did not hide. A blush may stain the constellations on her cheeks. Her eyes may widen at her reflection, or flicker nervously to him in anticipation. Her fingers may fidget in front of her, or her bottom lip worry between her teeth. But she would never cower. The irreverent warrior carried herself with confidence, unashamed of the body she had built through tireless dedication and unafraid to let herself be seen as she was.

And what she was, was incredible.

"Perhaps I should commission Feyre for a painting." Azriel blinked, vision focusing on glittering teal pools and a raised eyebrow.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, having been yanked from his thoughts. When it came to Gwyn he always seemed to lose himself.

"You were staring, Shadowsinger," she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. "Had I known you would be so taken with the dress, I would've gifted you a painting for Solstice. It would have been much less work than the gift you're getting."

"Gwyneth," he scolded with a curt shake of his head, "I told you not to worry about gifts." The spymaster shrugged out of the leather trench, shadows flitting and blending into the supple black material. Black. The shadowsinger had faced her taunting for that.

"And I told you that the moment I was invited to a Solstice celebration with your family was the moment that not worrying about gifts became an impossibility. Why do you think I've been so busy these last few weeks?" She rolled her eyes when his widened in response. She had only said that she had been working extra in the library, but never mentioned what that work had entailed. Had she been toiling such long hours for this?

"Gwyn –" Her hand grasped his and pulled him down the hallway before he could address the revelation.

"Come on, Az." Teal pools glimmered with a silent plea to drop the subject. "I don't know where I'm going."