𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Arwen explored the bed. She ran her hands over every inch of the fabric, then of the lightwood frame. Letting every part of her hand touch it, the wood and fabric soon began to feel normal, if still a little strange and disconcerting. Her toes dug underneath the blanket, letting the weight lay on her calves and then her thighs. No one disturbed her through this time. No doubt an order given by Rhysand.

Arwen sat on the edge of the bed, the arches of her feet braced on the side panelling of the bedframe. With her arms wrapped around her knees, chin planted between them, she watched the sun set over Velaris. The translucent drapes were still pulled across so she could only make out the scattered glow of the sun, but Arwen had seen it enough times to be able to imagine what was beyond at that very moment.

She looked down at her wrists, thumbing the scars left behind once the shackles faded. They were uncountable, each one from when she had tried breaking the tether now weaved together in a mess of white flesh.

Three soft taps sounded at the door. Arwen glimpsed over her shoulder but did not move or answer. She could smell him. It had was a scent she hadn't encountered in so long that it hit her nose like a punch when she smelled the lingering traces of it across her room, detailing the map of where he had sat and leant and stood during her recovering slumber. 

Azriel opened the door, the hinges making a soft whine. He had lost all signs of his battle wear, having it replaced with dark slacks and a long-sleeved shirt with no collar. He held a deep bowl with tendrils of steam curling through the air from it. He looked along the floor first, then up the bed, and finally on her.

Arwen truly felt something in her heart fracture as she held the gaze of her mate for the first time in centuries. She forced herself to look away before the fracture could grow. He moved silently across the room, crossing in her line of sight which was set at the window as he placed the bowl on her nightstand.

The scent of the soup struck her nose, making it shrivel. Food had been something she came to miss, just below sleep on her list. But now she wasn't so sure about the idea of actually eating.

Azriel took three slow steps back to her other side, then lowered himself onto the bed, leaving an arm's length between them. He linked his hands between his knees and stared ahead. She did the same.

"I never really said goodbye to you," he murmured, "so it doesn't feel right to say hello."

I never left.
Even when she wanted to.

"We fed you broth while you were recovering, but I thought you might want something a bit heavier. It's still quite hot so best leave it for a while." Arwen gave a small nod of her head. Azriel let out a shaky breath. "Arwen, I'm... Not really sure what I'm supposed to say right now. But I've missed you. We all have."

If their idea of missing her meant never speaking her name, pretending that she never existed, then she might need to rectify what her idea of missing someone was. She had missed them. Had told them that, had screamed it at their faces and cried when she couldn't touch them. They had stripped down her bedroom, taken down her portrait and stored away everything that belonged to her.

"I wanted to be here when you woke but we weren't expecting it for another few days and I had to see to something... Rhys said you didn't want to be touched?" He said it like a question, the unspoken part inquiring whether her restrictions extended to him. "Are you-does it hurt? I mean, is it because of what's happened?"

Arwen simply nodded, unbothered to explain otherwise.

Azriel sighed again. "I don't know what you've been told or how much you know, but it's been a long time." He avoided the phrase of her death, though she couldn't tell whether it was for her sake or his. "Some things have changed."