𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 56

Thank you again for your votes and comments - the engagement is the reason this gets updated every day because it tells me people are interested!
I am surprised nobody mentioned a little...detail last chapter that causes some purposeful inconsistency, hehe. 

Chapter 56

Arwen stretched in a lounge chair planted on a balcony. She had kept the blanket from her bed with her, and grabbed a book along the way. It sat abandoned in her lap now, tire from her restless night creeping back up on her. She had not seen anybody since that morning, missing out on lunch but she hadn't been hungry enough to hunt it down. Rhysand's approach was annoyingly silent.

He sat down on the lounge chair next to her, on the edge to face her. "Azriel said you had a rough night," he said quietly. "Want to tell me about it?"

Arwen ran her thumb over the pages of her book's edge. "No," she said weakly.

His wings were out. It made sense since he had to fly his way up from the town house. But she had seen him on that flight hours ago. So she assumed it must be a display—conscious or unconscious—that he wanted to be exposed, and quite likely, sway those around him to do the same.

"I haven't eaten lunch yet," he remarked. "We could go down into the city, go to that place along the Sidra. Sven's restaurant. Get something at a bakery and find a nice seat. We don't have to talk about last night."

Arwen pulled her legs up, tipping her head back against the tilted seat. "I'm not hungry." She hadn't seen Azriel yet, but her hand itched to smack him for going straight to her brother.

"Have you eaten?" he prompted with a pointed tone, telling her he already knew the answer. So she kept her mouth shut. He arched his brow. "Did you eat breakfast?"

No, she hadn't. But neither had Cassian. They had stayed on the rooftop for hours and by the time they decided to return, he murmured something about having work to do and left her be.

Rhysand sighed at her silence. "Arwen, you need to eat."

"I will eat when I'm hungry," she disputed. "And I'm not, so you can stop pestering me about it."

"Pestering?" He gave an empty laugh. "I'm trying to make sure you're taking care of yourself. Can you please at least come inside and have something to eat with me?"

Arwen looked up at the sky, and watched as rumbling storm clouds breached the horizon. They'd be over the city by nightfall, and it looked like it would be a long storm. She already had plans for it—to feel the rain and wind. To feel what nature intended to be felt, and at its full wrath. "I just told you I'm not hungry. You can stop trying to do this—I'm sick of people coming up to me with the same questions."

"Because we're worried," he said without a breath. "We're worried about you, Arwen. I'm worried and you won't talk to me. You're blocking me out."

She wasn't going to argue with him. She didn't have the energy to raise her voice, or the motivation to pick her thoughts apart. "Why are you here?" she whispered. "It has been less than two weeks since a war. I'm sure you have better things to do."

"I have things to do," he agreed. "But none of it is important right now. Not when my sister is refusing to take care of herself. When she won't let me take care of her."

There it was again. His honour bound sense of duty to her. Forged by the simple fact that they shared the same parents, a fact that reorganised his life to fit her into it. Changed things for her convenience. "I eat, Rhysand. I eat when I'm hungry and I sleep when I'm tired." She lopped her head towards him, lifting her book. "When I'm bored, I read. So you don't need to do any of this because I'm fine without you breathing down my damn neck. I don't need to be your duty."