The Flames in the Horizon

9

Azriel wasn't sure what to expect when the doors to the throne room opened, but it certainly wasn't this. Eris, standing there in all his royal glory looking like that. The shadowsinger swallows thickly, ignoring the tug his shadows give as though they seek the Autumn male. They've been less and less inclined to obey their master these days, choosing instead to follow their own inhibitions. The pesky beings give up and pull away, Azriel roping some back in through his link with them, but a few manage to escape. They drop to the ground and dash across the room, moving like snakes on the floor until they reach Eris. The male doesn't seem to notice the troublesome shadows that curl around his ankles and caress his lower legs, some choosing to hide in his cloak.

The male in question has never looked so good. Azriel finds that he can't control his betraying ideals; that this red-headed freckled annoying bastard is the most beautiful being he has ever come across. Cut in a formal suit of the royalist red, detailed with golden elements, Eris looks every bit the king he is meant to be. He stands regal and eloquent, his shoulders square and back straight but Azriel can read the unease in his eyes, the pressure that weighs him down.

Eris starts forward, his long cloak pulling behind him. The collar of it is the thickest of fur, and draws Azriel to Eris's face. The appreciation for the male's body is nothing compared to the way Azriel's breath catches as his eyes lock with Eris's. Small golden hoops are threaded through each of the holes in Eris's ears, and a thin chain links the highest cuff to the lowest one in his left ear. The light of the chandelier catches his eyes and they gleam beautifully, both lined with a thin layer of kohl, only accentuating his already captivating eyes. His lips are lush and soft looking, something clear painted over his naturally pink hue that draws attention to his mouth.

That nervous look Eris previously had is gone as he passes by Azriel. Though it only takes a moment to walk by, it seems the entire hall holds their breath, the electricity between the two males too much to bear. Eris's hand flexes as he goes, and Azriel's gaze is drawn to the many rings adorning long pale fingers. He imagines what it would feel like to have those cold rings pressed against his hot skin as delicate fingers trace his body. His cheeks heat and he's glad Eris cannot see him as the male walks up the dais to kneel before his mother.

Azriel raises his chin just slightly as Eris recites his part to complete his mother's words. This is everything he knows the male has been working toward, and something warm settles in his stomach in light of the fact that he gets to be a part of this moment. Autumn will change, and Eris will bring about a new age, one of justice and equality. That change has come already, with lesser fae in attendance to look upon their hope for a fair king.

"Long live the king!" Sienna's voice, proud and strong, rings through the hall, and all in attendance repeat her as Eris stands and turns to face his kingdom.

Azriel can't seem to control the smile that pulls at his lips as he repeats the words the people shout with elation. Joyous music fills the air and just like that the celebration is in full swing. Azriel slinks to the edge of the room and it's there, pressed up against the wall partially hidden by a column structure and shadows, that he watches the new High Lord.

Eris sheds his cloak and gives the whole room a wonderful view of his maroon pants stretched over his tight ass. The cape is folded and carried off by a staff member of the house and then Eris is lowering himself onto his throne. Gods, and doesn't he look fucking delicious, sitting there with that crown on his head and one leg tossed over the other, those ringed fingers both spread over the arms of the chair. Azriel knows it's wrong, indecent and sinful, but the sight of the male turns him on like nothing else. He watches Eris for some time, has lost count of how many songs have passed, but knows it truly doesn't matter. No one here could blame him, in fact many in attendance seem to be having a hard time looking away from Eris. Something rattles in his chest, like a fist against a door waiting to be opened, and he needs to go. To leave now or he may do something he regrets, like kneel before a High Lord that is not Rhysand.