KNOCKS were basically nonexistent as Rhys entered her room. The High Lord sits himself comfortably on a small chaise while he watches the wraiths braid her hair.
“I could very well be changing,” Soren quips, “You can't just barge in like that.”
“Apologies then, your highness,” Rhys grins, busying himself with the curtains in her room. “It'll probably happen again.”
Soon enough, the wraiths bowed at them both and left silently.
“I assume Amren won't be joining us then?”
“No, she won't,” he stands from his seat, approaching her, “She was glad for you to be off her hair. She said you were a difficult student.”
“Not difficult,” Soren countered, “Only forgetful. There's a difference.”
Rhysand chuckles, not missing the blood rushing in the female's cheeks, “Come, the Illyrians start their day early, and we're already late.”
──────────────────────────────
“WHEN AZ TOLD me the spitfire would be joining us today,” Cassian and Azriel walked over to them just as they got to camp, “I almost laughed at his pretty face.”
“You did laugh,” Az rolled his eyes.
“The High Lord said that a change of scenery would be nice,” Soren supplied.
Then the infamous loud laugh of Cassian came out, “Yeah, of course, Rhys said that. I'm pretty sure he didn't, sweetheart.”
Rhysand found it adorable when Soren scrunched her nose at the nickname Cassian gave her.
“How about you show me some actual progress, Cas?”
“As you wish, my lord,” Cassian claps him on the shoulder, and starts pulling him away from Soren, leaving her with Azriel.
