𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑 || 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐀𝐳𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫, 𝐄𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

Azriel's hands twitched, it wasn't uncommon considering what had happened to them early in his life; but this time it was different. They seemed to ache for hold, something to grab other than each other or an article of clothing, they wanted to touch flesh.

And not the kind that he feels when doing his job, no. Those people's skin was hard, rough, it wasn't smooth like the texture he's currently fantasizing about. The spymaster groans in annoyance, wanting to discover whatever the feeling he was thinking about was.

But he had no clue where to start, he could try with the familiarity of his family—Rhys has soft flesh, it was taken care of in a specific order. It was a habit he developed after Under the Mountain—Feyre has began to join him in his nightly routine to help him feel better about his 'uncleanliness'.

His thoughts shifted to his other brother, though nothing about that man seemed particularly soft. He was always on edge, Cassian was a General anyway; he had no time for nightly routines—not that he would willingly do it anyway, unless his mate were to persuade him.

That's when Azriel's thoughts moved onto Nesta, she had the same skin as Feyre, beautiful and delicate—soft and smooth. Though her hands have been toughening up recently. She has been working hard alongside Gwyneth and Emerie.

The Shadowsinger's thoughts three halt, Gwyneth. It had to have been her that he is thinking about. 

Her stunning, silky, ginger hair;Her lush, pink lips; Her strong, button-like nose that looked as if the Mother had sculpted it herself; Her amber eyes.

Azriel's thoughts come to a completely halt at that last statement, Gwyn's eyes were a luscious blue; not a yellow-orange.

Just after this idea had formed, Azriel was already angry. His heart filling with rage; he wanted nothing to do with the Autumn High Lord... did he?

Rather than letting himself finish that notion, he allowed his shadows to carry him to his brother's home, entering the River House without caring to knock. After all, it was midday, Rhysand would surely be home.

The spymaster of the Night Court makes his way to Rhysand's office in the house, pushing it open without a second thought.

"Az?" Rhys looks up from his papers, setting down his writing quill. "What is the matter?" Violet eyes narrow, calculating, but not judging.

"I need to ask you something." He replies, voice gruff and filled with annoyance.

The High Lord's eyebrows cock up, surprised by Azriel's sudden tone. "Well, what is it?"

"How did you feel when you first talked with Feyre, after she knew of the bond." Azriel questions bluntly.

"I've told you this story before, I told you and Cass the day after she accepted it." He then stands from his bureau's chair; walking over to his brother. "Why are you asking?"

The second Rhysand's own question leaves his lips, the male freezes, then smiles. "You have one? That's great, Az-"

"No!" He snaps. "It isn't!" The Illyrian male protests.

"But... you've always wanted one, why is it now bad?" Rhysand asks carefully, though his expression began to fade to irritation by his brother's childish outburst.

"Because of who it is." Azriel replies.

The High Lord of the Night Court stares for a long silent period. "Is this why you've smelt of Eris for months now?" Rhysand questions accusingly.

It was the Shadowsinger's turn to freeze, his entire body becoming rigid. "I've no reason to lie to you," He replies slowly. "So, yes." Azriel nods, but his face was contorted, still filled anger.

Rhysand sighs. "And you've kept this hidden because...?"

"It's only been sex." He scoffs out, crossing arms over his broad chest.

"And Eris Vanserra is fine with being your toy?"

Azriel's eyes snap wide, hands yanking the lapels of the High Lord's suit-like shirt. "Don't you call him that."

"Why? That's what it has been, no?" Rhysand retorts, unfazed by the hostile motion towards him; he knew his brother would never truly harm him—at least not permanently. "You've been using him for sex, your words."

His grip loosens, affected by the truth of Rhysand's words. The High Lord steps back with an unreadable expression across his face.

Azriel has been using Eris as nothing more than a stress reliever, a toy for his own personal gain.

"I'd suggest an apology, brother." He says before sitting back down at his desk, continuing to sign the papers atop his desk.

Without another word, Azriel shadow-walks to the Autumn Court; thinking of what he would say as he "winnows" there.

—

The liquor burns, falling down the High Lord's esophagus with ease. Of course there are healthier ways for one to cope with... relationship troubles, but Eris has always found drinking especially freeing; specifically whiskey. He loved how the rich, smooth, smokiness hit him, and he loved just how drunk it got him.

His eyes dart towards the now empty bottle, sighing as he finished off his last glass. Eris craved more of the robust liquid. So, he stood, walking toward the kitchen of The Forest House; his own personal stash having just run out in his room.

"High Lord." A servant known by the name of Isarn greets. He was an immigrant from the Night Court; beautiful tan skin, short, black, coiling hair, piercing, yellow hued eyes... if the male was Illyrian, Eris would easily mistake the male as his mate in his current state.

"Isarn," Eris replies, his hand coming to one of the black, marble counters. "Whiskey." He says, his voice weak, but leaving no room for question.

"Of course." The male nods, quickly moving to one of the rooms that store the liquor—like a wine cellar, but for Eris' favorite.

Isarn quickly returns with an aged bottle of the russet liquid, the faerie then hands it to his High Lord who takes it with a small nod; returning to his room to finish off another one.

However, when he returns, there's an uneasy feeling in his room; an eerie presence he could recognize within a heartbeat.

"Shadowsinger." Eris greets, setting down the whiskey bottle by the glass cup he was previously chugging from.

"We need to discuss something." Azriel says, hesitantly.

Eris studies his mates expression.

"That we do."