Acotar and Tog [Discontinued, Will be deleted]

Fine is Great

Velaris.

There was no city on earth like it.

Beneath me fanned out in an array of color and movement stood my city - my home. It was early enough that not many had started their day yet, but I could smell the spices from the many restaurants as the Fae inhabitants began their day’s cooking, could see children running down the streets while their parents lingered inside pouring a final cup of tea, could hear the breeze rustle through trees and over the water as the city slowly woke up.

Weight sinking into my back as my wings flapped in great heaving strokes, some of the tension drained out of me.

Some - but not all.

I landed on the rooftop of my private townhouse ready to sleep for the next three weeks straight. I wouldn’t have the chance to so quickly, though, as I walked in and stumbled upon two hulking Illyrians in my living room.

Cassian’s large frame, outlined in corded muscle and rugged hair, leaned against my bookshelves with his arms crossed. The general didn’t look so friendly as his usual demeanor would suggest.

And Azriel - Azriel sat back quietly in one of the chairs that was open enough to accommodate his wings, elbows sat squarely on his knees while his chin rested pointedly atop his interlocked hands. Behind his back, I caught a glimpse of Truth-Teller, the silver hilt gleaming in the early morning sunlight coming through the window before a sly shadow slid over it and the sword disappeared from view.

That shadow snaked around his back, up his neck, and curled into one ear.

They were both still dressed in their leathers, beads of water from melted snow dripping over their boots over my carpets. They hadn’t bothered changing. Hell, the pricks had probably left after I had and knew just where to wait for me.

Azriel narrowed his eyes - at me. I bit back the urge to snarl.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be in the camps,” I said maintaining the leash on my voice. Feyre had just left. I was in no mood to be poked and prodded, even from them. I hadn’t told them I’d called the bargain in this week, but I could tell they knew.

“Funny,” Cassian said, always the one content to do the talking between them. “We could have asked the same thing of you. You look great, by the way. The shit-faced look really works for you.”

“I am not shit-faced-”

“Could have fooled me.”

“He isn’t drunk, Cassian,” Azriel said.

“No, but he might as well be.” Cassian pushed off the bookshelves and took two careful steps towards me. “Flying home in the middle of that gods-forsaken storm we had last night? Really, Rhys?”

I gritted my teeth. “How are you even in here?”

Azriel flicked his brow up. Offending him wasn’t easy to do and I’d just done it in the space of six words.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your wings and splatter yourself all over the mountainside.”

“Cassian.” My cousin’s pert voice cut him off as Morrigan strode out from the kitchen with a glass of something that smelled wonderful burning in her hand. But even her voice sounded clipped.

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “We’d have waken up to find your body in pieces and then we’d all have been utterly fucked . What the hell is wrong with you?”

“ Nothing - nothing is wrong with me.”

The words came out in a tense growl as I stepped forward to meet him, our wings flaring out in unison.