A Court of Golden Shadow || Elain x Azriel

Chapter 39 - Cinnamon Rolls

"Say I agree to your proposition— " Azriel stated cautiously turning from the window to face Rhys, his wings still taut. "— if a war happens, you do not get to hold it over my fucking head. You just don't. I don't hold the Hybern War over your head—the whole shit show with Feyre... none of it. I need the same from you. Mating bond or not—"

Rhys closed his eyes, nodding his head in solemnity. "Absolutely. We are family. We fight together or not at all."

Azriel nodded then, his shoulders finally releasing the tension. He crossed the length of the living room, heading for the crystal glasses and whiskey decanter waiting on the bar shelf.

"As for Lucien..." Rhys drawled, dropping into one of the upholstered chairs by the fireplace as Azriel uncorked the whiskey bottle.

He glanced back toward his brother, his voice low. "I haven't had a chance to send out for my sources... I'm not sure where—"

"No need." Rhys shook his head. "Jurrian sent a message via courier. Lucien passed through their place before heading for Patras, though Tamlin was not with him." Rhys raised his hand at Azriel's arched eyebrow, gently shaking his head. "No, he informed the humans that Tamlin survived. He's in his estate healing, though he's in bad shape."

"Hmm." Azriel poured two glasses of whiskey. "I guess I won't mind giving him some time to mend..." Turning around to face Rhys, he strode across the room, depositing the glass in his brother's hand with a wicked smile curling his lip. "It will make for a more pleasurable hunt."

Rhys accepted the glass, downing the liquid before raising his eyes to his brother. "You are not bound to kill him anymore— Lucien is. The moment he stabbed Tamlin, the Blood Duel transferred to him."

Azriel's mind flashed back to those hazy moments, writhing on the ground, his airway burning and lungs screaming as he gasped for the first breaths in what felt like an eternity. He recalled Lucien standing beside Tamlin, the blood pouring from the wretched bastard's side before the fireling winnowed them both away.

Looking back toward Rhys before dropping into the red velvet chair on the other side of the room, Azriel's voice dissolved into darkness. "Perhaps I will spare him the discomfort of killing his former brother."

ﾟ☆: *.☽ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── ☽ .* :☆ﾟ

Elain looked up from the cinnamon rolls she had just pulled out of the oven, wiping her brow from the steam as she glanced out the window over the sink. It was so lovely to be back in the kitchen—back in the townhouse... in Velaris. She smiled, reaching toward a knife to spread the frosting on top of the rolls, her skirts bristling around her thighs as she spun back toward the kitchen island.

"Those smell incredible." Nesta purred, reaching toward the pan.

Elain flicked her sister's fingers away. "They're hot!"

Nesta retracted her hand, a mock-pout frowning toward Elain who tutted her tongue in response. "I missed your baking when you were in Patras," she mused, leaning forward on her kitchen stool, propping her head up on her hands, her elbows resting near the cinnamon roll pan. "You can't leave like that again."

Elain sighed, knowing what Nesta was inferring... Spring... Kallias' throne room... the proposition to make Elain High Lady.

Striding over to the kitchen sink, she began working on the dishes, filling the mixing bowls with hot water. "I know Nes. It's just... so much has happened, I haven't even thought about the proposal. And after Lucien— " Her voice dropped off as she scrubbed, her sponge scratching away at the stuck-on ingredients.