𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Arwen tugged at the long, midnight blue sleeves to straighten the slight folds at her elbows. The neck sat like a high collar, close to her neck and there was not a single slit in the fabric.

She was late. Not enough to be obnoxious, but enough that Rhysand sought out her mind to inform her that they were awaiting on her presence. Ianthe was pushing for them to start without Arwen. And that wouldn't do.

Upon reaching the ornate wooden door with obsidian vines of metal swirling across it, she strode into the council hall. Each wall in the long room inside held bookshelves and cabinets filled with maps and artifacts from centuries of High Lords' meetings and conquests. Not that anything of significance would ever be kept there in the Court of Nightmares, but there was enough that foreign emissaries such as the one they hosted would easily note the collection of victories.

Extending well into two-thirds of the chamber's length, was a marble table. The black stone had flecks of silver, a mirror of the night sky. Sitting on one side were Lucien and Ianthe, both stiff and becoming even more so at Arwen's entrance. On the other side of the table, Cassian and Azriel sat on either side of Rhysand. Her brother, the theatrical male he was, had his crown adorning his head and his arms threaded through on of his best jackets.

Ianthe's attention on Arwen lasted a mere second before shifting back to the male directly across from her. Azriel.

"Sister," Rhysand greeted coolly, something between a performance and true annoyance at her tardiness. But he wouldn't reprimand her in front of them—they had an image of being united, after all.

"You may place blame on Cassian," she replied, a hand settling on her brother's shoulder as she arrived at his side. "He had me up all night."

Cassian bared his teeth in a grin, a flex in his wings to lengthen them. Arwen kept her smile trained and moved from one side of Rhysand's chair to the other, looking down at Azriel. Then at Ianthe directly across from him.

"Azriel." Azriel cocked his head to the left where she stood just behind his shoulder. "I believe I'm always seated to Rhysand's right."

A generous lie. Though sometimes that is where she fell, out of comfort and familiarity it was by no formal measure her designated seat. In fact, Azriel was quite right to have taken it where Amren is not present as his Second. But his shadows had been twitching around his arms and curling around the legs of his seat. Protecting him.

Azriel's lips parted. "My apologies." The words were calm and edged with darkness. He stood, pulling out the chair enough for Arwen to comfortably fall into it, the heat of his body still lingering on the wood. He took the seat on her right, offering her a slight bow of his head that might have read as another formal request for forgiveness, but it was quite the opposite. Arwen had just become the central figure between both her brother and mate.

Arwen could not give him a smile, instead, turned her head straight and reached for his arm underneath the table. Finding it, she gave his wrists a quick squeeze before letting go.

"We were just discussing the celebrations last night," Rhysand announced, diverting the table's attention.

A light tickling caressed her ankle, twisting up underneath her dress along her calf. A shadow's touch. "Vanserra was informing me last night that we stand no comparison to the Autumn Court's celebrations, but I do hope we still held a night worthy of travelling remarks," said Arwen. She upturned her smile even more, her eyes moving to Ianthe who was glancing between Azriel and Rhysand. "Ianthe, you are wearing the same scent you did as last night. I must know what perfume you are using."