𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Arwen rounded her neck as they strode towards the training rings. The night's sleep hadn't rubbed off the strange feeling that had sent her dizzy. She hadn't spoken of it, knowing that what she was walking towards had been months in the planning.

Her boots crunched the thin blanket of snow covering the land and her breath made clouds in the crisp air. Her leathers were warm though, insulating every ounce of warmth that her body made. It was Azriel today, who took up the spot on her right. They walked shoulder to shoulder, his shadows like a cloud around him.

"High Lord." A muscular Illyrian clad in his own leathers stalked up to the thin fence that marked the perimeter of the training fields. Brown hair hung to his shoulders and his grey eyes examined them, falling on her. "Females aren't allowed any closer to the training fields."

They stopped a step short of the fence. Rhysand cocked his head. "What's the point of being a High Lord if people are telling me what to do? Move aside, Ferir."

Ferir did not step away, moving his eyes again along the line of Rhysand's court. Arwen kept her ground, chin lifted and as stiff as the mountains along the horizon. Cassian gave a growl of warning, his wings shifting. "Your High Lord has given you a command."

"It's not my law," Ferir growled back. "No females have ever been allowed past this fence-line. Surely the High Lord can respect our ways."

"Well than imagine she has a dick between her legs, and you might manage to keep yours to yourself," Cassian crooned, much to Arwen's shock. She managed to keep her face even but even Rhysand on her left made a fleeting look to his general of wonder. Cassian took the two steps forward to meet the fence and Ferir who carefully eyed the glowing siphons. "Move."

Ferir it seemed, wasn't one to battle that challenge. "I'm only the messenger," he said, looking past Cassian's wide shoulders to Rhysand. "They won't take kindly to her being let in, not even by you."

"Then you can pass along another message." Rhysand strode forward, moving around Cassian's frame until only the measly fence stood between him and the Illyrian. "My sister is under my protection. She'll be in the training fields as long as she cares to be and if there is any hint of threat to her, my spymaster and your General Commander have my full permission to tear off the limbs of those who pose that threat." Ferir swallowed, but in his credit did not cower. "Do you understand my message, or shall I repeat it?"

"Nobody will train with her," he said.

"She's not here to train with them." Cassian grinned. "She's here to train with me."

Ferir only tipped his head away, resigning from the battle. A wiser Illyrian than many others who would have contended even the High Lord and general far longer. Arwen and Azriel moved forward as they climbed over the fence. "Pleasure to meet you," she said to Ferir, adding to the taunt.

They almost passed out of earshot when she heard the whisper. "Nobody would fuck that anyway." Before Arwen could turn back around, the Illyrian started to choke on something. By the time she did, Ferir was clutching at his throat and had fallen a shade paler.

"You'll regain your voice when I'm no longer around to hear it," said Rhysand, not even glancing over his shoulder. "You best find a way to still deliver my message. I understand you need your limbs to continue fighting." And nothing was more shameful than an Illyrian who could not perform.

Ferir, still grappling at his throat, scampered to a far part of the fields.

Arwen observed the space around her. Males trained with every weapon known to their kind, the metallic clashing of blades sounding from every direction. There was no withholding in these places—you either fought hard enough, or you didn't fight at all. They reached an empty ring. Illyrians eyed them from all distances, some even stopping their training to lean to their companions and mutter under their breaths.