𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 54

Chapter 54

Cassian must have suspected that it would have taken more of an argument to get her to join them as they were the first, other than Amren, to arrive. She lounged in a seat by the corner of the table in her grey pants and shirt. Nothing at all had changed about this female.

"He dragged you out?" Amren wondered aloud. Arwen nodded. "Good."

"Always a pleasantry seeing you Amren," Cassian crooned, making a gesture for Arwen to stick to his side. He tipped his head back at her. "It probably only feels like a day for an old crone like her since she's seen you."

Amren leant back in her seat with a heavy sigh. "It is like you just wish for me to castrate you, Cassian. Are you so desperate for someone to play with your balls that you would risk losing them?"

He slid into a seat at the edge, pulling the one on his other side out for Arwen who followed suit. He leant onto the table. "If I wanted someone to play with my balls, I'd choose someone with hands large enough to actually feel something."

Amren snarled and pointed a finger at him. Or rather, a talon. Arwen recognised it as her last gift to Amren on Winter Solstice. She had seen them on the female more than once, and today only one sat on her pointer finger like a trophy.

"Your own hands must suit the deed perfectly then," Arwen muttered under her breath but with the lack of others to drown out her voice, the remark was met with Amren falling into deep laughter (that was honestly quite frightening at times) and Cassian glaring at the side of her head. Arwen met it and gave a small shrug. She had, in great disdain, run into a few scenes over the years where they believed themselves to be in privacy. In consequence, she had swiftly taught herself to read the signs of their moods before venturing to find them at night since her own were sleepless.

"I wouldn't have invited you along if I knew you two were going to team up against me."

"You're a general," Amren drawled. "Anticipate and strategize." As Cassian mumbled to himself, his chin perched in his palm. "And Arwen is welcome at this table, your invitation or not."

Cassian muttered to himself once more. Arwen tightened her lips into something not quite a smile, but resembled it, and tucked her hands between her legs to keep them warm. The cold—and the heat—were worse than she remembered.

Mor walked in next, the dark markings under her eyes informing Arwen that she had stayed up well beyond the hours that she found Mor and Feyre in the sitting room. "I want to hear no talk of work," she proclaimed. As her eyes travelled over the group, pausing on Arwen, she said nothing to make note of her appearance but a smile. "We haven't had a breakfast like this in an age," she continued, sitting on Amren's left. "If the others don't hurry up, I'm going to start eating this table."

Amren flicked her talon across the table. "Cassian is desperate for someone to play with his balls if you want to chew those."

"They must be amazing since you can't stop talking about them," he grumbled as Mor blinked lethargically, trying to catch up with the conversation.

"This is not the topic I expected to walk into for breakfast," a new voice called. Azriel walked in, dressed in a variation of his leathers, two siphons displayed on the back of each hand. His gaze skidded across them and Arwen only let herself meet in for a fleeting moment before returning to the table. "I would rather discuss something that didn't want make me want to throw breakfast back up."

A round of agreement rose from Mor as Cassian bickered on the point that he deemed them well sought after. Azriel crossed to the table, laying a hand on the seat next to her. When it didn't move out, she peered up at him. He said nothing but made a gesture of a nod towards the seat—asking if she minded him seated there.