Eris
"How could you?" Cressida berates Nephele, properly mortified that Neph didn't share her birthday with anyone until the last minute.
"How could I..." Neph echoes, furrowing her brow up at me.
"You know what you did," I tell her in agreement with her best friend, and Neph rolls her eyes.
"You all know now," she says, shrugging grandly. "Let's just move on with it."
"I didn't winnow here to move on with it," Tarquin huffs a laugh. "I winnowed here to get drunk off my ass for your special day."
"I like the sound of that," she grabs my arm. "Let's go."
"Hold on just a minute," I interject. "Lucien should be on his way here."
"Oh, yes," Tarquin pipes in, leaning quite contentedly against the brick exterior of the bar. "Let's wait for Lucien then."
Cressida rolls her eyes. "Get a grip, 'Quin," she tells him sternly. As if summoned, Lucien winnows in, Tamlin with him, Cressida eating her words.
Neph groans, not expecting Tamlin. He must've been with Lucien earlier when I wrote to him. "What is it? Have you kidnapped my grandfather now?"
Tamlin puts his hands up defensively. "I come in peace," he replies. "And Lucien told me it was your birthday."
"Lucien has a big mouth," Neph rolls her eyes, giving Tamlin a conceding nudge.
"Does he?" Tarquin mutters under his breath. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who hears him.
"I'll let that comment slide because it is your birthday," Lucien replies cordially. "I was promised we'd be bar hopping."
...
Sometimes, I feel so thankful for Cressida. Nephele had told me how she always wanted sisters growing up, and the best I could ever give was my half brother. Not that I didn't appreciate Lucien's place in her life either. I suppose it's some sort of default, I guess. That urge that constantly compels me to be sure that her life is... full. Satisfying.
Cressida and Neph are across the bar though, exchanging secrets and stories, glancing at me every few seconds before they both break into giggles. I stay by Tarquin, my interest peaking as he watches Lucien. I don't think it's anywhere close to love how he wants my brother. I think Tarquin just sees a powerful man and that attracts him. He just wants what he can't have which is probably why he wanted Feyre so badly that once, even for those fleeting few days when it should've been so clear to him that she was unavailable.
I do wonder why Lucien hasn't done anything. Tarquin, as far as men go, isn't far off his type, big and- let's face it- a bit dumb. A high lord, nonetheless. I hadn't thought he was hung up on Elain, but I wonder...
"Do you think they were ever together?" Tarquin asks me. It takes me a moment to realize he's talking about Tamlin and Lucien.
I shrug. "It wouldn't surprise me if there was a drunken evening," I reply, genuinely speculating. "It would surprise me if it happened more than once though." Tamlin, for the most part, seemed to prefer women, but centuries of eternity is enough for anyone to get curious, especially on good wine.
"Hm," he murmurs absently. "You know, I've never had to try so hard to get a lover in my life?"
I laugh under my breath. "Lucien is anything but oblivious, Tarquin. He likes games," I remind him. He has probably a century on Tarquin anyway, a century of playing games.
He smirks, draining his drink. "And maybe I like being played. Maybe, it's time I start playing games of my own," he says, striding to the floor before introducing himself to some girl, inviting her to dance. I'm familiar with the games, but I certainly don't miss them. I used to be... it doesn't matter. I've never been tempted to play games with Nephele, couldn't stand it. And now, I'm glad of the comfort I have in her, something so lasting and fulfilling.
Constant.
I didn't bother with glamouring us tonight. The bar is already chaos. Even if we are recognized, it's not as if it will disrupt the atmosphere. Everyone seems too drunk to care anyway. In fact, no one even dares approach me as I sit at the bar alone, watching Nephele appreciatively as she pulls Cressida to the floor, dancing like a fool.
There's no rhythm as she sways in her slinky, silver dress, only the beat of my heart matching with her ever twirl. She catches my eyes, knowing precisely what she's doing to me as she smiles, biting onto her lip with that grin.
I'm drawn to her like a creature draws to flame, weaving through the dance until I reach her, settling my hands on her hips. She smiles, hooking her arms around my neck, stars in her gray eyes. "I'm still thinking about earlier," she murmurs, getting up on her toes to whisper in my eyes hotly. "I still feel it."
I don't consciously decide to slide my hands lower on her backside- it just happens. "Me too," I reply. "I never stop... feeling it."
She smirks, pressing a fleeting kiss against my throat. "You know we have a meeting with the dukes tomorrow," she reminds me softly. "We better take it easy."
I raise a brow. "I didn't think I would have to be the one to tell you not to talk about work while we're having fun."
She rolls her eyes. "We haven't done anything today since you found out it was my birthday," she reminds me crisply. "What if I'm not prepared to meet with the Dukes? You know the court inside and out, but I'm an outsider. I don't want them to question my merit as High Lady-"
"They won't," I assure her, kissing the inside of her arm. "The land itself declared its allegiance to us. They can't reasonably argue with that."
Nephele nods, still chewing her lip warily. "Fine," she breathes out. "But we're going home by midnight, and I'm not drinking anything."
"Anything you want, Birthday Girl," I smile, pulling her closer.
...
I don't quite remember how I got into this scenario, matching Tarquin shot for shot, the bar cheering around us, but I think I'm getting a bit too drunk to care anyway. I know it's a losing battle. I'd like to think my tolerance is pretty high, but Tarquin is a good bit bigger than me, the alcohol burning through his system slower than mine, my hot blood.
I do recall everyone but Neph lining up for shots, sticking to her vow of sobriety for the night. I do recall Cressida, the compliment to her cousin, tiny and light-weighted, drawing out after two rounds. Tamlin followed after three, saying he didn't care to push it considering he was a "beast" when he got was drunk. Hard to say if he was joking about that or if he only wanted to go dance with Cressida.
Lucien followed maybe two rounds after when Tarquin had drunkenly grabbed that girl he had been dancing with and kissed her heavily. Maybe Tarquin could play games of his own after all...
Now, I'm looking at Nephele as she fuses over me, straightening my shirt where it has come unbuttoned. She looks like one of those paintings of beautiful women that they hang in estates, paintings hung to inspire people by their beauty, their pervasive beauty.
"What?" She asks, blinking over at me.
A smile spreads across my face. "You're really pretty," I answer, cradling her neck in my hands. She rolls her eyes dismissively.
"And you're really drunk," she wraps my arm around her shoulders, pulling me up from my barstool. "Let's go home."
"And you always smell so good," I ramble mindlessly as we walk, groaning under my breath. "And don't even get me started on how you taste-"
"Okay," she interrupts, blushing, turning to our friends. From what I can tell, Tarquin is ordering another round, challenging Lucien to keep up, and Tamlin is watching Cressida where she dances in the center of the floor, a dizzied smile on her face. "We're gonna head home, but thank you all for coming."
"Of course," Lucien nods. "Happy Birthday."
"Will someone let Cressida know I left and make sure she gets home okay?" Neph adds.
"Yes," Tarquin and Tamlin say at the same time, Tarquin cutting Tamlin a suspicious look that makes him squirm. I snort.
"Right," Nephele says, smirking. "Anyway. Let's keep moving before you throw up on my new dress."
"Don't worry, Sweetheart," I promise her as we walk. "I'm not going to throw up on you. I know you would divorce me."
She snorts, not even denying it. "You're going to be so hungover tomorrow," she taunts as we walk out of the bar. The night air is already a relief on my hot skin.
"I'm immune to hangovers," I wink over at her. "Never had one in my life."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm sure," she says, not quite believing me. "Hold onto me. I'm gonna winnow us back."
I wrap my arm firmly around her waist, fighting the urge to tell everyone on this crowded street how lovely my wife is. It's a pointless impulse. They're not blind.
She winnows us back to the palace, straight into our bedroom, stepping to face me. "And before you get any ideas," she starts, beginning to unbutton my shirt. "I'm not fucking you when you're this drunk. I'm just helping you get ready for bed."
I pout. "You're not?"
"Nope," she smirks, kissing my cheek as she helps me shrug my shirt off. "Wasn't earlier enough for you?"
"Not nearly," I answer. "It's like I can't get enough of you. Does that make sense?"
She chuckles. "Weirdly, yes," she answers turning around. "Think you can handle a zipper?"
I scoff. "I'm not that drunk, you know," I reply, unzipping her. "And I'm never too drunk to take off your clothes."
She chuckles. "Are you sure? You're swaying a bit," she smirks over her shoulder as the dress drops to the floor, a pool of silver.
"I still hear the music," I explain. "Don't you?"
She rolls her eyes, slipping my discarded shirt over her body, buttoning it once at the center. "Come on. Let's get you into bed," she laughs, pushing me onto the mattress. I stare up at her, still dazzled. She looks gilded, sparking in the faint candle light, wearing my shirt. "You're really pretty."
"So you keep telling me," she snorts, blowing out the candle, casting herself in silvered moonlight from the windows. "Go to bed, Baby."
She slips into bed beside me, letting me snake my arm over her waist, pulling her closer as I settle into the allure of lavender scented sleep. "I love you," I murmur, content as all hell, nuzzling into her neck.
"I love you too," she replies. "Now goodnight. Leave me alone. Get some rest."
I chuckle, obeying.