Every couple of years, the Illyrian males have the same argument over who has the bigger Wingspan. The only way to resolve the fighting is to measure and compare sizes.
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It was an argument that happened at least twice every decade, though it was the first time Feyre had been present to witness it.
The afternoon had been pleasantly cool, the kind of mild weather which made for an enjoyable venture around Velaris. The city really was becoming like a home to her. With each passing day, the made Fae was starting to recognize faces, pick up on names, decide upon the cafes which served her favorite teas or zone in on the spots she preferred when she wanted to rest.
Though part of her still felt guilty for thinking it, the Night Court felt more like home than the Spring Court or the human world ever had.
Feyre had barely stepped passed the threshold when the explosion of voices greeted her. The sound of the bubbling discontent was evident and the woman found herself approaching with caution, not quite wanting to get involved in whatever serious issue had started all this.
“Cassian, we all know how this will end. The same way it always ends.”
Amren's voice sounded beyond fed up, like this was a story she'd heard over and over again. Unknown to Feyre, that was because she had.
“It's been fifty-eight years. Things could have changed.”
Cassian's voice was sharp and defensive, and as Feyre rounded the corner into the open lounge area, the woman had to duck when the talon of an outstretched wing threatened to claw her cheek.
“Hey, careful!”
All eyes seemed to immediately be directed to her, and from across the room, Mor released an appreciative sigh. “Finally, another woman,” Rising to her feet, ruffles of her elegant dress swishing as she went, Mor crossed the room to grab Feyre by the arm, forcibly dragging her to sit in one of the soft couches. From that angle, the made Fae was able to see exactly what was going on.
Both Cassian and Rhysand were standing to full height, both sets of bat like wings stretched out. They looked like peacocks, without the feathers, trying to out alpha one another.
Behind them, almost melding into the dark curtains, stood Azriel, blended in shadows, watching the other two with what looked like mild amusement.
“What is going on?” Feyre murmured to the woman by her side, hoping to keep the conversation between herself and Mor, but naturally, that couldn't be allowed as the minute the blond opened her mouth, her words were replaced by Rhys'.
“We're just trying to settle an eternity long argument Feyre, darling.”
“They're fighting over who has the bigger wingspan. Bloody Illyrian males,” Amren grumbled from her spot perched on the edge of the chair she had made herself comfortable on, a goblet in her hand that was no doubt filled with whatever blood she had been provided with.
An amused smirk flitted onto Feyre's lips as her gaze strayed back towards Rhysand, reaching out through that bond they shared, tapping gently against the solid wall that was his shield until she felt him shift to let her in. 'Is this really about wingspan or about what that wingspan correlates too?' Feyre questioned into the silence of Rhys' mind while she was allowed within that space.
'Well that all depends on which part you wish to measure.'
The low rumble of his laughter chased Feyre from his mind as a slight blush heated her cheeks. Bloody Illyrian males indeed.
“Who normally wins?” Feyre's voice was loud enough for the others to hear, though the question was directed at Mor, who for a moment, looked to Azriel, calm and serene in the shadows.
“Az always has,” Morrigan didn't miss a beat, her voice cocky as if it were her who held the title of largest wingspan.
“Not this time. I'm sure of it,” The mutters of Cassian continued persistently as he craned his neck, stretching himself until he was straight as a board as if that would help the pull of his wings. “And because she's a somewhat neutral party, I think Feyre should do the measuring this time. Unbiased opinion.”
“Fine, I'm sick of being the one who has to listen to your whining when you lose,” Amren growled in Cassian's direction, tossing a rolled up dressmaker's measuring tape towards Feyre. It felt very personal all in the name of competition. The three males had once stressed the importance of wings to an Illyrian. That they would kill instinctively for the sake of their wings. Even though they'd all grown to trust Feyre, it still seemed like an invasion almost.
Rising to her feet, Feyre cleared her throat, scuffing her leather boots against the sparkling marble floor. “Alright Cass. You first.”
It was intriguing, being that close to the wings of the males. Cassian's wings she found, had an almost purple tone when the light caught them at a certain angle. He was also ticklish at the spot where the bottom of his wing protruded from his back, and even while trying to be gentle, the man chuckled and squirmed slightly.
Rhysand was slightly more tempered as expected, though Feyre found that he went taunt as she placed her hands against his wings to drag the tape across his back and measure the full span. The woman found that she wanted to spend more time there. Wanted to trace each ridge along Rhys' wing, to find out exactly how he reacted, but she knew that wasn't appropriate. Especially in front of everyone. Instead, she took the measurement and gave his shoulder a small pat so he could move out of her way, a small smirk on his lips as he did so.
Finally, Feyre came to stand in front of Azriel, the only male in the room who had yet to extend his wings in offering. With a lingering gaze on her, he sighed, looking to the others. “Do we have to do this again?”
“Scared, Az? Thought those wings of yours were looking a bit small this last decade,” Cassian chided, a low rumble of teasing laughter echoing from Rhysand.
With another almost irritated sigh, Azriel stepped forward, letting his wings stretch out to their full span. His wings certainly looked more imposing. As black as the night sky and swimming with shadows, Feyre felt her breath catch in her chest slightly as she stepped forward, waiting for Azriel to give her a small, consenting nod before using the tape measure, running it from wing tip to wing tip. After a few moments checking her figures, Feyre moved towards the couch, sinking back down beside Mor.
Rhys and Cassian were watching her expectantly while Azriel had already shrunk back against the shadows, tucking his wings back in.
“Az wins. He's got both you beat.”
The room exploded into a mixture of groans, complaints and laughter from Mor, with the occasional chirp of 'I told you so' from Amren.
Feyre couldn't help but smile, astounding by the absolute idiocy of the competition among the friends. It was easy and fun and a reminder of just how close they all were.
This was what a family felt like.
Feeling the familiar nudge against the bond, Feyre dropped her shields, letting Rhys' voice momentarily fill her ears. 'You know, if you want to check the correlation between wingspan and other parts, you are more than welcome to meet me in my room with that measuring tape.'
Feyre's groan and rolled her eyes, the noise drowned out by the mixture of Cassian's complaining and the booming rattle of Rhysand's easy laughter.