Feyre sat alone on the patio of their townhouse, a hot cup of tea in her hand. The sun was just beginning to rise over Velaris, bringing forth the wondrous pinks and oranges with it. She had very reluctantly climbed out of bed early this morning so that she had plenty of time for breakfast before meeting Azriel for another lesson.
Flying was slowly getting easier as the months went by, but as with most things, getting into extraordinary shape took time.
She’d even begun forming solid muscle over her abdomen.
At least now, the High Lady was able to take off but it was difficult to keep stable against the wind. Her landings were improving as well, although, she’d lost count of how many times it’d ended with a face full of bark.
When the cup was empty, she set it on the table and winnowed to their designated flying area. Her teacher was already there, as usual, waiting.
“Good morning, my Lady,” he said with a small nod.
“Morning, Az. Did you have a good night?”
“Yes, it was quite pleasant.”
Feyre called the wings to her back. When the weight of them descended onto her, she rolled her shoulders a few times, trying to adjust.
“Let’s start with some stretches,” the Illyrian suggested as he moved into a clear area.
***
Out of breath and sweating profusely, Feyre sat down on a boulder. Azriel handed her a cup of water from the portable pitcher he had brought with him. Gratefully, she took it, but summoned some of her ice powers to chill the liquid.
“Do you mind?” her friend asked, holding his own cup towards her.
“Always,” she said with a playful smile, but touched a finger to the glass.
Az turned his back to her, taking in the surroundings.
“It’s getting better,” he started. “Those back muscles still need work so maybe we should try some…”
His words starting drifting away as she started inspecting his wings. They were so much larger than hers. It made her recall a conversation from so many months ago…
Amren and Mor told me that the span of an Illyrian male’s wings says a lot about the size of...other parts.
The memory of Rhys’s expression had her smiling.
They also said Azriel’s wings are the biggest.
They never had measured…
“Feyre?” Az’s voice shook her out of her daydream.
“Sorry, I think I dozed off there for a second,” she replied with a weak smile and took a drink of her water.
“Go get some rest before Cassian beats you into the ground. We’ll pick up again tomorrow.” He held out his hand to help her up.
***
Later that night, the High Lady sat at the end of the bed, arms crossed, watching her mate stare at his wings in the mirror.
“What in the Mother’s name are you doing?”
“Cassian said my wings were looking rather small today.” Feyre rolled her eyes, but still smiled. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re vain.”
Rhys stopped looking at himself for a moment to look at her through the mirror.
“How you wound me, darling.”
“Your wings look fine.”
“But are they the biggest?” he asked, returning his attention to the large, membranous appendages.
“If I recall correctly, Az takes the prize in that area,” she said with a snort. Her mate frowned back at her.
“I’ll make sure we measure this time.” Feyre sighed.
“Fine, fine. Come to bed, I’m exhausted.” Finally, the High Lord relaxed and moved towards her.
“Anything for you.”
***
By the time morning had come, Rhysand had forgotten all about about his promise to get out the measuring stick.
But Feyre hadn’t.
She’d put the argument to rest once and for all.
Over the next few weeks, as her flapping muscles grew more accustomed to flying, the High Lady secretly started developing her wings. Adding length to the arm of the wing and inches to the membrane.
She’d added enough every week to make her feel a difference, but not so much that Azriel noticed the change.
The extra lifting exercises the Shadowsinger had given her helped so much more than he was aware of.
Until one day, when Feyre had jumped off a balcony of the House of Mist, to fly across the city. Azriel came up behind her, with a puzzled look on his face. She watched as his gaze drifted between her body and her wings. Biting her tongue to stifle a laugh, she looked away from him so he wouldn’t see the devious smile that now took over her face.
When they’d landed on the street outside or the townhouse, the High Lady had tucked the wings in tightly so that they looked smaller.
The confusion on Azriel’s face had vanished, but some skepticism remained.
“Good job today,” he said, giving her back another once over. “I think you’ve finally got the hang of it.”
“Thank you for teaching me, Az,” Feyre said with a warm smile. He gave her one of his nods, with a whisper of a grin on his own face.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
And we was gone.
Now, she just had to bide her time until the next argument came around.
***
The wait didn’t take very long.
Not a week after she’d finished refining her new appendages, the High Lady had walked in on Cassian and Rhysand arguing at the table.
Azriel sat with his arms crossed, looking annoyed.
Mor rolled her eyes and laid her head down on the table.
Amren was sitting across from her with her face resting in her palm.
Feyre sat down with the other females.
“Wingspans again?”
Mor nodded without lifting her head.
“Always,” Amren’s muffled voice came through her hand.
“Can we just eat, already?” Mor shouted at the males after lifting her head.
For Cauldron’s sake, Rhys, just measure and get it over with, Feyre shot down the bond to her mate.
Without missing a beat, the High Lord’s chair scraped against the stone floor as he announced, “Let’s measure!”
Cassian agreed wholeheartedly.
Az just sighed, heavily, but stood.
A long stick appeared in Rhys’s hand, who extended it out to his second.
“If you would, please.”
With a glare, Amren snatched it out of his hand and stood to measure the male’s wings.
“Azriel has the biggest of you three bumbling idiots.”
Feyre gave Mor a sly, devilish smile and stood from her chair.
“There’s one more set of wings in this room.”
Cassian scoffed.
“There’s no way that someone your size could -”
The High Lady unfurled her massive wings as the general was speaking. His sentence fell short, his mouth wide open.
Her mate was smirking.
Recognition crept it’s way across Az’s face.
Morrigan started cackling from the other end of the table.
Even Amren looked slightly amused.
Feyre felt a tickle as a few claws dragged down the hard walls of her mind and let him in.
Even now, you surprise me, Feyre darling.
She sent a laugh down the bond and looked to her Second, spreading her wings out to maximum length.
“I think we all know who the clear winner is,” Amren said.
“Alright,” Feyre said, making her wings disappear again. “Now that’s settled, can we eat?”