A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 49

Colorful streamers littered every flat surface. Empty cups and bottles dotted the table like fallen soldiers after battle. Only, this was the aftermath of a party. Speaking of fallen soldiers...

The training priestesses didn't make it back down to the library. Most could not step down the stairs straight. They surprised Azriel at their ability to hold their liquor. A guest-chamber was found for them, far away from the rest.

A gentle snore came from his lap. He peered down, his lips tipping up on one side.

Gwyn was fast asleep, her cheek resting on his thigh, her hands folded under her chin. Her red hair splashed over his tan skin like wine. His hand couldn't help but brush the strands off her beautiful face.

A soft sigh gained his attention. He had almost forgotten they had an audience. Nesta was there, ever vigilant.

A louder snore emanated from her own lap, currently cradling Cassian's giant head. Nesta's face dipped toward her sleeping mate, her hands caressing his long hair with a gentleness not normally seen by the eldest Archeron. Soft melodies from the still-playing Symphonia joined the rising chorus of sleep.

Gwyn mumbled something disjointed, her fingertips digging into the fabric of his breeches.

"Job well done, Azriel," Nesta said merely above a whisper.

A swell of modest pride rose in his chest. Azriel didn't reply, but was glad Gwyn's cherished friend thought he'd done a solid enough job in helping with their plans.

Gwyn's freckled hand clutched him again, and he wondered what she was dreaming of. Was it good? Bad? Either way, her bed was surely more comfortable than the couch and his solid thigh. Though she often boasted about how he made an exceptional pillow.

"You up for that chat?" Nesta asked, her fingers never stilling.

He sighed. "I'm going to put her in her bed first."

Silent as the night, Azriel rearranged her limp form in his arms as shadows swept them from the living space to her room. He shuffled her over to the bed, marveling at the way her head settled against his chest, right above his heart. How her arms felt around his neck. He would hold her like this if he could.

He set her on the bed like the most precious thing he owned, delicately removing her shoes and almost receiving a boot in the face for his efforts. Drawing the heavy blankets over her form, he considered kissing her forehead. Instead, Azriel watched her as his shadows blanketed her form in a semblance of a goodnight hug. Satisfied that she was safe and sound, he pivoted to leave her to her dreams.

"Shadowsinger?"

A hand folded around his wrist. He angled back to encounter her eyes partly open, studying him.

"Yes, priestess?"

Her lips formed a drowsy smile, the covers crinkling as she moved beneath the sheets. "You haven't called me that in a long time."

"Sorry, I forget myself—"

"No. Even though I left the order, a part of me will remain one. Plus, you said you love to revere me, so I don't mind."

He chuckled softly, his thumb chasing the freckles dotting her cheek. "I see all of you, Gwyn."

A fearless, magnificent Valkyrie. Decisive. Cunning. Witty. Brilliant. All rolled into one striking, flaming-haired, freckled package.

"Az, aren't you coming to bed?"

The Illyrian shook his dark head. "Soon. I thought perhaps I might stay in my room tonight." She raised a defiant auburn brow at him. Leaning over, he grazed a callused thumb over the rise of her cheekbone.