A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 58

Gwyn knew this was coming. Rhysand had informed her that, as an acting spy, she was going to have to report directly to Azriel after he returned from his mission with Cassian and Mor. She assured her High Lord there was no issue. Little did she know.

Every thought emptied from her as she took in his form, strong and whole before her. With much effort, she forced herself to remain still even though everything in her begged to run to him. To wrap her arms around his neck, her legs around his trim waist. Touch the bronzed peak of his cheeks. Sweep away the hard line of his lips into something soft and yielding. To whisper her contrition for her deceit against them.

But her shod feet remained planted—and Gwyn knew Azriel recognized why they could not embrace. Why it would be unwise to expose their affections. Not so long ago, the spymaster had warned her during training, Your opponent will always hunt for a weakness, Berdara. For somewhere to strike a catastrophic blow.

Azriel, this most beautiful male before her. Friend. Confidant. Lover. Mate.

The fear of him suffering from anyone's hand...

Azriel was her weakness. One the vultures of the Autumn Court would circle and pick clean if they had the chance.

No. Gwyn wouldn't risk any of those fiends seeing. And despite the tentative working relationship with Eris Vanserra? Gwyneth Berdara was no fool. Wasn't naïve to the evils of desperate, greedy men.

From the quick glances over her right shoulder and the detached control on his face, Azriel understood. And just like her, he hated every godsdamn second of it.

"Hello, Shadowsinger."

Azriel froze. Unnervingly still, even for him.

He stared and stared as if he could see into her mind, see the reasons for the whys she knew he was dying to ask.

"Give us a moment," the shadowsinger spoke to his companions, his attention never leaving her. Shadows shifted to his ear, and he batted them away with a decisive tilt of his head.

Cassian moved closer, strategically placing his enormous frame slightly between the two of them. Even then, those hazel eyes didn't dare leave hers. "Az, you promised to let me—"

"Leave. Us," Azriel insisted. After blinking, his hazel eyes caught up to his brother's. "Please."

The Illyrian General nodded stiffly, his powerful shoulders rolling like a black sea in the night. As he made to leave, Cassian squeezed Azriel's arm. "Mind yourself, Azriel. Don't say or do anything you're going to regret. And don't cross the fucking border."

Content with his brother's answering nod, Cassian reached for his mate's hand, striding off a short distance away, accompanied by Nesta's rumbling protests.

Then it was just the two of them.

Southern winds whipped the crisp fragrance of lilies and tall grasses and petrichor into the cave entrance. And yet, all Gwyn scented was cedar and mist, blanketing her in everything that was him.

Azriel's feet continued forward, and her heart picked up with each measured step. The slumbering bond awakened inside as if sensing the other half. The harmony of its song.

His keen eyes scanned her body, scouring for injuries both seen and unseen.

"I am fine," Gwyn answered his silent question. Not a lie, for she was doing as well as could be expected to live, surviving in that isolated dwelling.

"Are you sure?" His tone and gaze were still piercing, searching, his shadows edging toward the intangible border.

"I'm holding my own. Doing as I was taught."