Rhysand retrieved another bottle of wine from a pocket of darkness at his feet. A chorus of appreciation and agreement sounding from the room.
Azriel watched from the window, a soft expression on his gaze that was reserved for his family on these rare, quiet occasions. Happy. All of them.
And yet, despite that, despite the war being over, his nephew being healthy… Azriel couldn’t seem to find that same happiness. That same relief.
Mor laughed loudly, then Nesta and Elain. Feyre watched her sisters with warmth. And then you entered the townhouse; bundled up in a coat and scarf, rubbing your hands together with flushed cheeks and a wide smile.
“Sorry I’m late,” your voice tickled Azriel’s ears even though he stood across the room from you.
You shrugged off the jacket as Rhysand handed you a drink. “We just opened the good stuff.”
Netwrck
