Within the short flight she had with Azriel, Arwen discovered something hidden behind the steely demeanor of the spymaster.

The mere name of the Shadowsinger instilled fear in many. Even she remembered shuddering with cold sweat when she first saw him and felt his oppressing presence at their first encounter.

Oh, Azriel. How misunderstood! The ruthless reputation, the cold, unfeeling demeanor—it was all a front. A terrifying shell to hide the person he truly was inside.

Azriel landed smoothly at the entrance of the House of Wind located at the crevice of a very high cliff facing the city. His eyes were kind as he checked on her. He let down her feet to the ground gently, not releasing his strong yet gentle hold around her waist until he was sure she could stand firmly on her own.

“Thank you,” she said softly, looking up at him.

“Anytime,” he replied with a small smile as he tugged his beautiful dark wings behind his covered muscular back.

Again, those hazel eyes trapped her; she couldn’t look away from him. She began to notice the way the warm light from the interior of the house hit the side of his sculpted face. If she was being honest with herself, he was actually quite handsome, tall and very easy on the eyes. And the way he regarded and treated her was dangerously flattering.

“You…” Azriel’s eyes subconsciously traveled down her exquisite form as she took off his jacket, “…look lovely tonight.”

The apple of Arwen’s cheek were dusted lightly with pink at his compliment. “Thank you. Same thing could be said about you as well,” she replied as she folded his jacket into two and draped it across her left arm absently.

Azriel looked as if he was fighting back a smile. “I am many things to many people. Usually being lovely isn’t one of them.”

Arwen lips parted in realization as she internally scolded her awkward self. “No, no. That-that’s not what I meant—" she quickly ratified herself, feeling silly and embarrassed for implying that the spymaster and Shadowsinger was lovely.

In her defense, Azriel was indeed lovely— in many ways. She knew that now. But Arwen thought the Shadowsinger would surely take offense if she said that out loud.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I was just kidding,” said Azriel quickly upon seeing the slight panicked look on her beautiful face.

Upon hearing his explanation, a beautiful smile graced the Hybern’s Heiress’ face. “Oh, that’s a relief,” she said with a light chuckle.

Now, Azriel was also smiling. The Shadowsinger had his hands inside his pants pockets to hide the fact that his hands urged to touch the soft skin of her arms. The slit on her dress let him see her long, shapely leg every time she walked, taunting him.

He noticed her fidgeting fingers at his jacket, slightly looking down from her remaining embarrassment. Then she bit her lip, and Azriel could do nothing but secretly wanting her from a distance.

The rest of the court members were all watching their exchange from a distance.

“Wow. They’re both are awkward. It’s painful to watch,” commented Amren flatly.

“Which is one of the reasons why they’re perfect for each other,” Mor sighed dreamily as she rested her head on a hand, looking towards the two figure at the entrance, each fidgeted to themselves in their own ways, not looking sure what to say next but reluctant to leave each other’s presence.

“Stealing glances,” Rhysand observed, stretching his hand behind Feyre’s chair to lean closer to his wife, “Awkward silence. Where oh where did our spymaster lose his balls?” he muttered with a crooked grin on his face.

The High Lady rested her head on Rhys’ shoulder. “They grow up so fast,” she murmured almost lovingly, earning a bark of laughter from Cassian.

The sound Cassian made broke the spell between the Hybern’s Heiress and the Shadowsinger. Arwen turned her head slightly towards the sound, remembering what had transpired just minutes ago. She turned to Azriel, and with a smile, returning back the jacket that he had lent her earlier.

The moment she turned from Azriel, her expression turned cold.

“You,” she said in her usual gentle voice as she turned her focus to Cassian.

The said Illyrian general tilted his head, mildly noted the unusual way she regarded him. Arwen made her way towards the table where the members of the court were seated in their various positions; their attention was hers now. The grace in which she walked made her seem as if she was floating towards them; the silk champagne dress that she wore only accentuated the subtle glow of her skin.

She stopped a few distance away from Cassian, who was now looking up at her, blinking at the steep change of emotion in her azure eyes.

“If I see you toss my son like that again,” she said in her usual voice, but there was an icy threat behind the soft spoken words, “I will turn your bad day into one of the worst day of your life. Do you understand?”

The whole room seemed as if it was rid of all the warmth, even with the presence of the crackling fire in the hearth. The way her azure blue eyes turned to steel when she looked down at him made Cassian’s stomach churned—though he will never admit it.

Cassian visibly gulped and nodded. The healer was the kindest, most patient individual he ever met. The Illyrian general knew well by experience that the quiet ones were the ones that should be feared the most—and he wasn’t exactly thrilled to know what it’s like to be at the receiving end of Hybern’s Heiress’ maternal wrath.

“Okay,” answered Cassian with his hands raised in surrender, “Next time I will not toss the boy without your permission—”

“There will not be a next time,” cut Arwen with ice in her soft spoken voice.

“Duly noted,” replied Cassian, his eyes darting to Azriel who stood slightly behind her. The Shadowsinger happily ignored his silent plea for help and instead exchanged a mild amused look with the rest of his family.

Rhysand, particularly, had a tremendous pleased look on his face. But Amren was the first to break the silence. The petite high fae with the short hair snorted loud enough for everyone to hear, lightly swirling the red wine in her glass before sipping it.

The sound she made and the buzzing sound of Tham’s playing with his war bird at the corner of the spacious yet comfortable room seemed to turned Arwen’s attention. She began to notice how the rest of the court members were wearing their own casual clothing, sans Morrigan.

“What are you wearing?” she asked confusedly. The ice had melted from her melodious voice.

Feyre raised an eyebrow, almost failing at the attempt to smother her amusement. The High Lady looked down to study herself casually whilst still holding her wine glass. “A sweater, jeans and a pair of my leather boots,” she answered matter of factly. “Why?”

“You said this is a formal dinner,” frowned Arwen as she turned to the High Lord.

Rhysand, who was wearing all black hoodie and long pants looked back at the healer. “I never said this is a formal dinner. I never liked formalities,” he said as he ran his the tip of his fingers on Feyre’s shoulder. “We all just wear what we want.”

Arwen put two and two together, and the annoyance that she harbored against Cassian returned. From her seat, Mor snorted a laugh at the Illyrian general.

Arwen now openly glared at Cassian.

“You are lucky I am not holding my scalpel right now, Cassian.”

Cassian was meaning to open his mouth to rat Morrigan out too, because dressing Arwen up for the night wasn’t solely Cass’ doing. But the blonde female kicked him on the shin under the table, glaring at him.

Something tugged at her dress. Arwen looked down to see her little golden leaf looking up at her with that innocent green eyes. All of a sudden her exasperation towards Cassian melted away, forgotten.

“Nana, I thought there will be cake in this party,” frowned Tham, looking confused, “Where’s the cake?”

“The cake?” asked Rhysand with a raised eyebrow at the small boy. A crooked smile suddenly lifted on his face. In a blink of an eye, the High Lord summoned the cake from the kitchen and onto the table in front of them. “You mean this cake?”

Thamrin might be small, but the childish roar of excitement coming out of him could be heard throughout the House of Wind. With his little feet he ran towards Rhys who had a boyish grin about his face as he scooped the small Illyrian boy on to his lap. Arwen was meant to reprimand Tham for his screaming, but the pure wonder and joy that was on his chubby face melted her insides. It had been a long time since she saw Thamrin looking that happy, and she didn’t have the heart to take the moment away from him.

Azriel placed a hand at the small of her back, smiling as he pulled a chair for her. She beamed at him and thanked him as she took a seat. By this time a chorus of laughter was already heard on the table. Apparently Rhysand had decorated Azriel’s cake with an embarrassing inscription with colorful frosting.

Performance issues are not something to be embarrassed about. We’re glad you got your shit back together.

Azriel would’ve said ‘fuck you, Rhys’ out loud, but knowing a little child was around, the spymaster held himself back while the others were busy laughing at the various implied message written on the delicious looking cake.

Arwen was too busy being dumbfounded at the kind of crass joke shared between the Night Court members that she forgot entirely about her little boy who was staring intently at the cake. Rhysand or any of the court members missed the fact that unlike the children his age, Arwen had taught him to read at an early age.

“Shit?” asked Tham with a giggle, immediately making everyone freeze in their seats, “Why is there shit written on Az’s cake?” he asked with an amused giggle.

“Yeah no shit, Rhys,” blurted Feyre spontaneously to her husband, silently blaming him for teaching the young, innocent boy a bad word. But when she realized that she too, had subconsciously cursed, the High Lady bumped her forehead on the wooden table, punishing herself for it.

Thamrin swung his small legs as he sat on Rhysand’s lap, laughing.

“Shit, shit, shit,” copied the little Illyrian boy.

“Ion nin (my son)!” reprimanded Arwen, horrified at hearing her son copying the bad word and seemingly enjoying everybody’s response to his newfound word, “Daro (stop)!”

At this point the table erupted in laughter as Thamrin rebelliously showed a toothy grin at his naneth (mother) instead. Azriel pressed his lips together in frustration at Rhysand and Cassian who seemed to be enjoying this a little too much, ignoring the Shadowsinger’s death glare.

Azriel reached forward and picked at the word ‘shit’ with his finger, messing the inscription on the colorful frosting of his unwanted welcome-back cake.

“No, Thamrin. It was written ‘sweet’. Not that word. You read it wrong,” he lied convincingly to the boy in an attempt to control the damage.

“No I’m not. Nana taught me to read. I can read,” Tham insisted rather proudly, then went about spelling the word as if to make his point, “It says S-H-I-T. Shit,” he said with an innocent face splitting smile.

Laughter broke the House of Wind apart. The little boy was rather enjoying the attention, amused at seeing how the adults are holding their tummy, laughing until their faces turned red. He giggled to himself. The only ones that weren’t laughing in the room were Arwen and Azriel. The two shared a concerned look to each other.

“I made it worse,” Azriel said apologetically at Arwen, who was looking at him while covering half of her face with her hand, cringing.

It took a while to get the little boy to finally stop saying the bad word. But for the rest of the night, none of the adults could get over the fact that the innocent, well behaved little boy had learned his first bad word from Azriel’s welcome-back cake.

All thanks to their High Lord.

By the time they were finished with their meal, Thamrin was already out cold and Arwen had already put the little boy to sleep on the plush couch in front of the fireplace. Feyre, still smiling, gave Arwen a blanket to put around his little sleeping form.

“He’s exhausted. He didn’t have his nap today,” said Arwen as she tugged the blanket under his chin.

“I haven’t had that much laughter since forever,” admitted the High Lady to Arwen. “Having a child seems like a dream come true.”

“When you have your own, you’ll see that it’s not always the case. This boy causes me headaches too,” beamed Arwen as she lovingly brushed back Thamrin’s hair.

The sound of the court members chatting in the background merged with the sound of the crackling fireplace. Feyre sat at the edge of the couch near Thamrin’s feet, looking at Arwen.

“You know, we don’t just invite you tonight for a dinner,” she told her, smiling a bit. “We have news for you.”

Arwen had a hesitant expression on her face. “What news?”

Rhysand appeared next to Feyre, his arm rested around his wife’s middle.

“It’s about our deal. The item you required—we’ve located it. And where it is, you’re not gonna like it.”

***

[Author’s Note: I’m so sleepy]