Isabella

"I am a terrible person." She covered her face, slumping down on the armchair in Azriel's room. "I cannot believe I said all that."

"You were upset about Oliver, I'm sure he'll forgive you for lashing out."

She waved him off over her shoulder, assuming that he was still getting dressed somewhere behind her. Azriel had only laughed when she had stormed into his room, turned his chair around and plopped herself down.

He had offered to let her watch 'the show' but she was far too conflicted to even consider joking back.

"That's no excuse."

"No. It doesn't excuse what you said but it does explain why you said it."

With a sharp sigh she rubs at the headache building between her eyes. A soft touch on her shoulders has her jumping in place, eyes opening wide before she relaxes as the shadowsinger stalks around the chair to stand in front of her.

There's a calm expression on his face, no, fond. He's smiling softly, eyes warm as he crouches down in front of her chair.

"You made a mistake." He states, slowly reaching forward to touch her hands. "We all make mistakes. The Mother knows that my family and I have screwed up many times, worse than mindlessly lashing out at someone in anger."

Her gaze drops down to those scarred hands, clasping them in her own as she lets her- her mate's words sink in.

"Though I am impressed that you managed to find trouble so early in the morning."

"Azriel!" She hissed, dropping his hands and pulling back with a huff. "That's not funny."

His chuckle follows after her as he tugs her back towards him. "It's a little funny." He taunts, smiling up at her with bright eyes. "Cassian's not even up yet."

"I know." she grumbles, "Why do you think I'm cramped up in your gothic room rather than my nice spacious one."

He rolls his eyes, "I'm a grown adult, the spymaster of–"

"There's no colour."

"There's three paintings."

"That practically screams loneliness and a longing for the sky."

"When did you become a mind healer?" He hums, still smiling.

She shrugs, a weight slowly lifting from her chest at their playful interaction.

"Humans don't have enough healers to differentiate the two." She pauses, thinking back to her 'patients' that she left behind. "Could I continue my work here?"

His head tilts in thought, "Perhaps. The Library would always be willing to take in mind-healers– they would offer you more substantial training – there's a few independent healer practices and official ones that you can look into."

"Food for thought." She whispers, and he repeats it back to her with a smile.

Azriel squeezes her hands, "So what are you going to do about Rhys?"

"I'm going to decide once you tell me what's going on." Her eyes narrow on him, but he doesn't even flinch at the mum stare. "Because I intend on apologising but I would like to know if I need to apologise on your behalf as well."

"I'm a grown male. I can apologise for my own actions." His voice is firm, almost reprimanding. "You are not responsible for what Cassian and I do, that's on us."

The thought makes her squirm. She doesn't want to feel on edge around Rhys if he and Azriel are fighting.

"Rhys and I are brothers, you think this is the first standoff we've gotten into?"

"So you're not going to apologise." She sighs, tilting her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "How long exactly is this going to drag on?"

"You don't need to worry about it."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you."

"I didn't say you couldn't care about me."

"But you implied it." She arched a brow at him. "If you're allowed to worry about me, I can worry about you."

She waits, brows raised before he huffs.

"Fair enough."

Isabella nods, pleased with the minor win.

"Dare I ask the finer details of this argument you had with Rhys." Azriel's voice is far too calm and controlled for it to be anything other than the beginning of an overly polite interrogation.

"I already told you–"

"That it was private." He huffs. "And what am I supposed to think when you say that?"

She freezes at his words, memories of Tomas spouting similar words at the beginning of their relationship.

"Don't say that." She whispers, voice cold. "Don't say that ever again."

"Okay." His face had gone completely guarded, eye cautious. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." She whispered, closing her eyes for a second. "No."

"What's going on?" Azriel sat back, folding his legs so he could sit on the floor before her, hands laid open on his knees.

"You just... I–" Isabella purses her lips, throat going tight and for a second she expects herself to cry but there don't seem to be any tears left. "For a second I heard Tomas and not you."

"Was it something I did?"

"A similarity that you couldn't help." She murmured, not wanting to upset him but– "But I'm struggling with this Rhys thing, Az."

"So that's what's really got you on edge about the whole situation." The words are said more to himself rather than her. "You're angry with me, not Rhys."

"I'm angry at the world," She states, "you both got caught in the crossfire."

"But I've upset you."

"I don't like being the source of a fight, Azriel." She reprimands and he waits patiently for her to speak her mind. "And it's hard to separate the fae protectiveness and my husband's– ex-husband's controlling behaviour."

His lips thin, clearly upset but for once Isabella forces down the panic that threatens to rise. Because no, she's done nothing wrong. Azriel asked what happened, she opened up and it might not be an answer that pleases him but it's the truth.

"I'll sort things out with Rhys." Azriel tenses as if preparing to stand and fix it that very moment. "And I'll.... Work on the protective thing, read a few self help books or something."

"Azriel..." She shakes her head, reaching a hand out to hold his. "This is a personal issue that I need to work on as well. Yes, I got upset because of something you did but it was also because of my own issues."

"I know," He winces, rising to his feet. "I've got people-pleasing, fixer attitude. Cassian tells me all the time... we can both work on our issues."

Isabella follows after him, waiting in the hallway as he grabs his coat and closes the door. It's clear they're both done with the conversation. Not much to talk about, which is kind of irritating because now they have to work on what they said.

"We should go see if Cassian is alive." Isabella finds a smile spreading on her face at the thought of seeing him. "He must be awake by now."

Azriel seems to wince in the corner of her eye and she slows down a few doors away from her room. She folds her arms, a point look on her face as she taps her foot with raised brows.

"Don't give me that look."

"Then tell me what you did."

"Cassian and I.... got... frisky?" His whole body seemed to physically shrink and wince at the words. She can feel herself tense up a little, uncomfortable still at the thought. "Not entirely sure what you're picturing right now but it was like... all the way... if that's any consolation. It was just sort of–"

"Please stop giving me details."

"Okay."

He nods to himself, waiting for her to speak.

"Okay." She repeats, nodding along. "That's okay, I'm cool with that. It's a little weird but you both care for each other and it's not like... it's anything bad or...."

She trails off biting her fingernails as she thinks.

"You don't sound okay with it."

"Because I was raised by a horrifically conservative woman."

Azriel tilts his head to the side, a vaguely amused smile appearing on his face. "Yeah, parents leave an impression on their kids. Usually a shitty one." He nudges her shoulder with his own as they continue down the hallway.

She's going to ignore that statement and resolve to break generational trauma.

"Yeah... just give me a little time." She straightens up, pulling on a regal mask that her mother gave her. Though there were few less refined parts to it now. "I unfortunately like the two of you and there's not a legitimate reason to disapprove so I'll get with the new lifestyle and we'll be all good."

They pause in front of her bedroom door.

"What exactly am I walking into here?" Azriel snorts at the hesitance in her voice.

"Quite possibly a completely naked Cassian laid out on the bed."

Her throat bobs but she can't deny the slither of curiosity hidden away in the back of her mind.

"Right, you go in first." Isabella turns around, sniffing in disapproval even as Azril has a shit eating smirk next to her. She glares at him, stepping away. "For that alone, you can deal with the grumpy teen and I'll go find the toddler."

"He's with Feyre." Azriel jerks his head down the hallway. "In the private library."

"Of course you knew where he went." She huffs and he raises a brow at her.

"You didn't know where he was?"

She shrugs, defensive even if she feels a little guilty. "I wasn't particularly worried when the house kindly put barriers in the windows and archways so he couldn't fall, got him far too many toys, brought us breakfast and not to mention this house is filled with fae and surrounded– I'm assume is surrounded by a horrific amount of magical shields and wards."

He continues to stare at her, scanning her face with a soft warm look of admiration. Oh he so liked it when she got passionate. Her cheeks burned at the thought and Isabella found herself turning on her heel.

Except she was pulled back around, whirling so fast that her hands landed on Azriel's chest. She gaped up at him in surprise. He gave her little chance to say anything before dipping his head down, pausing by her face.

Her heart races, gaze darting down to where his tongue brushes across his lower lip as he glances between her eyes and lips. A soft kiss is planted on her cheek and she deflates. Disappointed. But oh how she loved the way his scent fills her lung, the way the heat of his body burns against her.

But she wanted more, except he had already stepped away and entered the room.

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"Spill, I know that look." Feyre wiggled her eyebrows at her. Oliver was still content to ignore his mother and play by the coffee table so Isabella didn't have a good excuse to ignore her sister. "Either you gossip with me about the pile of muscles you're crushing on or we could talk about the serious shit."

Isabella sighs.

"Oh come on. I'm your sister, I'm allowed to be concerned."

"You've never been good at subtly have you." She murmurs, sipping from her cup of tea.

"You've always been a little too good."

"Better to be guarded than vulnerable."

"You sound like mother."

"No surprise there." She mutters bitterly from over the rim of her teacup. "Dare I ask how you are faring with the recent changes in your life."

Feyre's eyes narrow. "Don't change the subject."

"Don't avoid my question."

They stare each other down but Feyre has always caved first. And she does.

Two cups of tea later, three biscuits and a strawberry tart later Feyre is still ranting on about fae life. There's no malice in her voice, no real irritation but her little sister's annoyance brings an odd smile to her face.

It's nice to be trusted again. To have afternoon tea in place of sleepovers but still have all the same gossip. Feyre seems content to fill the silence, complain about her heightened senses and all it entails. It quite frankly sounds horrific. Her skin is overly sensitive and irritated by most fabric, bland food is now considered too rich and spicy, sunlight is a bitch and pollen is a plague.

Overwhelming doesn't begin to cover it and it seems Feyre has been keeping her complaints hidden away.

"I just..." She huffs, slumping back in her chair and staring up the ceiling. "They don't get it, none of them do. Rhys and Mor try but they'll never understand how different it is. How basic things have become so...."

She waves her hands in the air, unwilling to go back and re-explain the nuances of her irritation.

"They were born fae," Isabella comments, eyes soft as she stares at her sister. "It is a problem they have never faced. Things they view as a delicacy, as a beauty are foreign and potentially abrasive to you."

"It's not getting better though." She whispers, finally voicing the truth she has been hiding. "None of it is getting easier."

"Isn't it?" Isabella challenges. "Are you not sitting in a bright room, eating a sugary cake, wearing a full sleeved dress?"

"It took me months to do that and yet still I can only sit in partial sunlight, facing away from the window, with the blinds drawn!" Her voice rises in frustration. "I cannot eat more than a few bites, I have to eat vile food full of fats and protein just to ensure that I don't lose horrific amounts of weight."

"And in a few more months you will be eating a full cake."

Feyre glares at her, angry and tired.

"Time is no longer an issue my darling." She soothes, gently placing her teacup down. "You have all the time you could possibly need."

"I'm growing impatient with it all– it's infuriating." She huffs, folding her arms but reaching up with one so she can gnaw on a nail as she glares into the fire.

"You view time as a human, part of adjusting to your new life will be to reevaluate that concept."

She waits for some kind of reaction but receives none.

"Shattering something is easy," She ruffles out her dress, straightening up. "Destruction can take a split second but healing and building–"

"Take time, yes I know." She snips.

Isabella sighs, rising to her feet. For a moment she just watches her little sister, taking in all the ways she has changed. The languid position, the pointed ears, the furrowed brows. How much she has grown and matured in such a short time, yet is still barely an adult. One robbed of her childhood.

Oliver is watching her now, sensing her movement so she sends him a practice look that has moving the toys into a neat pile. Olly always does his best to tidy up but he never quite does the job right. Though she never really expects him to.

Moving towards her son, Isabella gives her sister a quick squeeze on the shoulder. There's nothing more to be said and neither of them are ready for any more displays of affection.

It's only once she and Oliver are about to step out of the room that Feyre calls her name.

"You never did tell me what happened yesterday." Feyre scans her face, looking for any sign of reaction.

Isabella, with years of emotional repression backing her up, remains carefully blank. Not hinting at the agony that swirls under the surface of her skin.

"Another time, sister."

A/N: Not dead, I was just stressfully waiting for my exam results. 4As and a C people!!!!! I can finally relax and write again.