𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Arwen made it to one street off the one the town house sat along before a large shadow appeared at her side. They walked in some time with silence as their third companion, her mind battling between focusing on her destination whilst pushing out echoes of the fight just passed.

"I'm sorry," she said after they entered the busier part of the city, their reflections moving like soft, rippling waves across the glass panes of storefronts. "That you got caught in the middle of it all."

"It's not the first time. More often than not I am the middle of the theatrics," he replied with a warm chuckle. His strides were loose, she had noted, shoulders making those soft motions with each step unveiled that his words matched his composure. With a gentle sigh he added, "Look, you don't have to tell me but should I know what happened between you and Azriel?"

Arwen gave a small shrug. "If Rhys knows then I suppose there's no point in avoiding it. But not right now. I'll tell you over breakfast."

"Ah," Cassian breathed, lugging his thick arm across her shoulder as he guided her through the growing morning crowd. "I love our food dates. The best kind—well, second best."

Frowning, she asked. "What's the first?"

He choked on a laugh, not saying anything but grinning down at her with an arched brow, eyes pooling with roguishness. A brow that had a light scar tracing through it. Arwen pinched her own, before rounding her lips and coughing. "Glad to know, you Illyrian pig. And they're hardly dates since you find them at pleasure houses."

"Eh, that's true enough. Alright, food dates take first place. Where are you thinking of?"

This time, Arwen was the one to grin without answering. And it was worth the reaction that she received from both him and the little shopkeeper, a lesser faerie that paled at the sight of the burly Illyrian and his wings. Cassian paled too, eyeing off the dainty teashop that was painted a pastel green, ceramic pots hanging from displays on the walls, small round tables with white lace trimmings and silver trays.

Arwen usually came here with Mor, once or twice with Rhysand but for obvious reasons, she never brought Azriel or Cassian. But now she had a heavy desire for light food and a quiet space to talk and think.

The little bell above the narrow door rang for a second time as it closed behind Cassian who was pushed right up against her shoulder, eyeing a pot plant near his head. "For two, please," she said to the shopkeeper.

"Of course," she squeaked out and gestured to an empty table near the front window. There were only two other patrons, seated together near the back.

Arwen glanced back, a hand loosely wrapped around his wrist as she led the way to the table. Cassian was too busy watching either side of him to glare at her. Illyrians were overly aware of their wings, so it wasn't a problem of not knowing where they were, but it was still a tight space that required navigation.

Eventually he made it through the maze of delicate decorations and tables, sitting opposite her at the dainty table. The chairs were naturally designed with a low back that curved around so the armrests were of the same piece of wood, a netted fabric offering support.

He puffed out his cheeks with a long exhale that made her smile at the table. He looked like he had just successfully strategized through a battlefield. Soon they had teas in front of them and the silver tiered tray was taken away before being returned with sandwiches, savouries and sweets.

Cassian held up one of the egg sandwiches. "This is one bite," he deadpanned.

"Yes," she agreed. "That's why there's more of them. And this isn't the place to stuff your face with food."