𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Arwen didn't have the motivation to venture all the way down to the library underneath the House of Wind. So she settled on the bookshelves she knew were stacked in one of the main sitting rooms instead. The books that Rhysand brought were fine, but there was one she wanted that he hadn't brought her. The hour was late as she wandered through the halls, the silk pants of her nightwear sliding over her skin with each step.

She left the lights untouched, content to walk through the shadows alone. Turning into the living room, Arwen quickly discovered she wasn't the only one with thoughts keeping her away from sleep.

Mor, alike the day before when Arwen first saw her, sat on a lounge in front of a lit hearth. Next to her, golden hair tumbling loosely over her shoulders, was Feyre. Their heads gradually turned at Arwen's entrance, Mor perking. Feyre smiled gently but looked between Arwen and Mor as if she wasn't sure what to do.

Arwen stilled just inside the entrance and gazed upon her High Lady who wore a soft blue dress that hung loosely from her waist. Modest by Night Court standards.

"Arwen," murmured Mor, rising from the lounge. Arwen remained in place and let the events unfold. Mor pressed her brows together, but a smile lifted her cheeks. An odd sort of happiness, Arwen noted. "Do you need something?"

Arwen glanced at the bookshelf just across from them.

Mor followed it and smiled again. Feyre decided to stand as well, moving to Mor's side. "Hello, Arwen," she said, her voice clear and smooth. "My name is Feyre."

Something tightened in Arwen's throat at the sound of it. She had known Feyre as long as Rhysand had—but it was different. Feyre was someone that Arwen had truly wanted to meet. Having been there, stuck Under the Mountain, she knew exactly what Feyre went through to save Prythian. What she meant to Rhysand and this court. Who she had become. What she had done to Tamlin's court and Ianthe.

But Feyre was also new; someone that she hadn't met before her death. And that made it so much easier for the words to tumble from her lips. "Arwen," she greeted back, despite Feyre very well knowing.

Mor smiled wider, a weight dropping from her shoulders. "I suppose Rhys was hoping for the honours, but I will happily steal it from him. Feyre is Rhysand's mate, and our High Lady."

Despite the momentary pleasure that meeting Feyre brought—to see the person who saved her home—it was replaced by a sudden resentment. Feyre had known this place for little less than two years and already she had her part in this court. A part far more important than Arwen ever played in her two hundred years of living. Not a burden to Rhysand or the others. It was by his desire that Feyre had her place. And it was by his desire that Arwen did not.

At Arwen's silence, Feyre added, "Mor and Cassian have been telling me more about you. You wouldn't believe how much they have to say."

She gave a slight huff, not strong enough for their ears to hear. "It must be pouring out of them." She didn't acknowledge the lack of Rhysand's name. Azriel wasn't a surprise. He wouldn't talk about anything if given the choice. Mor and Feyre looked at each other and she realised how her choice of words came across (exactly how she thought them, but not how she intended for them to sound aloud). "It's a pleasure to meet you, Feyre. I apologise for not making a... Finer introduction of myself."

"It's hardly a matter," she waved off. "I thought of coming to see you today to introduce myself, but I didn't want to intrude."

"Cassian said you managed to eat a bit at lunch," Mor prompted. "How did you find dinner?"

"I haven't eaten it yet." Arwen wasn't in the habit of remembering to eat yet. The plate still sat untouched on her nightstand, forgotten the moment Azriel left.