𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 89

Chapter 89

Arwen had made a promise to herself to never let go of him again. She took it quite literally, as even by the next morning she had not once left Azriel's side, constantly brushing up against him, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt, following him around all night and morning. None were grand gestures—not wild declarations or extravagant displays. But to Arwen, just being able to hold him when she wanted was everything. It was her grounding.

It was hard to tell what he thought of her sudden attachment. She knew that he wasn't one to revel in those types of displays, but whenever she examined his face to check that she hadn't pressed a boundary, he only smiled at her and kissed her head.

They migrated to the garden, letting Feyre and Elain have the house to themselves for an hour or so since the older Archeron sister had become reclusive in the presence of so many in recent days. Arwen let her bare feet graze against the stone path as they sat on a bench in the midst of the blossoming spring life. With a twisted spine, she hooked her arm over the wooden back of the bench to gaze upon the bluebells behind them, content in the silence of birdsong and with the warmth of the sun on her exposed back.

Azriel's finger hooked around the low and wide v-cut back of the white chiffon dress she had chosen. He traced its outline, down to the low of her spine and back up the other side. Reaching out, Arwen gently touched a hanging bluebell, lifting the petals to absorb all its fine details.

His fingers traced over the ridges of her scars that marred her back. Stiffening, she let the bluebell drop and silently looked at her mate, a plea in her eyes for his touch to move on.

He carefully observed her back, then, after a moment, gave her his hand. "I'm just the same, remember." The skin on his hand was rippled and discoloured, just as hers was. "I think no differently of you for yours."

"It just... Reminds me of what is not there," she whispered. "That other people can see it and know it happened."

He curled a strand of her raven hair around her ear. "Do you care what they think?"

Arwen went back to the bluebell, snapping the flower from its stem. A greedy theft, but a sacrifice she was sure the plant wouldn't mind if she took no more. Returning to a proper seat, she tucked the bluebell over his ear, between the loose black waves of his hair. She almost wished he had his seven siphons rather than just the two on his hands as the colour would complement beautifully. "If I was nobody, then perhaps not," she answered. "But I'm somebody. I'm Rhysand's sister, the sister of a High Lord. The one who died and came back over two hundred years later. I'm a representative of this court. I'm a half-breed that doesn't have a full place amongst either line of blood. I'm your mate. When people see me, that is also what they see."

Azriel pinched her chin. "They will not see weakness when they look at you."

She let the conversation trickle from there, unwilling to venture deeper into those thoughts when her mind was still in shambles. Sleep hadn't come easy the night before, despite having his company with her. "Rhys is giving me the town house."

"I heard. Are you going to redecorate?"

Arwen shook her head. "A few changes in art maybe, but it's always been like this. I like it how it is."

He hummed in agreement. "Rhys actually mentioned the idea of buying you an estate somewhere nearby instead but he thought you would like the familiarity of this place more."

"I wouldn't have to start a garden from scratch either," she added, smiling at the blossoms. "I'm going to let Elain stay here, if that's what she wants." Azriel looked at her in surprise. Arwen swatted his thigh. "I do not hate the girl. I think she'll want to go somewhere else anyway when Feyre permanently moves out. Perhaps up at the House of Wind or with Nesta."