𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 103

Chapter 103

"Good," Cassian said, holding up the sparring pads between them. Arwen's focus narrowed on each one, her knuckles even under their bandages feeling like they were raw and burning. "Strengthen your core."

She tightened her stomach.

By the time he called for them to finish, sweat glistened down her temples and onto her cheeks, soaking the collar of her sleeved shirt. The early summer days were already hot. Arwen retied her bun that had fallen across her neck, strands sticking to her wet skin. Cassian discarded the pads. "I don't feel like I've improved from last week," she muttered, squinting against the sun.

"Since last week?" he echoed. "You've got to give yourself a bigger timeline. You're doing better than you were a month ago. Far better than two months ago."

Arwen looked at him. "But not last week." She needed the improvement—needed to see that she was bettering. If this life was all she had, then she needed to move like there was no tomorrow. It had instilled an urgency in her, a constant wind under her feet that hurt to refuse. 

Cassian looked her up and down. "You left strikes are getting more accurate," he said after a moment. "Have you been eating what I've told you to?"

She nodded. Her diet wasn't strict by any means, but the choices had become more deliberate. Meats, legumes, vegetables. Her body had already regained much of her prior weight, muscle building with it. Most of her dresses sat better against her skin and she even had to toss away the ones she had bought in the past few months. Azriel appreciated her returned curves. Spent an entire night admiring them with his hands. And mouth.

Cassian moved on to training with Feyre when Arwen left. Each step she made into the House of Wind was heavy with exhaustion. Cassian wouldn't be ready to fly her down to the town house for another hour or so, and Rhysand and Azriel were off somewhere together which meant she was stuck here for a while and might as well do work while she was. There was nothing immediate to tend to as emissary here, but Arwen made do with responding to one of Lucien's letters and writing an introductory letter to the Summer Court. She had only met Tarquin through her death and was now quite set on reaffirming the newly regained, but still rocky, friendship between their courts.

She jumped as two hands smoothed down her arms, a shadow looming over her. "Hello, Az," she greeted softly, sinking back into her chair and her mate. "I didn't even hear you come in."

"I wasn't trying to be quiet, you were just very concentrated, " he replied. He leant over her, picking up the letter she had been working on and examined it. "You need to work on your handwriting."

Arwen snatched the letter back, crumpling it enough that she knew she'd have to rewrite it, his laughter warm in her ear. "I could not write for over two centuries, I'll remind you. My fingers have forgotten how to."

Azriel's arms crossed over her chest as he bowed to her height. "Practice makes perfect. But breaks are a necessity. Come have lunch with us."

"Lunch? Already?" Indeed, beyond the window, the sun had reached its peak. "I haven't even gotten two letters done."

"Letters that are in no rush," he told her, rising slowly and using the strength of his arms to urge her to rise with him.

"How would you know?"

"Spymaster."

She rolled her eyes, finally obliging his silent request for her to stand. They joined Cassian, Mor and Feyre for lunch. Arwen piled her plate with salad and chicken, mixing them together with her heavy, silver fork. "Where's Rhys?" she asked.