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As I flew Elain down to the townhouse, she was silent – unresponsive as ever in my arms. And she was light – so unbearably light, and fragile – like Feyre had been, once, when she had first arrived here.
I was as careful as I could be, flying slowly and evenly, to avoid frightening her. I had even sent my shadows away, unsure if their presence would frighten her even more. I wondered if I flew fast – as Rhys was doing now, judging from Nesta’s screams and curses – if Elain would even react.
Her unrelenting silence was unsettling, even to me, who spent so much of my time in the shadows.
Despite my careful flying, we arrived at the townhouse first – probably because Rhys was having a bit too much fun tormenting Nesta – and stepped into the sitting where I scented Feyre waiting, Elain still in my arms. Her golden-brown hair had snagged in some of the black scales across the chest and shoulders of my Illyrian armour, but she didn’t seem to mind.
I didn’t mind holding her, breathing in her scent – but I set her down gently on the foyer carpet anyways. She peered up at me, her expression unreadable, and I couldn’t help myself.
“Would you like me to show you the garden?”
The small female before me barely reacted – just nodded, once.
So, gracefully as any courtier – though my Illyrian armor indicated otherwise – I offered Elain my arm. She regarded it carefully, her eyes inspecting my hand, or maybe my blue Siphon, carefully.
My heart skipped a beat as she whispered, “Beautiful.”
I could feel the colour blooming on my cheeks, and, not trusting myself to speak, I just inclined my head in thanks and led Feyre’s sister toward the back doors into the garden, where the sunlight was waiting for us. As we slipped outside, I heard Nesta’s stomping footsteps as she rushed to the bathroom – presumably the outcome of Rhys’ less than careful flying.
My ears also picked up Lucien’s snarl as he arrived and scented me, alone, with his mate. I tensed slightly, my arm flexing almost imperceptibly beneath Elain’s bone-thin hand, until Rhys grumbled out, “Relax, Azriel isn’t the ravishing type.”
Elain, perhaps sensing my tension, glanced up at me.
I smiled softly down at her, forcing myself to relax, and began to show Elain around the sunlit garden, pointing out the azalea’s, begonia’s, roses, carnations and daisies as we went along. The garden had a wild feel to it – I supposed no one had really tended to it very carefully of late – but Elain didn’t seem to mind.
Elain wandered from my arm, gently inspecting the flowers for herself as I watched, enraptured by the delicate female before me.
She was different than the others – different than Mor – but since I had picked her up at the House of Wind, I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her. Her scent was even delicate, wreathed with subtle florals as it was.
As I watched her, my shadows twirled around me again, returned from their tasks. Almost absentmindedly I sent one of them off in search of Nuala or Cerridwen to fetch some tea for Elain. Soon enough the latter slipped into the garden, carefully placing the tea on one of the wrought iron tables in the garden. I smiled my thanks, taking my eyes from the female before me for only a moment.
I was enraptured by her, I realized. Even though I shouldn’t – no couldn’t – be. She was promised to another; her heart belonged to another male. Not Lucien, not unless she chose, but to the human man named Grayson, whose iron ring she wore on her finger. She touched it as she flitted about the garden, her face alive with joy for the first time since I had met her.
“Elain,” I called softly. She turned and smiled at me, and my heart somersaulted. “Would you like some tea?”
I gestured to the table where Cerridwen had deposited the tea, and Elain nodded – again, just once – before gliding over to the table. She sat and wrapped her hands around the tea, her expression slipping into a distant expression, though she sipped from time to time.
As I took up my position lounging on the chaise lounge, my wings spread, I summoned some reports, needing something – anything – to distract me from the tumultuous thoughts running wild in my head. And as I flipped through my reports – barely seeing them – I could feel my High Lady’s eyes on me from where she stood in her and Rhys’ bedroom window. Watching her sister and I as we relaxed in the courtyard.
Rhys knew, as he always did, that I was aware of their eyes on me. He likely also knew that I could hear them – though whether he suspected I was listening or not, I didn’t know.
But their eyes were still on me as Feyre demanded to know why the Cauldron had chosen Lucien as Elain mate, not me.
It was an effort to stay still – to not betray to my brother that I had been eavesdropping.
A mate – wasn’t that what I had hoped for for so long? Not with Elain, but with Mor. And even though I still nursed some hope, deep down, I knew – as did my brothers – that Mor was not my mate. Never would be, no matter what I felt.
And Elain – she was awakening something in me that I had never felt before. And as I watched her sip her tea in that sunlit courtyard, I realized that I would be happy – and beyond privileged – to earn her affections. That I would want them, welcome them. If she chose to be mine.
Perhaps sensing the renewed focus of my gaze, Elain glanced over to where I sat, and as she smiled softly as me, her delicate features radiant in the sunlight, I couldn’t help but smile back.