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She’s coming, shadows chanted, dancing around Azriel.
He already knew. Her honeyed scent, sweet cinnamon and sea breeze, engulfed him from the moment she started approaching him.
Azriel filled his glass to the brim before turning to face the fiery Valkyrie striding to him confidently. With her chin held high, Gwyn stopped in front of him. Coppery-brown strands of hair pressed against her flushed cheeks, her breath starting to even out after the intense training. In other circumstances, Azriel would’ve pushed the hair out of her face, hooking it behind her elegantly arched ear.
But they were not alone. While Nesta, Emerie and Mor — who, not so subtly, gawked in their direction until they disappeared into the House — were already gone, Cassian stayed behind as always to put everything back in its place. So Azriel had to act as casual as possible. Because his and Gwyn’s relationship was yet a thing of secret, lovely beauty.
Their late night dates and timid kisses were only for him and Gwyn to know of.
Consciously erasing the smile that briefly appeared at the memory of Gwyn’s delicate frame in his embrace last night, Azriel simply cocked an eyebrow. Waiting for whatever thing she had to tell him. And, from the curious glint in her bright teal eyes, Azriel guessed it would most likely take him by surprise.
“Will you show me your wingspan, shadowsinger?”
He hadn’t expected her to ask him that, however.
Azriel almost dropped the glass on the ground. “I’m sorry, what?”
Because there was no fucking way those words had actually left her mouth.
An amused grin spread across her face, “Already have problems with your hearing? You’re aging quicker than I expected,” Gwyn clicked her tongue, then repeated her question slowly, “Will. You. Show. Me. Your. Wingspan. Shadowsinger?”
Oh, fucking Cauldron.
Choked laughter reached his ears. Azriel’s head snapped in the direction, peering past Gwyn’s head. His brother was at the weapon station, long hair covering the sides of his face. Yet, it was obvious his strong body was shaking with mirth.
That fucking bastard. He must’ve been the one to talk Gwyn into asking him that.
To make sure, though, Azriel questioned, “May I know what got you asking me something so… unexpected?”
“Nesta, Em, Mor and Cass were having a talk about it. And it came to my attention that you have the largest wingspan. That made me realize I have never seen it,” Gwyn innocently replied, “So, Cassian suggested I ask you about it.”
Just as Azriel had guessed. Oh, he was going to beat the living shit out of Cass later.
“So?” Gwyn pressed, the smile not once fading, “Will you show me?”
Mother above, give him strength.
Azriel gave her a long look. She didn’t shy away and matched the intensity of his stare, her copper brows high. As if she was challenging him to talk.
He exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gwyneth, do you know what a wingspan is?”
It was her time to stare incredulously. Her brows creased, a mix of confusion and frustration flashing. Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest, angling her head to the side.
“For you to believe I lack basic knowledge is hurtful, shadowsinger,” she commented, “Of course I do know! It’s the distance between the ends of the wings!”
Well, technically, yes. But not what it truly was for Illyrians. By the Cauldron, he was in deep shit. How the fuck was he supposed to explain what the others meant when they mentioned Azriel had the biggest wingspan? How could he tell her what it truly meant for Illyrian men, especially?
Good luck, shadowsinger, his shadows consoled, amused by the whole situation.
Another choked laughter echoed into the training ring. Whether Gwyn heard it or not, she didn’t react. Her whole attention was on Azriel. And, as tempting as it was to make up an excuse and leave, then come back later to make Cass pay for it, he couldn’t do it.
Perhaps it was best to hear it from him, than from Nesta or Emerie; or, worse, Mor, who’d definitely be blunter — and go into more detail than necessary — than the other women about it.
Azriel took a deep breath and sent a quick prayer to the Mother: not to have her uncomfortable after his confession, and not to kill Cass right after his beautiful Valkyrie left the ring.
“Gwyn,” Azriel gently started, lowering his voice enough so the busybody of Cass, who unashamedly eavesdropped, wouldn’t hear them, “You are correct. But, for Illyrians, it has a double meaning. The one you mentioned, and another one that refers to a man’s di — … certain body part's size.”
Gods, he cringed at the way it sounded.
Azriel watched Gwyn anxiously, expecting all sorts of emotions to show. Realization. Even a deep blush to settle on her face.
Yet she simply stared. For a long minute, she didn’t say a thing. Azriel worried he didn’t word it properly. That perhaps he should’ve gone with what she asked and not mention the true meaning of a wingspan in the previous conversation.
Then, Gwyn chuckled. No blushing, no awkwardness. Just a wide, bright smile as she replied,
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’ve known about the real meaning of a wingspan for an Illyrian for a long time, shadowsinger,” Gwyn shrugged, irreverently, then went on just as cheerful, “I am standing by my initial question, though. May I see how large your wingspan is? I’ve mostly seen your wings tucked back.”
He gaped at Gwyn, unable to react. Azriel was unsure if he shall be relieved Gwyn knew about it, or be worried she had to assist a talk around this topic.
“Here? Now?” Was all he could inquire.
“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly ashamed of Cassian,” Gwyn tease, arching one eyebrow, “After all, I am aware you’ve seen each other’s wingspans before — with both of its meanings.”
Azriel wasn’t going to go there. Was not going to ask how she knew; because something told Azriel she didn’t just guess. And he didn’t want to find out what talks the Valkyries had on their sleepovers, especially since Mor joined their group.
He sighed, defeated, and spread his wings carefully. Gwyn’s eyes went from one wing to the other, thoroughly studying the distance. And he found himself nervous. For what reason, he was clueless still. Her silence, as well as the analytical look on her face, made Azriel nearly self-conscious.
And he simply showed her his spread-out wings.
Finally, she hummed, melodiously. “Impressive,” Gwyn affirmed.
Azriel simply nodded. What else could he do? Thank her? No, it felt foolish.
He expected she’d head back into the House after she got what she wanted. Of course, she didn’t. Why would she? Why wouldn’t the Mother test his patience further?
With a wicked sparkle in her teal eyes as she took a bold step that nearly made their chests touch, Gwyn whispered, “One day, you’ll have to show me if your other wingspan is just as impressive, shadowsinger. But in private.”
This time, Azriel dropped the glass from his hand. Gwyn gazed with her eyebrows high in amusement, then turned on her heels and strode into the House.
Azriel stared after her, lips parted in pure astonishment. She truly never failed to surprise him with her bluntness.
He was brought back to reality by Cassian’s rich laughter. His brother was leaning against the table, a strong arm thrown over his torso. Body shaking, face red, tears rolling down his cheeks. Cass looked in Azriel’s direction, a sly grin spread across his soon-to-be broken face.
“What an interesting talk between you two lovebirds, Az. You’re very welcome, by the way.”
Azriel’s eyes turned into slits. With a snarl, he approached his brother, having no intention of holding back from beating the living shit out of him. And, from Cass’ smirk, it was exactly what he waited for.