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As the eldest child of a High Lord, there was a certain image to be maintained. Every article of clothing needed to be picked and pressed to perfection. It would be a crime for even a single hair to be out of place. Beside the other High Lords, never could an heir speak out of turn, only present to send a message. Heirs were a trophy to be wielded to prove the fertility of a bloodline. Heirs could be traded away wherever it was deemed necessary. Never would an heir choose whom to marry, waiting until the day their father chose to whom they would be wed.
Thus was the life of Eris Vanserra. Even in just the first 19 years he’d lived, it was clear his place in this world.
Beron Vanserra had thought that the Lady of Autumn had taught him to be too kind, becoming useless as a proper heir, now just waiting for the day Beron found a suitable female to chain him to for a proper alliance. Eris would become just another face of the Autumn Court once the child growing in his mother’s womb was old enough to replace him.
And yet until then, he was dragged from court to court beside his mother, proving the unique gift the Autumn Court had been given of two heirs being born in less than two decades.
Eris never cared much for the other courts. To those who lived there, they were beautiful, however Eris never felt a connection to those lands the way he did with his home court. In Autumn it constantly felt as if the land spoke to him. As if he heard songs in the wind and whispers in the rain. Never did he share such thoughts as only the High Lord should be able to connect to the nature of their court, never did an heir feel such a thing. At least that he was aware of, Beron never allowed him to linger and speak with the other heirs.
Not until the quarter-century High Lord’s Summit.
Arriving perfectly on time, as did the other courts, Eris took his place standing perfectly still beside his father’s seat. He stayed silent, carefully watching each High Lord and their own families, looking for any piece of information that his father may deem useful, proving that he wouldn’t be a useless heir. Disappointingly, there was nothing useful said for the majority of the time. At least not until High Lord Rhion of the Night Court brought forth his newest treasure.
Out of the shadows stepped a beautiful young male, one who couldn’t have been all that much older than Eris. Shadows swirled around the male, obscuring the majority of his face and features from everyone’s sight. The one clear thing that could be seen was the male’s large bat-like wings protruding from his back.
The male was a Shadowsinger. And an Illyrian. One factor Beron would want to acquire for himself, the other, he would absolutely despise. Anyone who wasn’t a High Fae or High Fae who willingly associated with ‘Lesser Fae’ was a second class person according to Beron. And yet Eris knew his father would be wholeheartedly interested in learning everything about the Night Court’s Shadowsinger he could to defend against him as well as potentially taking the Shadowsinger for himself one day.
All together it gave Eris the perfect excuse to watch the male intensely for the remainder of the meeting. Repeatedly he told himself that he was only watching the male for information to relay back to his father, but the longer he watched the Shadowsinger the harder it became to convince himself of such an excuse.
He wanted to know more about the mysterious male. He wanted to see what he looked like without the shadows covering his face. He wanted to hear the male’s voice and see what he was like without the eyes of every person in this meeting watching him with almost animalistic fascination as he demonstrated a few commands from his High Lord.
Before Eris even consciously realized, the meeting had concluded and different High Lords were gathering together to discuss their own alliances and deals. To Eris’ delight, Beron pushed him in the direction of the Shadowsinger to gain more information while Beron began a conversation with the High Lord of the Night Court and the High Lord of the Winter Court.
The Shadowsinger hadn’t moved from his still spot beside his High Lord’s throne. If Eris hadn’t known better, he would have thought the male were a statue, that was if he hadn’t seen the male’s hazel eyes darting around the room watching everyone around him. Eris noticed the moment the Shadowsinger’s attention left those in the room to watch his approach.
Eris stopped a respectful distance from the male, taking his own opportunity to observe the male. Up close, the male was taller than Eris had realized (or it could have been that Eris wasn’t much taller than his mother that the male looked so tall). The Shadowsinger stood almost perfectly still, letting Eris make his assessment. He’d clearly had the training of a warrior and yet also possessed the proper training of being a spy early in his life if he’d reached such a position so early in life. Tattoos, resembling his shadows, covered the male’s neck, disappearing down into his armor which held 7 of the jewels the Illyrians used to contain their own magic. Though Eris had only ever read that Illyrians only wielded, at a maximum, four jewels, so truly how powerful was this male? Those hazel eyes watched him with masked curiosity.
He knew he should have asked diplomatic questions, to learn just how the Shadowsinger gathered information. How he could move through courts undetected and draw the deepest secret from even the most tight lipped fae.
And yet the first words to escape his mouth was “What do your shadows feel like?”
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Azriel couldn’t move. Did dare, in case this were all just some dream.
He’d seen the Autumn heir approaching his direction as he watched the rest of the room. Watched as High Lord Rhion attempted to speak to the fellow solar court high lords, but was dragged away by the High Lord of Winter and of Autumn. In his stead he sent Rhys to discuss matters. Spring and Summer stood away from everyone else observing much like he was.
The difference here, his shadows seemed particularly interested in the redheaded heir coming his way. It took much more of his concentration than he would care to admit to keep them from scurrying off to the prince.
The heir stood back a small ways from him, but still much closer than most dared. Burning, amber eyes watched him seeming to take in every aspect of him for the next couple moments. For the first time since he’d met his chosen brother, Azriel felt as if someone was finally looking past his shadows to see him.
Then he asked a question Azriel had never answered before. What do your shadows feel like? He’d been expecting analytical questions. Ones searching for anyway the Autumn Court may obtain an advantage over the Night Court. And yet that wasn’t even close to what he’d been questioned with.
He found himself answering before he was truly aware of it himself.
“Why don’t you touch them?” And as he finished his sentence, one of the newest shadows that hid around his wrist darted over to the Autumn Prince, tangling through the numerous rings decorating his long fingers.
The prince was shocked for only a moment, before a stunning smile graced his lips. When he attempted to pet the shadow, it would dart away to another part of the prince, hiding in his hair or up his sleeve before eventually returning to Azriel.
“That’s remarkable,” the Autumn heir mused, “And do you truly have complete control over them?” He asked.
“In a sense, though most times they act like annoying little pests when they aren’t getting enough attention.” He ignored the shadows whispered outrage to instead focus on the almost melodic laugh coming from the heir.
Azriel wanted to say more. To stay in conversation with the heir whose name he had yet to learn. For the first time he wanted to stay close to someone he’d only just met. However, his High Lord had silently summoned him. And he couldn’t ignore his High Lord even if he wished to.
Azriel wasn’t quite sure what pushed him to be so bold, but he stepped forward and took the heir's hand into his own. “Until next time,” and pressed a quick kiss to the Autumn Prince’s knuckles, taking only the smallest amount of time to admire the pink flush coming to the other male’s cheeks, before pulling away to join his High Lord.