Chapter Text
Something was off with Azriel’s mate.
Eris said a grand total of fifteen words since entering the bedroom twenty minutes ago. Azriel counted.
Tiredness would have been a fair excuse after thirteen hours of training, council meetings and event planning, if Azriel didn’t know him any better. Eris liked to talk even in his sleep. His words were his armour, and this time of the day was his time to unwind. Let every frustration and sorrow about his father loose in the safe company of Azriel. Then let his mate kiss him better.
That was their routine.
Azriel should have said something, should have asked if he was alright. But then Eris glanced at him with those eyes. The ones promising a thorough fucking before disappearing in the bathroom. And Azriel forgot about everything.
His concerns resurfaced shortly after, as he laid in the bath, Eris’ head nestled into the crook of his neck. The thorough fucking did not happen. Eris felt Azriel up as they undressed each other, he stirred Azriel’s cock to attention as he sensuously lowered himself into his mate’s lap, he pressed a series of open-mouthed kisses onto his throat… then promptly fell asleep as soon as Azriel’s embrace tightened around him.
He must have been more tired than he let on. Azriel held him until the water began to cool, then scooped him up, to put him to bed. He fully expected Eris to stir, the light sleeper he was, and his feelings of unease increased gradually when he didn’t.
He would ask tomorrow, Azriel thought, curling a wing around Eris’ slumbering body.
He didn’t ask the next day. Uncharacteristically, they both overslept, which meant Eris had to leave the cabin in a panicked hurry.
Azriel spent the morning swallowing around a lump of anxiety at the prospect of nearly being found out and the consequences Eris would have had to face. Their arrangement was dangerous. Beron had to be dealt with sooner than later. And Azriel needed to know that Eris got away unscathed.
He deemed a message too risky, deciding to send his shadows instead. They came back in no time whispering their findings to their master one by one.
The Prince is meeting the merchants.
He is annoyed.
Supplies are delayed.
Our mate is trembling.
From anger? Azriel frowned. It was unlike Eris to display his feelings so openly. And why did his shadows feel the need to emphasize that detail?
From cold.
The shadows corrected. Azriel’s brows furrowed even more. That wasn’t possible. Eris was fire incarnate; he was never cold.
Something was definitely off. Azriel spent the rest of the day counting seconds. He needed to be back in Autumn as soon as possible.
“How are you?”
“Mother’s tits Azriel, was it really necessary to scare the soul out of my body?!” Eris swore with a loud exhale, the door of his cabin slamming shut behind him.
“Yes.” Azriel nodded.
“Why?”
“You are known to evade questions when you have time to think.”
“And according to you, the best way to get my honest opinion is to hunt me down from the shadows?” Eris rolled his eyes.
“It was worth a try.” Azriel shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Was it?”
“Yes, although it was a failure, as you still haven’t answered my question. How are you?”
“How am I supposed to be?” Eris crossed his arms, his brows rising in a challenge. He looked every bit of the imposing Prince of Autumn the golden-framed portraits depicted him as. Or at least he did until his chest hitched and a series of dry coughs made him double over. They sounded painful and they went on for a long while.
"Okay, maybe a bit under the weather." Eris rasped when he was able to breathe again. His walls came crashing down and suddenly, he looked wearier and much more unwell.
Azriel's expression softened. He opened his arms to envelope his mate in the comfort he looked like he needed.
"Worst fucking timing possible." Eris sighed into his shoulder.
Azriel ran a hand up and down his back, with an affirmative huff.
The reason he was originally able to chalk up Eris' tiredness to exhaustion was the Equinox Ball, held in two days. Eris has been exerting himself from dawn to dusk for weeks, arranging guestlists, coordinating finances and finalizing menus to make sure everything was perfect. Beron's standards were impossible to meet, and as the main outlet for his dissatisfaction, Eris had been practically vibrating with stress. No wonder his body requested a break.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to have one. Azriel’s nostrils flared at the injustice. With every passing day his desire to bury Truth-Teller into Beron Vanserra’s skull grew significantly. He offered his services to Eris, but his mate just chuckled into Azriel’s neck.
“As much as I would enjoy that, someone would have to handle the fallout.” Which would take them back to square one as it was clear who the mantle of High Lord would pass to. “Also, it’s not as if I were on my deathbed. By tomorrow, I will be back in top form.”
Eris was probably correct. Fae rarely contracted illnesses and when they did, symptoms were mild and progressed rapidly.
Azriel simply loathed the idea of Eris stuck in that viper’s nest with one more setback added to his endless list of responsibilities. His heart sank even more when Eris broke away from him to succumb to another fit of coughs.
“You should lay down.” He tried carefully. The stare Eris sent his way had a dash of murder, but Azriel knew his mate. He was past the point of arguing and the glares were only for show.
In fact, Eris raised a tired hand and in a second he was dressed in loose sleeping clothes. Then he strolled straight to the bed and sprawled out on top of the covers with a small sigh. He raised a hand to massage his temples, then muffled a sneeze into his elbow.
“Whoever decided to add runny noses as a side effect to any sickness, should be subjected to eternal torture.” Eris wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Dramatic much?” Azriel snorted, tossing a handkerchief to his mate.
“No, because why does it have to be so unattractive?”
“As opposed to the rest of an illness, that makes people more desirable?” Azriel humoured.
“Exactly. A sore throat gives you the husky voice. Incredibly sexy. A fever? Quite literally makes you hotter. But this…” To demonstrate his point, Eris blew his nose loudly, then had to sniffle some more until he was able to breathe properly. “Just ruins the mood. See, Carynthian and Shadowsinger, not to mention my mate and you are ready to flee from the first drop of snot.”
“I’m not fleeing.” Azriel stilled in the doorway. At Eris’ pointed glare, he spun on his heel and marched back to the bed.
“Eris, love.” He said, with a tilt of his head. “You’ve just summarised your symptoms. I was going to bring you medicine. But if you prefer this?” Azriel planted his hands on the mattress, leaning over Eris’ upper body with a suggestive rise of his brows.
“I would.” Eris’ face flushed to a delicious pink, his pupils dilating. He didn’t hide the lustful glances at the flexing muscles above him. “Any day. In fact, it pains me to admit you are right, and deserve better than what my snotty self can provide right now.”
“Fantastic.” Azriel lowered himself to press his lips against Eris’ forehead.
“Not too hot.” He determined.
“You wound me.”
Eris clutched his chest in mock offence, and Azriel’s shoulders shook from supressed laughs as he left for the bathroom.
He tried to play it cool, but Eris was worse off than he showed. He accepted the medicine Azriel dug up from the back of a cabinet and dutifully downed two cups of tea. He just did it with an unusual weariness and lacking his snarky demeanour.
In the flickering light of the fireplace, his face seemed pale, making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. Despite not having a fever, his skin had a clammy feel to it, and he looked uncomfortable in his skin.
Later in the night, Azriel traced the grain pattern of the beam, running above their heads with his eyes, in order to chase away his worries. Eris laid across his chest, occasionally sniffling or shifting in his embrace, going in and out of sleep. Copper locks, freed from the confines of a complicated updo, flowed around his head like a halo. Their normal woodsmoke scent was strong, but slightly off. There was a faint undertone of sourness.
Azriel stroked Eris’ back in slow, regular circles. He wished they could stay like this, safe and hidden from the world, listening as the rain pattered on the roof of Eris’ secret cabin. But the clock was already ticking.
Eris did not seem any better by the next day.
Eyes crusty with sleep, he looked more tired than when he went to bed. The fact that he allowed Azriel to guide his legs into a pair of trousers and let him do the fastenings on his shirt was alarming to say the least.
He sat at the small dining table with a slight hunch to his shoulders. Swallowing seemed to cause him pain, and when he opened his mouth to talk, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
“I am supposed to coordinate the preparations today.” His gaze was miserable.
Wordlessly, Azriel took off to make tea and sent his shadows searching for painkillers and honey.
“Can any of your brothers help?” He asked returning with a steaming mug and passing it to Eris. His mate shook his head no.
“They have their own duties.”
Azriel drummed his fingers on his thighs. Fuck, this was bad.
“I can’t return tonight either.” Eris added. That was expected with his busy schedule, it was a miracle he could escape until now. They could see each other at the ball but nothing more, as the Heir of Autumn and Night’s Shadowsinger were supposed to be public enemies. And afterwards was hopeless too, because… because… what if it weren’t?
“I have an idea. I will have to talk to Rhys, but maybe… There is no way around the ball but after – “ Eris held up a hand to silence him.
“Don’t tell me until its certain.” Don’t give me hope. His eyes said.
“Okay.” Azriel nodded. He held out a hand. Eris laced their fingers together. There was no point in pretending everything was going to be alright. So Azriel didn’t. “I’ll be on the other side.”
He pushed a drop of shining energy through the invisible line tethering their chests together. Eris’ fingers tightened around his.
The sat quietly, sipping on their respective drinks, listening to the howling wind dancing through the branches outside.