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Chapter Text

Azriel had seen many horrors in his centuries as a spy - had been responsible for causing his fair share of them, too. But hearing a female screaming as she fled from Eris fucking Vanserra was enough to make his blood run cold. From the vantage point of a gnarled tree at the Autumn Court’s border, his shadows flickered around him, hissing with unease.

Remember what he did to Mor, they seemed to whisper. Don’t let it happen again. Save her, save her.

Eris’s long strides cut through the forest floor as he pursued her. “Run faster, little fox,” the High Lord’s son taunted, his voice rich with amusement. “Or do you want me to catch you?”

The female’s breathless laughter was laced with desperation and much to Azriel's dismay, a sense fear. He watched for a few moments as she dodged a low-lying branch, frantically trying to escape him.

Azriel didn’t hesitate a second longer, winnowing just in front of her path. 

The moment his hands touched her arms, she gasped, and the world twisted around them, leaving behind the crackling leaves and towering pines for the cool, marble floors of the Moonstone Palace.

Azriel had made many decisions in his life. Some good. Some calculated. Some that had led to blood and war and necessary sacrifices.

But this?

This might actually be the stupidest thing he had ever done .

Because the female he had winnowed to safety - out of the grasp of Eris Vanserra, out of the Autumn Court’s shadowed woods - was not trembling in fear.

She was seething.

Azriel barely had time to steady himself after the winnowing before she whirled on him, golden eyes blazing as she took in the unfamiliar walls, hands on her hips.

"Are you insane?" she demanded.

Azriel stepped back, already calling for Rhysand through his mind. “You’re safe,” he told her, voice smooth, steady. “Eris won’t hurt you here.”

She was silent for a moment, eyes wide in what appeared to be disbelief.

“Safe?” The woman blinked at him. Then again. Then her lips parted, and she laughed .

Not a relieved laugh. Not a nervous or grateful laugh. No, this was the kind of laughter that spoke of utter disbelief, of amusement so thick it nearly brought her to her knees.

Ailswith exhaled through her nose, slowly, as if she were trying to calm herself. It wasn’t working.

Because she had been kidnapped by a bat. A stupid, brooding, jump-to-conclusions Night Court bat.

She crossed her arms, levelling a glare at the Shadowsinger, who stood stiffly across from her, his own arms crossed as if he were the one put out by all this.

Azriel’s brows drew together. He hadn’t misheard her screams. Hadn’t mistaken the way she was running from Eris, had he?

“I repeat,” she said slowly, as though she were speaking to a child. “Are you fucking insane?”

Azriel, who had spent centuries making sound tactical decisions, could only manage a single, brilliant response: "...What?"

The female wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I cannot believe this,” she said, grinning like a cat who’d found herself in the milk saucer of her dreams. She turned to Azriel. “Let me guess-big, brooding spymaster sees a female running and assumes she’s in distress?”

Azriel’s brows twitched downward. “You were screaming.”

“Oh, Mother above,” she said, shoulders shaking with amusement. “Yes, I was. Because my mate was chasing me. That’s the game.” She tilted her head. “What, did you think he was trying to kill me?”

"Forgive me for assuming the screaming and running meant something was wrong."

“Oh, you are absolutely miserable,” she sighed, tilting her head at him. “I bet you don’t even play games.”

Azriel blinked. “I play chess.”

She snorted. “Of course you do.”

Before he could reply, the air behind him shimmered with black smoke, a figure dressed in black appearing. 

He was right there.

Ailswith was fast, but Eris had the advantage. He had longer strides, trained endurance, and the deep, visceral need to catch her. His blood thrummed with heat as he gained on her, his fingers stretching out but before he could touch her, she just... vanished.

One moment, her laughter rang through the trees. The next, a void of darkness swallowed her whole, leaving only a faint shimmer of magic in the air.

Eris froze. His heart lurched, the blood in his veins turning to ice, then to fire. The scent of magic lingered - Night Court magic. And suddenly, his world went silent .

A dull, distant ringing filled his ears. His mate - his mate - had just been taken from him. Stolen mid-step, ripped from his reach by some fucking Illyrian wretch .

It took precisely three seconds for the realisation to settle.

Then rage, pure and molten, erupted in his veins. Flames flared in his palms as his magic surged outward, scorching the leaves at his feet. His entire body tensed, his heartbeat a war drum in his chest.

Azriel. It had to be the Shadowsinger.

Eris knew Night Court spies patrolled these borders. Had known their ever-watchful eyes lurked just beyond his territory. But owing to their tenuous alliance, which persisted even after he had finally rid the world of Beron, he made no move to stop it. And now, one of them had taken Ailswith. 

There was nothing in this world more dangerous than a High Lord with nothing to lose. The Autumn Court’s golden forest blurred at the edges of his vision as he clenched his fists. The only thought that remained, razor-sharp and pulsing with fury, was simple.

I will burn them for this.

The rage was instant–a primal, roaring inferno begging to be unleashed.

He didn’t think. He didn’t plan what he would do once he got there, beyond ripping through their precious wards like it was child’s play and without another breath, he winnowed.

Rhysand had come as soon as he heard Azriel’s panicked thoughts, something about how  he couldn’t let Eris harm another female, High Lord or not.

Violet eyes swept the room in a heartbeat, taking in Ailswith’s unimpressed stance, Azriel’s still-tense posture, and the general lack of any actual distress. “What’s this, then?”

“He kidnapped me,” the female continued, hands on her hips now, incredulous. “Stole me, mid-chase, and winnowed me away. “Care to explain, High Lord?” She arched a brow at him. “Or is this just the latest in your charming tradition of abducting females?” 

Rhys shot Azriel a flat look.

Azriel scowled. “She was screaming.”

Ailswith threw up her hands. “Because I like to be chased! Eris likes to chase me! Gods, do you Night Court males not know how to have any fun?”

Rhysand exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge. “Azriel, please tell me you did not just interrupt their foreplay?”

Azriel was considering winnowing himself straight into a pit.

A slow, delighted grin spread across the woman’s face. “Oh, you do have a brain.” She sighed dramatically. “Yes, I was running because that’s the fun. If Eris catches me, he fucks me. It’s a very simple game.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, but Ailswith felt the way his shadows curled tighter around him, like they, too, had just received far too much information.

Rhys bit back a smirk, but the amusement was clear in his eyes. “On behalf of my spymaster, please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“I should hope they’re sincere,” she huffed. “I was winning.”

His lips quirked at the unimpressed look she levelled at him.

“I imagine your mate will be quite unhappy about this,” he added.

The woman hummed. “You might want to prepare for him to burn your little court to the ground.”

Rhys and his spymaster exchanged a brief glance - one of those silent, infuriating male looks she knew all too well.

Azriel, finally over this entire interaction, exhaled heavily. “Would you like some tea while you wait?”

Ailswith beamed at him. “See? Now that’s a proper hostage negotiation.”

Rhys groaned. “Cauldron save me.”

Ailswith only grinned . “Showtime.”

As if summoned by her words, flames erupted in the corner of the room, scorching the marble as Eris winnowed right into the foyer of the palace, his gaze immediately locked on his mate.

Ailswith stood in the centre of the room, grinning. 

The fact that she wasn’t hurt - that she was standing there, hands on her hips, positively delighted - was the only thing that kept his rage from spilling over into total devastation.

Ailswith exhaled sharply. “Took you long enough.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Apologies, little fox. I had to take a moment to decide whether or not I should incinerate your captor first.”

Azriel resisted the urge to reach for his dagger and Eris could have burned those scarred hands of his to cinders for even thinking of raising a hand against her.

Instead, Eris slowly turned his head, pinning the High Lord of Night with a look that could have reduced entire cities to cinders.

“You took her.” He said, enunciating each word carefully.

Rhysand lifted his hands, his expression cool, measured. “Misunderstanding.” He said smoothly.

Eris let out a slow, humourless laugh. “A misunderstanding ?” His voice was calm - too calm. The kind of quiet that came just before an inferno.

He shifted his attention to Azriel, who stood stiff-backed, his shadows curling protectively around him. A wise instinct. “Was it you who stole her?”

Azriel met his gaze without flinching. “You were chasing her. She was screaming.”

“We were playing,” Eris snapped, stepping closer, his aura expanding like wildfire. “You took something that belongs to me.”

Ailswith sighed loudly. “Eris, I do not belong to you.”

"Mm.” He didn’t take his eyes off Azriel. “The bite marks on your thighs say otherwise, sweetheart.”

Rhysand groaned. “Mother save me, he’s worse than Cassian.”

Azriel remained impassive, but Eris could feel the tension in the room, the readiness for things to escalate. Good. Let them try.

Let them burn. Kill them. Kill them all.

Eris’s fingers curled and the temperature in the room rose rapidly. But before fire could engulf them all, Ailswith strode forward, pressing a hand to her mate’s chest. “Calm down, my love,” she purred, amusement still dancing in her eyes. “The big, bad Illyrians thought you were hurting me.”

Eris’s snarl softened into a look of utter disbelief as he glanced at Azriel, then Rhys. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he laughed, a dark, pleased sound full of equal parts amusement and arrogance. “Oh, Shadowsinger,” he drawled, shaking his head. “I should thank you for this. You’ve only made the game more fun.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

Eris’s smirk was pure wickedness as he turned back to his mate. “Because now, I get to chase her twice .”

A shiver ran down Ailswith’s spine, her lips parting. Azriel and Rhys both took a step back, sharing a pointed glance.

“Still.” Eris exhaled sharply, eyes flicking back to the two Night Court males. “I was this close to winning.”

Azriel tensed, shadows curling defensively. "It was a misunderstanding."

Eris laughed coldly. “Then allow me to clarify. If you ever come near my mate again, I’ll burn your wings from your back and use them as a rug.”

Ailswith, unbothered, only sighed again. “Eris, my love,” she drawled, “as much as I adore watching you terrify my captors, I’d really like to go home now.”

Eris finally turned to her, his amber gaze raking over every inch of her, assessing. Her face was flushed with amusement, not distress. Her body was relaxed, not tense. She was fine .

His muscles unclenched a fraction, but the burning rage still pulsed through his veins, hot and wild.

“Next time,” he murmured, voice dark and edged with something feral, “run faster."

Ailswith’s mouth curved with wicked delight. “Oh, I will.”

"Glad we cleared that up." Azriel said dryly. "I’ll add ‘potential hostage situations’ to the list of things I now have to double-check for kinks."

"Careful, Shadowsinger." Ailswith replied with a wink. "Keep talking about it, and I’ll think you want to join us next time."

“Well,” Rhys said, clapping his hands together, “on that note, let’s get you two out of my house before things get… indecent.”

With a smirk, Eris winnowed them away - straight back to the Autumn Court, where the game would resume.

And as they vanished, Azriel let out a long, slow exhale, levelling Rhys with a glare. “I hate that male.”

Rhys just chuckled. “You and me both, brother.”

The moment the cool night air of the Night Court vanished, replaced by the crisp scent of pine and burning leaves, Ailswith ran.

She didn’t even wait for Eris to release her. No, the little mix wrenched herself from his grip the second they landed, laughing as she darted into the golden forest.

“Oh, she’s feeling bold,” Eris called after her, amusement thick in his voice.

“I was winning,” she shot back, twisting around just long enough to see the wicked smirk curling his lips.

“You were cheating .”

She barked a laugh, dodging past a fallen tree, her boots sliding slightly on the damp leaves. “Cheating? Oh, I’m so sorry. Was I supposed to account for the Illyrian kidnap contingency?”

Eris’s responding chuckle sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. “You’re making excuses, little fox.”

“I’m making a point ,” she panted, weaving through the trees. “Which is that I was winning, and then some broody bat-”

Flames flickered at the edges of her vision.

Ailswith swore and darted left, just barely avoiding the fire curling toward her boots.

“Oh, now we’re playing dirty?” she gasped.

Eris hummed, low and dangerous. “I always play dirty.”

A rush of heat swirled past her again, blocking her next escape route.

Ailswith’s breath hitched. Not from fear - never fear - but from the delicious thrill of it.

She lived for this part, the knowing-the certainty that he was right behind her. She vaulted over a fallen branch, pushing herself harder - faster - her lungs burning, her body thrumming with adrenaline and need .

“You’re running slower than usual,” Eris mused from far too close behind her.

Ailswith didn’t need to turn around to know he was nearly upon her. “Maybe I want to be caught,” she called back, gasping for breath.

He laughed, a low, dark sound that sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. “Oh, little fox,” he purred, “ I know you do.”

A hand snatched at her waist. Ailswith shrieked, twisting, just barely slipping free, but her taste of victory was short-lived because suddenly, she was met with flames. They curled ahead of her, an impassable line of fire, blocking her next step.

She barely had time to pivot before Eris caught her, tackling her straight to the ground. Her back hit the earth, golden leaves cushioning the impact, and before she could even think to struggle, he was above her—pinning her down, his body burning with heat, his amber eyes molten as they swept over her and Ailswith's breath hitched.

“You,” Eris murmured, brushing a finger along her cheek, “are mine.”

Ailswith smirked. “Well, you've caught me. So what are you waiting for?"

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Wait, wait, wait.”

Cassian set his drink down hard on the table, shaking his head like he’d misheard. “Az winnowed some random female away from Eris because he thought she was in danger—”

“She was screaming ,” Azriel muttered, arms crossed, scowling.

“And then,” Cassian continued, barely concealing his laughter, “turns out she wasn’t in danger, because apparently Eris just - chases her for fun?”

Rhysand sighed, rubbing his temples. “Apparently, that’s their thing.”

At the head of the table, Mor cackled.

“Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever heard,” she declared, shaking her head. “Az, you cockblocked Eris Vanserra?”

Azriel scowled . “I did not-”

“You did,” Rhysand cut in, unable to keep the smirk off his lips. “You stole his mate mid-foreplay .”

Elain blushed. Nesta, across from him, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cauldron.”

"Would a simple ‘this is a sex thing, stand down’ have been that hard to say?"

Cassian, meanwhile, was losing it, full-body laughing. “I - Az, I have never been prouder of you.”

Azriel shot him a look so murderous that Feyre, ever the diplomat, tried to intervene.

“Well,” she said carefully, “at least it didn’t end in an all-out war.”

“It nearly did,” Rhys muttered, tipping back his wine. “If Ailswith hadn’t been so amused, I think Eris might’ve actually burned the palace down.”

Nesta frowned. “He’s that possessive?”

Mor smirked. “Eris? Please. That male reeks of mine, mine, mine energy.”

Azriel glowered . “It was a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, we know ,” Mor teased, grinning. “But that doesn’t make it any less hilarious." She leaned forward conspiratorially. 

Rhysand chuckled, swirling his wine. “Eris is never going to let us live this down.”

“Don’t worry, brother.” Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, still shaking with laughter. “Neither will we.” 

Azriel exhaled heavily.

Rhysand just grinned, momentarily wondering if Feyre would ever consider playing. A sharp look in his direction quickly dispelled him of that idea – her arched brow and pointed flare making it abundantly clear that she had no interest in those kinds of games. 

And somewhere, in the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra was probably still plotting his revenge.

That revenge, however, was not directed at the Inner Circle who at the present time, were the farthest thing from his mind. Not with Ailswith laying sprawled beneath him, her breath coming in short gasps, her heart racing. The heat of his body, the weight of him pinning her down, the golden autumn leaves scattered around them - it was all exactly how it was supposed to be.

Exactly how she wanted it.

At her teasing words, however, the shift in his expression was immediate. Gone was the amusement, the playfulness from their earlier game. What was left was need - the raw, burning need of a male who had been denied what was his, twice now. Eris’s hands skimmed down her wrists, fingers tracing the faint indents where he had held her in place moments ago in a silent promise.

I will hold you here again.

His lips descended, hot and demanding, catching hers in a kiss that was all teeth and fire. Ailswith moaned into it, lifting her hips in silent encouragement, and Eris growled in approval.

“Oh, I what to do with you, little fox,” he purred. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in, his lips brushing over the column of her throat, the tip of his nose dragging along her skin, breathing her in.

Ailswith shivered. “You took too long ,” she taunted, tilting her head to give him better access. “If not for that overgrown bat, you could’ve had me twice by now.”

A dark laugh escaped him, his teeth scraped against the sensitive skin at her pulse point, making her gasp. “That bat,” he murmured, “is lucky I didn’t set him on fire.”

“Poor High Lord.” Ailswith laughed, tilting her hips just enough to tease him. “Are you going to keep sulking, or are you going to fuck me?”

Eris pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, amusement and pure, unrelenting possession flickering behind his gaze. “Such a mouth on you,” he mused.

Ailswith just grinned. “You love my mouth.”

He exhaled sharply, something between a laugh and a groan. “That,” he murmured, pressing a kiss just beneath her jaw, “is very true.” He was taking his time, dragging it out.

She narrowed her eyes. “Eris.”

“Yes, my love?” His voice was all teasing, all smug control.

She folded her arms, tilting her head. “If you don’t hurry up, I’ll-”

“Shhh.” He interjected. “I am simply savouring the moment.”

His lips traced the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, his tongue flicking over the rapid beat of her pulse. His hands followed, tracing over the curves of her waist, her ribs, his fingertips grazing the underside of her breasts—just enough to make her arch up into him, desperate for more. “Eris-”

He dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “You never make it easy,” he murmured, his voice a rasp of pleasure against her skin. “Do you?”

Ailswith exhaled unevenly, her head tilting instinctively for more.  Her nails raked over his shoulders, her breath hitching as his mouth continued its descent. “Where-” She gasped as he nipped at her collarbone. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Eris hummed in approval, his hands slipping lower, gripping her thighs and parting them effortlessly. “Where indeed?”, he murmured, pressing a kiss just above her navel. “But we both know how this ends. How it always ends.”

Heat pooled between her legs as his hands trailed up, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his breath warm and maddeningly close. Ailswith whimpered as he withdrew his touch, her hips shifting in frustration.

Eris smirked. “What’s the matter, little fox?”

She glared at him. “Eris-”

“Say please.”

Ailswith bared her teeth, trying to shove his shoulders back. He didn’t move an inch.

He only raised a brow, taunting. “Come now. You were so mouthy before.”

She hated him. She loved him. She desperately needed him to touch her.

Ailswith swallowed her pride - just this once - and exhaled sharply. “Please.”

Eris purred, pleased. “Good girl.” Then his mouth was on her, and Ailswith broke.

A sharp cry tore from her lips, her back arching as his tongue flicked against her just right, slow at first, dragging out every pulse of pleasure until she was clawing at his hair, her thighs trembling in his grip.

Eris hummed, his own pleasure evident as he tasted her, licking and teasing until she was gasping, desperate. “You taste divine,” he murmured against her, voice wrecked with hunger. “No wonder they tried to steal you.”

Ailswith swore, her head falling back against the leaves. “Eris- gods - stop talking.”

He laughed, deep and satisfied. But he obeyed. His pace quickened, his tongue flicking and teasing in perfect rhythm, his fingers digging into her hips to keep her still. Ailswith was lost to the pleasure, to the warmth coiling in her gut, the tension building with every stroke of his tongue, every soft scrape of his teeth.

“That’s it, love,” he coaxed, his voice dark and wrecked. “Loud enough so they can all hear how much you don’t belong to me.”

Ailswith shattered at his words. Pleasure surged through her, her body tightening, her thighs clamping around his head as she came undone with a broken moan. Eris groaned against her, as if he could drink down every sound she made.

When she finally came back to herself, her limbs heavy, her body trembling, Eris was already moving - sliding up her body, his lips claiming hers again, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Ailswith sighed into the kiss, exhausted and sated but nowhere near finished with the male on top of her.

She grinned against his mouth. “I still think I was winning.”

Eris growled, pressing himself firmly against her. “You’ll think differently once I’m inside you,” he muttered, reaching between them.

Ailswith’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into his hair as she felt the hard press of him, his body coiled with restraint, ready to wreck her.

She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Try me.”

Eris cursed softly, his restraint snapping. He captured her lips again, deep and claiming, as he slid his fingers through her slick heat, teasing, testing.

A sharp gasp escaped her as he found the spot that made her shudder, his thumb circling, dragging slow, delicious friction that had her hips arching toward him.

“You’re already soaking for me,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

Ailswith bit back a moan, her body tightening as he pressed harder, drawing another helpless gasp from her lips.

Eris smirked, his other hand gripping her thigh, parting her wider, exposing her completely to him. “Look at you,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing over her collarbone. “So desperate. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Ailswith’s breathing stuttered, but she refused to let him win that easily. She reached between them, wrapping her fingers around his length, feeling him twitch at her touch, his body coiled so tight it was almost trembling.

Eris groaned, low and rough, his grip on her thigh tightening painfully.

Her smirk was pure sin. “I think you’re the desperate one,” she whispered.

Eris snapped at that. In one swift motion, he lined himself up and drove into her in a single, deep thrust. Ailswith cried out, her nails digging into his back, her body stretching, burning, taking him in completely. He swore against her skin, his breath ragged, his entire body taut with restraint as he buried himself to the hilt. She was so tight, so wet, so fucking perfect around him.

For a moment, he didn’t move, just let her feel every inch of him, let her adjust to the size of him, the sheer dominance of him inside her.

Ailswith gasped, her thighs trembling around his waist, and Eris smirked wickedly. “I told you,” he murmured against her ear. “You’re mine.”  Then he started to move. His thrusts were slow but punishing, every roll of his hips sending pleasure sparking through her veins, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Ailswith arched beneath him, her hands grasping at his shoulders, dragging her nails down his back as he fucked her harder.

Eris groaned, his hands holding her down, keeping her exactly where he wanted her, his mouth trailing down her throat, biting, marking, claiming.

She was his, and he was making damn sure she felt it. Ailswith gasped his name, and that was all it took for Eris’s restraint to snap completely.

He gripped her thighs, pinning her open, pounding into her with a rhythm that sent her spiralling, her body clenching around him, drawing him deeper. “You feel that?” he rasped, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths tangled.

Ailswith moaned, wrecked, desperate, her nails digging into his shoulders.

“Taking me.” Thrust. “So well.” Thrust. 

Eris smirked against her skin. “Such.” Thrust. “A good girl.” Thrust.

And then, as she felt her pleasure building, he reached between them, pressing his fingers against her sensitive, swollen clit, circling in slow, agonising strokes.

Ailswith cried out, her body trembling, tightening, pleasure surging through every nerve.

“Come for me,” he murmured. His voice was low, commanding, laced with dark satisfaction.

Ailswith’s body seized up, pleasure crashing into her all at once, her release blinding, unbearable, absolute. She clung to him, trembling, as her orgasm ripped through her, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Eris cursed at the feeling of her clenching so tightly around him, his thrusts growing rougher, sharper, until -

He buried himself deep, shuddering against her, his own release hitting hard, raw, unstoppable. His body tensed, his breath ragged, his fire flaring wildly around them as he gave himself over completely.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, tangled together, utterly spent.

Then, finally, Ailswith let out a breathless, smug little laugh. “I still really think I was winning.”

Eris huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her jaw. “Oh, love,” he murmured, nipping at her throat once more, “I’m just getting started.”

Chapter Text

It had been nearly three weeks since the incident. Rhysand and Feyre had sent a bottle of their finest wine by way of apology, keen to avoid any diplomatic fall out over what they considered to be a small, if amusing, misunderstanding.

It had certainly served as an amusing anecdote for the High Lord and Lady of Autumn, who had recounted the tale at no fewer than three dinner parties since. After putting an end to his father’s miserable life and finally taking his rightful place at the throne, things had changed quickly in his court.

Gone were the days of oppressive rule, and in their place, a court that breathed freely for the first time in centuries. Eris had not realised how suffocating his father's reign had been until he witnessed the transformation unfold before his eyes.

It had been gradual at first - a loosening of old laws, the dismissal of his father's most loyal and brutal sentries, the opening of previously forbidden sections of the library. But soon, like the spreading of wildfire through summer-dry brush, freedom had taken hold.

The most striking change had come in the way his people carried themselves. Where once they had moved with careful restraint, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched as if perpetually bracing for Beron's wrath, now they walked with their heads held high. Laughter - genuine, unrestrained laughter - echoed through the halls of the Forest House, no longer hushed at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Ailswith, as Autumn’s newly crowned Lady, had been instrumental in many of the changes. Her influence on the court's dress code was perhaps the most visible transformation. No longer did females in Autumn have to hide their bodies beneath suffocating fabric as if their very forms were something shameful.

Now, the women of his court embraced a new freedom. Their gowns, while still elegant and befitting the Autumn Court's standing, featured lower necklines that revealed delicate collarbones, sleeves that sometimes ended at the elbow to show slender forearms, and fabrics that moved with their bodies rather than constraining them. The colours, too, had changed. Bright golds, deep crimsons, and even occasional touches of purple and blue now adorned his halls.

"It's not about revealing skin," Ailswith had explained to a scandalised courtier at last month's council meeting. "It's about choice."

It wasn't as uninhibited as the Night Court, of course. Autumn had its own character, its own sense of propriety that was distinct from Rhysand and Feyre's domain. But after centuries of repression, the change was revolutionary nonetheless. And it was one he welcomed.

But while he appreciated his mate’s body in the new, bolder gowns she wore, he much preferred her to be wearing nothing at all. Which much to his delight, she was doing right now.

Ailswith stretched languidly, her body pleasantly sore as she nestled into the plush furs adorning their bed. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over Eris's bare skin as he lay beside her, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her spine.

"Mmm," she hummed contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to his chest. "That was..."

"Incredible?" Eris supplied with a smirk. "Earth-shattering? The best you've ever had?"

Ailswith snorted, swatting at him playfully. "Don't get cocky."

His grin widened. "But I thought you liked me cocky."

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "You're impossible."

"You love it," he murmured, pulling her closer.

For a while, they simply lay there in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow. Ailswith's mind, however, was far from quiet. She bit her lip, considering how to broach the subject that had been nagging at her since their encounter in the Night Court. She didn't know why she was nervous, exactly. They were both adults and for their part, were quite adventurous in the bedroom. Eris had never once dismissed her wishes, as eager as she was to explore new pleasures. After all, what was the point of being immortal if they weren't open to a bit of experimentation?

But it had only ever been the two of them. This... this was different. And if she had miscalculated his openness to trying to new things, then this could backfire spectacularly. But if he were open to the idea, well... That would certainly take their relationship to the next level. And so, she steeled herself, safe in the knowledge that even if he did not like the idea of sharing, he would never begrudge her for asking the question. 

"Eris?" she said finally, her voice soft.

"Hmm?"

She propped herself up on one elbow, meeting his gaze. "I've been thinking..."

Eris hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "A dangerous pastime."

She swatted at his chest playfully. "I'm serious."

"Alright then," he conceded, amusement colouring his tone. "What's on your mind, little fox?"

There was a glint of mischief in her eyes that made Eris's breath catch. He knew that look. It usually preceded something delightfully wicked. His mate had a penchant for wanting to push the boundaries when it came to their sexual exploits and to date, nothing had ever been too much for him. 

"What would you say," she began slowly, tracing a finger along his collarbone, "to inviting someone to join us sometime?"

Eris blinked, surprise flashing across his features. "Join us?"

She nodded, her fingers tracing along his collarbone. "In bed."

For a moment, he was silent, processing. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face. Whilst they had only ever explored just the two of them, he was no stranger to group activities. After all, he grew up the privileged son of a High Lord and there had been no shortage of females (and indeed, more than a few males) who sought his attentions. Males in Autumn had a reputation for having fire in their veins, but this was often meant figuratively. In Eris's case, where the ancient fire magic of his court flowed through him, simmering just below the surface until he set it free, it was even more true. And it certainly made for heated fucking.

"And who, pray tell, did you have in mind?"

Ailswith felt her cheeks warm despite her boldness. “I was thinking about Azriel.”

Eris blinked, momentarily taken aback. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, that certainly hadn't been one of them. "Azriel?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "The winged bat who kidnapped you?"

Ailswith nodded, a sly smile curving her lips. "The very same."

For a moment, Eris was silent, considering. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face. "And here I thought I'd thoroughly satisfied you earlier. Was I not attentive enough, wife?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her grin. "Oh, you were plenty attentive. But don't tell me you haven't thought about it. I saw the way you were looking at him."

A low chuckle rumbled through Eris's chest. "I was a bit preoccupied with the fact that he'd stolen my mate."

"Mm, yes," she mused, trailing her fingers down his abs. "But after that. When we were leaving. I saw the way you looked at him."

Eris raised an eyebrow, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? And how exactly did I look at him, my love?"

Ailswith leaned in, her breath hot against his ear as she whispered, "Like you wanted to devour him whole."

A low chuckle rumbled in Eris's chest. "I'm not sure the Shadowsinger would appreciate such attention."

"Perhaps not from you alone," Ailswith purred, "but what if I were to join in?"

Eris's eyes widened a fraction, intrigue and desire flickering in their depths. "What are you suggesting?"

“Well,” Ailswith's fingers danced lower, trailing down his abdomen. "I've always wondered what it might be like... to be with two males.”

Eris's breath hitched, his pupils dilating at her words. "Two males," he repeated, voice dropping to a husky timbre that sent shivers down Ailswith's spine.

"Mmm," she confirmed, her fingers still tracing tantalising patterns across his skin. "There's something about him. The way he moves. So controlled, so restrained.” She bit her lip, eyes growing distant with imagination. "And those wings..."

Eris chuckled, pulling her closer until she was practically sprawled across his chest. "It's a bit late to develop a wing fetish, don't you think? Especially since your husband is distinctly lacking in that particular appendage."

"I wouldn't call it a fetish," she protested, though her eyes glittered with mischief. "More of an... appreciation."

"An appreciation," Eris echoed, his tone dripping with amused skepticism. "And I suppose you'd like to... appreciate them up close? Perhaps with your hands? Your mouth?"

Ailswith's blush deepened, but she didn't deny it. "Can you blame me? And you must admit, he cuts quite the striking figure."

"Indeed he does," Eris purred, as she leaned to brush her lips against his ear.

"Which is why I think we should invite him to play with us."

Eris's eyes widened, a mix of shock and intrigue flickering in their amber depths. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am," Ailswith replied, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "In fact, I've imagined it in exquisite detail. Haven't you?" Her words were both an invitation and a challenge, carrying an undeniable allure that was impossible to ignore.

Eris swallowed hard, his pulse quickening beneath Ailswith's fingertips. His eyes glazed over for a moment as he recalled the spymaster's hands around his neck during the High Lord's meeting. The words he'd whispered into his ear, for only him to know. "I... may have entertained the notion once or twice," he admitted.

Ailswith's grin widened, triumph gleaming in her eyes. "Then why deny ourselves the pleasure? Think of it, my love. Your flames, his shadows, those wings..." She trailed off, letting the tantalising image hang in the air between them.

He hummed thoughtfully, his hand sliding down to grip her hip. "And how exactly would you like to play with that brooding Illyrian?"

Her breath hitched at the possessive edge in his voice. "I... I'm not sure. But I'd love to find out. Together."

Eris's eyes darkened, a wicked glint sparking in their amber depths. "You want to watch me with him?"

Ailswith nodded, heat pooling in her core at the thought. Just when she thought she could not love the male in front of her more, he always found a way to surprise her. And she always returned the favour.

"Or maybe," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with wicked intent, "I want you to watch him with me."

A growl rumbled in Eris's chest, possessive and hungry. His fingers tightened on her hip, pulling her closer until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"Is that what you want, little fox?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. "To have us both?"

Ailswith's breath caught. The thought of being caught between her mate and the Illyrian male thrilled her beyond measure. "Yes."

Eris studied her, his amber eyes molten in the firelight. Then, slowly, a wicked smile spread across his face. "Well then," he drawled, rolling her beneath him in one fluid motion. "I suppose we'd better extend an invitation, hadn't we?"

Ailswith gasped as he pinned her wrists above her head, his body a delicious weight against hers. "Really?"

"Really," he confirmed, lowering his head to nip at her throat. "But first, I think I need to remind you exactly who you belong to."

She arched against him, a breathless laugh escaping her lips. "I thought we'd established that quite thoroughly in the forest earlier."

"Mmm," he hummed against her skin. "Consider this reinforcement."

His mouth trailed lower, and Ailswith's laughter dissolved into a gasp as Eris's mouth claimed her breast, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak with just enough pressure to send sparks shooting down her spine. Her fingers tangled in his russet hair, tugging gently as he lavished attention on her body.

"Reinforcement," she breathed, arching into his touch. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Eris looked up at her, eyes glittering with wicked promise. "Call it whatever you like, mate. The result will be the same."

His hand slid between her thighs, finding her still slick from their earlier activities. "Already so ready for me again," he murmured approvingly. "Or are you thinking of him?"

The question was a test, they both knew it. Ailswith met his gaze unflinchingly. "I'm thinking of both of you," she admitted. "But it's you I want right now."

Satisfaction rippled across his features as he claimed her mouth, his kiss possessive and burning. When he finally drew back, she was breathless. 

"How would we even approach him?" Eris mused, his fingers still working magic between her legs. "I doubt the Shadowsinger makes a habit of accepting invitations from the Autumn Court."

Ailswith bit her lip, struggling to think clearly through the pleasure building within her. "We could... ah... we could invite him for diplomatic reasons. A formal dinner to discuss... oh gods, Eris... to discuss border security."

"Border security," Eris echoed with a smirk, sliding down her body. "How terribly official."

Further conversation became impossible as his mouth replaced his fingers, and Ailswith's world narrowed to the exquisite sensation of his tongue against her most sensitive flesh. And so she surrendered to the pleasure, the fantasy of what might come next already taking shape in her mind. Later, much later, when they lay tangled and sated in the aftermath of their passion, she returned to the subject.

"We could send a letter," she suggested, tracing patterns on Eris's chest. "Something formal but with enough subtext that he'd understand the true nature of the invitation."

Eris hummed thoughtfully. "And if he declines?"

"Then we've lost nothing but a bit of pride," she replied with a shrug. "But something tells me he might be curious, at least."

"The Shadowsinger has spent centuries despising me," Eris reminded her, though his tone held more amusement than concern.

"All the more reason he might enjoy seeing you on your knees," Ailswith retorted with a wicked grin.

Eris's eyes flashed, heat and challenge mingling in their depths. "Bold of you to assume I'd be the one kneeling."

The image that conjured - Azriel on his knees before Eris - sent a fresh wave of desire through her. "Either way," she managed, "I think we should try."

Eris studied her for a moment. “Very well,” he replied, before snapping his fingers and summoning a sheet of parchment and quill. "You're the wordsmith, my love."

She took it from him and moved, much to his delight, still nude to sit at her writing desk, quill poised over parchment, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"What about this?" she asked, reading aloud. "'The High Lord and Lady of Autumn Court request the pleasure of your company for a private dinner...'"

Eris snorted, swirling the wine in his glass. "A bit formal for what we're proposing, don't you think?"

Ailswith huffed, crumpling the parchment and tossing it into the fire. "Well, I don't exactly know the proper etiquette for inviting someone to a threesome."

"I'm not sure there is one," Eris replied, rising from the bed chair to stand behind her. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, thumbs tracing slow circles that made her sigh and lean back against him.

"Perhaps we're overthinking this," he murmured, bending to press his lips to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "We could simply invite him to visit. See where the evening takes us."

She turned in her seat to face him, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You seem remarkably calm about this."

Eris's lips curved into a wicked smile. "I've had time to warm to the idea." His fingers trailed along her jawline. "Besides, I find the thought of watching you come undone beneath his hands intriguing."

"Just intriguing?" she teased.

"Arousing beyond measure," he amended, his voice dropping to a growl that sent shivers down her spine.

Ailswith's laugh was throaty, sensual. "That's more like it." She turned back to the blank parchment, dipped her quill, and began again. This time, her words flowed more naturally. She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Eris. "How about this? It's simple. Direct."

Eris hummed appreciatively. "It's perfect.”

Ailswith signed the letter with a flourish, then melted a stick of deep crimson wax, pressing the Autumn Court seal into it. As the wax cooled, she turned the letter over in her hands, suddenly nervous. Whether Azriel accepted or declined, she couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation coursing through her veins.

"Do you think he'll come?" she asked, doubt creeping in to her voice.

Eris's chuckle rumbled beneath her ear. "With the right motivation, I believe he might come several times."

Ailswith swatted his chest, laughing despite herself. "You're incorrigible," she said, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.

"One of my many charms," Eris replied, taking the sealed letter from her hands. He studied it for a moment, then called upon a wisp of his power. The parchment glowed briefly with amber light before returning to normal. "A touch of fire magic," he explained at her questioning look. "It will warm when he touches it - not enough to burn, just enough to make an impression."

Ailswith raised an eyebrow. "Subtle."

"I thought so," he agreed, summoning a servant with a casual flick of his wrist. When the young male appeared at their chamber door, carefully keeping his eyes averted from their state of undress, Eris handed him the letter. "See that this reaches the Night Court’s spymaster. His hands only.”

The servant bowed and departed, and Eris turned back to Ailswith with a predatory smile. "Now we wait."

"How long do you think before we receive a response?" she asked, rising from the desk to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Depends on how quickly he can recover from the shock," Eris murmured, his hands settling on her hips. "Days, perhaps. Or hours, if he's as interested as you seem to think."

Ailswith bit her lip. "And if he accepts? What then?"

Eris's eyes darkened, his thumbs tracing circles on her bare skin. "Then, my love, we show the Shadowsinger exactly what he's been missing." He dipped his head to capture her lips in a searing kiss. "But until then..."

Chapter Text

It was late. He had been poring over reports from Lucien on progress in the human lands, when Azriel felt a strange shiver run down his spine.

He paused in his work, frowning as his shadows whispered around him, agitated and... amused?

Strange, he thought, returning to his reports.

But while he read between the lines of the latest missive, he couldn't shake the feeling that something interesting was about to happen.

The next day, a sealed envelope arrived, addressed to Azriel personally.

The Shadowsinger stared at the elegant script, recognising the flowing hand of the Autumn Court's High Lord. As if that weren’t enough, the slight warmth of of the envelope in his hands, like the final embers of a dying fire left him under no illusion as to where it had come from. His shadows curled with curiosity as he broke the wax seal.

Inside was a single card, embossed with gold leaf:

Shadowsinger,

We believe we got off on the wrong foot. Perhaps you'd care to join us for dinner? We promise not to burn your wings off.

Unless you're into that sort of thing.

The High Lord and Lady of Autumn

P.S. This time, you're actually invited.

Azriel read the note twice, then a third time. His brows drew together in confusion, then lifted in sudden understanding.

"Oh," he murmured, as his shadows whispered excitedly around him.

Well. This was... unexpected.

He tucked the invitation into his pocket, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips.

The parchment felt heavy against his chest as Azriel soared over Velaris, the city of starlight sprawled beneath him like a jewelled tapestry. His shadows coiled around him, whispering secrets only he could hear, but for once, they were not filled with warnings or dangers. They seemed almost... pleased?

The House of Wind rose before him, its ancient stone gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His wings caught an updraft, and he let himself be carried higher, savouring the rare moment of anticipation that warmed his usually cold veins.

As he landed on the balcony with barely a sound, he found Rhysand and Feyre already there, lounging on the plush couches, hands intertwined as they pored over some ancient tome. His High Lord and High Lady, his family in all the ways that mattered.

"Azriel," Rhys drawled, violet eyes bright with interest. "What’s wrong? You look less brooding than usual. Should we be concerned?"

Feyre elbowed her mate gently. "What he means is hello, and what brings you here?"

Azriel's scarred hand reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the embossed edges of the invitation. He pulled it out slowly, savouring the moment in a way he rarely allowed himself.

"It seems," he said, his voice as quiet as falling snow, "that I've received an invitation."

Feyre reached for the invitation, and Azriel hesitated only briefly before handing it over. Her eyes widened as she read, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Oh," she said, glancing up at him. "Oh my."

Rhysand plucked the card from her fingers, his brows drawing together as he scanned the elegant script. A low chuckle escaped him.

"Well, well," he murmured, passing the invitation back to Azriel. "It seems the High Lord and Lady of Autumn have a sense of humour."

Azriel tucked the card back into his pocket, his face expressionless save for the faint glint in his hazel eyes. "Indeed."

"Are you going to accept?" Feyre asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

Azriel's shadows whispered around him, curling and uncurling like smoke.

"I'm considering it."

"Considering what, exactly?" Cassian's booming voice preceded him as he strode onto the balcony, Nesta following close behind. "What's got everyone looking so serious?"

"Az has received a rather interesting invitation from the Autumn Court," Rhys explained, amusement dancing in his violet eyes.

Cassian's brows shot up. "Eris? What does that prick want?"

"Apparently," Feyre said carefully, "to have Az for dinner."

Nesta's sharp eyes narrowed. "As a guest or as the main course?"

A small, rare smile ghosted across Azriel's lips. "I believe that distinction remains deliberately ambiguous."

Cassian crossed his arms. "You can't seriously be thinking of going. It's obviously a trap."

"Is it?" Azriel murmured, his shadows curling around his shoulders like affectionate cats. "My shadows sense no malice in this invitation. Only a strong sense of... anticipation."

"And since when have your shadows been experts on social niceties?" Cassian challenged.

Azriel merely shrugged, reclaiming the invitation from Feyre's hand. "I've dealt with Eris before. We understand each other."

“And we all know how well you understand his mate,” Nesta interjected.

"All the more reason to be cautious," Rhys warned, though there was no command in his voice. "The last thing we need is another diplomatic incident."

Azriel tucked the invitation back into his pocket. "I assure you, diplomacy will be my highest priority."

Cassian snorted. "Right. When you're breaking bread with the High Lord you once threatened to disembowel."

"People change," Azriel replied, a strange light in his hazel eyes. "Perhaps it's time we acknowledged that."

Azriel departed from the House of Wind with his brothers' teasing laughter still ringing in his ears. The night air was cool against his face as he soared over Velaris, the city lights twinkling below like fallen stars. His shadows whispered excitedly around him, more animated than they had been in centuries.

"Quiet," he murmured, though there was no real rebuke in his tone.

The townhouse he kept near the Sidra was modest by Night Court standards - a deliberate choice. Opulence made for poor concealment, and the shadowsinger had always preferred to remain unnoticed. Yet tonight, as he landed silently on his balcony, the familiar space felt different somehow. Expectant.

Azriel moved through the darkened rooms without lighting a single lamp. He didn't need them; darkness had always been his closest companion. His study was spartan, but functional. A desk of dark wood, a chair, shelves lined with books and scrolls collected over centuries. Intelligence reports from across Prythian, coded messages from his network of spies, maps with careful annotations in his precise handwriting.

He settled at his desk, removing the invitation from his pocket and placing it before him. The gold leaf caught what little moonlight filtered through the windows, gleaming like a promise.

His shadows coiled around the parchment, tasting its essence, searching for any hint of deception. They found none—only the lingering trace of Ailswith's perfume, something wild and sweet, like forest berries after rain.

Azriel closed his eyes, remembering her fierce defiance when he'd taken her from the Autumn Court. The way she'd faced him without fear, despite being bound and at his mercy. There had been something compelling about her spirit, something that had made him pause, made him... curious.

And Eris... the High Lord had changed since claiming his mate. The cold calculation remained, of course—five centuries of Beron's tutelage couldn't be erased so easily. But there was something else now, something almost like honour. Azriel had seen it in the way Eris had protected Ailswith in the Night Court, the way he'd faced down Rhysand himself in his own palace to defend her.

Perhaps people did change, after all.

Azriel reached for his finest parchment—cream-coloured and thick, reserved for official correspondence. His inkwell was black as midnight, the quill fashioned from a raven's feather. He dipped it carefully, considering his words as ink gathered at its tip.

The shadows whispered suggestions in his ear, some scandalous enough to make even Cassian blush. Azriel's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile.

"That would certainly make for an interesting diplomatic incident," he murmured, but set the quill to paper.

Azriel's handwriting was elegant and precise, each letter formed with the same deliberate care he brought to all his endeavors.

High Lord and Lady of Autumn,

I accept your invitation, though I must confess some surprise at receiving it. Perhaps we did indeed get off on the wrong foot—though I maintain what happened during our last encounter was an unfortunate misunderstanding.

As for my wings, your generosity in refraining from burning them is appreciated. I much prefer them intact.

I shall arrive at sunset three days hence, unless you specify otherwise.

Azriel

P.S. I'm rather looking forward to being invited this time.

He sealed the letter with black wax, impressed with the personal sigil he rarely used - a dagger wreathed in shadows. As he finished, his shadows danced excitedly around his fingers, whispering possibilities that made even his centuries-old blood heat.

"Patience," he murmured, though whether to his shadows or himself, he couldn't say.

The letter would be delivered by dawn, carried by one of his most trusted messengers. And then... well. Then things would certainly get interesting.

In the heart of the Autumn Court, Ailswith lounged in Eris's study, watching her mate pore over trade agreements with the Summer Court. His brow was furrowed in concentration, fingers drumming impatiently against the polished mahogany of his desk.

"You're going to wear a hole in that desk," she observed, stretching like a cat on the plush divan she'd claimed as her own.

Eris glanced up, his amber eyes softening at the sight of her. "These terms are absurd. Tarquin knows perfectly well that we can't possibly-"

A soft knock at the door interrupted him, as a servant brought forth a letter resting on a silver tray.

Ailswith sat up straight, her heart quickening. "Is that-?"

"Night Court," Eris confirmed, uncrossing his legs.

Ailswith was already at his side, her eyes bright with anticipation. "Well? What does it say?"

Eris broke the seal, his expression carefully neutral as he scanned the elegant script. Then, slowly, a wicked smile spread across his face.

Ailswith's idea had lingered in Eris's mind of late, a tantalising, forbidden thought that returned to him in quiet moments. He'd catch himself wondering what those scarred hands would feel like against his skin, or how his wife would look between them - caught between fire and shadow. As luck would have it, he was about to find out.

"It seems," he murmured, passing the note to Ailswith, "that we'll be entertaining a the spymaster in three days’ time."

Ailswith read the message, a delighted laugh bubbling from her lips at the final line. "Oh, I like him."

Eris's smirk widened as he pulled her close, his hand sliding possessively around her waist. "Should I be jealous already?"

"Mmm, perhaps a little," Ailswith teased, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Jealousy looks good on you."

"Everything looks good on me," he replied, nipping at her bottom lip. "Though I prefer nothing at all."

Ailswith laughed, the sound bright and free in a way that still surprised him sometimes. When he'd first brought her to the Autumn Court, she'd been guarded, wary - and with good reason. The scars of Beron's reign ran deep through these halls. But now, her laughter echoed through rooms that had known only fear and silence for centuries.

"We should prepare," she said, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "What does one serve a shadowsinger for dinner?"

"Something decadent," Eris mused, his eyes darkening. "Rich. Indulgent."

"Like us?" Ailswith suggested, her smile turning wicked.

Eris chuckled, low and dangerous. "Precisely like us." He pulled her closer, his mouth finding the sensitive spot below her ear. "Though I'm beginning to think dinner might be the least interesting part of the evening."

Ailswith hummed in agreement, already mentally planning the menu. "And wine. Lots of wine."

"Of course," Eris agreed, his hands sliding lower. "We want our guest properly relaxed."

Ailswith's breath hitched. "Do you think he'll actually... you know."

"Come to our bed?" Eris finished, pulling back to study her face. "Are you having second thoughts, wife?"

She shook her head quickly. "No. Not at all. I just... what if he laughs at us?"

"The Shadowsinger?" Eris raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure he knows how to laugh."

"You know what I mean."

Eris's expression softened slightly. "If he's not interested, then we enjoy a civil dinner and send him on his way. No harm done." He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "But something tells me he wouldn't have accepted if he wasn't at least curious."

Ailswith bit her lip, excitement and nervousness mingling in her veins. "Three days," she murmured.

"Three days," Eris agreed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "And then, my love, we show him how a High Lord and Lady play."

Ailswith shivered deliciously at the promise in his voice. Three days suddenly seemed an eternity to wait.

"I suppose we should practice," she suggested innocently. "Just to ensure we're adequately prepared."

Eris's laugh was low and wicked as he stood, lifting her with him. "What a brilliant idea, wife. Shall we begin now?"

Ailswith squealed as he carried her from the study, the forgotten letter drifting to the floor behind them.

Three days. The possibilities were endless.

Those three days passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Eris had insisted on hosting their guest in the private wing of the manor, away from the prying eyes of the court. The dining room had been prepared with meticulous care - intimate but not presumptuous, with a table set for three and the finest wines from the Autumn Court's cellars.

As sunset approached, Ailswith found herself fussing over her appearance for the third time that day. She'd chosen a gown of deep forest green, the silk clinging to her curves before flowing to the floor in a cascade of emerald. The neckline dipped low, revealing a tantalising glimpse of cleavage, while the open back displayed the elegant curve of her spine.

"You look ravishing," Eris murmured, appearing in the doorway of their bedchamber. He was resplendent in deep burgundy and gold, his auburn hair gleaming like fire in the fading light. "Though I'm not sure how long that dress will remain on you."

Ailswith turned, a blush colouring her cheeks despite her bold words from days before. "You're assuming quite a lot, husband."

"Am I? Mmm, perhaps." He crossed to stand behind her, his hands settling on her waist as he met her eyes in the mirror. "But I'm also right."

A knock at the door interrupted them and Ailswith's heart nearly leapt out of her mouth, but rather than the expected arrival of their guest, it was a servant bearing news.

"My lord, my lady," the young fae said with a bow. "The Shadowsinger has arrived."

Eris nodded, dismissing the servant with a wave. "Show him to the east drawing room. We'll be down shortly."

When the door closed, Ailswith turned in Eris's arms, her heart fluttering nervously. "Well, this is it."

"Indeed." He pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. "Last chance to change your mind, little fox."

She shook her head, resolve strengthening. "I want this. I want him." Her lips curved in a wicked smile. "Almost as much as I want you."

"Almost?" Eris raised an eyebrow, his grip tightening possessively.

Ailswith laughed, the sound bright and teasing. "Well, I have to leave you something to be jealous about, don't I?"

"Wicked thing," he growled, nipping at her bottom lip. "Come. Let's not keep our guest waiting."

They descended the grand staircase arm in arm, the lord and lady of Autumn Court in perfect harmony. As they approached the east drawing room, Ailswith felt a strange electricity in the air, as if the very manor itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

Eris pushed open the ornate double doors, revealing the elegant drawing room beyond. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting ancient hunts and wild revelries. A fire blazed in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the plush rugs and comfortable furnishings.

And there, standing by the window with his back to them, was Azriel.

The Shadowsinger turned at their entrance, his movement fluid and silent. He was dressed in formal Night Court attire - a fitted jacket and trousers of deepest blue, almost black, with silver accents that caught the firelight. His massive wings were folded neatly behind him, the membranous surface seeming to absorb rather than reflect the light.

"Shadowsinger," Eris called, his voice cool and controlled. "Welcome to the Autumn Court. Properly, this time."

Ailswith felt her breath catch. He was beautiful in a way that was almost painful—all hard edges and quiet danger, his hazel eyes unreadable as they swept over her and Eris.

"High Lord," he acknowledged with a slight nod. "Lady Ailswith."

His gaze lingered on her, and she felt heat bloom in her cheeks. The last time they'd met, she'd been his accidental prisoner. Now, she was his hostess. And perhaps, if the night went as planned...

"We're pleased you accepted our invitation," she said, finding her voice. "Dinner awaits."

Azriel's shadows whispered around him, and for a moment, Ailswith could have sworn they were laughing.

"I admit," he said, his voice low and measured, "I was intrigued by your offer."

Eris's smile was sharp as a blade. "I'm sure you were." He gestured toward the adjoining dining room. "Shall we?"

Azriel followed them, his movements silent and fluid, shadows trailing in his wake like curious pets. The dining room was intimate—a round table set for three, with tall candles casting a warm, golden glow over the rich mahogany. The windows overlooked the autumn forest, ablaze with sunset colours that mirrored the fiery foliage outside.

"Wine?" Eris offered, lifting a decanter of deep crimson liquid.

"Please," Azriel said, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down Ailswith's spine.

As Eris poured, Ailswith studied their guest. Up close, she could see the fine scars that marked his hands - evidence of ancient torture that had somehow failed to break him. There was something mesmerising about those hands, powerful yet controlled, as they accepted the offered glass.

In the dim light of the evening, his face was even more striking - his face all clean, sharp angles, those penetrating hazel eyes missing nothing. The candlelight caught on the blue Siphons adorning his hands, making them glow like captured stars.

"A toast," Eris proposed, raising his goblet. "To new... alliances."

Azriel's lips quirked slightly. "Alliances. Is that what we're calling it?"

Ailswith laughed, the sound bright in the hushed room. "What would you call it, Shadowsinger?"

His hazel eyes met hers, something dangerous and thrilling flickering in their depths. "I believe I'm still determining that, Lady Ailswith."

"I trust your journey was uneventful?" she asked, accepting her own glass from Eris.

A ghost of a smile touched Azriel's lips. "Uneventful enough. Though I did have to explain to Cassian why I was dining with the High Lord who once threatened to set him on fire."

"Only once?" Eris raised an eyebrow, taking his seat. "I must be losing my touch."

To Ailswith's surprise, Azriel's low chuckle filled the room. "He sends his regards, by the way. Though I believe his exact words were 'tell that prick I hope he chokes.'"

"How charming," Eris drawled. "It's good to know some things never change."

The first course arrived - a delicate soup of autumn vegetables, rich and flavourful. Conversation flowed surprisingly easily, touching on neutral topics: the reconstruction of Velaris, the changing politics of Prythian, the upcoming Solstice celebrations.

By the main course—venison in a wine reduction, accompanied by roasted root vegetables - Ailswith found herself relaxing, even as anticipation thrummed beneath her skin. Azriel was unexpectedly engaging, his quiet observations often laced with a dry wit that made her laugh.

"I must admit," Azriel said as servants cleared their plates, "this is not how I imagined spending my evening when I received your invitation."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how did you imagine it?"

"With considerably more hostility," Azriel replied, taking a sip of his wine. "Given our last encounter."

"You mean when you kidnapped my mate?" Eris's tone was light, but his eyes glinted dangerously.

Azriel inclined his head. "A professional disagreement."

"Is that what the Night Court calls abduction these days?" Ailswith teased, surprising herself with her boldness.

The Shadowsinger's gaze slid to her, assessing. "You didn't seem particularly distressed at the time."

"Perhaps I was simply hiding it well."

Azriel's shadows danced along his shoulders, as if laughing at a private joke. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you were curious about what might happen."

Ailswith felt heat rise to her cheeks. Eris's hand found hers under the table, his thumb tracing circles on her palm.

"And now?" Eris asked, his voice deceptively casual. "Are you curious about what might happen tonight, Shadowsinger?"

The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken possibility. Azriel's hazel eyes darkened as he set down his wine glass, his scarred fingers lingering on the stem.

"I believe," he said slowly, each word measured, "that was implied by my acceptance of your... unusual invitation."

Ailswith's heart thundered in her chest. "And what exactly do you think we invited you here for?"

Azriel's gaze moved between them, assessing, calculating. Then his lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Not just dinner," he replied, his deep voice sending a shiver down Ailswith's spine.

Eris leaned back in his chair, a predatory gleam in his amber eyes. "No," he agreed. "Not just dinner."

For a moment, none of them spoke. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and Ailswith's quickened breathing. Then Azriel broke the silence.

"I'm curious," he said, turning to Ailswith. "Whose idea was this?"

"Mine," she admitted, her voice steadier than she felt. "Though Eris was... amenable."

"More than amenable," Eris corrected, his fingers tightening possessively around hers.

Azriel nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Ailswith swallowed, finding courage in the heat of Eris's hand and the intensity of Azriel's gaze. "I thought perhaps... we might retire to more comfortable quarters and... see where the evening takes us."

The Shadowsinger's eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement. "Direct. I appreciate that."

"My wife has many admirable qualities," Eris drawled. "Though subtlety has never been among them."

Ailswith kicked him under the table, earning a chuckle from her mate.

Azriel watched their exchange, his expression unreadable. Then he rose from his chair in one fluid motion, his wings adjusting slightly behind him. "Lead the way, then."

Ailswith's breath caught. This was really happening. She stood, smoothing her gown with suddenly trembling hands. Eris followed, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert, ever the predator assessing potential threat or prey.

"After you," Eris gestured, his hand settling possessively on the small of Ailswith's back as they led their guest through the winding corridors of the manor. The shadows around him seemed to dance with anticipation, occasionally brushing against her skin like phantom caresses. Each touch sent shivers racing down her spine.

Their chambers were located in the eastern wing, far from prying eyes and ears. Eris pushed open the ornate double doors, revealing their private sanctuary. The spacious room was bathed in warm golden light from the crackling hearth. Their massive bed dominated the space, piled high with silken pillows and plush furs. Azriel froze in the threshold as he took in their chambers, his gaze lingering on the bed before sweeping over the rest of the room.

"Your chambers are not what I expected," Azriel observed, accepting the glass of wine Eris offered.

"Oh?" Eris raised an eyebrow. "And what did you expect, Shadowsinger? Torture devices? Chains hanging from the ceiling?"

The corner of Azriel's mouth twitched. "Something less comfortable."

"The dungeons are three floors down," Eris replied dryly. "We can arrange a tour later, if you're interested."

Ailswith rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. He thinks he's being charming."

"I am charming," Eris countered, moving to stand behind her. His hands settled on her waist, possessive yet gentle. "Isn't that right, wife?"

"Among other things," she murmured, leaning back against him.

Azriel watched them, his expression unreadable as he sipped his wine. The shadows around him seemed to pulse with curiosity, reaching out tentatively before retreating, as if testing the boundaries of this strange new situation.

"So," he said finally, setting his glass aside. "How does this work, exactly?"

Eris's lips curved into a wicked smile. "However we want it to," he replied, his voice dropping to a silken purr. "That's the beauty of it."

Ailswith felt her heart quicken as Azriel's gaze darkened, his shadows swirling more urgently around him. There was something mesmerising about the way they moved - like liquid darkness, alive with purpose.

"And what do you want, Lady Ailswith?" Azriel asked, his voice low and measured. "Since this was your idea."

She swallowed, suddenly aware of Eris's heat at her back and Azriel's intense focus before her. "I want..." she began, then paused, gathering her courage. “I want to touch your wings.” As if in answer, they shifted slightly behind him, the movement drawing her attention to their magnificent span.

Azriel hesitated, then gave a single nod as she reached out her hand and tentatively ran a ringer down the boney edge of his left wing, her eyes following the movement with awe and wonder.

The moment her fingers made contact with his wing, Azriel inhaled sharply, his eyes momentarily closing. The membrane was softer than she expected, warm and surprisingly delicate beneath her touch. She traced the elegant arch, marvelling at the powerful structure that allowed him flight.

"They're beautiful," she murmured, emboldened by his reaction. She explored further, her fingertips following the intricate pattern of veins that branched like dark rivers through the leathery surface.

Azriel's shadows coiled tighter around him, and a muscle in his jaw ticked as her hand ventured toward the sensitive juncture where wing met shoulder.

"Careful," Eris murmured in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "Illyrian wings are quite... sensitive."

"Is that so?" Ailswith asked innocently, though her eyes gleamed with mischief as they met Azriel's. "How sensitive, exactly?"

Instead of answering, Azriel moved with preternatural speed, catching her wrist in a gentle but firm grip. His scarred hand was warm against her skin, rough with calluses earned over centuries of wielding blades.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent heat pooling in her core, "there are other things we should explore first."

Eris chuckled, the sound dark and promising. "The Shadowsinger has a point." His hands slid from her waist to her hips, pulling her back against him so she could feel his growing hardness. "There's no need to rush."

Ailswith's breath hitched as Azriel released her wrist, only to trace a finger along her collarbone, feather-light and maddening. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

Azriel's eyes darkened as they swept over her, then moved to Eris behind her. Something unspoken passed between the males - a challenge, an acknowledgment, a mutual assessment.

"I think," Azriel said finally, his shadows wrapping around his fingers like living extensions, "that you’re wearing far too many clothes for what I have in mind."

The shadows slithered forward, cool against her heated skin as they caressed her bare shoulders. Ailswith gasped, the sensation unlike anything she'd felt before - both there and not there, substantial yet ephemeral. Azriel's gaze flicked between them, assessing, calculating. Then, with deliberate slowness, he removed his jacket, revealing a simple black shirt beneath. The movement of his wings as he shrugged off the garment was mesmerising - powerful yet controlled, like everything else about him.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward Ailswith.

Eris's grip tightened briefly, then relaxed. "By all means," he purred, though the possessive edge in his voice remained.

Azriel approached them, his movements predatory and graceful. He stopped just before Ailswith, close enough that she could feel the cool whisper of his shadows against her heated skin.

"I should warn you," he said softly, his scarred hand rising to hover near her cheek, "my shadows can be... curious."

As if on cue, the tendrils of darkness curled around her arms, whisper-soft and cool as night air. Ailswith's breath hitched at the strange sensation.

"They won't hurt you," Azriel assured her, his hazel eyes intent on her face. "Unless you want them to."

Behind her, Eris made a sound low in his throat. "Careful, Shadowsinger. My wife may take you up on that offer."

Azriel's gaze flickered to Eris, something like amusement dancing in his eyes. "Would that bother you, High Lord?"

"Not at all," Eris replied smoothly. "So long as I get to watch."

The shadows caressed Ailswith's skin, sending shivers down her spine as they explored with ghostly touches. Azriel's gaze remained fixed on her face, watching every reaction with those penetrating hazel eyes.

“May I remove your dress, Ailswith?” He asked, his voice dripping with promise.

Ailswith nodded, hardly trusting herself to speak. Behind her, Eris's hands slid to her shoulders, steadying her as Azriel began to unlace her bodice with surprising dexterity. His scarred fingers worked methodically, each brush against her skin sending sparks of sensation through her body.

As the emerald silk loosened, Azriel stepped back slightly, allowing Eris to slowly peel the gown from her shoulders. The fabric slithered down her body, pooling at her feet in a whisper of silk, leaving her in nothing but a sheer chemise and lace undergarments.

Azriel's eyes darkened as they swept over her, his shadows swirling more urgently around him. "Beautiful," he murmured, the single word sending heat blooming across her skin.

Eris's hands tightened slightly on her waist as he kissed her now bare shoulder. "She is, isn't she?" he agreed, his voice a possessive growl that sent heat pooling low in her belly. “And all mine.”

"Ours," Azriel corrected, his shadows curling possessively around Ailswith's ankles, "For tonight, she’s ours."

His scarred hand finally made contact with her cheek, the rough texture of his skin a delicious contrast to the ethereal touch of his shadows. Ailswith leaned into his touch, emboldened by the heat in his gaze.

"May I kiss you?" Azriel asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

She nodded, heart thundering in her chest.

Azriel leaned forward, his movements measured and controlled. His lips brushed against hers, tentative at first, testing. Ailswith sighed into the kiss, her eyes fluttering closed as his mouth moved against hers with increasing confidence.

It was different from Eris's kisses - where her mate was all consuming fire and demanding passion, Azriel was controlled intensity, a banked flame that promised to consume if fully unleashed. His shadows wrapped around them both, cool tendrils that somehow heightened the heat of his mouth against hers.

Behind her, Eris made a sound - not quite a growl, not quite a moan - and suddenly his mouth was on her neck, trailing hot kisses down to her shoulder. The dual sensation of Azriel's mouth on hers, Eris's lips on her neck sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

Azriel broke the kiss first, his eyes darker now as they met Eris's over her shoulder. "Your turn," he said, his voice rougher than before.

Eris raised an eyebrow. "To kiss my own wife? How generous."

"No," Azriel said, his shadows curling with what might have been amusement. "To kiss me."

Chapter Text

Ailswith's breath caught. This - the two of them together - had featured prominently in her fantasies, but she hadn't dared hope it would actually happen.

Eris's expression shifted, surprise giving way to intrigue. He moved from behind Ailswith, circling around to face the Shadowsinger directly.

"Bold," Eris murmured, his amber eyes gleaming with challenge as he approached Azriel. "I didn't take you for the type."

Azriel's lips curved into the ghost of a smile. "There's a lot you don't know about me, High Lord."

The tension between them was palpable - centuries of rivalry, of belonging to opposing courts, of fundamental differences in power and purpose. And yet, beneath that tension lay something else. A reluctant respect, perhaps even admiration.

Eris stopped just before Azriel, close enough that Ailswith could see the contrast between them - fire and shadow, flame and darkness. For a moment, neither moved, each assessing the other with predatory focus.

Then Eris closed the distance, his hand rising to grasp the back of Azriel's neck as he claimed the Shadowsinger's mouth in a kiss that was more challenge than seduction.

Ailswith watched, transfixed, as Azriel responded in kind, his scarred hands gripping Eris's waist. The shadows around them pulsed and swirled, as if feeding off the energy between the two males. It was beautiful and dangerous and utterly captivating - like watching two apex predators circle each other, neither willing to submit, both determined to dominate.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing harder, their eyes dark with desire and something like surprise.

"Well," Eris said, his voice rougher than before. "That was..."

Azriel's shadows curled with what might have been amusement. "Indeed."

Ailswith found her voice at last. "Don't stop on my account," she said, trying for lightness despite the heat flooding her veins.

Both males turned to her, and the intensity of their combined focus was almost overwhelming. She stood before them in her sheer chemise, suddenly aware of how the firelight must illuminate her silhouette through the thin fabric.

"Oh, we're just getting started," Eris promised, his voice a silken purr as he returned to her side. His fingers traced the delicate strap of her chemise, slipping it off her shoulder with deliberate slowness. "Aren't we, Shadowsinger?"

Azriel nodded, his eyes never leaving Ailswith as he began to unbutton his shirt. His movements were efficient, almost clinical, revealing a torso mapped with scars and hard muscle. As the fabric fell away, Ailswith couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her. He was magnificent - all controlled power and deadly grace.

His wings adjusted behind him, the movement drawing her attention once more. The junction where they met his back was a marvel of anatomy, the powerful muscles rippling beneath scarred skin.

"Come here," Azriel said softly, extending a hand to her.

Ailswith glanced back at Eris, who nodded once, his amber eyes burning with desire as he released her, moving to lean against a high-back chair near the dresser. She stepped forward, taking Azriel's offered hand. His touch was warm, his scarred palm rough against her smooth skin as he drew her closer.

"You've been thinking about this for some time, haven't you?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a register that sent shivers racing down her spine.

Ailswith tilted her chin defiantly, though her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps," Azriel echoed, his lips curving into something not quite a smile.

“So, tell me” His gaze flicked to Eris who was watching them curiously. "What have you told your mate about these fantasies of yours?"

"Everything," Eris drawled, swirling the wine in his glass. "My wife is remarkably forthcoming about her desires."

Azriel's shadows suddenly wrapped around Ailswith's wrists, cool and substantial, drawing them behind her back. The movement arched her spine, pressing her breasts against the thin fabric of her chemise. She gasped, surprised by the sudden restraint.

"Is this what you imagined?" Azriel asked, his voice deceptively soft as his shadows tightened slightly. "Being at my mercy?"

Before she could respond, his shadows shifted, one tendril sliding up to wrap gently around her throat - not constricting, but present, a cool band of darkness against her heated skin.

"Kneel," he commanded softly.

Ailswith's eyes widened. She glanced at her mate, who raised an eyebrow, curiosity and heat mingling in his amber gaze. "Do as he says." Eris instructed, his voice a low purr that sent heat flooding through her.

Slowly, Ailswith sank to her knees, the plush carpet cushioning her descent. From this angle, Azriel seemed even taller, more imposing - a creature of shadow and deadly grace looming above her. His shadows maintained their gentle hold on her wrists, keeping them secured behind her back.

"Good," Azriel murmured, his scarred hand coming to cup her cheek. His thumb traced her bottom lip, pressing slightly until her mouth parted. "Very good."

The simple praise sent an unexpected thrill through her. Across the room, Eris shifted in his chair, his eyes never leaving them as Azriel's shadows continued their exploration, cool tendrils sliding beneath the thin straps of her chemise.

"What now, Shadowsinger?" Eris asked, his voice a dangerous purr. "Now that you have my wife on her knees?"

"That depends on what she wants," he replied, his gaze dropping to Ailswith. "Tell me, Lady Ailswith. What is it that you want?" Azriel commanded softly.

She licked her lips, emboldened by the heat in his eyes. "I want to taste you," she whispered.

A muscle in Azriel's jaw ticked, his control slipping for just a moment before he mastered himself again. "Show me," he said, his voice rough with restrained desire.

With her hands still bound behind her by his shadows, Ailswith leaned forward, pressing her face against the hard plane of his abdomen. His skin was warm, surprisingly soft over the steel of his muscles. She traced her tongue along the defined ridges, tasting salt and something uniquely him - like night air and cedar.

Azriel's hand tightened in her hair, guiding her lower. Ailswith followed his lead, her mouth trailing down to the waistband of his trousers. She glanced up, meeting his gaze as she caught the fabric between her teeth, tugging playfully.

"Impatient," he observed, though his voice had roughened further.

"Always," Eris confirmed from across the room, his own voice strained with desire as he watched them.

Azriel's shadows released her wrists, allowing her to reach up and unfasten his trousers. She worked quickly, eager now as she freed him from the confining fabric. When she took him in hand, Azriel's breath hissed between his teeth, his wings shifting restlessly behind him.

Ailswith smiled up at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

The sound Azriel made - a low, almost pained groan - sent heat pooling between her thighs. His hand fisted in her hair, not forcing but guiding as she set a rhythm, taking him deeper with each pass. His shadows wrapped around her again, cool tendrils that caressed her skin, slipping beneath her chemise to tease her breasts.

Azriel's control was slipping with each pass of her mouth, his shadows pulsing and writhing around them both. His breathing grew ragged, wings flaring slightly behind him as pleasure built. Ailswith hummed around him, emboldened by his reaction, taking him deeper until his tip hit the back of her throat.

Across the room, she heard Eris curse softly, the sound followed by the rustle of fabric. She glanced over to see him shrugging out of his own shirt, his amber eyes never leaving them as he stalked toward the bed, moving with predatory grace.

Just as she felt him begin to tense, his grip suddenly tightened in her hair, pulling her off him with enough force to make her gasp. His eyes, when she looked up at him in confusion, were dark with desire and something more dangerous.

"Eyes on me, little fox," he commanded, his voice a rough growl that sent heat flooding through her veins. "I want to see you."

The name - Eris's private endearment for her - sounded different on Azriel's tongue, equal parts forbidden and thrilling.

His hazel eyes were almost black with desire as he gazed down at her, his scarred hand still tangled in her hair, keeping her face tilted up to his.

"You're watching him," he observed, shadows coiling more tightly around them both. "I want your full attention."

Across the room, Eris chuckled, the sound dark and promising as he reclined on their massive bed. "Demanding, isn't he?" he remarked, though his amber eyes gleamed with approval.

Ailswith licked her lips, tasting Azriel still on her tongue. "Yes," she agreed breathlessly. "Very."

Azriel's shadows suddenly lifted her to her feet, their cool touch substantial as they supported her weight. His scarred fingers traced the delicate strap of her chemise, slipping it off her shoulder with deliberate slowness.

"This has to go," he murmured, his gaze never leaving her face as his shadows joined his hands, cool tendrils sliding beneath the thin fabric to caress her heated skin.

The chemise slithered down her body, pooling at her feet in a whisper of silk, leaving her in nothing but lace undergarments.

His shadows explored her body with ghostly touches down the column of her throat, across her collarbone, circling her breasts with maddening lightness. Ailswith gasped as one tendril brushed against her nipple, the strange sensation of coolness against such sensitive flesh sending jolts of pleasure through her.

"Sensitive," Azriel observed, his scarred hand following the path of his shadows to cup her breast. The contrast between his warm palm and the cool touch of his shadows made her shiver. "I like that."

From the bed, Eris watched them with hungry eyes, his own arousal evident as he reclined against the pillows.

"She responds beautifully to touch," he commented, his voice a silken purr.

"Your mate deserves some attention, don't you think?" Azriel murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Before she could respond, he had turned her to face Eris, his chest pressed against her back as his shadows continued their maddening exploration of her body. One tendril slipped between her thighs, cool and insubstantial yet somehow perfectly capable of applying pressure exactly where she needed it.

Ailswith gasped, her head falling back against Azriel's shoulder as pleasure sparked through her. Behind her, she felt the brush of his wings, enfolding them both in a cocoon of shadow and sensation.

"Look at him," Azriel commanded softly. "Look at how he watches you."

She forced her eyes open, meeting Eris's burning gaze. Her mate's expression was a complex mixture of desire, possessiveness, and something like wonder as he watched her come undone in another male's arms.

"Beautiful," Eris murmured, his voice rough with need.

Azriel's hands slid up to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her bra, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. "Shall I give her to you now?" he asked Eris, his voice a dangerous purr. "Or would you prefer to watch a while longer?"

Eris's eyes darkened, the amber flecked with gold in the firelight. "Why choose?" he replied, patting the space beside him on the bed. "Join us, Shadowsinger. There's room enough for three."

Azriel guided Ailswith forward, his shadows never ceasing their maddening caresses as they approached the bed. When they reached it, he lifted her with surprising gentleness, laying her beside Eris before joining them, his wings adjusting to accommodate the new position.

Azriel settled beside them, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he propped himself on one elbow, studying Ailswith with a wry smirk.

"Remove those," he commanded, gesturing to her lace undergarments.

Ailswith raised an eyebrow, a spark of defiance lighting her eyes. "You've shadows at your command. Why don't you do it yourself?"

Eris chuckled, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her hip. "Careful, little fox. The Shadowsinger doesn't strike me as a male who appreciates insolence."

"On the contrary," Azriel replied, his voice deceptively soft. "I appreciate knowing exactly what I'm dealing with." His scarred hand closed around her ankle, thumb pressing against the delicate bone. "And it seems I'm dealing with someone who needs to learn the value of obedience."

His shadows suddenly wrapped around her wrists, pinning them above her head against the pillows. Another tendril of darkness slid between her thighs, cool and teasing but never providing enough pressure to satisfy.

"Perhaps," Azriel suggested, his gaze flicking to Eris, "your mate hasn't been firm enough with you."

Eris's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Oh, I can be quite firm when necessary. But sometimes I enjoy letting her misbehave,” He finished, his amber eyes gleaming with wicked promise as his gaze met Azriel's over her body. "Just to see what happens."

Azriel hummed in agreement, his shadows tightening subtly around Ailswith's wrists. "I see. Well then, I believe we have our work cut out for us."

He shifted, moving to kneel between her legs, his scarred hands sliding up her thighs with deliberate slowness. The calluses on his palms created a delicious friction against her smooth skin. When he reached the edge of her lace undergarments, he paused, looking up at her with an expression of calm authority that made her breath catch.

"Last chance," he said softly. "Ask nicely, or I'll tear them off."

Ailswith arched an eyebrow, heart racing with defiance and anticipation. "You wouldn't dare ruin fine Raskian lace."

Eris laughed, the sound warm against her ear. "Oh, little fox. I fear you’ve miscalculated."

Before she could respond, Azriel's fingers hooked in the delicate fabric and ripped, the sound of tearing lace impossibly loud in the quiet room. The ruined garment was tossed aside, and Ailswith gasped at the casual display of strength.

"That's one pair you owe me," she said, trying to sound indignant despite the heat pooling between her thighs.

"Bill me," Azriel replied dryly, and Eris chuckled, his hand coming up to stroke her hair in mock sympathy.

"I warned you, didn't I?" Eris murmured, his fingers tightening slightly in her hair. "The Shadowsinger doesn't play games."

"I excel at games, actually. But only when the rules are clear." His gaze met hers, hazel eyes glinting with challenge. "Rule one: when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed."

Ailswith licked her lips, testing the strength of the shadows binding her wrists. They held firm, cool and unyielding. "And if I don't?"

The Shadowsinger’s smile was slow and dangerous. "Then you'll be punished.”

The promise in those words sent a shiver down her spine.

"Rule two," he continued, his scarred fingers tracing idle patterns on her inner thighs, deliberately avoiding where she wanted him most, "you don't come until we give you permission."

Ailswith couldn't help the scoff that escaped her. "That's hardly fair."

"No one promised fairness," Azriel replied, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her bones. His scarred hand moved higher, finally brushing against her centre with maddening lightness. "Only pleasure."

Eris shifted beside her, his mouth finding the sensitive spot below her ear.

Ailswith's breath hitched as Azriel's thumb circled her most sensitive spot, applying just enough pressure to make her arch into his touch, seeking more. His shadows continued their exploration, cool tendrils wrapping around her thighs, spreading her wider for his inspection.

"Stunning," Azriel murmured, his gaze appreciative as he took in the sight of her. "No wonder you guard her so jealously, High Lord."

Eris's hand slid down to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple. "I've never been good at sharing my treasures," he admitted, his voice rough with desire. "Consider this a rare exception."

"Rule three," Azriel continued, his eyes darkening as his fingers worked against her with deliberate precision, "honesty. If something doesn't feel good, you say so. If something feels too good..." His thumb pressed harder against her centre, drawing a gasp from her lips. "You say that too. Tell us exactly what you want."

Ailswith nodded, finding it increasingly difficult to focus as his skilled fingers worked against her.

"That shouldn't be difficult," Eris remarked, his lips curving against her neck as he placed open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, teeth scarping gently against her collarbone. "My wife has never been shy about voicing her desires."

Azriel's eyebrow arched slightly. "Is that so?" His scarred hand slid lower, one finger dipping inside her with excruciating slowness. "Then let's hear it. Tell me what you want, Ailswith."

The sound of her name on his lips - not my lady, not little fox, but simply Ailswith - sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the exquisite pressure of his touch.

"I want..." she began, then gasped as he curled his finger inside her, finding a spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

"Yes?" Azriel prompted, his voice deceptively mild despite the heat in his eyes.

"I want your mouth," she managed, her voice breathy but determined. "On me. Now."

A shadow of a smile crossed Azriel's face, there and gone in an instant. "Specific. Good." His gaze flicked to Eris. "She learns quickly."

Eris chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin where his lips pressed against her shoulder. "Only when properly motivated."

Without warning, Azriel withdrew his touch entirely, leaving her aching and empty. Before she could protest, his strong hands gripped her thighs, pulling her toward him with a swift, sure movement that took her breath away.

"Rule four," he continued, his expression shifting to something more serious as his shadows momentarily stilled their teasing caresses. "Safewords." His gaze moved from Ailswith to Eris. "What do you use?"

Ailswith and Eris exchanged a glance, a silent communication born of the years together.

"We don't use them," Eris said, his tone matter-of-fact as he traced the delicate shell of Ailswith's ear with his tongue. "Never found the need."

Azriel's hands stilled, his shadows pulsing with what might have been surprise. "You don't use safewords?" he repeated, his expression inscrutable. "At all?"

Ailswith shook her head, her hair spilling across the pillow like liquid fire. "The mating bond..." she began, gesturing vaguely between herself and Eris. "We sense each other's feelings. Discomfort, fear, pleasure - it all transmits through the bond. Words become superfluous."

Azriel's expression darkened, his shadows pulsing with something like irritation. "That's..." He seemed to search for a diplomatic word and failed. "That's incredibly stupid."

Ailswith blinked in surprise at his bluntness. Eris stiffened beside her, his amber eyes narrowing dangerously.

"I beg your pardon?" Eris's voice had gone silky, the way it did when he was truly angry. The temperature in the room rose several degrees, heat radiating from his skin.

Azriel didn't back down, meeting the High Lord's gaze directly. "You heard me. A mating bond isn't a substitute for clear communication, especially when introducing a third party." His shadows curled around his fingers, agitated. "You can sense her emotions, yes, but that's not the same as explicit consent or having a way to stop immediately if needed."

"I assure you," Eris said, his voice dangerously soft, "I know my mate's limits better than anyone."

Ailswith glanced between them, sensing the sudden tension. "I've never needed a safeword with Eris," she offered, trying to defuse the situation. "He really does know my limits."

Azriel muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "stupid mating bond" before shaking his head. "That may work for the two of you, but I'm not connected to either of you through a magical soul-bond." His tone was dry as desert sand. "So, for tonight, we use safewords." His eyes flicked to Eris. "Consider it my condition for continuing."

He shifted, his wings adjusting behind him as he leaned closer to Ailswith. "Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for continue. Simple enough?" His scarred thumb brushed over her bottom lip, the texture of his skin a delicious friction. "I need you to say you understand."

Ailswith met his gaze directly, momentarily struck by the intensity of those hazel eyes. There was concern there, beneath the desire - a fundamental care that she hadn't expected from the feared Shadowsinger. "I understand," she said softly. "Red, yellow, green."

"Good." Azriel's approval sent an unexpected thrill through her. He glanced at Eris. "And you?"

"Red, yellow, green," he confirmed, his amber eyes gleaming. Eris's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts amusement and challenge. “Very well, Shadowsinger. We’ll play by your rules tonight. Though I doubt we'll need them."

"Better to have and not need," Azriel murmured, his attention returning to Ailswith. His scarred hands gripped her thighs once more, spreading them wider as he settled between them. "Now, I believe you made a request."

Azriel leaned down, his breath hot against her inner thigh. "Let's see if you taste as sweet as you look," he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet hers before his mouth descended to press a kiss to the sensitive skin there. Ailswith tensed in anticipation, but he seemed in no hurry, his mouth working a maddeningly slow path toward her centre.

"Azriel," she breathed, unable to keep the plea from her voice.

He paused, looking up at her from between her thighs, his expression unreadable. "Patience," he murmured, before finally – finally - putting his mouth on her.

Ailswith gasped at the first touch of his tongue, her body arching despite the shadows holding her in place. He took his time, exploring her with deliberate thoroughness, as if mapping territory he intended to claim. His technique was different from Eris's - more methodical, perhaps, but no less devastating in its effect.

Eris watched them with hungry eyes, his hand still cupping her breast. "She likes it when you use your fingers too," he suggested, his voice a silken purr.

Azriel hummed in acknowledgment, the vibration sending pleasure spiralling through her core. When he slid two scarred fingers inside her, curling them with unerring precision against that spot that made her see stars, Ailswith couldn't contain her moan.

"There," Eris murmured approvingly, his lips brushing against her ear. "Just like that."

Azriel worked her with ruthless efficiency, his fingers and tongue establishing a rhythm that quickly had her trembling on the edge of release. His shadows tightened around her wrists in warning when her hips began to move against his mouth.

"Don't come," Eris reminded her, his lips brushing her ear. "Not until we say."

Ailswith whimpered, caught between the need to obey and the desperate hunger building within her. Azriel's tongue circled her most sensitive spot, then applied firm, direct pressure that had her gasping, teetering on the edge of release.

"Please," she managed, her voice breaking. "I need-

Azriel pulled back just enough to deny her completion, his eyes meeting hers over the plane of her body. "Not yet," he said, his voice rough with his own desire. "You can take more."

He lowered his head again, this time introducing a third finger alongside his tongue, curling it inside her with devastating accuracy. Ailswith cried out, her hands fisting in the shadows that still bound her wrists.

"Colour?" Azriel demanded, briefly pausing his ministrations.

"Green," she gasped. "So green. Please don't stop."

Eris chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin where his mouth pressed against her neck. "Told you she was vocal about her desires."

Azriel hummed in acknowledgment, the sound sending vibrations through her core that had her trembling. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers, combined with the cool caress of his shadows and the heat of Eris's gaze, was almost too much to bear. Azriel could tell she was close and slowed down his movements.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "Ask for permission."

"Please," she gasped, her control slipping with each expert stroke of his tongue.

"Please what?" Azriel asked, his voice maddeningly calm despite the evidence of his own arousal.

"Please let me come," she begged, pride forgotten in the face of mounting pleasure.

Azriel glanced at Eris, a silent communication passing between them. Eris's lips curved into a wicked smile as he nodded once.

"So polite now," Eris observed, his voice a silken purr as his hand moved to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. "A stark improvement from earlier."

"Since you asked so nicely," Azriel conceded, his scarred fingers pressing more firmly inside her. "Come for us, Ailswith."

The combination of his command, his skilled touch, and Eris's hands on her breasts sent her spiralling over the edge as she cried out. Her release crashed through her in waves, her back arching as pleasure consumed her. Azriel worked her through it, his fingers never ceasing their movement until the aftershocks subsided and she collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and gasping.

“Good girl.” He growled, nipping at her upper thigh before withdrawing his fingers from her. Before he could lick them, Eris grabbed his wrist and took the soaked fingers in his mouth instead, moaning at the taste of his mate he knew and loved so well.

As she caught her breath, she became aware of the two males exchanging looks over her body - predatory, hungry looks that told her they were far from finished.

"My turn," Eris purred, rolling to hover above her. His amber eyes burned with possessive heat as he claimed her mouth, letting her taste herself on his lips. The kiss was deep and demanding, a stark reminder of who she belonged to, even as they shared her with another.

Azriel moved beside them, his shadows never ceasing their gentle caress against her skin. When Eris finally broke the kiss, he looked up at the Shadowsinger with a challenging smile.

"How shall we proceed?" he asked, his voice a silken purr that sent shivers down Ailswith's spine.

Azriel's gaze was calculating. "I think your mate deserves to be thoroughly satisfied tonight," he said, his scarred hand coming to rest on her hip. "And I think we're both more than capable of ensuring that happens."

Eris's smile widened, showing teeth. "Indeed." He looked down at Ailswith, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed face. "What do you say, little fox? Can you handle more?"

Ailswith's breath caught at the implication. This was beyond even her most daring fantasies. "Yes," she whispered, her voice steadier than she expected. "Please."

The word seemed to ignite something in both males. Eris kissed her again, harder this time, while Azriel's hands began a slow exploration of her body, his scarred fingers tracing patterns on her skin that left fire in their wake. His shadows continued to bind her wrists, though they had loosened enough to allow movement.

When Eris pulled back, his eyes were molten gold. "Turn over," he commanded softly.

Ailswith complied, rolling onto her stomach. Azriel's shadows finally released her wrists, allowing her to position herself more comfortably. She felt the bed shift as both males moved, rearranging themselves around her.

Eris's hand slid down her spine, coming to rest at the small of her back. "Up," he murmured, applying gentle pressure until she rose onto her hands and knees.

Behind her, she felt Eris position himself, his hands gripping her hips with familiar possessiveness.

"Watch," he commanded Azriel, his voice rough with desire as he positioned himself between her thighs. "Watch how she takes me."

Azriel shifted, his scarred hand coming to caress her face as Eris aligned himself with her entrance. His hazel eyes were dark, intent, missing nothing as Eris pushed inside her with one smooth thrust.

She gasped at the sensation of fullness, her body still sensitive from her previous release. Eris gave her no time to adjust, setting a punishing rhythm that had her moaning with each thrust. Above them, Azriel watched with predatory focus, his shadows pulsing in time with Eris's movements.

Ailswith lost herself in sensation, caught between the relentless rhythm of Eris's thrusts and the cool caress of Azriel's shadows, which had begun to wrap around her breasts, teasing her nipples into tight peaks. She couldn't stop the sounds escaping her throat - half-moans, half-pleas that seemed to drive both males to greater intensity.

Azriel moved closer, his scarred hand sliding into her hair, tightening just enough to arch her neck back. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice a dangerous rumble that she felt in her bones. "Taking him so well."

Eris's pace slowed slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate. "She was made for this," he said, his voice strained with the effort of his restraint. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. "Made to be worshipped."

Azriel hummed in agreement, his shadows sliding between her and Eris, curling around where they were joined. The cool touch against such heated flesh made them both gasp.

"Insatiable," Eris added, his rhythm faltering slightly as Azriel's shadows wrapped around the base of him. "Always hungry for more."

Ailswith managed to open her eyes, finding Azriel watching her with an intensity that stole her breath. His wings were half-flared behind him, shadows dancing between the membrane like living things.

Azriel's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back further until her eyes met his. "Is that true?" he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Are you still hungry, Ailswith?"

The sound of her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. "Yes," she admitted, the word barely audible over the sound of skin against skin as Eris continued his relentless pace behind her.

"What do you think, High Lord?" Azriel asked, his gaze shifting to meet Eris's over her shoulder. "Has she earned more?"

Eris slowed his movements, each thrust now deliberate and deep. "She's been remarkably well-behaved," he conceded, his voice strained with the effort of his control. "For the most part."

Azriel hummed, his scarred fingers tracing the curve of her cheek with surprising gentleness. "And remarkably greedy," he observed, his shadows pulsing around them all, cool tendrils that caressed heated skin with ghostly touches.

"Always has been," Eris replied, his rhythm slowing further until he was barely moving within her, just enough to keep her on edge. His hands smoothed up her back, fingers tracing the bumps of her spine. "Haven’t you, my little fox."

Ailswith shivered at the possessive note in his voice, at the way Azriel watched them both with that predatory intensity, as if committing every detail to memory.

"I wonder," Azriel mused, his scarred thumb brushing over her bottom lip, "just how much she can take."

The implication in his words sent heat flooding through her veins. Eris stilled completely behind her, his hands tightening on her hips.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are, Shadowsinger?" Eris asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the heat in his amber eyes.

Azriel's gaze never left Ailswith's face as he nodded once, a barely perceptible movement. "If she wants it," he replied, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her insides clench. "Do you, Ailswith? Do you want us both?"

Her breath caught at the directness of the question. Taking both of them at once had featured in her most secret fantasies, ones she'd barely admitted even to herself, let alone to Eris. The thought of it, of being so completely filled, so thoroughly claimed by both males...

"Yes," she whispered, her voice steadier than she expected. "Please. I want you both."

The two males exchanged a look of dark understanding. Momentarily withdrawing from her, Eris gathered her into his arms, rolling onto his back so that she straddled him. The change in position drove him deeper, making her gasp.

She felt Azriel's presence at her back, solid and commanding. His scarred hands traced the curve of her spine, sending shivers cascading through her already over-sensitised body. The shadows binding her wrists finally dissolved, allowing her to brace her palms against Eris's chest.

"Are you certain?" Azriel's voice was low against her ear, his breath stirring her hair.

"Yes," she breathed, turning her head to meet his gaze. "Please."

Eris's hands gripped her hips, stilling her movements as Azriel reached around her, his scarred fingers glistening with oil she hadn't seen him retrieve. The first touch of his finger against her was gentle, questioning. Ailswith pushed back against him in silent encouragement.

"Relax," Azriel murmured, his other hand splayed across her lower back as he worked her open with careful precision.

Eris watched her face, his amber eyes tracking every flicker of expression. When she gasped at the stretch of Azriel adding another finger, Eris leaned up to capture her mouth, swallowing the sound.

"That's it," Eris encouraged against her lips. "You're doing so well."

Behind her, Azriel's wings shifted, the movement sending currents of cool air across her heated skin. His preparation was methodical, thorough, his scarred fingers stretching and testing until she was trembling above Eris, desperate for more.

"Good," Azriel praised when she pushed back against his hand, seeking more. "So good for us."

When he finally withdrew his fingers, Ailswith whimpered at the loss. She felt him position himself behind her, the blunt head of him pressing against her entrance. His scarred hands gripped her hips, holding her steady, just above where Eris held her.

"Please," she whispered, the word falling from her lips like a prayer.

"Look at me," Eris commanded softly, drawing her attention back to him. His amber eyes burned with possessive heat as he reached up to cup her face. "I've got you, little fox."

"Breathe," Azriel instructed, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her bones.

Ailswith obeyed, drawing a deep breath as he began to push inside her with exquisite slowness. The sensation of being filled by both males simultaneously was overwhelming—pleasure and pain twisted together until she couldn't distinguish between them.

"Gods," she gasped, her head falling back against Azriel's shoulder.

"Stop?" Azriel asked, his progress halting immediately.

"No," she managed, her voice strained but certain. "Don't you dare."

A low chuckle rumbled through Azriel's chest as he continued his careful advance. Beneath her, Eris remained perfectly still, his amber eyes locked on her face with an intensity that stole her breath.

When Azriel was fully seated inside her, they all paused, adjusting to the new sensation. Ailswith felt impossibly full, stretched to her limits and hovering on the knife's edge between pleasure and too much.

"Move," she finally whispered. "Please, I need you to move."

Azriel's breath hitched against her ear, his control visibly slipping as his shadows pulsed around them, wrapping them all in cool darkness. "As you wish," he murmured, his voice rougher than she'd heard it yet.

The first careful withdrawal and slow thrust back in had her crying out, the sensation of both males moving within her overwhelming in its intensity. They established a rhythm - when Azriel withdrew, Eris thrust upward, ensuring she was never empty, never wanting and gasping with each alternating stroke.

"So good," Eris praised, his amber eyes never leaving her face as one hand slid between them to where they were joined. "Taking us both so well."

The dual sensation was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, overwhelming in its intensity, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Eris's hands gripped her waist, guiding her movements as Azriel's scarred fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady between them.

His shadows curled around them all, cool tendrils that caressed heated skin and intensified every sensation. One shadow wrapped gently around Ailswith's throat, not constricting but present, a reminder of who controlled her pleasure.

Their pace increased gradually, the careful alternation giving way to a more primal rhythm as they all surrendered to the pleasure building between them. Ailswith could do nothing but hold on, caught in the storm of sensation as both males claimed her body with relentless precision.

"So close," she gasped, her voice breaking as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak. "Please-

"Not yet," Azriel commanded, his voice a dangerous rumble against her ear. His hand slid around to press against her lower abdomen, applying pressure that made her feel them both even more intensely. "Hold it back."

Eris leaned up, claiming her mouth in a kiss that was all consuming possession. When he pulled back, his eyes were molten gold. "Colour?" he asked, his voice strained with the effort of his restraint.

"Green," she managed, the word barely audible over the sound of their bodies moving together. “Greengreengreen.”

The admission seemed to break something in both males. Their movements became more urgent, more demanding, driving her toward a precipice she wasn't sure she would survive falling from. Azriel's shadows tightened around them all, pulsing in time with their movements.

"Now," Eris commanded, his hands tightening on her hips as he drove up into her with renewed force. "Come for us now, little fox."

The permission was all she needed. Pleasure crashed through her with devastating intensity, her body clenching around both males as she cried out. The sensation of her release triggered their own - Eris, then Azriel following moments later, their bodies shuddering against hers as they found their completion.

For a long moment, none of them moved, the only sound their ragged breathing as they came down from the heights of pleasure. Azriel was the first to withdraw, his movements careful and gentle.

The sensation of emptiness was almost jarring after being so thoroughly filled. Ailswith collapsed against Eris's chest, her limbs trembling with the aftershocks of her release. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close as his lips pressed against her temple.

"You did so well," he murmured against her hair, his voice rough with spent passion and something like wonder. "My brave little fox." His hands traced soothing patterns along her spine as she struggled to regain her composure.

The bed shifted as Azriel moved beside them, his wings adjusting with a soft rustling sound. His expression was unreadable as he watched them, though his shadows seemed calmer now, swirling lazily around his scarred hands.

"Water," he said, his voice still carrying the edge of command that sent an unexpected shiver through Ailswith despite her exhaustion. He reached for a carafe on the bedside table that she hadn't noticed before, pouring a glass and offering it to her.

Ailswith accepted it gratefully, her hands still unsteady as she drank. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat, grounding her in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.

"Thank you," she murmured, handing the glass back to Azriel. Their fingers brushed, his scarred skin rough against hers.

Eris shifted beneath her, gently rolling them to their sides without breaking their connection. His amber eyes were soft now, the predatory intensity replaced by something warmer as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

Ailswith nodded, unable to find words adequate to describe the experience. "Better than alright," she finally managed, her voice still slightly hoarse.

Azriel watched them with that same inscrutable expression, though his shadows betrayed him, reaching out to brush against her arm in what felt almost like concern.

"You should rest," he said, making a move as if to leave the bed.

"Stay," Ailswith said quickly, reaching out to catch his wrist. His skin was surprisingly warm beneath her fingers, the scars ridged and smooth by turns. "Please."

Azriel hesitated, his hazel eyes flickering to Eris as if seeking permission. Something unspoken passed between the two males—a negotiation, perhaps, or simply understanding.

"For a while," Azriel conceded, settling back against the pillows. His wings spread behind him, creating a canopy of living shadow above the bed.

Eris's arm tightened around Ailswith's waist as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "You were magnificent," he murmured against her skin.

"Indeed," Azriel agreed, his voice softer than she'd heard it all night. His scarred hand came to rest on her hip, a gentle weight that anchored her between them.

Silence settled over them like a blanket, comfortable and warm. Ailswith drifted in the hazy aftermath of pleasure, her body pleasantly sore and utterly satisfied between the two males.

Time seemed suspended in the quiet aftermath, the only sounds their gradually slowing breaths and the occasional rustle of Azriel's wings adjusting behind him. The room's chill had returned now that Eris's fire-bright passion had cooled, but Ailswith felt perfectly warm sandwiched between their bodies.

Eris's fingers traced idle patterns on her hip, his touch possessive even in repose. Against her back, Azriel remained slightly more reserved, though his scarred hand rested lightly on her waist, his callused thumb brushing occasionally against her skin in what might have been an unconscious gesture.

The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting the room in amber shadows that danced across their entangled limbs. Azriel's wings cast an ominous darkness above them, occasionally rippling like ink in water when he shifted. His shadows had mostly retreated, though a few tendrils still curled lazily around the bedposts, as if standing guard.

"I didn't expect that," Ailswith finally murmured, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Which part?" Eris asked, his voice a low rumble that she felt against her chest where they pressed together.

She considered for a moment. "Any of it, really. But especially..." She trailed off, suddenly shy despite the intimacy they'd just shared.

"Especially what?" Azriel prompted, his voice softer than she'd heard it all evening.

Ailswith turned slightly to glance over her shoulder at him. In the dim light, his hazel eyes seemed darker, the shadows beneath them more pronounced. There was a vulnerability to him now that she hadn't glimpsed before - a softening of the hard edges that made the fearsome Shadowsinger seem almost approachable.

"Especially how well you two worked together," she admitted. "I expected more... competition."

Eris chuckled, the sound vibrating through her where their bodies touched. "We're centuries old, my love. Such petty displays are beneath us."

Azriel's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Speak for yourself, High Lord. I can be quite petty when the occasion calls for it."

"Oh?" Eris raised an eyebrow, his amber eyes gleaming with interest. "Do tell."

"Another time, perhaps," Azriel demurred, though his expression suggested there were stories there, buried beneath his customary reserve.

A comfortable silence fell again, broken only by the occasional pop from the dying fire. Ailswith found herself studying Azriel's scarred hands where they rested against her skin. The markings were extensive, covering both palms and extending up his wrists to disappear beneath the shadow-wrought bands he wore. Without thinking, she reached out to trace one of the more prominent scars with her fingertip. Azriel went utterly still at her touch.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly, immediately regretting her boldness. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-

"No," Azriel interrupted, his voice carefully neutral. "They don't hurt anymore." He paused, then added more quietly, "Not physically, at least."

Her eyes flickered with something soft as she raised his hand to her lips and placed a delicate kiss on his knuckles.

His shadows pulsed, curling more tightly around his scarred wrists as if in response to her tender touch. One tendril reached out to brush against Ailswith's cheek, cool and gentle like a lover's caress.

"They seem to like you," Azriel observed, his voice holding a note of surprise. "They're not usually so affectionate with strangers."

"I'm hardly a stranger now," Ailswith pointed out, a smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion.

Eris chuckled, his arm tightening possessively around her waist. "Indeed not."

Azriel's expression softened slightly, the perpetual vigilance in his eyes easing for just a moment. "No," he agreed. "I suppose you're not."

The admission seemed to cost him something, though what exactly, Ailswith couldn't say. There was a guardedness to Azriel that went beyond his role as spymaster—a fundamental caution in how he approached even the most intimate of connections.

"Will you stay the night?" she asked, the question escaping before she could consider its implications.

Azriel's expression shuttered immediately, his walls slamming back into place with almost physical force. "I shouldn't," he said, already shifting as if to leave. "Dawn is only a few hours away, and I'm expected back at the Night Court."

Eris's hand shot out, catching Azriel's wrist with surprising speed. "Stay," he said, the word somewhere between command and request. "Until first light, at least."

Azriel hesitated, his gaze moving between them. Something flickered in his eyes -uncertainty, perhaps, or a reluctance that had nothing to do with duty and everything to do with vulnerability.

"Rhysand can spare you for a few more hours," Eris insisted, his voice softer than Ailswith had expected. "And I suspect neither of us is quite ready to let you go."

A shadow of a smile crossed Azriel's face, there and gone in an instant. "Is that so?" His scarred fingers drummed lightly against Ailswith's hip, sending little ripples of sensation through her over-sensitised skin.

Ailswith bit her lip, watching the silent negotiation between the two males. There was something strangely intimate about witnessing this exchange - not the raw carnality of their earlier activities, but something more subtle. A recognition, perhaps, of unexpected common ground.

"Until dawn," Azriel finally conceded, settling back against the pillows. His wings adjusted behind him, one stretching to partially drape over both Ailswith and Eris like a living blanket of shadow. The gesture seemed unconscious, protective in a way that made something warm bloom in Ailswith's chest.

"Good," Eris murmured, his fingers resuming their idle exploration of Ailswith's skin. "Because my wife has a remarkable recovery time, and I suspect we're not quite finished with her yet."

Ailswith's breath caught at the implication. "Is that a promise, High Lord?" she asked, her voice steadier than she expected given the heat already rekindling in her veins.

Eris's smile was slow and wicked. "Always." His gaze shifted to Azriel, a silent question in his amber eyes.

Azriel's scarred hand slid up to cup Ailswith's face, turning it toward him with gentle insistence. His hazel eyes were dark with renewed hunger as he studied her. "I believe," he said softly, "we have until dawn to make good on that promise."

As his mouth descended to claim hers, Ailswith surrendered to the knowledge that sleep would indeed be a distant concern tonight - and found she didn't mind in the slightest.

After several hours of languorous pleasure, Ailswith felt herself drifting toward sleep, lulled by the steady rhythm of Eris's heartbeat against her back and the gentle caress of Azriel's shadows against her skin.

Just before she surrendered to slumber, she felt Azriel shift beside her, his scarred hand coming to rest lightly around her. The gesture was tentative, almost hesitant— -  different from the commanding presence he'd projected earlier.

"Thank you," she murmured, not entirely sure what she was thanking him for.

His response was so quiet she almost missed it. "The pleasure was mine."

As sleep claimed her at last, Ailswith's final thought was that this night had been beyond her wildest fantasies - and that perhaps, if she was very lucky, it wouldn't be the last time the three of them came together this way. That maybe Azriel had enjoyed the game so much he would be back to play another time.

The Shadowsinger would be gone by the time she awoke, she knew. Back to his court, his duties, his carefully constructed walls. But for now, he was here, his wings cocooning them in a dark embrace, his scarred hand a gentle weight against her skin.

For now, that was enough.