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4. Golden Hour

You squeezed your eyes shut as windy darkness consumed you, Feyre, Nyx, and Nesta. It was disorienting, to say the least, but over within a few seconds. Once you felt marble under your heels, you lifted your head — and looked upon the sprawling, gilded city of Velaris in all its sunset glory.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Feyre asked, adjusting Nyx in her arms. He squirmed excitedly and babbled to himself. "I can't wait for you to see it at night. That's when it really shines."

Nesta turned to enter a simple but elegant dining room with large windows. You followed Feyre inside as she explained things about the House, when and how it was built, etc.

As you sat across from her near the head of the table, you said, "I'm sorry for being so quiet. I'm just a little speechless. This house, your house, is just — enchanting."

"Oh, it's not mine," Feyre said, standing Nyx on her thigh. "It's Nesta and Cassian's."

You blinked in surprise, looking to Feyre's left, where Nesta sat. "Really?"

Nesta smirked, looking almost proud of herself. "Yes. You could say I've become . . . attached to it. And vice versa."

"Huh?"

Feyre grinned, glancing at her sister. "When she stayed here a year ago, her magic rubbed off on the House, gave it more personality."

"A house with personality," you echoed, smiling despite your confusion. "That's — wow."

Nyx took advantage of the short silence, squealing and bouncing on Feyre's thigh. His wings rustled as he sucked on one of his fists, and his chubby cheeks dimpled as he stared at you.

Your shoulders relaxed as something warm filled your chest. "Nyx is absolutely adorable. Do they, uh, learn how to fly from a young age?"

Feyre blurted out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, I just— Yes, they learn from a very young age. Even though Nyx isn't there yet, I worry about him all the time. And I keep catching him trying to fly when he definitely shouldn't be!"

When Feyre tickled Nyx, he screamed in delight, wings flapping.

"That's a parent's job," you assured her. "To worry, that is." After a pause, you glanced around the dining room. "Where're the boys?"

"Oh, they decided to fly," Feyre said. "They should be here any—"

A loud hollering from outside made you jump. You twisted in your chair right as Cassian crash-landed on the balcony, clutching at his side as he laughed.

He bellowed as he stood, fixing his clothes. "I WIN!"

Rhysand landed behind him and shoved his head down. "Yeah, yeah. We get it. Don't be a sore winner."

Cassian mocked him as he swaggered into the dining room, triumphant. He said something to Nesta, but you didn't catch it. You were focused on Azriel as he touched down, brow creased. He'd decided on a semi-formal outfit like Cassian, so he was wearing black pants and a navy blouse with silver embroidery.

You had to remind yourself that this male, this winged fae who moved with inhuman grace, was your mate.

You stared as he entered the dining room, but you weren't ogling. More than anything, you were curious — because you just couldn't wrap your head around the concept of a mate.

Or, rather, mates plural.

Something ached in your chest as you questioned if the title even applied to you. But you told yourself that you weren't even from this world, let alone this universe. You figured it'd be naive to think that anything here applied to you.