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29. Unravel

"Once again . . ." Devlon pointedly cleared his throat. "I don't think this is a good idea."

He, Eris, and you crossed the foyer to one of the front rooms. Even though it was summer, the black granite floor felt chilly under your bare feet.

"Relax," you said, clasping your hands behind your back. "Azriel doesn't care about my attire. Never has, never will."

Eris caught up with you. "Well, he may this time."

"I agree," Devlon said. Even though he'd been expressing his concerns for a while now, he didn't sound concerned. "While Azriel himself might not care about your attire, the mating bond will. Once he sees you in my shirt—"

You cut him off with a look that screamed, "I GET IT."

Once you got to the room, you paused under the archway, looking around. You figured it was used for meetings because the only things in it were a circular war table, chairs, and some weapons, but judging by the dust, which was everywhere, it hadn't been used in a long, long time. The pale gray stone was a stark contrast to the foyer's floor, but you thought it was fitting; Azriel, who was shadow incarnate, stood in a pool of light.

And then . . .

The blood drained from your face.

Azriel's attire—

Cauldron.

You'd been so desperate to piss him off with your own that you hadn't even stopped to consider what he was wearing.

Because he hadn't come in Illyrian leathers.

No, of course not.

This bitch was wearing a low-cut ombre lilac blouse, form-fitting charcoal leather pants, silver necklaces, rings, and earrings. It even looked like he'd darkened his eyes with kohl.

Azriel looked like a fucking prince.

And you were wearing a baggy shirt and art nouveau armor.

You sucked in your cheeks and hummed as you turned to Devlon. Eris was already looking at the Illyrian with wide eyes and pursed lips, nervous for him.

"Devlon . . ." You tapped your fingertips together. "Why didn't you mention my visitor's attire?"

The very obviously straight male gave you a look. "Why . . . would I?"

Eris rolled his eyes.

"It's fine. I don't care," Azriel said impassively. "Besides, the Autumn Court heirloom suits you."

You refrained from scouring the bond to see if he was lying.

Instead, you said, "State the purpose of your visit, Azriel. Did you come to hand-deliver Rhysand's presents?"

"No," he answered. "I didn't."

"So he didn't get me any?"

"No, he didn't."

Azriel's composure was really starting to piss you off.

"Interesting."

"I'd apologize on his behalf, but you'd tell me not to," he said, finally a few feet away from you. "I came here to update you on the meenlocks and to . . . check up on you."

"Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

You scoffed. "The right thing to do? How touching. Tell me, should we make an event of it?"

Azriel stared at you long and hard before asking, "Of what?"

"Of your conscience returning."

The shadowsinger closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then held your gaze again. "We think the meenlocks were sent by Koschei. Some of them attacked Velaris, but there were no casualties."