𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 60

Chapter 60

Arwen hadn't slept. She was too scared to.

Guilt pricked at her upon seeing Cassian return last night. She knew he was needed down at the camps and knew that he took his job seriously, only for her to pull him from it. Trying to rectify it all, she buckled up her composure and told him that he could return to his duties. Cassian shook his head and kept her company the entire night. He had fallen asleep but she settled for the quietness of his presence alone.

When morning rolled around, he rose with the sun and told her to go eat something while he went to train with Azriel. Arwen didn't argue. She pulled on the thick gown over her night dress, having swapped the emerald one out for another of a softer material. The kitchen, where Nuala and Cerridwen would be, preparing meals for the House's residents before moving on to the later waking ones of the town house, was to the left. Arwen took a right. She pulled the sleeves of the gown over her palms and couldn't keep her eyes straight ahead, especially when she knocked on the door of her brother's chambers.

No answer.

Arwen twisted the cold knob and peeked in. Empty. Feyre and Rhysand must have slept in the town house. Since hunger didn't call her yet, she decided to slip into the room nonetheless.

It was the first time she had smelt it—no longer just her brother's scent, but Feyre's mingled with it. Her things interweaved between his too. Arwen circled the chamber at a snail's pace. His boots, as they had always been, were kicked off near the wardrobe. Their mother had scolded him for it even through his adult years.

She sat on the edge of the bed and looked towards the window across from it.

Arwen remembered coming in here the weeks after her mother's death. She hadn't even thought about when they would just spend hours sitting, watching the city through the glazed windows, how much work he had ignored to take care of her. He was mourning too, she supposed. Both their mother and father. But it had been her way of mourning—not his. She hadn't given him the chance to move on in his own way. Hadn't asked him if he was okay. She just assumed he was because Rhys was always alright. He never let her believe otherwise. 

Arwen looked down at the dark nightstand next to his bed. A candle had been half burnt away. A ring Mor gave him years ago, simple and black banded by gold. There was also a small bracelet, made from a woven black and silver thread.

She pulled up the sleeve of her gown, eyeing the one on her own wrist. Matching. The ones she made when they went to the cabin alone and forced on his wrist. He had kept it, after all these years.

When Arwen entered the kitchen, she reached for the glass jar full of plain crackers. Nuala and Cerridwen paid her little mind when she paid them none, leaving her to nibble in silence. Once she had eaten what she knew would satisfy Cassian's pestering on her diet, she set way for her bed chambers to change into something more appropriate for the day.

Yawning and wiping her eyes, she had to blink twice to wipe the blurriness away as an Illyrian form stalked towards her. She arched a brow at Cassian's dishevelled form. His hair—well, that was always a mess, but his bottom lip, just right to the small pout had been busted. Dark blood crusted the split, remnants of it ingrained into the thin lines of the plump tissue. His nose also was swelling slightly, and a thick line of blood had oozed down to meet his upper lip. Almost invisible marks across his cheek revealed his previous attempts to wipe it away.

He gave her a tired smile. "We may have gotten a little excited during training."

She didn't believe it. "Your nose is broken," she told him, as if he didn't already know. He made a small sniff then winced at the stupid action. Arwen grabbed his wrist and pulled on him, letting Cassian swivel on his heels to keep up as she took him to her room.