𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 113

Chapter 113

Arwen found Feyre in her painting studio. She hadn't been intending on finding the High Lady but it had been a welcomed surprise. Arwen sat on the studio floor, tongue in cheek as she painted something that began to resemble a mountain.

Feyre, on her stool and palette hooked over her thumb, said, "You look incredibly uncomfortable there. There are plenty of seats and easels for you."

"I prefer having it laying down," Arwen said. "I'm used to having a drawing pad in my lap so my hand isn't trained for doing things upright." Painting wasn't something she usually took up, the flecks of it drying on her arms irritating already, but she hadn't wanted to return to the town house yet. She hadn't returned to it at all since coming back to Velaris hours ago. Sighing as she washed off her brush, she added, "Though I think my neck would appreciate the change."

Feyre laughed, focusing on her own thin line of white as she detailed clouds of a storming beach. "I've painted on all types of surfaces. Having an easel is a luxury that I don't take for granted."

Arwen wiped the brush dry on the dirty apron laid over her thigh. "Ah, so this is just another way to tell me I'm spoilt." She chuckled as Feyre's head snapped around with a regretful expression. "Where do you think I got the nickname princess from? I've had a spoilt upbringing, I'm very well aware. Cassian never lets me forget it." His name left a sour taste on her tongue. 

"Spoilt in material things, I'm sure," Feyre said quietly. "But I do not, and you should not, forget your own hardships. I would hardly consider your life luxurious."

"I have not only one house to live under, but a choice. I have food brought to me by well-paid servants. A bed that I could sleep in all day and the pillows would not flatten." Arwen mixed blue with a drop of red and white, creating a soft lavender. "Most importantly, I have people to turn to. I speak one worry and it is dealt with. I had a mother who loved my dearly and a brother that has given up many things for me. So I am spoilt with things, yes, but I also have the luxury of my family. I think you would say the same, Feyre. You have had hardships, but this life you live now is—"

"A luxury." Feyre nodded and smiled.

Arwen used the lavender to stipple on flowers across the bushes at the base of the mountain.

Mor turned up not an hour later, waving her hand off at the suggestion of joining and instead produced a bottle of wine. Arwen was quick to raise her hand and lay her claim on a glass. The paintings were forgotten about, left to dry and their paintbrushes to sit on the palettes. Mor grumbled when the ends of her dress got caught in the mess of Arwen's floor painting but the little stains were quickly forgotten about when Feyre flicked a splatter of blue across the bodice of the crimson chiffon. Mor laughed in disbelief but turned the situation on its head, declaring that she would set a new trend within the city.

Arwen couldn't deal with the paint on her any longer and left them be to wash off at the large sinks. When her arms were as clean as they were going to get for the time being, she looked up and met her reflection. A dash of that blue had stuck her cheek, deep and azure like the heart of an ocean. Her heart ached in longing.

Dusting her hands dry, she returned to Mor and Feyre. "I think I'm going to head home. I'm not sure where Nuala and Cerridwen are and I might be making myself dinner." Which meant that Azriel would have to source his own food. If he was even at the town house. 

"Would you like us to walk you home?" Mor inquired, lounging along the paint-covered floor, a new glass in hand. Arwen shook her head and wished the farewell, thanking Feyre for letting her use the studio. Arwen could use it at any time, she was told in response.