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He fell into the water and scrubbed every inch of his skin. No one could know. No one could know! It was a mistake to give in to his incessant desires. They wouldn't understand. Hel, he didn't even understand. The scent penetrated his entire soul, his entire being. No amount of scouring or fragrant oils could rid his skin of the essence of his mate. Briefly, he wondered if he really wanted that; to rid himself of this scent.
Resigned to his fate, he flopped into the soapy water, embers sizzling listlessly atop the eddies of his bath. Nothing could cleanse his mate from his skin. They were one, tied together by more than just their scent. It was, at the very least, a fact of their physical being. His beloved's scent now leaked from his own pores. His entire soul cried out for him. There was no masking that essence. He was ruined, in the eyes of the Autumn Court, by the will of the Mother. Nothing could return him to the Heir that he once was. His entire existence would always be tied to his Night Court destiny.
The pull of his mate was something his extensive training had not prepared him for. Weeks of torture were nothing. He could fight battles and lead troops with his eyes closed. His courtly prowess was second nature - perhaps it was his inherent nature itself. He only knew how to live his life as Eris: Autumn Court Heir, General, the Vanserra Big Brother. He was sly. He was cruel. He was a viper. This, he could understand.
All that he had learned throughout his entire life was to be the sharp tool that the Autumn Court had needed him to be. All other desires were alien to him. He did not know how to handle the delicacy that he'd received from the Night Court spymaster. He did not know how to address these feelings. The pleasure and the want it brought him meant nothing to his life as Autumn's capstone.
Throughout nearly his entire lifetime, he had convinced himself that he would not fall to the desirous pull of his mating bond. He knew better than to relinquish that power to one who was not of his Court. His self preservation and courtly loyalty had been hammered into him over all other desires of the heart. Despite the inexorable gravity of his attraction to his mate, he fell upon his training to present the stoic mask that he had always fought to display. He was to be terrifying. He was to be feared. He was to be the end of all ends. He was Beron's teeth.
He'd had many, many lovers, who'd held him close and told him he wasn't that monster. He'd reciprocated their affections, wringing out their pleasures, until he believed their lies as well.
That was Eris's life, until just hours ago.
The softness and the pleasure he had just succumbed to was not something within his wheelhouse to endure. Azriel had brought out something within him that should never see the light of day. Enemies might discover his propensity for gentle care. Beron would find the gap in his armour and beat and burn him until those gaps were welded over. It would uncover the only weakness of his that could be exploited. Eris was weak.
Skin scrubbed pink and raw, he finally collapsed into his sheets and was dead to the world, falling into a fitful, anxious slumber. If his only way to escape this turmoil was unconsciousness, then he would embrace it wholeheartedly. Real life was too much to deal with. Real life was supposed to be antisemtimintal. Real life was his position, his duty. To be a vapid, trusting being was suicide. To be independent of these feelings was a survival skill. The spymaster he yearned for was fettered at the mercy of his overbearing brother. As much as he feared his own ruin, he was near panicking for the effect this might have on his mate's safety.
To be Azriel's mate was sure to be a target that others would use to manipulate the shadowsinger. Whether the Night Court spymaster acknowledged their bond or not, Eris was a weakness for the him. He would never, ever, in his life, expose his darling as the lover of this Achilles heel who could be used to exploit him. He would not be his weak point. He would not be the bait.
Fitfully, he tossed and turned throughout the morning hours until daybreak finally permitted him to leave his bed. He found himself in the training ring as sun broke over the horizon, beating his fists raw and bloody against endless training targets. The morning light glistened against his bare chest, chafing against skin that would have crawled even under the touch of cloth. After the touch it had welcomed just hours before in his dreams and in his memory, any contact felt repulsive.
His brother was approaching as if he was afraid to face his Court's Heir. As he steeled himself for an uncomfortable conversation, Eris made some poor excuse and disappeared into his private chambers, relieving Callum of his brotherly duty. Strewing his fighting finery across the floor, Eris found himself back by the tub, already brimming with bubbles and scented oils.
He slid his naked body under the suds. His hand crept under the frothy water. Nothing felt enough but he tried. He fisted his cock, mimicking the sweet feeling of his mate's hand as he pumped it up and down. His head fell back against the lip of the tub, eyes closing as he focused on the sensations taking over his fatigued body. Nothing compared. No-one compared. He released his mind into the sweet pull of his mate's visage. His soft mouth and scarred hands and his sweet, sweet ring of flesh were nothing like his own elegant, ringed fingers. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
A letter sealed with the Night Court stamp landed upon the suds, snapping him from his ennui.
River House war room. One hour.
Then the letter disintegrated to ash.
Presumptuous brute.
Eris willed away his arousal with difficulty, as he had done many times before. This state was unacceptable for a soldier of his station, and he fought to retain the respect of his rank. He redressed mechanically, mind far from the present and attempting to unravel last night's infernal foray into temptation. The persistent vigilance of his cock was a sign that he had lost his tether. No matter how much his mind reigned it in, he could not control the threat of his erection at the thought of that fucking shadowy spymaster.
He was lead into the study by one of the half-wraith twins after he winnowed to Velaris. Settling into the most luxurious of the mismatched chairs, he slid on his mask of cool indifference and awaited the arrival of the Night Court Inner Circle.
Keen eyes assessed the next arrival, his mate's brother, his High Lord, his ruler. Azriel was beholden to this vicious Fae. It left little room for Eris, not that he wanted to fit himself into those little gaps. He was better than that. He was a prince, godsdammit.
As the morning lightened, the Court of Dreams filed into the room. After Rhys, whose eyes were glazed as he mind-spoke with someone, probably Feyre, came Lucien. Silkily offering the High Lord a curt bow, he settled into an uncompromising, hard-backed chair with a smirk. He offered his brother a shallow nod of acknowledgement, which Eris returned stiffly. Amren stalked in, her tiny frame at odds with her overbearing presence. Cassian and Nesta broke through the stiffness in the room as Nesta shot a scathing quip at the exiled son of Autumn and he volleyed one back. Cassian burst into laughter.
Eris Vanserra couldn't remember the words that were said, for at that moment, Feyre arrived. On the arms of Azriel.
His heart stopped. His breath stilled. He mentally grasped at his flames, but for some reason, they melted off him. He had never felt more exposed in his life. Every raw end of his heartstrings were dipped in fire as the meeting began. He wanted to sing out his desire. He needed to say that he wanted his Angel of Death. The Dreamers needed to realise where his loyalties had now shifted.
"Now that we're all here..."
His consciousness couldn't take any more.
Eris's focus faded to black.
~
The air was cool. The room was dark. As Eris stirred, Azriel immediately set down his report for Rhysand, that he had abruptly abandoned as his mate crumpled to the floor of Rhysand's study. He loped over to the modest four-poster, and sank onto the edge of the mattress. His mate had not moved at all. However, the hazy, golden feeling that Azriel had nurtured in his chest for centuries seemed to sparkle, and he could not help but rest his hand upon Eris's clammy, naked skin, in search of the distant end of their glittering tether.
Eris turned his nose into the crook of Azriel's elbow. Heaving an indulgent breath, he opened his eyes and captured his mate's gentle gaze with his accusatory one.
"You smell like me."
"Of course I do, after everything we did last night," scoffed Azriel, worry dissipating.
Eris hauled himself onto an elbow, and brought his nose to his mate's skin. Azriel did not miss Eris's searching breaths as the point of his regal nose roamed his skin. "I thought... I thought you would have washed it off."
"I see you have," snapped Azriel. He wasn't hurt. His voice did not sound betrayed. Eris had been smart to have done what he'd done. "Twice."
"Aren't you... do you want people to find out?"
Azriel crawled under the covers and pressed his mate into the linens. He brought his face close to Eris's and inhaled a deep, hungry breath. Essences of Eris's life floated around them both, teasing the shadowsinger with tidbits of the future High Lord's life.
He sleeps in cotton pants.
He drinks his tea with sugar.
He hunts with his hounds when he doesn't want to be found.
He searches for you in every darkness.
Azriel could not stand another secret seeping from those infernal shadows without divulging some of his own. It was now or nothing, and he would die if it were nothing.
"I'm tired of hiding. This is a thing. It's always been a thing. You are my thing. I won't hide it any more and damn the consequences. The world has been boring since we upended Koschei and I'm keen to be the new drama. Kill Beron with me and we can finally be together, out in the open. No more secrets. The Mother has chosen you as my fate. Give me my reward."
Eris struggled against the arms imprisoning his own. His heart was not in it. He wanted to know what could happen if he failed to resist, if he were to succumb to the enemies of the guards to his heart. Would he find his happiness? Would his mate finally be his?
Azriel surged his soul forward through his mind to secure his mate. Spearing his lover's eyes with his own, he captured every floating thought as if they were the dragonflies that were dancing their courtship over the garden pond.
Everything he felt he tried to communicate through his gaze, voice unable to enunciate the importance of this moment to the one person in his existence who mattered most. Caressing the golden twine flowing from his heart, he opened the bond wide and pushed his burgeoning reality into his mate's own.
Eris's eyes widened and then rolled back as love, devotion, desire, need, and possession filled his chest, spreading to the very tips of his extremities. They vibrated down the golden thread and he was overcome with feeling protected and cherished.
He dragged himself back into the present, to be with Azriel, to be with his mate. Laying a hand over the shadowsinger's heart, he threw away all his misgivings and finally came to a decision.
"It's time we killed Beron Vanserra."