I push off the pillar and take a single step forward toward her, a reminder that the wraith didn’t chase me off.
Azyric’s gaze narrows on me, his posture stiffening as it rakes across my face. I meet it with a slow, deliberate smile that’s wholly unthreatening and unbothered.
Yet it is an acknowledgment.
Let him stew in his uncertainty.
Let him burn in his jealousy.
Because for all the shadows he cloaks her in, she still lookedfor me.
Torryn stands rigid at my side, but the tension radiates from him like heat. His gaze flicks between Wren and Azyric, calculation in every shift.
I watch the thoughts churn in his mind and flash across his face in the most minute ways. A pinch to his brow. The slight turning down of his lips. The tightening at his jaw line.
He’s finally seeing that he isn’t even in the running.
I revert my focus to her with a satisfied smirk tugging at my mouth. She’s closer now, and I drink in the details.
The pale column of her throat as she pulls the hood of her cloak down. The way her lips part slightly when her gaze catches on the structure behind us.
Immediately, my eyes flicker across the border of the clearing, looking for the damned fae who thinks he can win her over with a display of his underlings’talent. A Winter fae like him could never accomplish this structure.
I can’t detect another being within the vicinity, but it’s not a surprise. The bastard’s late, as always.
She doesn’t stop until she reaches the threshold of our new structure and Azyric plants himself like a wall between Wren and the rest of us.
Predictable. Possessive. Pathetic.
But Wren doesn’t stay behind him. She moves beside him instead, spine straight, eyes scanning the new space like she’s been trained to assess for threats.
She isn’t here to be protected…she’s here towitness.
I wonder if Azyric’s noticed that about her…better yet, I wonder ifshehas.
The vines wrapped around the stones shiver, as if greeting their king before he appears.
A soft shimmer of glamour peels away like fog dissipating as he steps from the forest’s edge.
White-blond hair swept back in a perfect wave. Tunic undone just enough to frame a chest I have no doubt he thinks is impressive but isn’t. He may be the tallest of us all, but he possesses the least amount of muscle and physical strength. Reliant upon his magic for his battle prowess.
Every step as he approaches feels choreographed. Every smile rehearsed.
When his eyes find Wren, they soften slightly.Just enough to make me want to claw those bright blue orbs from his skull.
As he reaches us, he bows low, polished and precise, to Wren.
“Little echo,” he purrs, the name curling through the quiet clearing.
“It’s Wren,” she murmurs, though the defiance is dulled now.
He continues without acknowledging her words. “I’m shocked your beauty could be enhanced, yet here we are.”
“What a strange way of telling her she was dirty yesterday,” I mutter before my lip curls.
Torryn’s hand lifts to smother a chuckle, garnering Wren’s focus, and to my dismay, she…smiles at him.
I want to dwell in this moment. To dissect every facet of it to understand where her emotions lie in regards to him, yet Azyric breaks my concentration.
