Chapter 7 - Venom
Chapter 7 – Venom
-Gwyn-
When Gwyn returned to the reception, she was immediately pulled aside by Emerie and Mor.
“Are you alright?” Emerie asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Gwyn nodded, offering a small smile. She had taken a moment in the ladies’ room to cool her flushed skin with a damp cloth and practice some mindstilling techniques. “Of course,” she assured them. “I’m just not used to all the attention.”
“I hope you know we only wanted you to have a good time,” Emerie said, looking sheepish. “Maybe we should’ve made sure you felt comfortable first.”
“No, no, really, Em. Neither you, Mor, nor Nesta did anything wrong.”
“Well, I could throttle Amren for her thoughtless comment,” Mor hissed, her golden eyes flashing. “She had to know this was likely your first formal event, and she still went and belittled your efforts to dress up.”
Gwyn blushed, shaking her head. “It’s fine, really. I’m just feeling a little…sensitive, with all these eyes on me. I feel like I’m being judged.”
“Well, all the eyes are definitely on you,” Emerie teased with a wink. “Speaking of, who was that male you ran into on your way to the ladies’ room?”
“Um, his name is Roderick,” Gwyn replied, her cheeks warming again. “I wasn’t paying attention and walked right into him. He said he remembered seeing me at the ceremony.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Mor said, her tone dripping with mischief. “He was practically drooling.”
“And I’ll admit,” Emerie added, “even though he’s not my type, he is attractive.” Her gaze flicked to Mor, as if gauging her reaction. Mor simply smiled, unbothered.
Of course, Roderick was handsome—Gwyn couldn’t deny that. But he wasn’t Azriel.
Azriel. Her thoughts drifted back to the ceremony, to the moment she had reached out to comfort him. Something had clearly unsettled him, and she had acted on instinct, placing her hand over his. She hadn’t planned to hold his hand, but when he turned his palm up and intertwined their fingers, it had felt so deliberate, so natural. The raised scars on his skin had been a grounding presence, a reminder of his strength and vulnerability.
She knew how guarded he was about his hands—he had told her as much the night he rescued her from Sangravah. Since then, she had made it her quiet mission to ease his discomfort, to show him that his scars didn’t define him, and certainly did not repulse her. They were the hands that had saved her. The thought that she might be the only one he allowed to touch his hands filled her with a quiet pride. And she could tell that he had come a long way in trusting her to touch them.
As they sat together during the ceremony, their fingers entwined, her mind had wandered. She had begun to imagine what it might feel like to touch him elsewhere—to trace the strong lines of his face, to run her fingers over his brows, his nose, his lips. She wanted to feel those lips on hers, to lose herself in the heat of his kiss.
Her thoughts had grown bolder, imagining the feel of his hands on her, the strength of his arms as he held her close. She had seen him shirtless before, knew the sculpted perfection of his torso. Her mind conjured images of her fingers trailing over the ridges of his abdomen, her lips following the path down to the sharp V of his hips. She could almost feel the tautness in his muscles as he moved above her, his body a perfect blend of power and control as he rolled his hips into her.
The fantasy had left her breathless, her heart racing. But now, standing among her friends, she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the conversation at hand.
As they drifted back to the group, the topic shifted easily. Nesta and Cassian had yet to make their appearance.
“Probably wrapped around each other already,” Amren muttered, taking a sip from her goblet.
Now might be a good time for her to bring up something that had been on her mind. Gwyn hesitated, wringing her hands as she turned to Emerie and Mor. “Do you think…” she began, her voice tentative. “Do you think if I moved out of the Library, Rhysand might employ me?”
Emerie’s eyes widened. “Gwyn, are you serious?”
“Yes? I think so?” Gwyn wavered, her uncertainty evident. “I just… I don’t know. Lately, I’ve been feeling trapped, like I want to move on to something bigger. But I’d need to make money to afford an apartment, and, well, I don't know exactly what skills I have that would entice him to employ me—perhaps a scholar to do research for him or a scribe or—”
“Don’t be absurd!” Mor exclaimed.
At first, Gwyn thought the response was in dismay at her suggestion to leave the Library, but the grin spreading across Mor’s face said otherwise. “Rhysand owns more properties in Velaris than anyone could count. He wouldn’t bat an eye at letting you stay in one of his apartments.”
“Oh, I could never take advantage of him like that,” Gwyn protested.
“Take advantage of who?” came the smooth timbre of the High Lord’s voice from behind her.
Before Gwyn could answer, Mor jumped in. “Rhys, you’d let Gwyn live in one of your apartments in Velaris, wouldn’t you?”
Rhysand’s dark brows lifted. “Planning to leave the Library, Gwyn?”
She fumbled for a response. “I…well, I’ve been thinking about it? But I—of course, I’m so grateful for your hospitality at the Library, I just—”
“Gwyn,” Rhys interjected gently, “it’s alright if you’re ready to move on. Many priestesses eventually leave when they feel it’s time.”
She nodded, her fingers twisting together. “I think I am ready. I just…I don’t have the means to set myself up independently.”
“That’s not a problem,” Rhys said firmly. “You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me—not at all.”
“Still,” she insisted, “I want to earn my keep.”
Rhys grinned, glancing around at his Inner Circle. “Well, look at that—a rare gem. Someone who wants to work for a change.” His violet gaze returned to her, softening. “Feyre and I were actually discussing this just the other day. The Valkyries would make a remarkable addition to the Night Court’s armies—specifically in defense of Velaris, though they could be utilized for other duties within our military. What do you think?”
Gwyn’s mouth fell open as Feyre stepped beside her mate, nodding with a bright smile. “You’d be perfect for the role. Protecting the city is something you’ve already proved you’re more than capable of.” Feyre's eyes sparkled then. "And, as Rhys said, there are other things that the Valkyries could help with that would be of great benefit to the Night Court."
“As the original Valkyries, you, Nesta, and Emerie would hold senior positions, with compensation to reflect that,” Rhys added with a small smile.
Emerie gasped, while Gwyn blinked, her thoughts scrambling. “That would solve…quite a bit,” she admitted at last. “Especially figuring out how to afford to live on my own.”
“What?!” came a sharp exclamation.
Nesta approached swiftly, Cassian trailing leisurely behind her, his hands shoved in his pockets and eyes on his mate’s backside ahead of him. “You’re moving out of the Library?”
Gods, this day was too overwhelming, and it wasn’t even hers. “I think so, yes,” Gwyn said cautiously.
Nesta let out an excited squeal before throwing her arms around Gwyn. But she pulled back abruptly, narrowing her eyes. “What do you mean, ‘afford to live on your own’?”
Rhysand intervened smoothly. “We can discuss this later.” He cast Gwyn a knowing look, clearly sensing her exhaustion at being in the spotlight far too much for one day.
Nesta’s nostrils flared, but Rhys grinned wickedly, sketching a teasing bow. “Nesta, it’s wonderful to officially welcome you into the family.”
Her gaze sharpened, full of wry amusement. “I’ve always been a part of this family, High Lord.”
Rhys rolled his eyes and pressed a quick kiss to Feyre’s cheek. “I think I need a drink. Cassian?”
Cassian kissed Nesta lightly behind her ear, murmuring something quietly to her that made her blush furiously and bite her bottom lip. She reached her hand up to cradle the side of his face before she too whispered back something that made him let loose a groan.
“Ugh, please,” Mor lamented. “I need a drink too. Em?”
“I’m good for now,” Emerie replied, smiling warmly.
Cassian laughed, brushing Nesta’s lips with a kiss. “Don’t miss me too much.”
Mor leaned in and kissed Emerie’s cheek—a fleeting gesture, but one that spoke volumes. Without further ceremony, she sauntered off toward the bar with Rhys and Cassian, her stiletto heels striking the ground with enviable grace.
Feyre began to excuse herself. “I’m going to check on Elain. Nyx will probably be awake and hungry.” But before she could leave, Amren intercepted her, engaging her in a hushed conversation.
Nesta turned to Gwyn, practically vibrating with glee. “I saw you and Az holding hands! I knew this dress would leave an impression on him.”
Gwyn flushed, lowering her gaze. “This dress has left an impression on everyone except Azriel.”
“Wait, what?” Emerie interjected, frowning. “Why do you say that?”
Gwyn sighed. “I felt confident when I approached him earlier, really strutting my stuff, you know? Mor even gave me tips on how to walk—it actually worked!”
“Mor does have an incredible walk,” Emerie said dreamily.
Gwyn exchanged a knowing smile with Nesta before continuing. “But when I reached him, he froze. And then he said…I looked nice.”
“Nice?” Nesta echoed, her expression darkening.
Gwyn nodded miserably.
“Exactly what did he say?” Emerie pressed.
“‘Gwyn, you look nice.’ That’s what he said,” Gwyn muttered.
Emerie’s jaw dropped as she turned to Nesta. “Wow. I knew he wasn’t exactly verbose, but I expected better than that.”
Nesta folded her arms. “Azriel isn’t one for grand speeches, but Gwyn, you look fan-fucking-tastic. Don’t let his word choice discourage you.”
“Well, the handholding wasn’t about the dress,” Gwyn admitted. “Something seemed to upset him, and I just…reacted. I meant to ask if he was alright, but he turned his hand over and held mine.”
Nesta’s eyes gleamed, a feral smile spreading across her face. “Oh, really?”
Gwyn rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t like that. I think he was just…emotional watching the ceremony. It was nothing.”
“I haven’t known Azriel long,” Nesta mused. “But I do know he doesn’t get emotional over affection displays.”
Emerie nodded in agreement.
Music swelled as couples began to drift toward the dance floor. Rhys, Cassian, and Mor stood near the bar, their laughter carrying across the lawn. Gwyn’s eyes swept over the yard, hoping to spot the handsome Illyrian in question.
Gwyn hadn’t seen Azriel since the ceremony. A strange unease twisted in her gut—but it didn’t feel like her own. Still, it a feeling she couldn’t shake.
“Are you alright?” Emerie asked, watching her closely.
“It’s just my stomach,” Gwyn lied. “Maybe something I ate.”
In truth, she hadn’t eaten all day, but she didn’t want to worry them. Excusing herself, she walked quickly out of sight, heading toward the garden instead of the ladies’ room. Something drew her there, a pull she couldn’t explain.
-Azriel-
“Why does it matter, Elain?” Azriel’s voice was calm, but the edge in his tone betrayed his frustration. “You gave it back.”
“I gave it back because I was hurt when you said I was a mistake,” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “Imagine how much more it hurt to see it around her neck in the Library the other day.”
He had known this moment would come. He hadn’t expected it so soon, but it was inevitable. Elain was bound to notice Gwyn wearing the necklace. What he hadn’t anticipated was the confrontation that followed. He had underestimated her.
A sudden thought struck him, a pang of unease twisting in his gut. “Did you tell her I gave it to you first?”
Elain let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, Azriel. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what you did.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Elain. Truly, I didn’t.” His voice softened, but the sincerity in his words only seemed to fuel her anger.
She sneered, her expression sharp and cutting. “Tell me, Azriel, what is it about Gwyn that draws you in? I always thought you appreciated quiet, simple elegance. Not some flamboyant tramp who flaunts herself in front of every male here. For Gods’ sake, Az, she looks like she belongs in a pleasure house.”
That was it. Even his shadows, which usually flinched away from Elain, rose from his shoulders like coiled vipers, their agitation mirroring his own. His wings flared as he snapped, “That’s enough, Elain! You don’t know the first thing about her!”
Elain scoffed, undeterred. “I know she dresses very differently at the Library. I wonder what the other priestesses would think of this…this…” She gestured vaguely, struggling for words. “This spectacle she’s making of herself at the mating ceremony of the High Lady’s sister!”
A low growl rumbled in his chest, his hazel eyes blazing. “She’s not a fucking spectacle, Elain, and you’re way out of line.”
Elain rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with disdain. “Oh, come on, Azriel. She’s clearly trying too hard. It’s obvious she’s attempting to upstage Nesta on her special day, parading around in that dress.”
“I happen to think she looks lovely.”
The deep, masculine voice came from behind them, smooth and unyielding. Elain whirled around, clutching Nyx closer to her chest, her expression a mix of shock and indignation.
But the gasp that followed didn’t come from Elain.
It came from Gwyn.
And standing behind her was none other than Lucien Vanserra.