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Eris was halfway through the bottle by the time Azriel entered the room.
He shouldn’t have been there anyway, he knew that (Eris that is; in the Night Court Azriel apparently felt free to barge into Eris’ room whenever he felt like it) - his meeting with Feyre and Rhysand Archeron wasn’t until later the next day. Eris wasn’t supposed to show up until then. But after what happened at Autumn that morning… Eris arrived in Night early evening.
He fucked up. Standing in Beron’s office, giving him a report and carefully wording suggestions - he pushed Beron too far, too hard. Normally, Eris would have been smarter, much smarter than that, but he must have been off his game because he didn’t realize his blunder until Beron was already rising to his feet, fire crackling along with irritation in his narrowed eyes.
The whipping was over quickly. Beron graciously allowed him to get his back treated - well, he didn’t expressly forbid it - so Eris was fully healed and recovered by afternoon.
But, he didn’t know what it was: Beron’s wrath, stress and fatigue, the fear that Beron might return to reinforce his lesson… Eris just needed to be out of Autumn. Anway he was due for a potential assassin soon, likely from Beron, as it had been a solid amount of time since the last attempt. And Eris really did not feel up to dealing with that threat at the moment.
It’s not like Eris had anywhere else to go.
(Eris tucked that bitter sentiment away next to the resentful feeling behind his sternum that grew every time he had the privilege of observing how close and intimate the “Inner Circle” members were with each other).
Speaking of.
He had expected the shadowsinger to show up at some point in response to Eris’ early and unexpected appearance… he just wished Azriel would have waited until morning to start his interrogation.
“Why are you here.” Straight to the point, as always.
Eris scowled. “Good evening to you too, shadowsinger.”
“Answer the question.”
“Maybe I missed your charming presence.”
“That was facile.”
Well. Eris was off his game today. He looked up from his whiskey to glare at Azriel, jaw clenching. Maybe he just didn’t feel like engaging in a snarky back and forth with him.
Azriel’s lip curled. “What happened to all that wit you’re so proud of? You may be despicable but at least the bite of your bark is interesting.” A pause. “I must say, I expected more from you, lordling.”
On any other day, Eris might have risen to the bait, snapped back at that.
Today he just sneered.
“What’s going on,” Azriel pressed. “There’s something you’re not telling m- telling us. What are you hiding?”
Wasn’t Azriel supposed to be this brooding, dark, silent spymaster? Why the hell was he so damn talkative around Eris?
“Something about Beron? The alliance-”
“I don’t know what’s wrong, okay?” Eris finally snapped. He searched for the energy to… do something. Anything other than this resigned contempt. “I’m just… really tired.”
This response gave Azriel pause. “And you came… here for a break. Of all places.”
He didn’t say what they were both thinking. Eris didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Eris closed his eyes. The shadowsinger could have been moving around - Eris wouldn’t know, Azriel’s movements were completely silent.
Maybe Eris would open his eyes to Truthteller a hair’s breadth from his jugular.
(Sometimes Eris wondered about it. He knew Azriel wanted to slit his throat, and had told him as much, but the details of such a scenario had not yet been illuminated to him. Eris laid awake at night sometimes, thinking about the shadowsinger pressing the cool steel of that legendary blade against his skin with expert precision. He would do it slow and sensual, Eris thought. Keeping eye contact with him the entire time.)
He opened his eyes to see Azriel closer to him, staring with an unreadable expression. Eris’ eyes flicked to Truthteller, the dagger still resting at Azriel’s side and not in his scarred hands. And also, not at Eris’ throat.
After a long moment of holding his gaze, Azriel took the bottle of amber liquid and poured himself the glass Eris had foregone in favor of taking swigs directly from the bottle.
Eris reached for it again, and took another drink.
Azriel exhaled in what might have been a weary sigh, taking a seat and leaning back. He said nothing more to Eris. Eris recognized the… Exhaustion. The shadowsinger hid it well - or Eris was too tired to notice it himself. He wondered just how much Azriel was doing for his High Lord and Lady.
They sat there in silence without acknowledging each other’s presence, and finished the bottle some time later. Neither of them made a move to leave, or to get a new one. Azriel stared at his glass, Eris blankly into space.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Azriel jumped to attention, shadows suddenly alert. They passed by, fading away, but Azriel remained standing. He looked around and blinked, as if forgetting what he was doing here in the first place. He shook his head and strode to the door, not even sparing Eris a glance over his shoulder. But he paused in the doorframe, for one beat, two.
“Get some sleep, lordling.” And then he closed the door behind him.