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Eris had maintained a number of lies for centuries. He was cunning, sly, and calculated - and cruel, when needed. He’d deceived entire courts… including his own.
He knew how to keep a secret.
So why the hell was keeping this one so damn difficult?
-
Eris dropped into the House of the Wind, his landing graceful from experience and practice. He turned around, and-
“Eris?”
Cauldron fuck and fry him.
“Cassian,” Eris responded, arching a brow, the picture of indifference. Internally, he was panicking.
“What are you doing here?” Cassian’s tone, while not outright suspicious, was bordering on it. Mostly he was confused - Eris didn’t have any meetings with Night Court members scheduled.
At least, not that Cassian knew of.
Think fast.
Eris twisted his face into a sneer, while conjuring up a tightly rolled piece of parchment. He held it up and nearly waved it in the general’s face. “I have something your little spymaster would be very interested in.”
Cassian’s face was unreadable. He reached his hand out. “I can let him know what it says.”
He hoped not, because it was blank.
Eris pulled back the empty message. “This doesn’t concern you, general. Don’t you have better things to do then play messenger boy?” Please, please have better things to do.
Eris was just readying a jab about him seemingly lacking anything important to do when Cassian crossed his arms and sighed. A good general knew when to pick his battles, and the Mother thankfully must have been watching over Eris for once in his miserable life because this didn’t seem to be one Cassian wanted to pick. He raised his hands in exasperation. “Do what you want.”
Eris sniffed and turned his chin up. He barely restrained himself from breaking out into a sprint towards Azriel’s room.
-
“By the way, what did Eris want with you?”
Azriel looked up from his breakfast. He blinked. “What?”
“Earlier,” Cassian continued. “He was looking for you - something about delivering a message, I think.”
Azriel remembered his shadows reporting on the encounter.
He hadn’t considered that Cassian would ask about it.
“Right, that message,” Azriel swallowed. “Just an update on Autumn internal politics.”
Cassian nodded in understanding, satisfied with Azriel’s answer. Thankfully, the spymaster’s long and extensive history of collecting information, whether relevant to Night or not, worked in his favor here.
-
Meeting at the townhouse was… risky. At least, riskier than any of their other locations.
Instead of one of Eris’ secret safehouses in Autumn, a snowy cabin in the mountains, or one of the secluded palaces of Night, the townhouse was right in the middle of a busy city. But Azriel couldn’t get out of Velaris that week, meanwhile, Eris for once had more flexibility. And Azriel had assured Eris that there wouldn’t be any residents in the townhouse for the whole weekend.
“What do you want.”
Eris was going to kill Azriel.
“Morrigan,” he greeted cooly. “No need to call for your winged security” - though he was sure Morrigan was more than capable of getting him off the premises herself - “I was just leaving.” Actually, he had just entered, but Eris was nothing if not good at improvising.
And lying.
She narrowed her eyes, and stepped into the foyer and away from the frosted glass of the entrance. Eris quickly brushed past her out into Velaris. He heard the door swing shut rather harshly behind him.
He touched the shadows curling around his shoulders, that had just hid from the Night Court’s Third. “The cabin, then.”
The shadows dutifully darting away, back to their master, was their only confirmation.
-
Azriel made his bed after Eris left, before Feyre arrived to walk him to dinner.
He fucking made his bed.
And yet.
“Good ev- Azriel, your bed is a mess.”
Curse his well known tendency to be meticulously neat.
“Yes,” Azriel answered, stalling for time. “I…”
Feyre, ever the nosy busybody, and jumping at any opportunity to play matchmaker, took on a look in her eye. “Azriel,” she grinned slyly. “Did you have someone ov-”
He swiftly cut her off. “I took a nap.” Fitfully, apparently. With lots of rolling around. And… flailing.
Azriel coughed.
Feyre instantly brightened at the lie. “Oh, wonderful. You’ve been so tired recently, I hope Rhys and I haven’t been…”
As they walked away, arms linked, Azriel risked a glance back at the door and narrowed his eyes at it.
Except that wasn’t all.
Eris’ discarded clothes would go missing, mere hours after he shed it, and Azriel would be forced to offer him one of his own lest he go out into the halls of the House shirtless. It would be too big on him - but they tied and tucked and bunched up the fabric so if he walked quickly enough, no one who ran into him would notice it much. Azriel would wake and the discrete bottle of oil he kept in his nightstand drawer would be sitting on top of it. Books about… suggestive topics would suddenly appear on a table when Azriel turned around. He didn’t even know that many books about pale, lean, red headed princes and “brooding” (the book's description, not Azriel’s), winged warriors existed. And Azriel was pretty sure doors would close the minute Eris was alone in a room with him.
Just why a sentient piece of architecture decided to dote on Eris - as evidenced by the appearance of books and gifts, including a bouquet roughly the size of Eris’ torso, for the heir - and torture Azriel, he did not know.
But he really, really hated it.
-
The guard that appeared at Eris’ door was one that served Beron. If Eris hadn’t already memorized who in the court he hadn’t yet turned to his side, the guard’s loyalties would have been given away by the fact that he entered Eris’ room silently, not bothering to ask permission or knock.
His presence meant only one thing.
Eris followed the guard to the throne room, where Beron awaited him.
“My lord,” Eris greeted, dropping to a bow. “You wanted to see me?”
From the bow, he showed respect. Now, he stood up straight, chin lifted.
Keep your head held high. Never let him see you break.
“My dear son,” Beron smiled, but it was cold, cruel. “To my knowledge, you’ve taken no lover recently.”
Everything was crafted to keep up appearances. Occasionally, Eris arranged to be seen meeting with some noble lady or the other. He’d invite them over for tea, be spotted passing by a residence of theirs, the like. Just enough so Beron’s spies would report on it without giving away that Eris was purposefully giving himself away. It served two purposes; one, keeping Beron from being suspicious to look for Eris’ actual lovers, the few that he’d ever taken, and two, convincing Beron to underestimate Eris’ abilities.
After all, Eris couldn’t possibly hide him conspiring against his High Lord, his own father, if he couldn’t even keep his own private affairs a secret.
He hadn’t arranged anything like that since, before Amarantha… and after then, Eris supposed he’d been busy with Azriel. Oh, and overthrowing the High Lord before him.
Beron, thankfully, had given up on the idea of marriage. Maybe he’d been dissuaded by the disaster of the last time he tried. Or perhaps, more likely, he feared that if Eris had an heir of his own, it would embolden him to take the throne.
Eris considered for a moment, deciding how to approach this. He didn’t know what Beron knew, so the best course of action was to wait for Beron to tell him. Beron did not disappoint.
“Tell me, then, why you’ve been spotted leaving frequently, presumably on personal business.”
Beron wasn’t too clever, Eris had learned. He had a habit of triumphantly thrusting his cards forward all at once. He never held information back, especially when he was trying to make a point. Even if withholding it could lead the other to revealing more. So. Beron didn’t know anything damning.
Eris set about carefully spinning his tale. A bit of truth, a bit of lies. Mostly lies. A few lies he wanted Beron to catch as lies, so as to not raise too much suspicion.
A lady not part of the upper court, Eris decided. Low enough in social status enough to merit Eris’ sneaking around. Highborn enough that Beron wouldn’t force Eris to execute her as a lesson.
Beron, at least, seemed satisfied with it.
Eris almost naively hoped that was that, but the ash tipped whip had already appeared in Beron’s hands. “I’m sure you understand what happens next by now.”
Eris complied, shedding his shirt, as always. But he kept his head held high. As always.
-
The position Nesta caught them in was, compromising, to say the least.
And though Azriel had locked the door to this specific training room, he should have known by now that the House of Wind took great pleasure in his suffering.
Which led them to here. Nesta, gaping at Azriel pinning Eris to the floor, one scarred hand holding both of Eris’ above his head and the other braced on the floor, one of Eris’ knees slightly bent so his leg wasn’t quite curled around Azriel’s waist.
Nesta didn’t say anything, but the sentiment was clear: what the fuck.
Before Azriel could even attempt to start explaining-
“Sparring,” Eris deadpanned from underneath Azriel, his face completely neutral.
Nesta stared at them incredulously, shook her head, and walked away.
-
“Should I be worried that my spymaster is so horrible at keeping a secret?”
Azriel stiffened. Rhys was still staring at the papers on his desk, but it was clear he wasn’t paying any attention to them at all. He looked up, meeting Azriel’s eyes, and though Azriel desperately wanted to look away, he held Rhys’ gaze.
“Then again,” he continued. “I’ve always known you well, brother.”
Azriel exhaled a sigh, moving to sit in front of the desk. Rhys pushed a glass of the brandy he was already drinking across the table, and Azriel took it, but didn’t yet drink..
“Are you going to ask me to stop,” Azriel said softly.
Don’t. Please.
Because if it came down to choosing between his court, his duty, his family, and Eris… Azriel didn’t think he’d be able to survive that choice.
Rhysand didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “This whole… this arrangement you have with him. It’s…” He stood, moved in front of Azriel and leaned against the edge of the desk, crystal glass balanced in his hand. “Don’t get caught. Not until we can figure out this whole situation with Beron. For your sake… and his.”
Azriel nodded. They both knew about Beron and his treatment towards Eris by now.
The clink of Rhys’ glass against Azriel’s untouched one cut through the tension. Rhys broke into a smirk, mood instantly lightening. “Well, we may approve of him as an ally. But don’t think you’re going to get away without forcing him to dinner with at least me and Feyre.”
Azriel gave a small smile, finally sipping from the glass and feeling the warm burn of the alcohol slide down his throat. “Well, she’s made too many jokes about you two being the parents of the group.”
Rhys shrugged, knocked back the rest of the glass. “Well. Better let her know, because this family seems to be growing oddly fast.”
He left Azriel with that, left Azriel to hold his breath at the hope that grew in his chest at those words.