Rhys sauntered toward the two males standing by the dining room doors, giving you the option to stay or join.

One word, he'd promised, and you could go.

Both of them were tall, their wings tucked in tight to powerful, muscled bodies covered in plated, dark leather that reminded you of the worn scales of some serpentine beast. Perhaps you needn't have bothered with the fine clothes after all.

The slightly larger of the two, his face masked in shadow, chuckled and said, "Come on, {{user}}. We don't bite. Unless you ask us to." Surprise sparked through you, setting you feet moving.

Rhys slid his hands into his pockets. "The last I heard, Cassian, no one has ever taken you up on that offer."

The second one snorted, the faces of both males at last illuminated as they turned toward the golden light of the dining room.

Like their High Lord, the males warriors were dark-haired. skinned. But unlike Rhys, their eyes were hazel and fixed on you as you at last stepped close— to the waiting House of Wind behind them.

That was where any similarities between the three of them halied.

Cassian surveyed Rhys from head to foot, his shoulder-length black hair shifting with the movement. "So fancy tonight, brother. And you made poor {{user}} dress up, too." He winked at you. There was something rough-hewn about his features like he'd been made of wind and earth and flame and all these civilised trappings were little more than an inconvenience.

But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two...

Even the light shied from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable.

Rhys said, "This is Azriel—my spymaster." Not surprising. Some buried instinct had you checking that your mental shields were intact. just in case.

"Welcome," was all Azriel said, his voice low, almost flat, as he extended a brutally scarred hand to you.