Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants.

Feyre felt, more than saw, her sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed.

But she strode to her seat-nestled between Amren and Mor In time to see Reverie say to Azriel: "Hello."

Az said nothing.

No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me.

But Azriel only took Reverie's heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said: "Sit. I'll take care of it."

Reverie's hands remained in midair, as if the ghost of the dish remained between them. With a blink, she lowered them, and noticed her apron. "I-I'll be right back"