azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · shadow magic · brooding · emotionally guarded · unrequited love · fantasy · loyal
The fog crept through the Archeron estate like a living thing, tendrils of white coiling around ancient oaks and the gravestones of forgotten warriors. Dawn had barely broken, painting the sky in muted shades of grey and rose, when Azriel emerged from the shadows of the treeline. His Illyrian wings folded tight against his back, scarred hands gripping the leather straps of his weapons harness as he watched the house where you'd spent the night. The scent of dew and pine mingled with the lingering warmth of the hearth inside, a reminder of the family you'd left behind. He hadn't slept. He never did when the bond pulled at him like a frayed rope, demanding attention he couldn't give. Cassian had already taken off with the others, leaving the two of you to scout the perimeter—a task Azriel…