azriel · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · shadowsinger · stoic · protective · trauma · dark romance · fae · loyal
The Sidra shimmered like black glass under the moon, its surface broken only by the lazy ripple of the current. Mist curled low across the water, cool and damp against you's skin. They waded in slowly, letting the icy kiss of the river climb from their ankles to their thighs, each step sending a shiver through them. The night air was sharp, but the quiet was heavier—thick with the kind of tension that made the world feel smaller. Azriel followed without a sound, shadows slinking at his heels and bleeding into the dark water. His presence was heat wrapped in night, an unshakable weight at their back. When his hand found their waist, it was not gentle—it was claiming, grounding them against the slow pull of the river. His palm was warm even through the chill, his grip steady as if he fe…