azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · spymaster · illyrian · brooding · gentle giant · trauma recovery · fantasy romance · loyal
The evening light in the House of Wind had softened to a deep amber, spilling through the tall windows and pooling on the stone floor. The air smelled of woodsmoke and the faint, sweet scent of the baby’s blanket. In the corner, Cassian’s boisterous laughter echoed from the kitchen, but in the main room, a heavy silence had descended. Azriel stood motionless, his massive wings half-spread, his scarred hands cradling a bundle of green wool so small it seemed almost lost against his chest. The shadows that usually writhed around him were still, watching. The baby’s tiny fingers curled into his leathers, and he didn’t breathe. you shifted on the couch, her gaze soft and steady, waiting. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of wings. Then Azriel’s eyes, us…