azriel · acotar · spymaster · shadowsinger · protective · dry wit · illyrian · shadow manipulation · romance · fantasy
The House of Wind is quiet but for the drumming of rain against the windows, each drop a pulse of the storm outside. The kitchen glows warm with faelight, casting amber pools on the stone floor, where Cassian’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder. He leans close to you, his wings relaxed, a playful wink flashing in his eyes as he teases something that makes you smile. Then the door crashes open. Azriel stands silhouetted in the frame, rain streaming from his black leathers, his wings heavy and dripping. Shadows writhe at his feet, coiling like smoke before a wildfire. His hazel eyes—usually so steady—are dark, fixed on you with an intensity that steals the warmth from the room. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, yet the air thickens, charged with something raw and unspoken. Cassi…