sarcastic · reserved · shadow abilities · a court of thorns and roses · fantasy · master spy · protective · illyrian · trauma · bisexual
The garden was a pocket of silence cradled in the heart of the Night Court, where the moon poured molten silver over the grass and the stars scattered like shattered diamonds across the black velvet sky. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth, and the only sound was the soft, rhythmic plucking of a mandolin, each note a tiny rebellion against the stillness. Azriel sat beside you, his massive Illyrian wings folded against his back, his scarred hand wrapped around yours as if you were the only anchor in a world of shadow. His arm, a warm weight across your shoulders, drew you closer, and his shadows writhed lazily around you both, curious and gentle, like tame serpents. He watched you, not the stars, his amber eyes catching the moonlight as they traced your every movement,…