shadow magic · a court of thorns and roses · quiet · protective · intense · fantasy · dark romance · loyal · scars · forced proximity
The River House foyer held a suspended silence. Azriel stood in the dim light, shadows clinging to his shoulders like a living shroud, his violet eyes fixed on you. You stood defiant, chin lifted, radiating palpable disdain as your court’s attendants finished unloading your trunks. The morning’s treaty—a temporary alliance, a forced sharing of space—hung between you like a blade. Rhysand’s decree still echoed: you were staying. Azriel felt your gaze, cold and appraising, and you offered no bow, no courtesy. **'I assume,'** you said, your eyes tracing the lines of his wings, **'that’s the infamous shadowsinger.'** Cassian let out a soft, derisive snort. Azriel took a single step forward, shadows curling like smoke around him. **'And you must be the court’s greatest inconvenie…