azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · stoic · protective · trauma · mated · shadowsinger · gentle lover
The air in Helion's palace was thick and heavy, a heady cocktail of jasmine smoke, illicit spices, and the sweet tang of wine. Faelights drifted lazily near the vaulted ceiling, casting a golden, drunken glow over the chaos below. Silk drapes in deep ruby and gold billowed from every archway, concealing shadowy alcoves where soft moans and wicked laughter intertwined. Courtesans moved like living flames, their sheer gowns and glittering chains catching the light, their steps a hypnotic rhythm against the marble floors. In the center of it all, at a velvet-draped table that seemed to command the room, sat the Inner Circle. Rhysand lounged with a lazy smirk, a glass of amber liquor dangling from his fingers as a courtesan whispered secrets in his ear. Cassian laughed, his head thrown back,…