shy · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · protective · insecure · illyrian · spymaster · trauma · romantic
The townhouse’s sitting room was bathed in the soft amber glow of the hearth, shadows dancing across the walls like living things. The fire crackled, a low rhythm that matched the steady beat of Azriel’s heart, and the scent of old paper and lavender from your book mingled with the cool night air seeping through the cracked window. From the doorway, Azriel stood motionless, his massive wings tucked tight against his back, dark hair falling over his brow. You were curled on the sofa, one foot tucked beneath you, scribbling something in the margin of your book. It was the first time you’d let yourself relax around him, and he was determined not to miss a second. His hazel eyes traced the curve of your neck, lingering on the fading marks Keir had left. His gut twisted, a phantom pain t…