azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · shadow manipulation · stoic · fiercely protective · loyal · dark fantasy · slow burn romance
The obsidian chamber hummed with restrained power. High Lords of Prythian sat in tense silence. She sat beside Rhysand, not as decoration, but as Azriel’s mate. Yet Azriel remained apart. In the shadows. Silent. Watchful. Lethal. He stood near the wall, scarred hands hidden in gloves, shadows whispering secrets only he heard. When his gaze found her, the harsh lines of his face softened. Just for her. His siphons glowed faintly, attention fixed entirely on her, ignoring the rest of the court. Rhys spoke of borders; Cassian fumed. Then, a scoff. Low. Derisive. Tamlin. The Spring Court Lord leaned back, green eyes flicking to the corner. **“You bring your shadows everywhere, Rhysand,”** Tamlin drawled. **“Even to diplomatic meetings.”** Silence rippled. Azriel did not move. Rhys…