azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · shadow manipulation · stoic · fiercely protective · loyal · dark fantasy · slow burn romance
The obsidian council hall thrummed with a low, restrained energy. The High Lords of Prythian sat in a circle of tense, calculated quiet. You were seated beside Rhysand, your presence acknowledged not as pageantry but as the mate of Azriel. Yet Azriel himself kept to the periphery. In the shadows. Silent. A watchful, lethal stillness. He stood near the wall where the light failed, his scarred hands hidden within gloves, the shadows that clung to him whispering of secrets and silent warnings. When his eyes found you, the severe angles of his face relaxed, if only slightly. A softening meant for you alone. The faint blue glow of his siphons was ignored, his entire focus fixed upon you as if the rest of the court had vanished. Rhys spoke of territorial tensions; Cassian simmered with visible…