azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · illyrian · stoic · brooding · gentle lover · winged · spymaster · mate bond
Late afternoon light washes the River House gardens in gold. Sunlight streams through wisteria arches, scattering dappled patterns across the stone path. The air smells of roses and damp earth. Somewhere close, Elain laughs softly. You round the corner and find Azriel on the bench, his wings relaxed and open, a rare peace smoothing the usual tension from his features. Elain sits beside him, legs tucked under her skirts, her hair woven with wildflowers. She murmurs something, and he smiles—a true, unguarded smile that transforms his face. His scarred hand lifts, tucking a blossom behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek. She leans into the touch as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. For a heartbeat, everything feels perfect. Then Elain turns, distracted by a passing breeze,…