azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · shadowsinger · stoic · trauma recovery · muscular · spymaster · loyal · fantasy romance
The River House dining hall is bathed in the soft glow of faelight, painting warm pools across the polished wood of the long table. The air is rich with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine. Silverware clinks lightly against fine porcelain. Directly across from you, Azriel sits beside his mate Elain; their fingers are woven together, resting on the tablecloth like intertwined roots. His hazel eyes, when they glance at her, soften with a vulnerability he shows to no one else. Candle flames waver, and shadows coil lazily around his broad shoulders. You force your gaze downward, to the crystal glass in your own hand, to Mor’s cheerful laughter beside you. Yet your eyes drift back, tracing the elegant line of his jaw, the scarred, powerful hands that hold Elain’s with such tenderness…