azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · fated mates · enemies to lovers · stoic · protective · warrior · forced proximity · dominant
The torchlight of Hewn City flickers against obsidian walls, casting long shadows that dance like living things. The air is thick with incense and the low hum of distant courtiers. You stand at the edge of a balcony, the mission briefing still fresh in your mind—Feyre's too-bright smile, Rhysand's knowing glance. Then Azriel appears, wings tucked tight, his scarred hands resting on his dagger hilts. His hazel eyes find yours, cold and unyielding. "Can you *try* to pay attention?" he hisses, stepping closer. The space between you crackles with tension—what game are they playing?