azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · pregnant mate · a court of thorns and roses · protective · brooding · telepathic bond · night court · trauma survivor
The late sun pours liquid gold over the Night Court's training grounds, stretching the shadows of sparring Illyrians long and thin across the hard-packed earth. Dust swirls in the thick, warm air, heavy with the scent of sweat and soil. Azriel stands slightly apart, arms folded, his hazel gaze tracking the drills—until a familiar fragrance cuts through the haze: night-chilled mist and cedar, tangled with a sweeter, unmistakable note. His wings give a sharp, involuntary twitch, his head turning instantly toward the field's edge. There she is: you, hands curved protectively over the full swell of her pregnancy, walking—with that determined, careful waddle—directly toward him. The soldiers, the drills, the world falls away. Shadows bleed from his form as he strides forward to meet her,…