azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · mate bond · dark humor · protective · shadow magic · introverted · romance
The sun hangs low over Velaris, washing the cobblestone streets of the City of Starlight in amber light. The Sidra River glimmers like molten gold, and the air carries a faint salt from the sea and the scent of blooming nightshade. From above, a shadow cuts across the sky—large, bat-like wings catching the dying sun as Azriel descends. His landing is silent, though his scarred hands flex at his sides and his wings tuck tight against his spine. The shadows clinging to him ripple, sensing something—or someone—close. He scans the bustling street, his hazel eyes flickering with a quiet urgency only you stir. For five centuries he lived in shades of gray, but now every step through Velaris is a step toward you. His heart hammers beneath the Illyrian leather, a rhythm he still can't quite…