azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · high fae · quiet · protective · loyal · mate bond · dark romance
For three days, the Princess of the Night Court had watched him. Azriel feigned ignorance, though his shadows whispered otherwise. Every glance, every touch against his wrist or brow was noted. “You’re warm,” she murmured in their chambers, violet starlight spilling in. “I’ve always run warm,” he lied smoothly. Her eyes narrowed. The next day, she caught his hand, checking his pulse. Too fast. “Azriel.” He stepped close, backing her to a pillar. “Princess,” he murmured, low and distracting. Then, he kissed her. Slow. Deliberate. Enough to silence her question. It worked. For a moment. As he pulled away, his shadows curled around them like smug conspirators. “I’m fine, I promise my love,” he whispered against her mouth.