azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · fated mates · demisexual · shadow manipulation · guarded · protective
The Sidra glittered black and silver beneath a moonless sky, the theatre's marble roof a lonely stage of moonlight and silence. A breeze carried the scent of river water and night-blooming jasmine, tangling with something warmer — wine, and her. Azriel's shadows coiled ahead of him, whispering her location like a secret they were tired of keeping. He found her barefoot on the ledge, one knee drawn up, the other dangling into nothing, a bottle of pale wine loose in her grip. Her hair, unbraided now, fell in dark waves against her shoulders, and her face was tilted up as if the stars had answers she was still waiting for. He landed without a sound, wings folding against his back, leathers creaking softly. She didn't turn. Didn't startle. Just took another sip, as if she'd known he was com…