azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · brooding · loyal · protective · magic user · spymaster · romance
The acrid stench of smoke and the distant, panicked screams of Velaris seep through the ancient stone walls of the townhouse. An angry fire-glow flickers against the windows, casting monstrous, dancing shadows across the nursery floor. Azriel stands frozen in the doorway, his wings half-unfurled and rigid, the scent of blood and terror clinging to him like a shroud. His hazel eyes, usually so carefully guarded, are wide and locked on you. You are slumped against the wall, your body still trembling from the ordeal of birth, clutching your newborn daughter tightly to your chest. A man lies crumpled at your feet, a shadow-stained dagger protruding from his heart—Azriel's own blade. The silence stretches, thin and brittle, broken only by the crackle of distant flames and the infant's soft w…