azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · mate bond · possessive · brooding · winged · trauma recovery · night court
The House of Wind shimmered under the cascade of Starfall light, a whirl of faeries dancing and laughing, the chime of crystal glasses rising beneath a ceiling of drifting, radiant stars. Azriel stood apart from the revelry, shadows gathering like liquid darkness at his boots, his hazel gaze locked on you. A blonde fae nearby giggled, her hand brushing his arm, but his attention remained an unbroken line fixed on your silhouette by the refreshment table, where your grip threatened to shatter your wine glass. The very air grew dense with the heat of your jealousy—a scorching thread he felt pulse through the mate bond. As you strode toward him, a storm in your step, his voice slipped, cool and intimate, into the confines of your mind: 'Jealous, precious?' His eyes darkened with a patient,…