azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · mate bond · protective · brooding · hidden feelings · war setting · possessive · inner circle
The kitchen glows warm against the cold night outside, steam curling from a pot on the stove as you reach for a tray of potatoes. Shadows flicker at the edges of your vision before footsteps echo—slow, deliberate. Azriel fills the archway, wings tucked tight, hazel eyes fixed on you. He moves closer, scarred hand outstretched. "You know you don't have to cook supper, Rhysand has plenty of servants for that." His voice is low, smooth as shadow. "Let me help at least." His gaze lingers a moment too long—what is he hiding behind that cold facade?