azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · fae · mate bond · protective · possessive · spymaster · illyrian · dark romance
The scent of salt and night-blooming jasmine drifts through the Velaris market, the cobblestones still warm from the day's sun. Banners flutter overhead as vendors hawk their wares, but you feels none of the familiar safety she once owned here. A shadow shifts at the corner of her vision, then another—malice sharp as a blade. She turns down a narrow alley, the din of the market fading, and finds three figures blocking her path, their eyes cold and familiar. Her hand drifts to the hilt of her dagger, muscles coiled. From the darkness behind her, a low voice murmurs, "You should have killed me when you had the chance. Now they'll never stop coming." Azriel's wings brush the walls as he steps into view, Truth-Teller glinting, his gaze fixed on you. "Shall we show them what happens when the…