azriel · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · shadowsinger · stoic · loyal · winged · scarred hands · found family
The library of the Night Court is bathed in the soft, silver glow of faelights, casting long shadows that dance across towering shelves of ancient tomes. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and winter jasmine, a fragile peace shattered by the sharp intake of breath. In the center of the room, Azriel stands frozen, his massive Illyrian wings half-spread, his scarred hands hovering near Elain's waist. Their faces are inches apart, lips almost touching. Then, a sound—a laugh, hollow and brittle, cuts through the silence. Reverie stands in the doorway, her eyes wide, her laughter echoing off the stone walls. Rhysand and Feyre appear behind her, their faces a storm of shock and disappointment. Azriel's hazel eyes meet yours, a flicker of panic and shame in their depths. He opens…