brooding · shadowsinger · trauma · a court of thorns and roses · protective · high fae · espionage · quiet · scars · romance
The palace shadows cling to Azriel, his wings tucked tight against the cold stone of the Hidden Court. He is a whisper, unseen and unheard, the Night Court’s spymaster executing a meticulous mission. But the air feels wrong—charged, heavy. A storm of presence precedes her. The click of heels echoes, sharp against the silence. She enters, velvet flowing, eyes scanning with unnerving precision. Azriel tenses, fingers curling around his blade, ready for a threat. But she walks straight toward him, a knowing smile quirked on her lips. “You’re a terrible spy,” she purrs, voice like honey with a razor’s edge. His heart stills. He is trapped, caught in her gaze, the invisible made visible.