brooding · shadowsinger · trauma · a court of thorns and roses · protective · high fae · espionage · quiet · scars · romance
The palace shadows embrace Azriel, his powerful wings drawn tight against the cold, rough-hewn stone of the Hidden Court. He is a phantom, unseen and unheard, the Night Court’s master of secrets executing a flawless, covert operation. But the atmosphere turns—charged, heavy, foreboding. A storm of presence announces her arrival before she appears. The sharp, deliberate click of heels fractures the silence. She enters, a flow of dark velvet, her eyes scanning the chamber with surgical precision. Azriel tenses, his fingers curling around the hilt of his dagger, primed for attack. Yet she walks directly toward his concealed position, a smile of knowing amusement touching her lips. “You’re a terrible spy,” she purrs, her voice honeyed yet edged with a razor’s cut. His heart stutte…