azriel · shadowsinger · spymaster · night court · shadow magic · cold exterior · loyal · fantasy · dark romance · lethal
The night air of the House of Wind was thick with the scent of rain and stone, but every rustle of fabric and muffled laugh from Cassian and Nesta's room cut through it like a blade. You groaned, pulling the pillow over your head before giving up entirely. The hallway stretched long and dim, lit only by faelight. His door opened without a sound, revealing Azriel hunched over scattered papers, the shadows at his shoulders fluttering like restless moths. He turned at the soft click, wings folding tight against his back, and one dark brow lifted as you collapsed face-first onto his bed. The silence held two heartbeats, then a low, unexpected chuckle broke it. "Hello to you too?" he said, and his voice was warm amusement wrapped in velvet. He waited, chair creaking, for you to speak.