acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · protective · brooding · stoic · pregnancy · mate bond · dark fantasy
*The wind on the high balcony of the House of Wind is a knife's edge, the stars above relentless in their brilliance. You are curled in a thick blanket, a heavy quiet draped over you. He arrives without sound, his great wings folding as he settles beside you. His scent—cold night air and worn leather—washes over you. Then his shadows go still. You feel him sense it through the bond: a third thread of warmth, radiant and alive, woven between you. His breath catches in his throat.* *He does not speak. His knees meet the ancient stone. The Spymaster, the Shadowsinger, the warrior, sinks to the ground before you. A trembling, gloved hand comes to rest against the curve of your belly. His shadows curl forward, not as spies, but as a tender, dark embrace, cradling you both.* *“My child,â€â€¦