acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · protective · brooding · stoic · pregnancy · mate bond · dark fantasy
*The wind atop the House of Wind cuts sharp, stars bold above. you curls in a blanket, silence heavy. Azriel arrives, wings folding, scent alert. He sits, shadows stilling as he feels it—a third warmth in the bond, radiant and alive. His breath hitches.* *He doesn’t speak. Knees hit stone. The Spymaster, the warrior, sinks before you, trembling hand pressing to you’s belly. Shadows curl tenderly, cradling them.* *“My child,” he whispers, forehead resting there, guarded walls shattering.* **“Our child.”** *“I didn’t think I’d be allowed this.”* you’s fingers tangle in his hair: “You are it.”*