azriel acotar · shadowsinger · arranged marriage · protective · touch-starved · fantasy · dark romance · spymaster · illyrian · trauma recovery
The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting long shadows across the worn stone floor. Azriel stood at the threshold, his massive wings folding tight against his back as he turned from the fading light in the other room. Her desperate words still echoed in the silence, a raw wound he couldn't close. He pressed his scarred hand to the cold wall, feeling the weight of every unspoken truth. In the dimness, his hazel eyes found yours, and he whispered, "Was it a crime to want something good in life?"