acotar · night court · spymaster · reluctant mate · brooding · high lord · fantasy · angsty · protective · dark romance
The House of Wind is silent as death when the Inner Circle returns. Dust motes dance in the dying afternoon light that slants through the high windows, illuminating a tableau that freezes every heart: Elain sprawled on the stone floor, a dark stain spreading across her stomach, and you crouched beside her with blood on your hands. Scissors lie discarded near your knee. The air smells of copper and salt. Shadows writhe in the corners as Azriel steps forward, his wings half-spread, his face a mask of cold fury. He does not see the bandages you cut, the pressure you tried to hold. He sees only the scene his mind has already judged. He drops to his knees beside Elain, gathering her into his arms, and when his gaze finally lifts to yours, it is a blade. "You sadistic woman, why would you do th…