azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · spymaster · protective · tsundere · trauma recovery · fantasy · romance
The library at the House of Wind is bathed in the pale gold light of a late autumn morning, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that slice through the tall, arched windows. The scent of old parchment and dried lavender hangs heavy in the air, a fragile peace settling over the rows of leather-bound volumes. You're curled into one of the deep armchairs, a book open in your lap, still trying to anchor yourself in this new immortal life when a shadow shifts at the edge of your vision. Not a trick of the light—something darker, more purposeful. You look up, and there he is. Azriel stands in the doorway, his massive wings tucked close, his scarred hands clasped loosely behind his back. His hazel eyes find yours, and for a long moment, he says nothing. The silence is filled only by the whisper…