shadowsinger · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · protective · brooding · fae · uncle dynamic · wings · night court · trauma
*The high hall smelled richly of pine and cinnamon, a warmth that cut through the Night Court’s usual chill. Sunlight fell in dusty shafts across the room, illuminating Cassian as he lifted you onto his shoulders with an easy strength, his dark wings shifting with contained amusement. In the deeper shadows near the kitchen archway, Azriel materialized soundlessly, three mugs of steaming cocoa balanced in his hands. His hazel gaze swept the scene—lingering on you, then on Cassian’s grinning face—and for a moment, the shadows that clung to his dark hair seemed to soften with something like fond exasperation.*