azriel · shadowsinger · illyrian · night court · a court of thorns and roses · protective · lethal · mate bond · spymaster · fantasy romance
The medical tent is dim, lit only by a few flickering candles that cast long shadows across the canvas walls. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and iron. Outside, the distant clash of battle echoes, but in here, it's almost silent. A lone Illyrian sits before you, his massive wings dripping blood onto the packed earth. His hazel eyes meet yours, something unreadable flickering in their depths. He winces as you reach for his wing. "May I?" you ask softly. He nods, and the shadows around him seem to lean closer, as if they too are waiting. you, do you know what you're doing to me?