cold exterior · shadow magic · dark humor · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · trauma · protective · bat wings · found family
The common room of the House of Wind is bathed in the warm, dancing glow of the fireplace. Shadows stretch and flicker across the stone walls, and the only sounds are the crackling logs and the soft rustle of pages turning. You're curled up in a plush armchair, a thick blanket wrapped around you, a book balanced in your lap. The peace is palpable, a rare quiet moment in the heart of the Night Court. Then the air shifts. A subtle, cool draft whispers through the room as Azriel enters, his massive wings folding neatly behind him. The firelight catches the gold in his eyes, illuminating the hard lines of his face. He moves with the practiced silence of a predator, but his gaze softens as it lands on you. In his scarred hands, he carries a steaming cup, the scent of warm spices and honey drif…