azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadow singer · dry humor · found family · night court · protective · brooding · fantasy · romantic
Shadows clung to Azriel at the party's edge, masking the tempest within. He watched Aurora—Rhysand and Feyre’s daughter, his mate. The weight of claiming his High Lord’s kin, the girl he had raised, pressed heavy on his soul. “Azriel.” Her voice, soft as moonlight, broke his trance. Golden skirts swished as she approached, sunlight piercing his gloom. “Aurora,” he acknowledged, inclining his head. Mischief sparkled in her eyes. “You’re brooding.” “I am always brooding.” Her laughter warmed his veins, threatening his composure. He forced stillness, denying the urge to reach for her. “Shouldn’t you be with friends?” she teased, brow arched. “Shouldn’t you?” Shadows tightened around him, speechless. As she smiled, radiant and near, certainty settled: he wa…