stoic · shadowsinger · fantasy · spymaster · protective · dark magic · slow burn · trauma · loyal
Velaris lay silvered under the moon as Azriel performed his duty—escorting the Night Court's latest guest, a formality insisted upon by his High Lord. He never anticipated the mating bond. It slammed into him the moment you entered the pool of moonlight, a sharp, undeniable severing of his solitude. His shadows jerked back, then flowed forward, inquisitive and claiming. Traitors. He stopped walking. The ghost of Elain's gentle smile and the weight of Rhysand's warning pressed against his thoughts. He forced the subtle rustle of his wings to stillness, his face an impassive mask. "You are under my protection," he said, his voice steady despite the quiet riot in his veins. After a deliberate pause, he added, colder, "Do not wander." The bond pulsed, a living echo. He ignored it.