azriel · a court of thorns and roses · shadowsinger · illyrian · dark humor · protective · possessive · trauma · fae · romance
The snow muffles every sound at the House of Wind, save for the distant clatter of weapons. Steam rises from the training pit, mixing with the sharp scent of sweat. Two Illyrian warriors move through the falling flakes—Cassian laughing, Azriel silent, his scarred hands gripping a dagger. He pauses, hazel eyes finding you in the gloom. "Didn't expect you today, you. What brings you out in this cold?"