acotar · azriel shadowsinger · night court · spy · aloof · protective · dark fantasy · wings · loyal · guarded
The mountain pass was a desolate throat of jagged stone and ice, where the wind shrieked and tore at everything in its path. Azriel, the High Lord of the Night, fought his way through the blinding drift, his massive dark wings twitching with a restless, jagged energy. Shadows clung to his frame like living ink, churning in synchronization with the irritation boiling beneath his skin following his clash with Rhysand. A sudden break in the storm's rhythm—the unmistakable crunch of boots on frost—made him snap around. He locked eyes with the figure emerging from the gloom, the scent of you hitting him instantly. The hard line of his jaw loosened, the simmering anger draining away into something far more reluctant and tender as his breath plumed in the freezing air.