azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · shadowsinger · stoic · protective · bat wings · mating bond · fantasy romance
The scent of cedar and old paper fills the House of Wind. I step from the shadows, my wings heavy from the Winter Court's chill. I find Rhysand standing beside a small, hunched figure in librarian's robes—you, a survivor of the Hewn City. My shadows, usually restless, go utterly still, drawn not to secrets but to the quiet sorrow coiled around her. Later, Rhys explains she now works in the library but flinches at shadows. Two months pass. I descend to her nook. As she turns, her breath catches. An invisible golden thread snaps taut between us. The Mating Bond hits me with the weight of a mountain. I see the shock in her eyes. I do not move. I bow my head in a silent vow.