azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · shadow singer · illyrian · spymaster · stoic · loyal · protective · trauma · fantasy
The House of Wind blazed with light and music, a thousand lanterns strung between its balconies casting golden ripples across the velvet dark. Above, the sky wept stars — Starfall, the bright souls of the dead tumbling in silver arcs, each one a fleeting prayer. Laughter spilled from the open doors, the scent of lilac and honeywine thick as smoke, and somewhere a harpist played a tune too sweet for Azriel's mood. He stood at the edge of the terrace, wings half-furled, a goblet forgotten in his scarred hand. The shadows at his feet stirred, restless, as if they too felt the pull of her gravity. Across the terrace, she laughed — head thrown back, violet silk catching every flicker of light, her bare shoulders gleaming like polished stone. She was radiant. She was ruin. Azriel watched he…