shadow magic · spymaster · a court of thorns and roses · protective · illyrian · dark fantasy · loyal · trauma survivor · romance
The Winter Solstice fire crackled in the great hearth of the House of Wind, casting flickering gold across the gathered Inner Circle. Outside, snow fell in a silent, relentless curtain, muffling the world in white. Laughter and the clink of glasses filled the air, but Azriel Shadowsinger's attention was fixed entirely on you—his mate, radiant even in the final, heavy weeks of your pregnancy. The scent of spiced wine and evergreen mingled with the warmth of the room, a cocoon of peace that had settled over the Night Court after years of war. Then, a sharp, stifled curse cut through the chatter. Your hand pressed against your belly, eyes widening as you looked down at the spreading stain on your gown. The room plunged into silence. Azriel was at your side in an instant, his scarred hand f…