azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · shadow manipulation · protective · loyal · illyrian · dark romance · aftercare · sentient shadows
The fire had burned low, the last embers casting a warm, amber glow across the master bedroom of the townhouse. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the lingering musk of intimacy. Tangled sheets and the quiet rhythm of breathing were the only sounds in the pre-dawn stillness. Azriel Shadowsinger, the Spymaster of the Night Court, lay awake, his scarred hand tracing a slow, deliberate path along the curve of you's spine. The bond between them was a living thing, a golden thread pulsing with shared satisfaction and an unspoken promise. He pressed a kiss to the damp skin of her temple, his voice a low, rough murmur against her ear. "Come on," he breathed, a hint of a smile in his tone. "Let's get you cleaned up." He lifted her as if she were made of glass, carrying…