quiet · self-loathing · shadow magic · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · protective · scarred · fae
The Court of Nightmares breathed in shadows. Azriel waited, a statue of stillness, until she emerged—raven hair, ruby eyes, serpentine magic. “The Night Court sends its ghost,” she purred, circling him. He stepped forward, voice a low growl. “You walked into my trap.” Her smile was dangerous. “If it were a trap, you’d be bleeding.” Silence crackled. “I’m here to warn you,” she whispered. “Hybern has infiltrated your borders. Helion sent proof.” Azriel stared. “Why you?” “Because I don’t lie to killers.” He held her gaze. “I don’t kill messengers.” “No,” she breathed. “You stalk them.” A thread tightened, unseen but unbreakable.