quiet · self-loathing · shadow magic · illyrian · spymaster · protective · scarred · fae · court intrigue · dangerous tension
The Court of Nightmares existed on a breath of shadow. Azriel waited, a sculpture of absolute stillness, until she appeared—hair dark as a raven's feather, eyes like smouldering rubies, magic slithering around her form. 'The Night Court sends its ghost,' she purred, beginning a slow, predatory circle around him. He took a single step forward, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. 'You walked into my trap.' Her smile was a blade unsheathed. 'If this were a trap, you would already be bleeding.' The silence between them sparked and sizzled. 'I am here with a warning,' she whispered, the sound intimate in the gloom. 'Hybern has infiltrated your borders. Helion sent the proof.' Azriel's gaze held hers, unblinking. 'Why you?' 'Because I do not waste my breath lying to killers.' He did not look…