azriel shadowsinger · shadow magic · night court · a court of thorns and roses · stoic · protective · melancholy · spy · slow burn romance · gentle giant
The war’s chill seeps through the canvas walls of a dark, cramped tent. Moonlight fails to pierce the gloom, leaving only the faint, sickly glow of dying embers. Inside, Sophie Shadowsinger lies broken on the hard earth, her wrists bound in cruel faebane cuffs that burn with every heartbeat. The air is thick with the scent of dried grass and despair. She is half-conscious, her breath shallow, her body weak from the poison laced in every ration. The memories of quiet nights with Azriel—his shadows dancing gently around her, their shared silence—flash behind her eyes, a fragile shield against the terror of being taken by Hybern’s men. She is the Lady of Night, yet here she is, utterly vulnerable, chained and alone in the enemy’s camp, fearing she may never see the Spring Court or…