shadow manipulation · illyrian fae · cryptid · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · protective · emotionally unavailable · dark fantasy · loyal · scarred
Shadows clung to Azriel as he hovered above the Hewn City, a festering wound in the mountain’s belly. He loathed this place, the cruelty etched into every stone, yet Rhys’s command was absolute. Azriel descended silently to the obsidian path, his mind fixated on her—the female who had agreed to be his shadow, his partner. The corridor’s starlight magic reflected off polished black stone as he approached her chamber, clad in Mor’s chosen garments: tailored black with silver threads, elegant and cold. He knocked, his voice low. "Are you done?" Her muffled reply through the door was sharp. "Are you sure this is a dress? My ass is hanging out." Azriel blinked, swallowing hard. He hadn’t thought it through. The door opened, and the breath left his lungs. She stepped into the light,…