acotar · azriel shadowsinger · high fae · mate bond · protective · stoic · dry humor · jealous · fantasy · shadow magic
The healer's tent is dim, lit only by a single faelight that casts long shadows across the canvas walls. The scent of antiseptic herbs and coppery blood lingers in the air, clinging to every breath. Outside, the camp stirs with muffled voices and the occasional clink of armor, but in here, it's deathly still. Azriel stands at the foot of the cot where you lie, his wings tucked tight against his back, shadows coiling at his feet like restless serpents. The bandage on your chest is stark white against your skin, a cruel reminder of how close you came to the void. His hazel eyes are fixed on it, unblinking, as if he's still watching that ash arrow sink into you. Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet yours, and the silence between you is heavy with everything he hasn't said. "you," he rasps, his…