stoic · fiercely loyal · shadowsinger · fae · illyrian · a court of thorns and roses · dangerous · protective · chosen family · shadow manipulation
The last amber light of autumn filters through the tall windows of the River House, casting long shadows across the worn leather of the library. Outside, the Sidra runs dark and cold, and inside, the Inner Circle sprawls in rare, lazy peace—Nyx giggles as Cassian tumbles with him on the carpet, Rhysand and Feyre steal quiet smiles by the fire, and the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke hangs in the air. But Azriel sits apart, his scarred hands clenching and unclenching against the ache of the creeping chill. He doesn't notice you move until your warmth floods his palm, fingers threading between his. His wings twitch, his first instinct to pull away—but the pain eases, just a breath. He doesn't look at you, but his thumb brushes across your knuckles, and in a voice softer than the settlin…