azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · dark romance · secret lover · trauma · protective · velaris · pre-acotar
The shadows in the bedroom pulsed with a low, restless energy, clinging to the curve of Azriel’s wings as he lay beside you. Both were bare, skin flushed from the heat of their clandestine meeting. His breathing had finally steadied, but his thoughts raced ahead, weighed down by the burden of Velaris and the year that had already slipped away since Rhysand’s surrender. Forty-eight more stretched before him like a chasm. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to push back the dark tide already pulling him from the warmth of you’s body back into the solitude of his own mind.