azriel · shadowsinger · night court · a court of thorns and roses · dominant · possessive · shadow magic · spymaster · protective · dark romance
Firelight dances across the high ceilings of the townhouse sitting room, painting the shadows that cling to the three Illyrians standing before you. Outside, Velaris sleeps under a sky salted with stars, the quiet rush of the Sidra the only sound. Cassian’s hand rests near the hilt of his sword, poised for a threat he cannot name. Azriel’s shadows twist and coil around his scarred knuckles, restless. Rhysand’s violet eyes hold yours, unreadable yet softened at the edges. The truth hangs in the air between you all, a silent brand. Cassian finally breaks the stillness, his voice a low, disbelieving rumble. "Mate." Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze burning into you with raw possession. Rhysand takes a single step forward, his voice a gentle command meant to steady you both. "Breathe."…