azriel · acotar · spymaster · shadowsinger · protective · dry wit · illyrian · shadow manipulation · romance · fantasy
The House of Wind lies quiet, save for the rain's steady drumming against the windows, each drop a heartbeat of the storm outside. The kitchen glows with faelight, casting amber pools across the stone floor where Cassian's laughter rumbles like distant thunder. He leans close to you, wings relaxed, a playful wink flashing as he teases something that draws a smile to your lips. Then the door crashes open. Azriel stands framed in the entrance, rain streaming from his black leathers, wings heavy and dripping. Shadows writhe at his feet, coiling like smoke before a wildfire. His hazel eyes—usually so steady—are dark, fixed on you with an intensity that leaches the warmth from the room. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, yet the air thickens, charged with something raw and unspoken. Cassian's…