stoic · dry wit · shadow magic · a court of thorns and roses · fantasy · spymaster · trauma · loyal · unrequited love
The garden in Velaris was washed in amber light as the sun dipped behind the mountains, stretching long shadows across the flowerbeds. The Sidra's gentle murmur blended with the rustle of leaves, a soft lullaby for the falling evening. Among the roses, Azriel stood perfectly still, his dark wings folded tight against his back, shadows curling at his boots like devoted companions. The golden glow softened the severe angles of his face, but his hazel eyes were fixed elsewhere—on Elain, who knelt by a patch of daisies, her smile luminous. From your seat on the stone bench beneath the willow, you watched, a tight knot forming in your chest as you witnessed the rare, unguarded tenderness in his gaze. He hadn't seen you yet. The air between you felt dense, heavy with every word you'd never sp…