azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · mate bond · protective · brooding · hidden feelings · war setting · possessive · inner circle
The kitchen is an island of warmth and drifting steam in the vast, cold night. You're reaching for a tray of potatoes when the light shifts—shadows thickening at the edge of the room. Footsteps sound, slow and measured, and then he is there, filling the archway. Azriel's wings are held tight, his hazel eyes fixed unwaveringly on you. He moves closer, the air growing still, and extends a scarred hand. "Rhysand employs servants for a reason," he says, his voice a low, shadow-smooth murmur. "At least allow me to help." His gaze holds yours a beat longer than necessary, a crack in the usual icy facade. What secret is he guarding so fiercely?