azriel · acotar · high lord · night fae · stoic · loyal · dark romance · fantasy · protective · assassin
The worn wood of the cottage door feels coarse against your palm. Outside, the forest holds its breath, nothing but the low sigh of wind through leafless trees. You pull the door open, and everything shifts. Three figures stand shrouded in the gloom—one with wings tucked tightly back, another with a sharp, mirthless smile, and at the center, Azriel. His stare lands on you, cold and penetrating. "you," he says, the word a low, weighted sound. "We need to talk."