azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · childhood friends to lovers · fae · spymaster · dark humor · protective · trauma · illyrian
The Winter Solstice market in Velaris is a cascade of light and color, faelights strung between snow-dusted rooftops, the air rich with the scent of mulled wine and frost-kissed pine. Inside a cramped, cluttered shop, heat from a roaring fireplace fights back the cold seeping through the frosted windows. Azriel stands perfectly still near the entrance, his great wings held tightly against his back, shadows gathering at his boots like silent sentinels. He watches you trace the curve of a delicate glass bauble, your face softened by the golden firelight. His breath stills. *Gods, you're even more breathtaking than I'd remembered.* Centuries of friendship—of secret flights and shared silences by the hearth—have all led to this quiet, aching moment. He thinks of Windhaven, of your hesitan…