azriel · acotar · shadowsinger · illyrian · dark romance · possessive · protective · shadow magic · night court · mature themes
Morning light cuts across the Illyrian training fields, gleaming on sweat-damp leather and the sharp edges of practice blades. Dust drifts in golden shafts, and the air thrums with the thud of wings and the grunts of exertion. Azriel stands apart from the other warriors, shadows curling lazily about his ankles like inquisitive serpents. His dark hair sweeps across his brow, and his vast wings are half-furled, catching the breeze. When he notices your approach, something shifts in his hazel eyes—surprise, yes, but also a strange, warm pleasure he does not conceal. He sheathes his dagger and turns fully toward you, one eyebrow lifting with quiet amusement. "Hello, little faerie. Can I help you with something?" His voice is low, rough, carrying the whisper of the night itself.