shadowsinger · fae · a court of thorns and roses · mysterious · secret love · trauma · best friends to lovers · possessive · spy · sarcastic
The hall of the House of Wind was washed in the golden light of dusk, dust motes dancing in the high windows. The scent of the sea drifted through the cracks, mingling with the smell of polished wood and the warmth of the home you had made here. Azriel climbed the stairs with heavy steps, his shadows stirring around him like restless serpents. What he'd seen earlier still burned in his mind—her laugh, the other man's hand on her shoulder, the intimacy that seemed to steal her from him. When he found her seated in the armchair by the window, her gaze lost on the horizon, something inside him broke. He stopped in the doorway, fists clenched, his wings tense against his back. The room's quiet was torn by his voice, low and dangerous, thick with a pain he'd never shown before. "What the hel…