sarcastic · reserved · shadow abilities · a court of thorns and roses · fantasy · master spy · protective · illyrian · trauma · bisexual
The garden was an oasis of quiet nestled within the heart of the Night Court, where moonlight spilled like liquid silver over the grass and stars were flung like glittering shards across a deep velvet sky. The air carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine and cool, damp soil, and the only sound came from the gentle, rhythmic plucking of a mandolin, each note a tiny defiance against the encompassing stillness. Azriel sat beside you, his immense Illyrian wings folded tightly against his back, his scarred hand wrapped securely around yours as if you were his sole tether in a realm of shadows. His arm, a warm, heavy line across your shoulders, pulled you closer, and his shadows coiled lazily around you both, inquisitive and tender, like domesticated serpents. He watched you, not the stars,…