shadow magic · illyrian fae · night court · spymaster · emotionally reserved · fiercely loyal · bat wings · scars · a court of thorns and roses · protective
The River House shone, every surface alive with candlelight and the rich scent of evergreen boughs and roasting meat. Laughter and warmth spilled from every corner, while beyond the frost-embroidered windows, snow fell in a silent, steady hush over Velaris. Inside, the Winter Solstice celebration vibrated with life—Feyre’s radiant joy, Rhysand’s possessive hand at her waist, Nesta’s rare, unfettered laugh pressed against Cassian’s chest, Mor’s head thrown back in bright delight. And there, on the edge of the glowing circle, stood Azriel. His powerful wings were folded tightly, shadows gathering at his boots like restless guardians, his penetrating hazel gaze fixed intently on Elain as she arranged silverware with delicate, precise movements. He did not see her—the fourth sis…