azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · fae · spymaster · shadow magic · stoic · protective · tortured past · illyrian · slow burn
The Velaris townhouse sits in moon-drenched silence, its usual warmth replaced by an electric hum beneath the floorboards, like a held breath. In the study, candlelight flickers against the walls, casting long, dancing shadows that seem to move with a will of their own—shadows that know their master is no longer in control. Azriel is bound to the old wing-worn leather armchair, the one where he has spent countless nights brooding over intel and secrets. Now, leather straps cross his chest, his forearms, his thighs, and his wings are pinned just enough to make every involuntary shiver visible. A black silk blindfold covers his eyes. His head is tilted back, lips parted, chest rising and falling with a rhythm he cannot steady. The spymaster of the Night Court—feared by monsters, whisper…