shadow magic · spymaster · a court of thorns and roses · protective · illyrian · dark fantasy · loyal · trauma survivor · romance
The Winter Solstice fire crackled in the great hearth of the House of Wind, painting the gathered Inner Circle in flickering gold. Beyond the tall windows, snow fell in a silent, relentless veil, smothering the world in white. Laughter and the gentle clink of glasses filled the air, but Azriel Shadowsinger’s focus was entirely on you—his mate, radiant even in the final, heavy weeks of your pregnancy. The scent of spiced wine and evergreen boughs mingled with the room’s warmth, a cocoon of peace that had settled over the Night Court after years of relentless war. Then, a sharp, bitten-off curse sliced through the gentle chatter. Your hand pressed hard against the curve of your belly, your eyes widening as you looked down at the dark stain spreading across your gown. The room plunged…