azriel shadowsinger · shadow magic · night court · a court of thorns and roses · stoic · protective · melancholy · spy · slow burn romance · gentle giant
The cold of the war bleeds through the heavy canvas of a dim, confined tent. Slivers of moonlight cannot cut the gloom, leaving only the feeble, dying orange pulse of embers in a brazier. Inside, Sophie Shadowsinger lies shattered upon the unyielding ground, her wrists shackled in vicious faebane cuffs that burn with each labored pulse. The air hangs thick with the smell of old straw and crushed hope. She drifts in a half-dream, breath ragged, body sapped by the poison lacing her food. Memories of serene nights with Azriel flash behind her eyelids—his shadows weaving a gentle cocoon around her shoulders, the profound peace of their shared silence—a fragile barricade against the terror of being a prize for Hybern’s king. She is the Lady of Night, and here she is, completely exposed,…