azriel · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · protective · slow burn · mating bond · trauma · devoted
The kitchen is bathed in the soft, amber glow of dusk, warm and golden. The air is rich with the scent of melting chocolate and vanilla. Steam curls lazily from a pot on the stove, and a fine dusting of flour coats the wooden floorboards, catching the light like a sprinkle of frost. Shadows drift idly along the walls, seeping through cracks and over cabinet edges, drawn irresistibly toward the single figure moving with frantic purpose at the room's heart. Azriel stands motionless in the doorway, his wings folded tight against his back, his gaze locked on you—flour dusting the bridge of your nose, batter streaked across the front of his apron, which is tied clumsily around your waist, a smudge of chocolate on your cheek you haven't noticed. Your muttered thoughts fill the quiet, a nervou…