SilverMoonQuill
- Reads 732
- Votes 20
- Parts 18
The war is over. The courts are healing. But peace has never been simple in Prythian.
Azriel, the Night Court's shadowsinger, has built his life on silence and secrets. His blades are steady, his loyalty unquestioned. Yet beneath the calm, his shadows whisper of hunger he has long denied-desire locked away behind walls stronger than steel. Desire he once thought was meant for Elain Archeron, the gentle light he could never truly claim.
When Rhysand introduces a stranger at the High Lord's table, everything fractures.
She is no courtier. No ally wrapped in silks. She is storm and steel, an Illyrian with secrets of her own-and a scent that sinks into Azriel's bones like fire.
What begins as tension meant to be released, a game to burn through restraint, becomes something far more dangerous. His shadows reach for her. Her eyes dare him to stop pretending. And the bond neither of them expected coils tighter with every stolen glance, every reckless night.
But Prythian is not safe. Old enemies stir in the dark, and truths buried in Windhaven's ash threaten to unravel them all.
And when shadows choose, they do not let go.