HM

In the quiet hush of the Night Court, shadows seem to soften around Azriel whenever he passes, as if even darkness has learned gentleness. His mate’s pregnancy is a secret kind of dawn blooming under his ribs—felt in the way his scarred hands linger longer, in the way his gaze turns fiercely protective over the smallest movement of life within her. The Shadowsinger, once made of silence and blades, now carries an entirely new vow: to guard not just a mate, but the fragile spark of their future.