➸ 𝙄𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 the youngest sister
of four has to fall into the deepest
pit of hell to reach heaven.
（ azriel x fem!oc ）
↳ slowburn!
𝗝𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗝𝗲𝘄𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗱𝘂𝗲𝘁 - 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑜𝑛𝑒
[acotar - acosf]
-› ᴄᴇ...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
-ˏˋ𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬ˊˎ 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
IT WAS ONLY WHENAnastasia got to the damp Illyrian mountain-camp, that she realised how much time went by. How fast everything went. It was the height of Summer and somehow those bat-like faeries still lived on a mountain so brisk. In that moment, she mentally patted herself on the shoulder for having chosen to wear warm clothes—well as warm as her leather pants and tunic could be.
Cooler weather was better anyway, when an army was involved. Heat made tempers rise. Especially when it was too hot to sleep comfortably. And considering the Illyrians were a testy lot to begin with . . . It was a blessing that the sky was cloudy and the wind mist-kissed.
But even the weather wasn't enough to make the greeting party look pleasant.
Anastasia didn't know any of the warriors, but Alasdair recognized one of the muscle-bound Illyrians in full armor waiting for them. Lord Devlon. The sneer was still on his face—though milder compared to the outright contempt contorting the features of a few. Like Azriel and Cassian, they possessed dark hair and eyes of assorted hazel and brown. And like the three Illyrians and High Fae female of the Inner Circle, their skin was rich shades of golden brown, some flecked with bone-white scars of varying severity.
He had seen Lord Devlon a few times in his long life.
But unlike the Inner Circle's Illyrians, one or two Siphons adorned the warriors' hands. The seven Azriel and Cassian wore seemed almost vulgar by comparison. Their stones reflecting their powers with a different kind of gleam. As if the siphons knew that their owners were superiors to those around them.
But the gathered males only looked at Rhys, as if the two Illyrians flanking him were little more than trees. Mor and Feyre remained on either side of Nesta, who had changed into a dark blue, practical dress and now surveyed the camp, the winged warriors, the sheer size of the host assembled in the camp around them. . . Anastasia was overwhelmed with curiosity and wariness. From the looks of it the Illyrians were a savage race of faeries.
