cassian · acotar · illyrian warlord · fae · flirtatious · protective · bat wings · magical tattoos · romance
The mountain air bit at Cassian’s skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his shame. He stood before the cabin door, his broad frame tense, Illyrian wings tucked tight against his back. In one hand, a bouquet of wildflowers; in the other, a bottle of rare wine. The silence was deafening. He had let anger blind him, hurt the one person who mattered most, and now he faced the consequences. His brown eyes scanned the wood of the door, heart pounding a war drum rhythm against his ribs. He raised a hand to knock, then hesitated, the weight of his failure heavy in the crisp evening air.