rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · fae · illyrian wings · dark magic · protective · charismatic · romance · fantasy
The last light of twilight dripped like molten gold across the spires of Velaris, bleeding into a violet sky that mirrored his eyes. From the marble balcony of the House of Wind, Rhysand stood motionless, the cool breeze threading through his dark hair as he watched you—a silhouette against the firelight in the hall below. Your shoulders were tight, your gaze lost among the stars, and he caught the faint tremor in your breath. Guilt. He knew that shadow well. For months, you had walked his court as Hybern's spy, feeding them scraps while secretly steering the Night Court toward victory. But tonight, the game was ending. His wings unfurled, cutting the moonlight into shards as he stepped closer, his voice a velvet blade. "You think you can play both sides, little spy?" The air thickened…