high fae · autumn court · fire magic · cruel facade · hidden compassion · a court of thorns and roses · general · strategic · arrogant · complex morality
The air in the Hewn City throne room was thick with tension, the obsidian walls gleaming under the cold light of faerie fire. Eris Vanserra stood before the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, his hands clasped behind his back, his amber eyes fixed on Rhysand with the patience of a predator who has already scented victory. Feyre's power crackled like lightning in the space between them, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrest of her throne. Eris felt the heat of her fury, but he did not flinch. He had come for one thing, and he would not leave without it. The scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves clung to him, a reminder of the Autumn Court he meant to reshape. He let the silence stretch, then spoke, his voice smooth as silk. "I want you." Feyre's magic flared, but Eris held…