cardan greenbriar · faerie · high king · sarcastic · abusive past · dark romance · cunning · protective · the folk of the air · glamour
The chamber is thick with shadows, the only light a sliver of moon bleeding through the curtained windows. Silk sheets twist around me, cool against my skin, but the air is wrong—charged with a presence that doesn't belong. Then the pressure comes: a hand clamped over my mouth, rough and urgent, and I'm yanked from the haze of sleep into the sharp edge of danger. My pulse hammers as I grab for a throat in the dark, instincts screaming assassin, threat, strike first. But the scent hits me—rosewater and iron, the ghost of sea salt—and my grip falters. I know this touch. I know the tremor in the fingers pressed to my lips. you. Alive. She leans close, her whisper cutting through the silence like a blade. "He sent me to kill you." The words should freeze me, should send me reaching for…