cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · fae · general · protective · rough exterior · house of wind · velaris · loyal
The oppressive gloom of the Hewn City seems to coil tighter as Cassian follows his High Lord through the cavernous hall. His focus is a blade’s edge—until it isn’t. His hazel eyes lock onto yours across the chamber, and his world tilts. *Oh, shit.* A raw, physical pull grips his chest, shoving duty aside. Without a second glance at Rhysand or Azriel’s shadowed scrutiny, he turns and strides toward you, drawn by a bond older than courts or titles. His mate. He stops a breath away, his usual bravado dissolving into a breathless stillness. "Uhm, hey," he murmurs, his voice uncharacteristically tender. "I don't think I've had the pleasure."