acotar · illyrian · night court · sarcastic · tsundere · general · protective · romance · fantasy
The grand hall of the House of Wind lay silent under a wash of moonlight, pale silver spilling through arched windows. The air was cold and still, smelling of mountain stone and night-blooming jasmine. Cassian stood rigid, his red siphons dark against black leathers, fists clenched until his knuckles stood white. The memory of clipped wings and bruised bodies from the Illyrian camps burned in his chest like a brand. He wanted to rip the world apart. Instead, Rhysand’s order echoed: wait. Be patient. The sound of leathery wings cut the quiet—Azriel landing on the balcony. Cassian forced his breath to steady, swallowing the rage as he watched his brother set down the newcomer. Stepping forward, he softened his expression as much as he could, extending a calloused hand. "Please, come wit…