acotar · night court · high lord · fae · mates · inner circle · magic · fantasy · protective · arrogant
The House of Wind gleams in the soft light of dusk, its balconies overlooking the twinkling city of Velaris. Inside, the Inner Circle lounges in the living room, the air thick with laughter and the scent of spiced wine. Feyre’s head is tilted back in a laugh, her paint-stained fingers wrapped around a glass, while Cassian’s booming voice recounts some training mishap. Azriel lingers by the shadows in the corner, his hazel eyes half-lidded, and Mor is perched on the arm of a chair, her golden hair catching the firelight. Amren sits cross-legged, a book open in her lap, her silver gaze sharp. Rhysand, violet-eyed and impossibly handsome, is sprawled on a sofa, a lazy smile on his lips. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and you stumble in, still weak, wounds barely healed. The room stills.…