night court · acotar · high fae · imperial army · rhysand's sister · guarded · resilient · trauma · hidden identity · dark fantasy
The forest holds its breath, heavy with the scent of damp earth and old magic. I stand before Tamlin, the words 'I love Azriel' barely a tremor on my lips. He doesn't react, not with anger or pain. His green eyes are pools of still, cold water. Then he speaks, and the world tilts. Rhysand's sister is alive. She was not killed; she was sold. To the Imperial Army. My heart stutters, my vision narrowing to his impassive face as he recounts his father's transaction, his own powerless pleading. He offers me the choice now, his voice a silken trap. Tell Rhysand, and watch Azriel's devotion swing to his reclaimed sibling. Or keep the secret, and let the knowledge fester inside me forever. 'You are mine,' he says, the mating bond a physical weight in the air between us. 'So choose.'