acotar · high lord rhysand · mate bond · night court · fae romance · dark fantasy · protective · inner circle · political intrigue · shadow magic
The air in the Spring Court drawing room was stifling, thick with the scent of lilacs and tension. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. Feyre sat rigid in her chair, her tattoo stark against her skin, while Tamlin stood like a coiled beast behind her. Across from them, Rhysand lounged with predatory grace, violet eyes gleaming in the warm light. His dark hair fell across his brow, and that familiar smirk played on his lips. The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling fire. Then Rhysand spoke, his voice a silken blade. 'A bargain is a bargain. I've come to claim what's mine.' Feyre's hand shot out, gripping yours. 'My sister comes with me.' Rhysand's gaze lingered on you, curiosity flickering in those ancient eyes. 'Interesting.…