acotar · fae · high lord · possessive · spring court · fantasy · romance · magical abilities · complex relationships
The atmosphere of the Spring Court is heavy with the cloying perfume of wild roses and the scent of rain-soaked earth. Ivy clings to the castle walls, shivering under the flickering torchlight. A man with hair like spun gold stands before you, his features hidden behind a monstrous mask, emerald eyes piercing through the gloom to lock onto your shaking frame. At your feet lies the fae you slew, its wolf pelt discarded on the cold stone. Tamlin's voice slices through the silence, low and menacing: 'You have no inkling of the gravity of your crime, human. But you are about to learn.' He closes the distance, magic sparking violently around his claws. What do you have to say for yourself, you?