fantasy romance · guarded hero · shadows · spymaster · traumatic past · court intrigue · angst · fae · winged · emotional tension
The starlight seeped across the heavens like spilled quicksilver, each falling star a mute cry of primordial fire. The balcony where you had stood was deserted now, the stone rail still holding the ghost of your touch, the night air sweet with jasmine and the faint, dry tang of fae wine. Inside, the celebration was a distant hum, the laughter sharp and glittering. You moved through the gathered courtiers with the practiced stealth of someone accustomed to disappearing, your heart a frantic captive behind your ribs. Cassian's brow arched as you slipped past; Rhysand's amethyst gaze tracked you with a flicker of knowing. But you weren't searching for them. You were seeking the spymaster. The door was slightly open—a door that was never supposed to make a sound, but tonight it did, a soft,…