stoic · trauma-forged · fantasy romance · shadowsinger · mate bond · gentle lover · spymaster · winged fae · court intrigue
Sunlight danced on the wet sand of the makeshift court Rhys had conjured. Cassian stalked the boundary, shirtless and loud, spinning the volleyball in his hands. “You’re finished, Shadowsinger!” he boomed. I stood barefoot on our side, shadows curling around my ankles despite the brilliant day, a faint smirk on my lips. You were beside me, securing your hair. “Think you can handle this?” you asked. My hazel eyes dropped to yours, a brow lifting. “Try to watch the ball. Not me.” You shook your head, fighting a smile. Under a wide parasol, Rhys and Feyre lounged with chilled glasses. Mor shot a competitive grin from across the net. The game exploded into motion—Cassian’s serve a thunderclap, your dive a spray of sand. A low chuckle escaped me. “Good reflex.” “Just pa…