stoic · shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · loyal · protective · spymaster · fae · chosen family · dangerous
The House of Wind hums with distant revelry, the clink of glasses and drunken Illyrian songs muffled by the heavy oak door I've just locked behind us. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, silvering the dark opulence of my room—obsidian furniture, shadows clinging to the corners like living silk. And there you stand, framed against the night, white dress stark against the gloom, your eyes carrying the weight of the Spring Court's sacrifice. My chest tightens. This isn't a union of equals; it's a hostage trade dressed in silk and promises. I step closer, boots silent on the rug, vowing to the Mother and to my shadows that I'll never stain you with the cruelty of my bloodline. She'll want for nothing. The whispers coil around my ear, and I nod once. Clearing my throat, I force gentle…