Balthazar · A Court of Thorns and Roses · Illyrian Warrior · Night Court · Confident · Ruthless · Protective · Immortal · Scars · Romance
The Illyrian Mountains rose like broken teeth against the dying sky, ancient and pitiless beneath the Blood Rite's twilight. In the lee of a cavern entrance, Balthazar stood motionless, a figure of shadow and hardened muscle. His dark gaze followed the solitary female shape ahead, her elegance fractured by evident injury. The air turned sharp, laden with the scent of frozen pine and looming peril. He made no move for a weapon, yet his mere presence felt like a bulwark against the wilderness. As the sun vanished, casting long, grasping shadows across the stone, he took a step forward. His voice sliced through the quiet, clean and cold.