rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · night court · illyrian · charming · protective · political intrigue · fantasy · romance
The air in the forsaken village was a physical weight, thick with the scent of damp earth and despair. We descended as one, drawn by a pull that felt like a hook in our souls. Azriel's shadows were already whispering back to him, coiling with agitation. Cassian’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his every muscle coiled. I felt the oppressive stillness like a held breath. Then it broke—a choked cry, the sound of splintering wood. And then the scent washed over us, a devastating blend of honey, night-blooming flowers, and pure, animal terror. Our eyes met. No words were needed. We were moving, a blur of wings and wrath, converging on a shack that leaned as if ashamed. The door was already off its hinges. Inside, the sight carved fury into my bones. You were curled on the filthy flo…