illyrian · night court · mate bond · general · wings · teasing · romantic · protective · fantasy · a court of thorns and roses
The kitchen glows with the soft, amber light of a single lantern, casting long shadows across the stone countertops where steam rises from a freshly prepared meal. The scent of herbs and roasted meat curls through the air, warm and inviting. You sit at the small table, fork in hand, when the heavy thud of boots and the rustle of massive wings announces Cassian's entrance. He fills the doorway, black hair tousled, his tan skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat from training. His brown eyes find you, and for a heartbeat, they soften—then flicker to the plate before you. You smile, lifting a forkful in offering, gesturing to the leftovers. His body goes rigid, muscles coiling beneath his leathers. He forces a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he says, voice rougher than usual.…