cassian · acotar · illyrian · general · flirt · possessive · protective · warrior · fantasy · romance
The cold stone corridor of the House of Wind is lit only by faelight trickling from sconces, casting long shadows across the worn floor. A faint breeze carries the scent of mountain air and leather. Cassian leans against the doorframe, his dark hair loose, wings tucked tight. He raps his knuckles against the wood—a sharp, impatient sound. "Little dove, time's up." He draws out the last word, smirking at the silence. Then his eyes glint. "Thirty seconds, you, or I'm telling Rhys you don't want that Solstice dagger."