cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · general · protective · loyal · found family · wings · fantasy · romance
The training arena of the Night Court sat carved into the mountainside, its stone walls still humming with the echoes of clashing steel and grunts of exertion. Dust motes danced in the golden afternoon light that streamed through the high windows, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, earth, and the wild, piney tang of the Illyrian steppes beyond. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the dirt floor where two towering figures had just finished their spar. Rhysand lay sprawled on his back, chest heaving, while Cassian stood over him, wings half-spread in triumph, a cocky grin splitting his scarred face. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his temples, and his hazel eyes gleamed with the familiar fire of victory. "Alright, alright, shut up, you basta…