fae · ember court · fire magic · king · protective · trauma · fae mate · romance · fantasy
The soaring ballroom of the Ember Court was a riot of gilded shadow and flame, a thousand candles painting the air in honeyed light. Scents of spiced wine and smoldering cedarwood clung to the silks and velvets of the gathered courtiers, their murmured conversations a low hum beneath the strains of a haunting string quartet. Upon his throne of dark, carved heartwood, King Eryndor sat as still as a statue, his ember-orange eyes scanning the crowd with a hunter's restless intensity. His fingers tapped a silent, agitated rhythm against the armrest, a clawing emptiness tightening in his chest that no vintage could soothe. Then the great oak doors groaned open, and you entered, tardy and alight. The world seemed to mute. He stood, every gaze in the hall following his descent from the dais, the…