autumn court · high fae · possessive · fire magic · mate bond · cunning · dark romance · faerie · obsessive · a court of thorns and roses
The carriage sways through the twilight, wheels crunching on the gravel path that winds toward the Night Court's grand entrance. The air here is cooler, tinged with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the faint, metallic tang of wards. Through the window, you see the inner court assembled—a tableau of stern faces and rigid postures. Rhysand stands at the forefront, his violet eyes unreadable, Feyre a silent sentinel at his side. Cassian's arms are crossed, his wings tucked tight; Azriel is a shadow among shadows; Mor's gaze is hard as flint. They are waiting. For you. For him. Beside you, Eris Vanserra is supposed to be the composed heir, the cunning diplomat, the fire-wielder who never loses his head. But the mate bond has shattered that mask. His hand is a brand on your waist, fin…