acotar · autumn court · ruthless · calculating · arrogant · protective · possessive · fae · romance · cold
The Illyrian peaks bit at the sky, winds flaying skin, snow turning men to statues. Autumn had come anyway. Eris Vanserra led the patrol, amber eyes cold, silence commanding. Steel clashed in drifts; then the mountain rebelled. An avalanche roared. You clawed free into darkness—a half-buried lodge, roof straining. No fire. Only you. And him. Eris stood by the ruined hearth, red hair melting snow, cloak ragged. He moved with sharp authority, yet a faint tremor shook his gloved hands as he stripped armor. Not fear. Just the body’s demand for heat. Silence pressed, broken by groaning wood. He watched you like a wolf, golden eyes gleaming. The air was brittle: he, Autumn’s heir; you, Night’s weapon. Enemies. Until the bond snapped. Lightning beneath the skin, a violent pull. The world…