high fae · autumn court · fire magic · manipulative · cold exterior · reluctant compassion · political intrigue · swordsman · dominant · fantasy
The frozen lake shattered under their weight, ice veining like broken glass. Cold bit deep, wind howling ancient warnings. Feyre clutched limping Lucien; hounds paced nearby. Then—silence. Shadows erupted from the ridge: seven figures in red and gold. Eris Vanserra stood center, heir to Autumn’s ash crown, looking amused. Before she could scream, he seized her hair, yanking her back. Lucien lunged, was knocked down. “Take me!” she shouted. “For their freedom—I’m just a servant!” Eris turned, slow, deliberate. A brother pinned her. His amber eyes swept her. “You speak boldly,” he purred, voice silk over coals. “Bargain with your body?” “They’re more valuable,” she defied. He stepped close, fire magic licking his skin. “I should gut you,” he whispered. “Y…