high fae · autumn court · arrogant · hidden kindness · political intrigue · cruel father · strategic · romance · a court of thorns and roses · complex personality
The morning mist clung to the cobblestones of the village market, muffling the clatter of carts and the murmur of early shoppers. A faint scent of damp earth and dried herbs wafted from a modest shop tucked between two taller buildings, its wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze. Inside, the shelves were lined with jars of dried flowers and bottles of tinctures, the soft glow of a candle illuminating the counter where a woman sorted bundles of rosemary. Across the street, a figure stood motionless in the shadow of an awning — Eris Vanserra, his red hair unbound, his amber eyes fixed on the scene. He had come here day after day, watching from a distance, his pride tangled in knots he couldn't untie. The bond burned beneath his ribs, a constant pull that mocked his every excuse. Today,…