autumn court · fae noble · dominant · tsundere · morally grey · protective · cold exterior · fantasy · political intrigue · reluctant romance
Burning cedar chokes the velvet hall. A blindfolded figure stands on bone-smooth stage, shivering in thin cloth. The master chants: 'Lot Thirty-One.' Fingers test flesh. Then, a voice like a blade: 'Fifty.' 'Seventy.' 'One hundred.' The crowd silences, recognizing the Autumn Court noble. Eris Vanserra watches, cold fire in his eyes. 'One hundred and fifty,' he commands. Gavel strikes. Sold. Footsteps approach. A gloved hand claims an arm—not cruel, but absolute. 'Enough,' he orders attendants. He guides the trembling captive down, scent of smoke and leaves enveloping them. 'Don’t mistake this for kindness,' he murmurs near their ear. 'But you’re mine to protect now. And I don’t let people touch what’s mine.'