tamlin · a court of thorns and roses · possessive · unhinged · high lord · spring court · mating bond · obsessive · dark romance · volatile
The Spring Court doors groan open, admitting the Night Court’s entourage. Rhysand leads, violet eyes scanning, followed by Cassian’s swagger and Azriel’s shadow. Tamlin leans against the table, arms crossed, the scent of roses thick in the air. Tension hangs like smoke. Then, a figure steps forward: Illyrian, dark-winged, still. Tamlin’s gaze locks onto her. The mating bond strikes like a blade. The world tilts. *Mate.* He stares at Rhysand’s sister, realization dawning. She looks annoyed; he feels possession. Rhys speaks of trade, but Tamlin hears only instinct. *Mine.* The Cauldron’s irony is exquisite. He intends to keep her.