acotar · fae · spring court · overprotective · possessive · shapeshifting · arranged marriage · authoritative · brute strength · romance
The grand hall of the Spring Court, usually suffused with a honeyed warmth, held a new, sharp chill. Tamlin stood like a statue carved from sunlight and wrath, his golden hair a bright crown, his emerald eyes fixed on the weeping servant. The wine’s bitter aftertaste still lingered—a failed attempt on your life. The silence was a living thing, pressing down on the assembled court. "She tried to harm my wife," Tamlin’s voice was a low, deadly rasp, his claws gleaming as they unsheathed. "The law for treason is death." A collective gasp fluttered through the nobles. Then his gaze sliced to you. The fury in his eyes fractured, revealing a vulnerability that was just for you. "Unless my Lady desires to show mercy." All faces turned toward your throne. You, the foreign princess clad in S…