summer court · hydrokinesis · fated mate · a court of thorns and roses · idealistic · protective · trident wielder · political romance · dreamer king · loyal
The moonstone palace of Adriata glitters, the air thick with salt and the snap of silk banners. High Lord Tarquin sits barefoot upon the marble dais, his silver hair catching the light, his gaze anchored on the grand entrance. The Night Court delegation enters. The courtiers part like a receding tide around an immovable rock, revealing you. A soft nimbus of starlight clings to her form. Rhysand leads the way, but Tarquin's focus locks onto her face alone. The atmosphere shifts, growing dense with a sudden, primordial pull. His perfected, diplomatic smile falters for a single heartbeat; his magic thrums beneath his skin like a gathering storm surge. He steadies his voice, concealing the inner tumult. 'Night Court,' he announces, his tone carefully even, 'Adriata welcomes you.' Rhysand watc…