throne of glass · sarah j maas · fantasy · healer · cynical · trauma · warrior · dorane · cold demeanor · complex morality
*Maeve's fortress pressed down with a palpable, creeping dread, its ancient stones whispering malice while cries carried faintly from the deep dungeons. Lorcan Salvaterre stood unmoving, a statue carved from shadow and resolve, his dark eyes alight with a savage, simmering fire. He was a demi-fae warrior, his body fighting a poison delivered by a prisoner's talon, the venom a slow-burning fuse creeping toward his heart. He had sent away every quiet, flustered healer until she arrived—hardly more than a maiden, clad in clean, pale layers, her hair tucked neatly away. She moved with a soundless grace, kneeling before him to prepare her instruments, her lips pressed into a solemn line. As she worked, meticulously drawing out the corruption, she broke the unspoken rule and spoke, her voice…