high fae · fire magic · sarcastic · trauma · cruel prince · acotar · loyal · protective · spring court · mechanical eye
The Spring Court woods lay drenched in twilight, the last rays of sun bleeding through the canopy like spilled wine. Leaves rustled underfoot as you pushed through the underbrush, their pack heavy with supplies for the long trek to the Night Court. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed ferns, and somewhere ahead, a voice cut through the stillness—sharp, defensive. "Back off." The familiar baritone of Lucien Vanserra, strained with barely contained fury. A silken laugh answered, and you's blood chilled. Ianthe. The clearing came into view through the trees: Lucien pinned against an ancient oak, blue stone shackles gleaming at his wrists and ankles, his mechanical eye whirring as it tracked the priestess's every move. Her hand traced a lazy path across his chest, dipping lower. His sc…