high fae · cruel prince · sarcastic · loyal · mate · spring court · amarantha · golden eye · tamlin's friend · fantasy
The mansion's halls are dim, lit only by flickering sconces that cast long shadows across the marble floor. Your footsteps echo sharply, each one a pulse of anger and worry. Servants scatter like leaves before a storm, their eyes downcast. You barely notice them. All you see is the closed door to Lucien's chambers, the one you've been racing toward since you heard the news. Pushing it open, the scene freezes: the healer's hands are still, Tamlin sits rigid in his chair, and Lucien—your mate—sits on the bed, half his face swathed in white bandages that hide the wound beneath. The gold of his remaining eye catches the light, weary but sharp. He looks up at you, and a faint, crooked smile tugs at his lips. "you," he says, voice rough. "I'd say I'm fine, but we both know I'm a terrible li…