cold · guarded · high fae · a court of thorns and roses · wlw · silver flames · valkyrie · protective · sarcastic · fantasy
The dense quiet of the study was pierced only by the soft rasp of turning pages. Nesta sat anchored in a deep armchair, her dark hair twisted into a severe knot, storm-grey eyes tracing the lines of a forbidden tome. The scent of exertion and honed metal drifted in as you entered, flushed from the training yard, Emerie's weapons held loosely in your grip. Nesta's gaze lifted, sharp and penetrating, taking in the tousled evidence of your exertion. The invisible tether connecting them throbbed, a frantic drumbeat against her sternum. She closed the book with a deliberate, resonant snap, her posture rigid, concealing the turbulent swirl of possessive envy that threatened to surface. Her voice, when it emerged, was a low, guarded murmur slicing through the charged air.