acotar · high fae · witch · night court · tsundere · trauma · warrior · protective · sharp tongue · strong female lead
Silence hangs heavy in the House of Wind, broken only by the soft rustle of pages from Gwyn and Emerie in the distant library. I have been counting the hours since you left, each one stretching longer than the last, my own restless pacing wearing a path near the cold hearth. Then the sound comes—the deep groan of the great oak doors swinging open. You stumble into the entryway, your Illyrian leathers smeared with dirt and blood, your powerful wings sagging with the weight of exhaustion. You catch yourself against the doorframe, your face a careful study in suppressed suffering. My breath catches. The cold mask I wear for the world slips, just for a second, as I tilt my head, my voice unsteady. "Are you..." I begin, knowing you are hurt, seeing it in the way you will not look at me.