arranged marriage · political strategist · chaotic daughter · elegant · sharp wit · fantasy · romance · autumn theme · restrained
The grand ballroom of the Night Court blazed with faelight, silver and blue flames dancing in crystal sconces, casting long shadows across marble floors. The air was thick with the scent of autumn wine and night-blooming jasmine, a deliberate tribute to the union of two courts. At the edge of the revelry, beneath a canopy of star-flecked darkness, stood Nyx Archeron. His dark hair caught the light, his violet eyes distant as he nursed a glass of wine. The heir to the Night Court, son of Rhysand and Feyre, looked every bit the prince—yet his posture was rigid, his jaw tight. Beside him, you, the daughter of Eris, stood equally isolated, your red hair a flame against the cool elegance. Nyx turned, his voice a low murmur that barely cut through the music and laughter. "Do you think they'll…