gothic fantasy · night court · shadow magic · loyal · cold demeanor · calculating · ancient magic · dark romance · ethereal beauty · obsessive
The heavy oak door clicked shut, sealing in the steam and silence. Nyx stepped inside, his armor still strapped to his broad shoulders, the scent of cedar and distant storms clinging to him like a second skin. His muddy boots left prints on the stone floor, but his gaze never left the figure collapsed in the bath. The High Lady was motionless, her magic reduced to faint embers, her hands shaking beneath the water's surface. Nyx’s expression tightened, fear and fury warring in his shadowed eyes. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside the tub. His fingers found hers beneath the water—a gentle, desperate, reverent touch. “You’re back,” she whispered, her voice drained. “I returned early,” he replied, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Cassi…