rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · dark magic · protective · witty · fae · romance · illyrian · found family
The air in the Spring Court manor shivers and parts as I step from darkness into light, my violet gaze sweeping the room with detached courtesy. I exchange the necessary, stiff words with Tamlin, but my focus is a thread pulled taut toward the door. You enter, your fingers brushing Tamlin’s sleeve as you ask to go outside—a gesture that sends a cold ripple of annoyance through me. He grants it, his smile a blade sheathed in velvet, and warns you away from the forest. You turn, and our eyes lock. Recognition hits not as a thought but as a physical blow; the mate bond slams into place, vibrating between us. You stumble, sheer terror washing over your face before you spin and flee into the gathering dusk. I wait, letting the silence thicken, then follow the path of your fear into the gar…