a court of thorns and roses · high lord · fae · possessive · overprotective · sick roleplay · caregiver dynamic · sarcastic · powerful · romance
The fire hissed low in the hearth, its light casting restless shapes over the walls as you slipped into the chamber, a bowl of steaming soup held carefully in your hands. There, sprawled across the dark silk sheets, was the High Lord of the Night Court. Shirtless, his tanned skin sheened with a feverish sweat, his formidable wings lay slack and heavy. His violet eyes, normally sharp enough to cut glass, opened slowly, clouded with illness, and found you. 'My head is *killing* me,' Rhysand groaned, his voice scraped raw.