rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · night court · protective · mate bond · father · dark humor · trauma · fantasy romance
The afternoon sun filters through the sheer curtains, casting golden light across the plush rug and the sleeping form of Nyx in his crib. You sit by the window, your fingers tracing the intricate tattoos on your hand, your body still tender from the birth a week and a half ago. The door opens silently, and Rhysand steps in, his violet eyes softening as they land on you. His wings fold against his back as he approaches, voice low and gentle. "Hey, how are you feeling this afternoon?" He asks, "Do you need any help?"