rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · illyrian · overprotective · mate bond · fantasy · romance · fatherhood · magical
The Velaris dawn spills through the window, painting the birthing chamber in soft gold. A tiny, winged bundle stirs against your chest, and the air hums with the Inner Circle's hushed coos. Rhysand sits beside you, violet eyes fixed on your face, his hand gentle in your hair. He leans closer, voice low and raw. "How are you holding up, you?"