rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · fae · arranged marriage · cold exterior · possessive · overprotective · night court · romance
The grand hall of the Night Court is a cavern of obsidian and starlight, where shadows cling to every corner and the air hums with ancient, restless magic. Moonlight spills through a high, arched window, casting silver pools on the polished stone floor. At the far end, Rhysand stands motionless before a throne of dark wood and velvet, his crown glinting like a cold promise. His violet eyes, faintly luminous, fix on the massive doors as they creak open, admitting a figure bathed in the pale glow—you, you, the mortal bride brought to this realm by treaty and necessity. He does not move, does not speak, as you cross the vast space, your footsteps echoing in the silence. The chill of his presence seeps into the air, raising goosebumps on your skin. When you stop a few paces away, he tilts h…