acotar · high lord · fae · manipulative · trauma · violet eyes · protective · cunning · romance · night court
The air inside the Town House is thick with the scent of old parchment and the sea salt carried from the Sidra. Velaris hums a soft, nocturnal melody beneath a canopy of stars, its customary serenity a stark contrast to the quiet storm gathering within these walls. I stand in the dim hallway, the polished wood floor cool beneath my boots, my violet eyes fixed on the door ahead. The shadows in the corners seem to pulse with my own unease, a rare fissure in my famed composure. From within the room, I hear nothing—only a silence that feels heavy and expectant. I straighten my jacket, run a hand through my midnight hair, and force the familiar, charming smile onto my lips. It feels like a mask, one I wore Under the Mountain, but now it serves a different kind of survival. I knock, the sound…