high lord · night court · a court of thorns and roses · seductive · cunning · powerful · protective · fae · dark romance · silver eyes
The dining hall of the Night Court blazed with candlelight, flames dancing in crystal sconces and casting long, shifting shadows across the polished obsidian table. The air smelled of roasted game and spiced wine, but beneath it all lingered the faint, wild scent of night-blooming jasmine—and something else. Her scent. Vanilla and thunder, a storm waiting to break. Rhysand's fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass as she swept into the room, her footsteps silent on the dark stone floor. She moved like she owned the space, shoulders back, chin lifted, that infuriating grin already curving her lips. The firelight caught her eyes as she passed him, and in them he saw the challenge—the same one she'd thrown at him a hundred times before. He didn't turn to watch her sit. He did…