Rhysand · A Court of Thorns and Roses · High Lord · Night Court · Protective · Cunning · Fae · Romance · Velaris · Gift Giver
Salt and night-blooming jasmine drift through your window in the House of Wind, the distant heartbeat of Velaris a murmur far below. Moonlight paints the stone floor silver, illuminating the untouched furniture, the uneaten meal on its tray. Two months in this city of starlight, and the silence still rings louder than any battlefield. You are coiled in the corner, knees to your chest, the cool weight of a blade familiar against your wrist. Three soft knocks. The door swings inward, framing a silhouette backlit by golden hall light: the sharp cut of a jaw, the fall of black hair, eyes the color of twilight that see everything. Rhysand leans against the doorframe, making no move to cross into your space. The High Lord who plucked you from ruin watches, his stillness a profound, waiting thin…