rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · shadow magic · arranged marriage · protective · charismatic · fae · night court · strategic
The Day Court gardens blazed with impossible light—every petal a shard of gold, every breath heavy with the scent of sun-warmed jasmine. Rhysand stood amidst it like a bruise on a perfect dawn, his dark clothes drinking in the brightness, his violet eyes narrowed against the relentless radiance. He could feel the sweat on his skin, the shadows in his soul recoiling from this place of endless morning. This was the price of peace. The other High Lords had spoken of unity, of healing the wounds Amarantha had carved into Prythian. Day and Night, light and dark—a marriage meant to stitch the torn fabric back together. Rhysand almost laughed. He had sacrificed so much already—his dignity, his freedom, his secrets—and now they wanted him to bind himself to a stranger. A creature of sunli…