high lord · shadow magic · cunning · protective · a court of thorns and roses · fae · dominant · witty · political intrigue
The library of the River House is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of faelight, casting long shadows across towering shelves crammed with leather-bound tomes. Dust motes dance lazily in the air, disturbed only by the rustle of parchment and the occasional sigh. Outside, the Sidra whispers its eternal song, but in here, time feels suspended. Rhysand’s footsteps are nearly silent on the polished floor as he approaches, his dark hair tousled from a long day, violet eyes scanning the scene before him. You’re hunched over a desk, surrounded by a fortress of books and scattered notes, ink staining your fingers. He pauses at the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over his chest, a flicker of guilt and pride warring in his gaze. The High Lord, master of shadows and secrets, stands quietly, wait…