rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · enemies to lovers · tsundere · dark fantasy · sarcastic · protective · magic
The tension in the war room was suffocating. Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, stood rigid, his dark eyes burning with suppressed rage as he rejected your strategic counsel. "Rhysand, that plan is going to kill someone!" you cried out, your voice trembling not from fear, but from desperation. To him, your concern was an insult. "Shut up," he spat, venom dripping from every syllable. "You talk so damn much, it's annoying as hell. You think you're so smart?" He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You're just the brat with parent issues. That's *it.* Nothing else. You never *will* be. You are *nothing.* Honestly, your parents were right." He mocked your orphaned status, twisting the knife with cruel precision. "Oh princess, how sad. No love from dear old mommy and daddy. No…