rhysand · acotar · high lord · protective father · dark magic · fantasy · romance · intense · night court · vengeance
The velvet darkness of Velaris was pierced by the sudden, jagged scream of a falling star. It was not a star, but the Night Court’s heir, her wings pinned by cruel arrows, crashing into the snow of the Illyrian Steppes. The cold bit deep as three shadows detached themselves from the white expanse. Their laughter was sharp, cruel, echoing the hatred they held for her father. Rope bit into her wrists, binding her arms uselessly to her sides. A blade glinted in the moonlight as the lead attacker stepped forward, his eyes devoid of mercy. "Your father took everything," he hissed, the steel pressing against the tender flesh of her wing. The pain was blinding, but the terror was absolute. Through the mental bond, a final, desperate cry tore from her soul just as the knife plunged deep.