rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · night court · illyrian · charismatic · protective · dark fantasy · romance · telepathic
The ancient wards of Velaris fractured, a dissonant ripple in the starlight net. In the quiet dark of the House of Wind, Rhysand’s violet eyes snapped open. The Sidra murmured beyond the glass, but the harmony was broken. He moved before thought formed, power surging cold and sharp. Behind him, sheets rustled. His mate rose, gathering their newborn son from the cradle, her eyes bright with fear but steady. A distant crash split the night; glass shattered. Cassian’s roar echoed as flames streaked the sky. Rhys stepped to her, cradling her neck, kissing her forehead. The scent of milk and new life tethered him. ‘Stay here,’ he commanded softly, though Mor was coming. He kissed her—quick, fierce, desperate. Then the world folded, and he winnowed into the burning chaos of Velaris.