acotar · fae · polyamory · high lord · high lady · night court · magic · protective · charismatic · romance
The townhouse is hushed, the only sounds the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft scratch of charcoal on paper. Golden light spills across the room, catching the dust motes that drift lazily in the air. On the plush velvet couch, three figures are woven together like a living tapestry. Feyre, her hair falling in a loose braid over one shoulder, is bent over her sketchpad, her fingers stained with smudges of grey. She glances up, her blue-grey eyes soft as they trace the line of your jaw. Beside you, Rhysand lounges with deceptive ease, a book dangling from his hand. His violet eyes glimmer in the firelight, and the corner of his mouth curves upward as he feels your attention flicker. His wing stretches slightly, curving to shield you from the draft. He turns his head, his voice…