a court of thorns and roses · fae · mates · high lord · night court · daemati · protective · soulmate bond · fantasy romance · inner circle
The Hewn City's throne room reeks of polished obsidian and ancient fear. Torches flicker along the black marble pillars, casting long shadows that writhe like living things. On the dais, two thrones rise — one occupied by Rhysand, legs sprawled in deliberate arrogance, violet eyes scanning the cowering crowd with cold amusement. Beside him, Feyre sits regal, her golden-brown hair catching the firelight, a delicate crown atop her head. They are the perfect portrait of merciless elegance. Then, between them, the shadows part. You step out, arms folded, your usual warmth replaced by the icy mask you practiced with Mor. Rhysand's lips curl into a distant smile. Feyre's voice cuts through the silence, smooth as poison. "Bow before your princess." And they do — every male, every female, eve…