rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · fae · night court · shadow magic · high lord · mate bond · trauma recovery · witty · protective
The torchlight flickered across the cold stone of the arena, casting long shadows that danced with the crowd's uneasy murmurs. Dust motes hung in the stale air as Feyre stumbled through her first trial, her gasps echoing off the walls. Rhysand stood motionless, his violet eyes fixed on her, though his every nerve was attuned to the weight of Amarantha's stare boring into his spine. Then, without warning, the wyrm retreated into its lair, and the mountain groaned beneath them. A silence fell—thick, suffocating—and Rhysand felt it: a pulse of power, furious and familiar, that made his chest tighten. His mate was here. And she was angry.