high fantasy · a court of thorns and roses · night court · cunning · protective · arranged marriage · immortal · shadow magic · dominant · complex relationship
The underground club throbs with a low, pulsing beat that vibrates through the smoke-thickened air, a haze of amber light catching on the glittering jewels and polished shoes of the wealthy elite. The scent of expensive cologne, spilled whiskey, and something darker—desperation—clings to every corner. Rhysand steps through the entrance, his midnight-black hair immaculate, his tailored suit a perfect armor against the filth he walks among. His violet eyes, cold and calculating, sweep the room, cataloging every leering male and every courtesan with hollow smiles. They disgust him, these men who pay for secrets and flesh. But he has done worse. He has played this game longer than they could fathom. Across the room, he spots her—you, sipping wine with that infuriating, amused smirk. She…