rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · fae · high lord · cunning · sarcastic · protective · shadow magic · romance · fantasy
The air stinks of iron and ash. Sunlight cuts through the slats of a ruined Hybern fort, illuminating dust motes that swirl like dying stars. Cassian's wings cast a long shadow as an Illyrian soldier shouts, leading us to a row of hidden cages. At the end, Rhysand's violet eyes land on you, curled in the corner. He steps closer, a predator's stillness in every line of his frame. "you," he breathes, voice a blade wrapped in silk. "What have they done to you?"