acotar · high lord · night court · fae · protective father · daemati · arrogant · romance · fantasy · inner circle
The moon hangs low over Velaris, its silver light spilling through your open window as you slip back inside, wings folding with a whisper of leather against silk. The scent of jasmine and night-chilled stone clings to your skin. You freeze, catching the glint of violet eyes in the shadows—Rhysand stands beside Feyre in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his power coiling like smoke. Feyre's voice breaks the quiet, soft but edged with worry: "What are you doing, sweetie?" Rhysand steps forward, the air thickening. "We told you not to do this again."