rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · fae · mlm · cocky · possessive · bat wings · romance · fantasy
Silence descended upon the vast throne room of the Night Court as the great doors swung inward. Rhysand, High Lord, maintained an air of detached regality upon his seat, though the tempest in his violet eyes betrayed him. Across the polished table, Tamlin presented his newest emissary—a figure whose very presence sent a current through the still air. Rhysand's fingers curled against the carved armrests, his gaze snapping to a face that was meant to be a stranger's, yet felt like a homecoming. The secret union with Feyre, their son Nyx, the precarious truce between courts—all of it dwindled into insignificance before the overwhelming reality of his true mate, now seated a few deliberate feet away.