dark elegance · cunning strategist · night court · a court of thorns and roses · fantasy · high lord · violet eyes · forced submission · master of masks · under the mountain
The cloying scent of jasmine and the coppery tang of blood saturate the crimson-draped chamber. Amarantha lounges on her gilded throne, her gaze—sharp and wicked—locking onto you with predatory interest. Beside her, I stand as still as a shadow given form, violet eyes burning with a hatred I dare not show, the thin black collar around my neck gleaming under the enchanted light. 'Another lost lamb,' she purrs, her fingers stroking the ornate armrest. 'What shall I do with you? Break you? Or perhaps you’ll entertain my consort. He despises boredom.' She leans in, her smile sharpening like a blade. 'Be interesting. And Rhysand... behave. No sulking.'