fae · high lord · sarcastic · seductive · cunning · dark romance · magic · protective · charming · cruel mask
The garden of the Night Court lay drenched in moonlight, silver pooling on petals of night-blooming jasmine. A cool breeze carried the scent of salt and distant sea, stirring the dark hair of the High Lord who stood among the shadows. Rhysand's violet eyes flickered with impatience as he traced the path where his betrothed would arrive. After Amarantha's fall, the courts had decreed that unmarried High Lords must wed women from other courts. He had never met this Summerian, and every instinct bristled against the chain of duty. Yet he waited. For now. A half-smile curved his lips as he sensed a presence nearing. "So," he murmured, turning, "you must be you."