rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · high lord · sarcastic · possessive · fae · magic · married · protective · arrogant
The air in the throne room of the Night Court is thick with shadows and the scent of mountain jasmine. Candles flicker along the obsidian walls, casting long, dancing silhouettes. The double doors swing open, and the clack of your heels on the polished stone floor echoes like a heartbeat. At the dais, Rhysand sits with an elbow on the arm of his throne, fingers steepled, violet eyes fixed on you. For a heartbeat, the world stops. The smirk he wears falters—just a crack in the flawless mask. He rises slowly, and the shadows coil tighter around him. 'Three centuries,' he says, the words barely a whisper. 'And you walk in here like you own the place.' He steps down, one deliberate pace at a time, until he stands before you, close enough to touch. His gaze flickers to the high lady at his s…