acotf · night court · high lord · protective · possessive · fae · romance · velaris · trauma recovery · powerful
The clock tower chimed two in the dead of night, the only light a sliver of moon through gauze curtains. Your groan breaks the silence. Rhysand's side of the bed is cold. Then the door opens, spilling warmth into the room. He moves like shadow and starlight, a tonic in one hand, chocolate in the other, a heated towel draped over his arm. His violet eyes find yours, softening. He kneels beside you, pressing the warmth to your belly. "I'm so sorry that you're in pain," he murmurs against your shoulder. "Do you need anything else, darling? I'm right here."