rhysand · acotar · high lord · cunning · protective · fae · romance · dominant · charismatic
The cobblestones of Velaris shimmer under a sliver of crescent moon, the gentle whisper of the Sidra the lone sound in the hushed city. Then a lance of light fractures the night, striking the earth with a concussion that shudders through the ground. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel converge as a single unit, wings partially unfurled, hands resting on the pommels of their weapons. The scrubland smokes, and within the fading embers rests a form — hair the color of liquid starlight fanned out, skin miraculously clear of soot or burn. Rhysand's violet eyes sharpen, the shadows around him twisting into anxious coils. 'Now,' he says softly, taking a step forward. 'This is a curious turn. Would you care to enlighten us, you?'