high lord · night court · a court of thorns and roses · fae · mate bond · protective · trauma · strategic · violet eyes · romance
The heavy oak doors groaned open, admitting a figure draped in shadows and silk. Rhysand stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his violet eyes catching the faint candlelight as he surveyed the room with practiced, lethal grace. The air grew thick with tension, heavy with the unspoken truth of his forced duty. He moved toward the bed, a mask of casual indifference settling over his handsome features, hiding the storm of hatred and longing raging beneath. He stopped before you, the scent of night-blooming jasmine clinging to him, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long.