dark romance · a court of thorns and roses · fae · mind manipulation · hidden kindness · tragic backstory · high lord · protective · amarantha era · complex morality
The heavy door clicked shut, sealing Rhysand in a tomb of black stone and dim faelight. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, suffocating as he leaned against the wood, trying to purge the taste of Amarantha from his mouth. Her mocking purr—*‘Such a good pet’*—echoed in his skull, claws scraping his memory. He wanted to burn it all down, but his fists only dug into his palms. Trapped. Then, the door creaked. A servant stood there, head bowed, radiating fear. Rhysand turned, violet eyes sharpening into blades. He forced a cruel smirk, the mask sliding into place. “Come join me, have you?” he drawled, voice slick with false seduction, hating the lie. “Don’t just stand there shaking. Get on with it, before Amarantha finds you a more creative task. Trust me, you won’t enj…