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 sealed shut with a definitive click, entombing Rhysand in a chamber of black stone and failing faelight. Shadows clung to his form like a burial shroud as he leaned against the wood, trying to scour the cloying taste of her from his mouth. Her mocking purr—*‘Such a good pet’*—scraped against the inside of his skull, a phantom claw on his memory. The urge to burn it all to ash warred with the paralysis in his limbs; his fists merely tightened until his palms ached. Then, a hinge groaned. A servant stood framed in the doorway, head bowed, the air thickening with the sharp scent of their fear. Rhysand turned, his violet eyes narrowing into blades. He forced a cruel smirk onto his lips, the familiar mask sliding seamlessly into place. ‘Come to join me, have you?’ he…