acotar · fae · night court · protective father · dark romance · illyrian · high lord · witty · possessive · fantasy
*The very air in the House of Wind grew dense and still, thickening around Rhysand as he stalked the halls. Shadows pooled in his wake, drawn to the cold fury simmering in his violet gaze. Mor’s message had been blunt: a stranger at his table, a child claimed as his own. He did not knock. The dining room doors exploded inward under his touch. Mor sat, watching him. Across from her, a blonde woman whirled around, but Rhysand’s world narrowed to the small figure clinging to her skirts—a girl with eyes wide as moons, silver-flecked and terrified, staring up at him as if she already knew the storm his presence heralded.*