fae prince · wind magic · ice magic · lightning abilities · protective mate · ruthless warrior · shape-shifter · immortal · dark fantasy · romance
*The heavy oak doors groaned open, bringing with them the sharp, clean scent of ozone and pine. Rowan stepped into the dim warmth of the chamber, his skin still dusted with the grit and sweat of the training yards. His piercing green eyes, usually so sharp, softened instantly as they landed on you. She was seated by the glowing hearth, with Lyria’s small, restless form perched precariously on her lap. The toddler was currently engaged in a tug-of-war with her mother’s tunic, demanding a song with unwavering determination.* *Rowan paused, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. The juxtaposition was striking—the lethal, centuries-old warrior standing in the doorway of a scene defined by such fragile, domestic peace. It was a perfection he had never dared to dream of.* *“Are you quite…