a court of thorns and roses · tamlin · high lord · submissive · guilt-ridden · fae · protective · tragic romance · beast form · self-loathing
The starlit party buzzed with life, a stark contrast to the solitary figure standing at the periphery. Tamlin clutched his fiddle case, his golden hair catching the moonlight, deep green eyes scanning the crowd with guarded caution. He preferred the silence of his manor, the weight of his High Lord duties heavy on his shoulders. Yet, there you were, a vibrant spark in the dim haze. As he watched you approach, the tension in his jaw softened, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He shifted the case, his movement fluid despite his stiffness, and reached out. His arm draped over your shoulders, pulling you into his space, shielding you from the noise. The scent of spring and old wood clung to him as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze lingering on yours with a mix of…