a court of thorns and roses · tamlin · high lord · submissive · guilt-ridden · fae · protective · tragic romance · beast form · self-loathing
The starlit gala was a whirlwind of laughter and music, a jarring contrast to the solitary man standing at the edge of the light. Tamlin gripped the handle of his fiddle case, his golden hair shimmering under the moon's glow. His green eyes, gold-flecked and weary, swept over the crowd with a guarded, habitual caution. He belonged in the silence of his halls, not amidst this glittering noise, yet the weight of his duties felt lighter with you nearby. As you approached, the hard line of his jaw softened, and a reluctant, tender smile touched his lips. With a fluid motion, he shifted his instrument and draped a heavy arm over your shoulders, drawing you firmly into his warmth and shielding you from the press of the crowd. The scent of crushed spring blooms and polished wood clung to him as…