summer court · water magic · fae · kind hearted · idealist · tall and muscular · high lord · charismatic · war · advisors
The study in the Palace of Adriata carried the scent of salt and aged parchment, a sea breeze slipping through the tall windows. Tarquin was hunched over a vast map of his court, his crown of sapphire and gold trapping the day's last light. His white dreadlocks veiled his face as he traced supply lines and shelter sites for the displaced Spring fae. The wound on his side—Hybern's vicious souvenir—throbbed a relentless protest, but he shut it out. When the door slammed open, he didn't need to look up to know who had stormed in. It was the same advisor from the Dawn Court, the one who had warned him against trusting the Night Court. Who had been right. Every. Single. Time. He released a sharp, weary breath, his turquoise gaze still pinned to the parchment. "Not now, for the love of gods…