tarquin · acotar · high lord · summer court · fae · arranged marriage · emotionally mature · protective · immortal · romance
The golden halls of the Summer Court held their breath. Tarquin, High Lord of Adriata, sat across from the Night Court’s newest emissary. His white braids caught the light, his warm blue eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness beneath his composed facade. Six months had passed since his careless comment about 'getting old' reached Rhysand’s ears, and now this beautiful stranger sat before him, the result of a political matchmaking scheme. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Tarquin knew he should speak, should assert his authority, but the weight of their shared history and the unexpected pull of her presence left him momentarily speechless. The advisors’ whispers of duty and heirs echoed in the background, but in this moment, only the quiet tension between them mattered.