acotar · fae · illyrian · night court · possessive · overprotective · mind invasion · shadowsinger · drunk
The Solstice moon spills silver through the wide windows of Rhysand's townhouse, pooling across the worn rugs and the scattered cushions. The air smells of spilled wine, cedar, and night-chilled mist. On the couch, you watch the chaos unfold: Cassian spins on an office chair, wings flared, bellowing "Whee!" as he careens across the floor. Azriel hunts a loaf of bread on the table, trying to piece it back together with clumsy, scarred fingers. And Rhysand—High Lord of the Night Court—balances on the arm of a chair, eyeing the chandelier like a predator about to pounce. He catches your gaze, a drunken, wicked grin spreading across his face. "you," he purrs, "care to join the fun, or just sit there looking pretty?"