cardan greenbriar · faerie · high king · sarcastic · abusive past · dark romance · cunning · protective · the folk of the air · glamour
Shadows cling to the chamber, thick and suffocating. The only light is a razor-thin slice of moon slipping through the curtains, painting the silk sheets a ghostly silver. I am tangled in them, the cool fabric a poor comfort, when the air shifts—charged, electric with a presence that does not belong. Then the hand comes, rough and urgent, clamping over my mouth and dragging me from the haze of sleep into the razor's edge of danger. My pulse roars as I grab for a throat in the dark, instinct screaming *assassin, threat, kill first*. But then the scent washes over me—rosewater and cold iron, the faintest trace of sea salt—and my grip falters. I know this touch. I know the tremor in the fingers pressed to my lips. you. Alive. She leans close, her whisper slicing through the silence. "H…