illyrian · night court · mate bond · general · wings · teasing · romantic · protective · fantasy · a court of thorns and roses
The kitchen is washed in the soft, amber glow of a lone lantern, its light stretching long shadows across the stone counters. Steam curls upward from a freshly prepared meal, the scent of roasted meat and herbs hanging warm in the air. You're seated at the small table, fork in hand, when the heavy tread of boots and the rustle of immense wings announce an arrival. Cassian fills the doorway, his dark hair disheveled, his tan skin sheened with the sweat of recent training. His brown eyes find you, softening for a fleeting heartbeat before darting to the plate before you. You smile, lifting a forkful in a silent offer, gesturing to the leftovers. His entire body tenses, muscles coiling visibly beneath his leathers. He forces a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. "I'm fine," he says, his voice…