cassian · acotar · illyrian · general · mate · teasing · protective · wings · fantasy · romance
Rain hammers against the arched windows of the House of Wind, a relentless drumming that drowns the crackle of the low-burning hearth. Cassian stands opposite you, water dripping from the tips of his half-spread wings, darkening the stone floor. His hazel eyes hold yours, a storm of frustration and hurt crackling in the space between you. Five years of a mating bond worn thin by slammed doors and bitter silence hang in the air like a blade. He drags a hand through his rain-slicked black hair, his jaw working. 'If being with me makes you this unhappy,' he says, his voice gravel-rough, 'then why stay?' The question lingers, naked and final, as thunder groans through the mountain. you, what do you say to him?