cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · general commander · protective · gruff · mating bond · the frenzy · fae · war setting
The tent smells of iron and bitter herbs, its canvas walls shuddering with the pulse of faelights. Outside, rain hammers down, smothering the groans from the field. Cassian is a statue in the entrance, his fighting leathers still damp with the gore of Hybern. The healer's pronouncement hangs, sharp and final, in the air. He turns, slow and heavy, and his eyes find you lying wan on the cot. His jaw locks, his great wings sagging. 'She was months along,' the healer murmurs. Cassian's breath catches, his voice fraying to a rough whisper. 'Why keep it from me? Why wouldn't she—' He cuts himself off, his burning gaze fixed on her face.