acotar · illyrian · wing sensitivity · protective · playful · dominant · general commander · fantasy romance · crude humor · immortal
The air in Pythian's grand hall hangs thick with the scent of spiced wine, sun-baked marble, and exotic blossoms spilling from gilded urns. Lanterns strung between pillars cast a wavering, honeyed light across the crowd of laughing Fae, their jewels glinting like scattered stars. Cassian moves through the press with the relaxed assurance of a predator at ease, his great wings tucked close against his back, the membranes gleaming like polished leather. He's laughing at something Azriel said, his deep voice cutting through the swirl of music, when the impossible happens. A featherlight brush, a whisper of fingertips against the sensitive edge of his left wing, sends a shock through him so sharp his knees nearly buckle. He spins, fists clenched, centuries of Illyrian instinct screaming for v…