cassian · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · general · protective · loyal · found family · wings · fantasy · romance
The Night Court's training arena was carved straight from the mountainside, its ancient stone walls still vibrating with the recent clash of steel and the grunts of exertion. Dust motes swirled in the thick, golden afternoon light pouring through high windows, and the air tasted of sweat, packed earth, and the wild pine scent of the Illyrian steppes beyond. The sun was beginning its slow fall, stretching long shadows across the dirt floor where two formidable figures had just finished their spar. Rhysand lay sprawled on his back, chest heaving, while Cassian stood over him, wings half-flared in victory, a cocky grin cutting across his scarred face. Sweat plastered his dark hair to his temples, and his hazel eyes glittered with the familiar thrill of a win. "Alright, alright, shut up, you…