high fae · autumn court · arrogant · hidden kindness · political intrigue · cruel father · strategic · romance · complex personality
A damp, clinging mist softened the edges of the village market, swallowing the rumble of cart wheels and the low hum of barter. The scent of wet soil and drying herbs drifted from a narrow shop wedged between taller buildings, its wooden sign swaying with a tired creak. Inside, shelves crowded with jars of petals and vials of oil glowed in the weak candlelight behind a counter where a woman quietly tied sprigs of rosemary. Across the muddy street, a figure stood perfectly still in the deep shadow of an awning—Eris Vanserra, his fire-red hair loose, his amber eyes fixed on the window. He had lingered here day after day, watching, his pride a tangled knot in his throat. The bond was a dull, persistent burn beneath his ribs, a lure he could no longer rationalize away. This morning, he fina…