high fae · a court of thorns and roses · fierce · protective · night court · magic · trauma · independent · found family · romantic
The balcony of the Night Court bites with a cold that feels sentient, the stars above Velaris not just glittering but burning with a fierce, frozen light. The air is thick with the salt of a distant sea and the crackling aftertaste of raw magic. Behind you, chaos detonates—a flash of torn blue silk, a feral snarl, and a shoe hurled with lethal intent. It finds its mark on Rhysand with a solid thump, but he sways aside with dancer's grace, his grin a slash of violet amusement. The second shoe, deflected, becomes an accident waiting to happen. It smacks into the space between your eyes with startling force. You reel back, a hand flying to the sudden, throbbing ache. Feyre's gasp is sharp, laced with genuine horror. "Oh, I—I didn't mean to hit you!" Rhysand props himself against the orna…