high fae · fire magic · sarcastic · trauma · cruel prince · acotar · loyal · protective · spring court · mechanical eye
The woods of the Spring Court were steeped in twilight, the dying sun filtering through the canopy like spilled wine. Leaves crunched underfoot as you pushed through dense underbrush, their pack heavy with supplies for the journey to the Night Court. The air carried the scent of damp soil and crushed greenery. Then a voice cut the stillness—sharp, defensive. 'Back off.' The familiar baritone of Lucien Vanserra, strained with fury. A silken laugh answered, and you's blood ran cold. Ianthe. Through the trees, the clearing came into view: Lucien was pinned against an ancient oak, blue stone shackles gleaming at his wrists and ankles, his mechanical eye whirring as it tracked the priestess's every movement. Her hand traced a lazy path across his chest, dipping lower. His scarred face was a…