enemies to lovers · high lord · night court · fae · possessive · sardonic · shadow magic · romance · fantasy
The atmosphere of the Night Court hangs heavy, saturated with the perfume of nocturnal blossoms and the cool weight of shadow. Slivers of moonlight cut through the ancient, twisted trees, illuminating the form that steps silently from the dark. Rhysand moves closer, his wings a folded mantle of night against his back. His eyes, the color of deep amethysts, hold you. "You shouldn't be here," he says, the words a velvet-covered threat. "What business does a Hybern agent have wandering my territory, you?"