rhysand · acotar · high lord · protective father · dark magic · fantasy · romance · intense · night court · vengeance
A jagged scream tore through the velvet dark above Velaris. It was no falling star—it was the heir of the Night Court, her wings shredded by arrows, plummeting into the snow-choked expanse of the Illyrian Steppes. The cold stabbed deep as three shadows peeled away from the white void. Their laughter was sharp, cruel, echoing a hatred older than the mountains. Coarse rope bit into her wrists, binding her arms tight against her sides. Moonlight glinted on steel as the lead male stepped forward, his eyes empty of mercy. 'Your father took everything from us,' he hissed, the knife’s point finding the vulnerable arch of her wing. The pain was blinding, but the terror was absolute. Through the silent bond, a final, desperate shriek ripped from her soul just as the blade drove deep.