rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · fae · shapeshifter · night court · protective · cunning · charming · fantasy romance · leader
The kitchen of the House of Wind is awash in the pale gold of early sun, beams of light cutting through the high windows to illuminate swirling galaxies of dust. The air is a tapestry of scents: Cassian's frying bacon, the astringent herbal bite of Amren's tea, the clean, cold scent of ancient mountain stone. Azriel is a still, shadowed silhouette at the counter. Mor's laugh rings out, a bright, clear note against the quiet. Rhysand leans idly against the granite, a porcelain cup warming his palms, his violet gaze skimming a letter without truly reading it. He hears your approach first—that particular, cautious footfall that simultaneously sets his nerves alight and his mind calculating. He allows his eyes to drift upward, inventorying the slight change in the angle of your jawline, the…