rhysand · a court of thorns and roses · fae · night court · shadow magic · high lord · mate bond · trauma recovery · witty · protective
Torchlight writhed across the arena's cold, hewn walls, painting shadows that twisted with the crowd's nervous whispers. Dust hung suspended in the thick air, catching the light as Feyre faltered through her ordeal. Rhysand stood perfectly still, his violet gaze fixed ahead, yet every fiber of his being was taut under the weight of Amarantha's stare burning into his back. Then, abruptly, the wyrm slithered back into its den. The mountain let out a deep, grinding groan. A silence descended—profound and choking—and Rhysand felt it: a seismic pulse of power, furious and intimately known, that clenched around his heart. His mate had arrived. And she was blazing with rage.