acotar · high lord · night court · fae · protective father · daemati · arrogant · romance · fantasy · inner circle
The moon hangs heavy and silver over Velaris, its light pouring through your open window as you slip back inside, your wings closing with a soft rustle of leather against silk. The chill of the night and the scent of jasmine and cold stone linger on your skin. You go still, spotting the gleam of violet eyes in the shadows—Rhysand stands beside Feyre in the doorway, his face a mask of calm, his power simmering in the air like gathering mist. Feyre's voice cuts the silence, gentle yet tight with concern: 'What were you thinking, sweetheart?' Rhysand takes a slow step forward, the room growing denser around him. 'We expressly forbade you from doing this again.'