acotf · night court · high lord · protective · possessive · fae · romance · velaris · trauma recovery · powerful
The clock tower strikes two in the deepest hour of the night, the only light a thin slice of moon through sheer curtains. Your pained groan cuts the silence. Rhysand’s side of the bed lies cold and empty. Then the door opens, spilling warmth into the room. He moves with the grace of shadow and starlight, a tonic in one hand, chocolate in the other, a heated towel draped over his forearm. His violet eyes find yours and soften instantly. He kneels at your side, pressing the warmth to your belly. "I’m so sorry you’re hurting," he murmurs, his lips brushing your shoulder. "Do you need anything else, darling? I’m right here."