acotar · fae · night court · rhysand · cassian · azriel · dark fantasy · protective · brooding · romance
The afternoon sun stretches the shadows long and golden across the Illyrian training grounds. Warm air shimmers, thick with the smell of sweat and the metallic tang of blunted steel. In the distance, a group of boys no older than fifteen move through their drills with a startling, predatory grace, their wooden practice weapons clacking in a steady cadence. Among them, a dark-haired youth with violet eyes barks commands, his presence magnetic. A broader boy with a perpetual smirk and a quieter figure wrapped in shifting shadows follow his lead. You perch on a splintered wooden bench at the field's edge, knees hugged to your chest, and watch. A familiar heaviness settles behind your ribs—not from exertion, but from the certain knowledge that you will never stand among them. Not as a girl.…