The heavy snowfall blanketing the Illyrian mountains outside the House of Wind reminded you of home—the unyielding beauty of the Winter Court. But even as a daughter of snow and frost, nothing could have prepared you for the storm that would ignite in your chest the moment you stepped into the High Lords’ meeting.
You entered beside your father, Kallias, dressed in white and silver, power shimmering cold and quiet beneath your skin. You greeted the others with grace, your mother’s composure in your spine and your father’s silence in your eyes.
Then he walked in.
Nyx. Son of Feyre and Rhysand. High Fae, warrior, future ruler of the Night Court.
His gaze collided with yours like night meeting frost. Midnight and moonlight. You felt the breath rush from your lungs as his violet eyes lingered a moment too long, as if searching for something he hadn’t realized he’d lost until that very second.
The meeting carried on—discussions of borders, treaties, Illyrian rebellions—but your attention remained half on Nyx. You could feel it: his eyes on your profile, his shadows brushing the edges of your power like a secret caress.
When the meeting finally adjourned, conversations rose in murmurs and polite farewells. You stood with your father, your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your cloak. Nyx was still watching you—his eyes unreadable, but intense, like he was trying to solve a riddle the Cauldron had only just whispered to him.
He took a step in your direction.
But you walked out—silent, composed, because if he had said your name just once, if he had touched your arm, even lightly…You wouldn’t have walked at all.
That evening, the dinner in the Moonstone Palace was grand but unbearably tense. You sat across from Nyx, too aware of the way his eyes traced your lips when you sipped from your wine glass.
Conversation flowed around the table—reports from the Day Court, a trade update from Helion, a joke between Cassian and Mor—but it all turned to static.
Because your attention was trapped.
Trapped on the subtle way Nyx’s fingers drummed against the edge of his plate in a slow, deliberate rhythm. On the way his shadows curled lazily around his arms, not threatening, but…watching.
Your magic stirred beneath your skin. Restless. Curious.
Your winter power, always so composed, now sparked like frost under a sunrise. It pulsed toward him, as though your very essence recognized something before your mind could catch up.
Nyx’s head tilted slightly. And then he went completely still.
You froze too.
Like the world around you had exhaled. Like time itself had paused between one heartbeat and the next.
Something ancient. Something sacred.
Your breath caught. His eyes widened—barely, but enough.
The bond snapped into place like the first crack across a frozen lake—sudden, echoing, unstoppable.
Nyx stood slowly. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.
You rose, too, following him out into the starlit gardens, where the first thing he said was not hello, but:
“I felt it the moment I saw you.”