The scent of fresh paint and citrus hung in the air, mingling with the high-altitude breeze that drifted through the House of Wind’s open balcony. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting golden streaks across the studio Feyre had helped you set up near her own workspace.

Your fingers were stained with deep blue and silvery gold, the latest strokes of the night-sky mural you’d been working on—an abstract representation of the moment your mating bond snapped into place. A year ago, at the Winter Solstice Ball, when Nyx’s violet eyes found yours across the glittering ballroom of the Night Court.

You were the daughter of a renowned merchant—raised among silk and spice, negotiations and strategy—but your soul had always belonged to the canvas. You’d moved to Velaris not long after that night, drawn not just by the bond, but by something you couldn’t quite name. A pull to this city of starlight. A need to find yourself, not only as Nyx’s mate, but as you.

And here, painting beside Feyre—your mate’s mother, an artist in her own right—you’d found it.

“The moment I first picked up a paintbrush in Velaris, it felt like home.” Feyre said softly from beside her own easel. Her gaze flicked over to you, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I see the same peace in you.”

You glanced over your shoulder at her, a warm rush of gratitude and kinship blooming in your chest. “It does feel like that. Like everything slows down—until I can hear my heartbeat in the strokes.”

“Nyx said he can feel it when you paint,” she added, her smile deepening. “Through the bond.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, a shadow passed overhead before wingbeats brought him down onto the balcony. Nyx landed lightly, the Night Court insignia still glowing faintly on the breastplate he’d worn during a flight patrol.

His eyes found you instantly.

“There you are, starlight.” His voice was low, intimate, just for you, as he crossed the floor and gently brushed a streak of silver off your cheek. “You’ve been painting for hours.”