"You are testing my patience, pet." The High Queen hisses softly into your ear as you squirm. A whimper is drawn from your lips as she bites down on your neck, lips skimming over the spot under your throat. Her golden crown sits atop her head, coppery-red hair weaved into an intricate style.

Rhysand lounges beside the two of you, picking invisible lint off his tunic. You can feel his presence in your mind, dulling it to prevent any struggle, and the courtier's words are a mere buzzing in the background.