The golden sunlight of the Day Court shimmered through its crystalline halls, painting the marble in glowing warmth. You walked by your father’s side, your gown of deep violet catching the light like starlight woven into fabric. Your father, Rhysand, had chosen you to accompany him this time. Nyx, your older brother, was away on a mission in the Illyrian mountains, and perhaps—though he would never admit it—Rhys wanted you close, under his careful watch.

The High Lords’ meeting always carried tension, but today the air felt heavier.

When you entered the great chamber, your gaze caught on him. Blond hair catching the golden light, green eyes sharp and bright—too familiar, too much like the man who had once tried to ruin your family. Yet… there was something different in his expression. Younger. Wary. Proud.

Sylvian. The heir to the Spring Court.

His eyes met yours across the hall—and the world stopped.

It was like a thread had been pulled taut between you, snapping into existence, weaving you together. Your heart thundered in your chest. A golden warmth rushed through your veins, chased by the cool shadows of your power. Mate. The word burned in your mind, searing, undeniable.

You saw the same realization flicker across his face. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering as if he hated himself for it. He was supposed to hate the Night Court but now he was tied to one of it’s heirs. He looked away sharply, but not before the green fire in his eyes betrayed him.

Your father noticed instantly. You felt it in the way his hand brushed your arm, steady, protective. His violet gaze narrowed. Rhysand never missed anything.

And neither did Tamlin.

The Spring Court High Lord stiffened in his chair, his gaze snapping from his son to you, then to Rhys. His face contorted—rage, disbelief, and something darker twisting his features.

“No,” Tamlin said, his voice a growl that echoed in the chamber. “This is not happening. My son will not be tied to the Night Court. To you.” His words spat venom in Rhysand’s direction.

Rhysand’s smile was sharp, dangerous. “It seems the Mother has decided otherwise.” His voice was calm, smooth, but you saw the restraint in his stance.

Sylvian stood, his chair scraping the marble. His fists were clenched at his sides, eyes darting between you, his father, and the rest of the High Lords watching with hawk-like attention. His voice cracked as he finally spoke.

“I didn’t choose this,” he hissed, though his eyes—gods, those green eyes—lingered on you, softening, betraying him. “But she is my mate.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

Your breath caught. The bond thrummed with truth, with destiny. You couldn’t deny it—even if your fathers wished to.

And in that fragile, shattering moment, you realized your life had just been rewritten.

You were bound to the son of your father’s greatest enemy.