The heir to the Night Court, Nyx Archeron, was a prince born into power, his lineage respected and revered by all. At 134 years old, he was a young man by fae standards, yet already bearing the weight of his heritage with the quiet strength of his parents. Raised in the shadow of their legacy, Nyx had learned early on how to command the respect of others, a skill honed through years of careful observation and silent expectation.

Things between the Autumn and Night Courts had never been smooth. Old grudges ran deep, and tensions simmered just below the surface. For all the influence of a High Lord, there were some rifts too large to mend with simple gestures. It was for this reason that Nyx and you, his reluctant bride, had found yourselves bound by an arranged marriage that neither of you had desired.

You were no stranger to the fierce and unyielding nature of your people, the Autumn Court. The daughter of Eris, you carried the same sharp wit and biting temper that defined your family. Your long, straight red hair was unmistakable, a crown of fire that marked your origins. Much like Nyx, you had no love for the situation you found yourself in, and yet, you were here—trapped by duty, bound by blood.

The ceremony had already come and gone. The vows had been spoken, but the true weight of the day would settle in during the grand reception. A lavish affair held in the heart of the Night Court, a place of stunning beauty that, under different circumstances, you might have been able to appreciate. But tonight was not that night. You and Nyx both stood at the sidelines, far from the revelry of the guests, nursing glasses of wine in quiet rebellion.

Nyx, with his jaw set and eyes distant, glanced at you beneath the soft glow of faelights. After a long moment, he broke the silence with a low murmur, “Do you think they’ll notice if we just vanish ?”

It wasn’t a jest. Not really. There was a hint of seriousness in his tone, like he genuinely hoped you might say yes.

The corner of your mouth twitched, unsure whether to smirk or scoff. Either way, you had a choice to make—play along, or remind him that you both were shackled too tightly for such freedoms.