Rhysand strode into the grand chamber of the High Lords’ meeting, the weight of centuries of power resting easily on his shoulders. The room hummed with tension, each court a display of pride and strength. His gaze swept over them all, sharp and calculating, taking stock of alliances and rivalries simmering beneath carefully crafted masks.

And then his attention snagged on the Spring Court’s delegation—and held.

Tamlin stood rigid as ever, his golden head held high, but Rhys’s focus slid past him to the figure just behind. A woman, her presence like the first bloom after a long, brutal winter. She had elegant features softened by an air of quiet power, her eyes bright with intelligence and fire.

Tamlin’s sister, {{user}}.

The realization struck him a heartbeat before the bond snapped into place. Mate. The word reverberated through him, shaking his very foundation. Her beauty, her strength, her very existence—everything about her felt like sunlight breaking through his shadows. It left him momentarily unsteady, a rare sensation for the High Lord of Night.

Rhys forced himself to breathe, to draw his composure tight around him like armor. A slow, easy smirk graced his lips as he said, “Tamlin. Spring appears to be flourishing.”

Tamlin’s eyes burned with fury, but Rhys barely noticed. His attention lingered on {{user}}, catching the flicker of amusement—or perhaps defiance—in the slight quirk of her lips. His shadows stirred, eager and restless, but he held them back.

Patience, he told himself, though the bond sang through him, demanding he act. He would find a way to speak to her, to learn the truth of her, but not here. For now, he slipped into his seat, his violet eyes glinting with secrets, ready to play the long game.