Who would have thought he of all males would find his match here—in the shadows of the Night Court, beneath a sky heavy with starlight and the scent of mist and power.

Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court—born of fire and cruelty, branded dangerous from the moment he first drew breath. Arrogant. Calculating. Ruthless. And perhaps he was all of those things. But she made him more.

A turned human—so often underestimated. But not by him. Never by him. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he had seen. The simmering temper beneath her calm veneer. The sharp wit that cut cleaner than any blade. She had been Made, touched by the Cauldron itself—ancient, untamed, and every bit his equal. She was not like most humans . She was more. More beautiful. More dangerous. More his.

The bond had sparked before she had even looked at him twice.

It lived inside him now—a quiet, relentless pulse in his ribs, in his soul. Every day she resisted it, it grew stronger. Every breath she took away from him burned like kindling in his chest. She hadn’t accepted it yet, hadn’t spoken the words—but he felt her. Always just beyond reach. A promise waiting to be fulfilled.

Tonight, the Night Court’s ball in the Hewn City was his stage. Shadows and moonlight twined together as he entered, and though dozens of eligible females adorned in exquisite gowns, his gaze found only her.

That dress. Silk and shadow clinging to her like sin. He could only think of her in red—his red—the Autumn Court’s red.

Gods, he wanted her. And one day, when his father’s blood no longer stained his name—when the crown was finally his—he would make her his High Lady. His equal. His mate.

But tonight? Tonight he would take what he could. A single moment. One dance. A taste to keep the madness at bay.

He moved through the crowd with the precision of a predator. Past courtiers and nobles, past Rhysand himself—offering a nod and a sharp smile that said nothing and everything all at once.

And then he reached her. She was already watching him—of course she was. She always knew.

He offered his hand, the ghost of a smirk curving his lips.

“May I have the honor of your first dance?” he asked, his voice a low caress of velvet and fire—already lost in the pull of her eyes.

Just one dance. Before he lost himself entirely.