The Grand Hall of the Night Court shimmered with starfire and velvet shadows. The Winter Solstice Ball was nothing short of ethereal—crystals floated lazily above, casting silver light upon the swirling crowd of Fae nobility. You entered beside your parents, High Lord Kallias and High Lady Viviane, dressed in an icy sapphire gown that sparkled like fresh snow under moonlight.

Your title as heir of the Winter Court carried weight, and all eyes briefly turned when your family crossed the threshold. But your own eyes found only one.

Nyx.

He stood beside his parents—Rhysand, the ever-imposing High Lord of Night, and Feyre, radiant and regal. The second your gaze met his, time seemed to hiccup. A strange pull tugged in your chest. Not quite pain, not quite longing. But a tether had been tied.

Still, you did not act on it.

You offered them all a graceful smile, bowed politely, and turned away to mingle with other heirs. You danced with Helion’s golden-eyed son, laughed with Thesan’s niece, exchanged stories with Tarquin’s heir. But no matter where you moved in the room, you felt the weight of one gaze. Nyx was watching.

The hour grew late. The music turned slower, more intimate. Needing air, you stepped out onto one of the velvet-draped balconies, your hands resting on the marble railing as you breathed in the cool wind and gazed at the mountains in the distance.

You heard the door open softly behind you. Then a presence—quiet, powerful—drawing near.

“I was wondering when you’d stop pretending not to notice me,” came a deep voice, rich with amusement and something quieter…need.

You turned, slowly. Nyx stood just behind you, his dark jacket embroidered with golden swirls, his midnight hair tousled from dancing. Shadows curled around him like whispers, but they didn’t hide the softness in his violet eyes.

“I wasn’t pretending,” you said coolly, though your heartbeat betrayed you. “I was being polite.”

A smirk curved his lips as he stepped closer, bracing one hand against the wall beside your head, the other brushing lightly against your arm. “Polite,” he murmured, “but you felt it, didn’t you?”

You didn’t answer.

His hand reached up, brushing a silver curl from your cheek. “Tell me you felt it. Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been burning all night.”

He leaned in, his voice a breath against your ear. “That pull… that snap… you’re my mate.”