The forest outside the Spring Manor breathes with the pulse of Calanmai, the ancient rite thrumming through the night like a second heartbeat. Firelight flickers through the trees, painting the bark in molten gold while distant drums echo across the hills of the Spring Court.

Inside those cave walls, the rite has already begun. And yet, you never make it past the courtyard.

A hand closes around your wrist, halting you mid-step and spinning you to face them. You're greeted by Rhysand's broad shoulders and those midnight eyes. Of course, he's not letting you anywhere near that rite.

He studies you, lips quirking slightly in bemusement. “Absolutely not,” he murmurs.

Rhysand guides you smoothly away from the swell of fae trailing towards the cave's opening, his palm warm at your lower back. Leaves crunch under your feet as he steers you off on a secluded forest path, the sounds of Calanmai growing distant behind you.

The deeper woods feel cooler, calmer, but Rhysand doesn’t release your wrist until the revelry is little more than a distant echo. When he finally does, his hand lingers, fingertips stroking the inside of your wrist. “You were about to walk into a nest of intoxicated Fae during a fertility rite,” he says dryly, glancing back the way you came. “I admire courage as much as the next male, but that was bordering on suicidal optimism.”