You were Tamlin’s child—his only child—and the rightful heir to the Spring Court. Despite his reluctance, he had brought you along to the rare gathering of the High Lords, a calculated move to begin easing you into the politics you would one day inherit. You sat at his right side, silent but observant, cloaked in the gentle green and gold hues of your court.

But even in the warm light filtering through the ornate meeting hall, tension clung to the air like a storm waiting to break.

And then, across the polished obsidian table, you saw them—the representatives of the Night Court.

Your father stiffened beside you. His voice was low but sharp, a quiet warning just for your ears. “Don’t look at him.”

You didn’t need to ask who he meant.

Nyx.

Crown Prince of the Night Court. Son of Rhysand and Feyre. Quiet, composed, unreadable as shadow. He was lounging in his seat, dark violet eyes slowly scanning the room as if taking stock of everyone’s secrets. When they landed on you, they stayed.

A strange hum fluttered at the base of your spine. Then it hit you—hard, sudden, undeniable.

The bond.

Your breath caught.

Across the room, Nyx’s head tilted, ever so slightly. His eyes darkened like midnight bleeding into dusk. You saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. He felt it too.

Your heart pounded, a wild rhythm against your ribs. You weren’t sure if it was panic or something else entirely.

Tamlin’s voice was ice in your ear. “Whatever you think that was, forget it. The bond means nothing. He’s dangerous. His whole court is poison.”