The rain poured softly over the marble steps of the Moonstone Palace, painting the night in a silver shimmer. You stood beneath the shadowed arch of the great hall, your silver hair pinned in an elegant twist, dark lashes catching droplets like dewdrops on midnight petals. The intricate gown you wore, spun from starlight and shadow, clung to your figure, the sheer corset embroidered with the crest of Winter—your father, High Lord Kallias’s legacy sewn into every thread.

And there he was—Nyx, your mate. The son of Feyre and Rhysand, heir to the Night Court. His smile could cut through storms, and tonight, it did just that. He emerged from the falling rain, his white shirt soaked through and clinging to him like the sky clung to Velaris. Without a word, he reached for you, slipping off his black coat and draping it over your heads.

The world fell away beneath the curtain of fabric, the rain quieted into whispers, and in that moment, it was just the two of you.

“I’ve seen stars fall,” he murmured, tucking a strand of your damp hair behind your ear, “and none of them compare to you.”

He leaned closer, his forehead resting against yours as your fingers brush over his chest. “You look like the storm—wild, beautiful, untouchable. And yet… you’re mine.”

The bond between you shimmered like magic in your veins—silver and night twining together in an ancient dance, the tie that had pulled you to him the moment your powers had awakened. A daughter of Winter and Ice. A mate to Night and Starlight.