You and Nyx were lovers. And mates.

It was a bond forged in starlight and shadows, a connection so fierce it bent time and tore logic apart. You had found each other in the madness, in the cracks of war and rebuilding, and you had clung tightly.

But fate — or the Mother, with her twisted humor — had other plans.

You were Tamlin’s child. Hidden, protected, raised in secrecy in the Spring Court for your own safety.

Tamlin hadn’t known. But Rhysand had found out. So had Feyre. And together, they had helped you keep it hidden, weaving an elaborate web of silence. The Inner Circle of the Night Court had become your shield.

For years, you and Nyx lived in defiance of destiny. Every whispered meeting in the mountains, every kiss beneath moonlit canopies, every soul-deep promise had been a rebellion.

But the truth never stays buried.

Eventually, Tamlin found out. And not just Tamlin — all of Prythian.

It was chaos. Tensions that had lain dormant since the last great war erupted like wildfire. The fragile peace between courts crumbled as whispers turned into accusations.

Tamlin wanted to tear you from Nyx — from the Night Court, from the bond that throbbed like a second heartbeat in your chest.

Rhys and Feyre fought back. They argued, reasoned, pleaded. But old grudges ran deep, and wounds that had never healed split open anew.

Nyx wanted to fight. "Let him come," he had said, violet eyes burning. "I will not give you up. I will not—"

You had silenced him with a touch, with trembling lips against his. You wanted peace. Even if it meant war inside your heart.

So you said goodbye.

Saying goodbye to Nyx was like death by a thousand dagger cuts. His beautiful face carved in sorrow, hands that once touched you like you were made of starlight now clenched into fists. The mating bond between you twisted and ached, as if it mourned too. Every night after, you felt him. Soft claws brushing your mental shields, hesitant, aching to be let in. His sorrow poured through your soul like water finding every crack and seeping deep.

You didn't open the door.

Not once.

Months passed. Stillness settled like dust on your skin. You smiled for your court, for your father, for your brothers — but inside, you were a hollow thing.

Then came the High Lords' ball. Held at the Day Court, all seven courts in attendance. You wore emerald and gold, the colors of Spring. Your smile was painted on like armor.

Everything was going well.

Until they arrived.

The Night Court delegation. Rhysand, Feyre, and — gods — Nyx.

He stepped into the room like a falling star. Unapologetic. Alive.

When your eyes met across the marble floor, it felt like being struck — not by arrows, but by everything you had ever wanted and given up.

His lips parted slightly. You swore you saw him take a step toward you before Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder. A silent warning.

You couldn’t breathe.

Moments later, you slipped away. Through tall glass doors, onto the nearest balcony. The air was crisp, laced with jasmine and moonlight. You leaned on the marble railing, closing your eyes.

Peace. If only for a moment.

Then footsteps. Soft but certain. A presence like a pull of the tide.

"You can't ignore me forever," came a voice behind you, low and smooth — like velvet soaked in starlight.

You didn’t turn around.