Nyx Archeron was used to being looked at.

With those too-blue eyes, that inherited smirk, and the swagger of someone born with wings and magic and centuries of lineage at his back, it was second nature by now. He'd grown up with adoration—and survived a childhood of being coddled, treasured, sheltered. Everyone thought he was charming. Bright. Promising.

Everyone except her.

He watched her from across the sparring ring, sunlight bleeding gold over her wings. Not Illyrian—something else. Peregryn. Feathered and sharp, and currently turning a blade over in her hand like she meant to gut him with it.

Nyx grinned.

Gods, she hated that grin.

He’d only arrived at the Dawn Court three days ago, alongside his parents and their entourage of chaos and power. The Meeting of the High Lords. Koschei was stirring again, and war was always close when ancient things began to wake. But he hadn't expected her.

Thesan's daughter. Adopted. A Peregryn and a warrior in training, raised by the Dawn Court's general and with enough attitude to silence a room. She hadn’t even looked at him when they were introduced, just muttered something about "another arrogant Illyrian."

Nyx had been smitten.

Not that he'd admit it.

She paced now like a panther, wings tight to her back, jaw set. Her father stood at the edge of the ring beside Uncle Cassian, arms crossed as they both barked sparring instructions neither Nyx nor the girl were bothering to follow.

Nyx rolled his shoulders and tapped the flat of his blade to his palm. "So... who's your favorite daddy?"

She froze.

And then turned to him so slowly, he was half-sure she'd grown fangs.

He wiggled his brows.

"I mean, is it the general? Or the High Lord? I’m just wondering which one taught you to swing a sword like that."

She lunged.

Steel met steel, and the air between them cracked with pressure. Nyx blocked, pivoted, laughed as he ducked under her wing. Gods, she was fast. And furious. Her blade swept in a clean arc that nearly took his ear off.

"You're not funny," she hissed, breath hot against his jaw as they locked blades.

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm imagining slicing that smirk off your face."

He barked a laugh and shoved her back gently, enough to give himself space.