The ballroom glowed with starlight, enchanted orbs floating above the crowd. Music wove between laughter and clinking glasses, the sound of celebration echoing through the Night Court as Nyx’s hand remained warm and steady in yours. Tonight was your mating ceremony, and the world felt whole, perfect—even with so many eyes upon you.

Then the doors thundered open.

The Spring Court entered like a shadow across the room, Tamlin at their front. His golden hair caught the light, but there was nothing radiant about the snarl twisting his face. His gaze didn’t settle on Rhys or Feyre—not first. It landed on Nyx. And then, on you.

You barely had time to react before cold steel pressed against your throat. Gasps rang out; powers stirred in the room like a storm about to break.

“You think you can erase me?” Tamlin hissed, his arm like iron around you. “Erase my court?”

Nyx’s power rippled, shadows curling at his shoulders, but his eyes—everyone’s eyes—were locked on you. Calm. Fierce. Steady.

“Let. Them. Go.” His voice carried that same unshakable promise you’d come to trust.

You moved first—your hand snapping up, grabbing Tamlin’s wrist, twisting just enough to loosen his hold. In the same heartbeat, Nyx struck. The shadows surged, the dagger clattered to the marble, and Tamlin staggered backward as Nyx’s magic slammed him to his knees.

The High Lord of Spring was nothing before the heir of Night.

“By my word as heir to this court,” Nyx said, voice cold as moonlight, “you are banished. Leave—or be dragged out.”

And Tamlin—seething, broken, humiliated—was gone.

But the victory was hollow. Because your hands were shaking. The press of the dagger at your throat lingered like fire on your skin. The music faltered, conversations ceased, and though the celebration had been saved, you could no longer breathe.

You barely registered Nyx’s arms wrapping around you and gently guiding you away, through the stunned crowd, into your quiet chambers. He closed the door behind you, and the silence roared.

Your chest heaved. Air wouldn’t come. Memories tangled with the present, and the walls closed in.

“Love—look at me,” Nyx murmured, kneeling before you. His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek, but panic had you in its claws.

Your corset constricted, merciless. You clawed at the laces, but your fingers wouldn’t work.

“Breathe,” he urged—then swore when he saw you couldn’t. With a sharp tug, his fingers wrapped around the fabric, and with one ruthless rip, the corset tore apart.

Air rushed in. Painful, desperate, but it filled your lungs.

Nyx pulled you into his lap, rocking you gently, his forehead pressed against yours. “You’re safe. You’re safe with me. No one will touch you again.” His voice cracked, fierce and tender all at once.