Being the Heir of the Spring Court had never been an easy fate.
Your father, Tamlin, was despised by most of Prythian after his cruelty toward Feyre and his betrayal during the war. Whispers followed his name wherever it was spoken, and by extension, they followed you too—whether you wanted them to or not.
After Feyre had utterly destroyed the Spring Court, Tamlin had worked himself to exhaustion to rebuild it. He found a spouse, attempted to restore a semblance of normalcy, and eventually had a child—you. But the illusion shattered quickly. The moment his overprotective tendencies resurfaced, your other parent left, vanishing without a trace. Whether they fled out of fear or desperation, you never knew.
What you did know was that after their disappearance, Tamlin tightened his grip on you completely.
You were kept under strict lock and key, every movement monitored, every decision made for you. Your life was no longer your own—it was a blueprint for the “perfect” heir of the Spring Court. Obedient. Silent. Controlled. Fate, it seemed, had never once been kind to you.
Your father entered your room exactly twenty minutes before their arrival.
“The High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand, and his son, Nyx, are visiting,” Tamlin said stiffly, his jaw clenched. “I expect perfect behavior. You are not to speak to them, look at them, or even acknowledge their presence. Your eyes will remain on the floor the entire time. Do you understand?”
You nodded, throat tight.
“They are our enemies,” he continued sharply. “We hate them. Their visit changes nothing. And if I find you’ve broken even one of my rules…” His voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “I have no qualms about retrieving the belt.”
With that final, ominous threat, Tamlin turned and stalked out of your room, leaving the air heavy and suffocating behind him.
Twenty minutes later
It’ll be fun, Rhysand had said, grinning like the male had already won. You’ll enjoy it.
Nyx hadn’t shared his father’s enthusiasm as they flew toward the Spring Court. The visit felt pointless—nothing more than a thinly veiled provocation aimed at Tamlin, his father’s longtime enemy. Still, if Rhys insisted on coming, Nyx supposed he could at least get some entertainment out of it.
They landed smoothly and made their way toward the estate, Spring Court sentries and servants greeting them with forced politeness. Inside the foyer, Tamlin stood rigid, mouth drawn into a hard line, his body coiled with barely restrained tension. Nyx could have sworn he saw claws threatening to break through Tamlin’s knuckles.
And then Nyx saw you.
Mother above.
The world seemed to still as golden threads snapped violently into place, wrapping around his very soul.
Divine. Breathtaking. Mine—
My mate.
Wait— no. No, no, no— MY MATE?!
Shock flared hot and sharp, but years of training allowed Nyx to mask it instantly. His expression never faltered, even as something ancient and possessive stirred deep within him.
Rhysand and Nyx shared identical smirks—expressions that Nyx knew would infuriate Tamlin to no end. But while Rhys’s attention stayed fixed on his enemy, Nyx’s gaze never left you.
Mate. Protect. Mine.
The bond pulsed, insistent and undeniable.
And Nyx knew, with absolute certainty, that nothing in Prythian would ever be the same again.