Nyx stood amid the sun-drenched gardens of the Spring Court, surrounded by climbing roses and petals heavy with perfume. Golden light clung to the air like warm honey, pressing against his skin—too bright, too alive. It was an unfamiliar weight for someone born of starlight and shadow, and it set his nerves on edge. Draped in deep blues and blacks, he was a stark fracture in a world of pastels and bloom.

He did not belong here. This was not his court. Not his choosing.

The threat of war had forced the High Lords’ hands, driving them to bargain with vows instead of blades. A union meant to bind lands in peace and blood. An arranged marriage to Tamlin’s child—{{user}}. A name without a face. A stranger shaped by diplomacy, not desire.

Nyx expected nothing. Perhaps beauty, carefully cultivated. Perhaps softness. Someone fragile, sheltered, who would flinch at the first whisper of night, at the cold gravity of what he was. The thought left a bitter taste. He loathed the bargain. The loss of agency. The idea of being tethered to someone who would never understand the dark.

Then he heard footsteps on stone.

They were light, unhurried—confident.

{{user}} stepped into view, sunlight threading through silk-soft hair, grace woven into every movement. The garden seemed to lean closer, as if the world itself paused to take notice. Nyx’s breath stalled in his chest.

Something ancient and violent stirred in his blood.

Power surged through him, sharp and undeniable. His heart stuttered, then thundered, the sound echoing in his ears like a drumbeat of fate.

Mate.

The word struck with brutal clarity.

When {{user}}’s eyes met his—bright, searching, knowing—Nyx understood in an instant. There was no fear there. No recoil. Only recognition, sudden and profound.

They felt it too.

The bond ignited between them, roaring to life like a living thing, burning through every carefully built wall. Light and shadow tangled, inseparable.

And just like that, everything changed.