The wildflower fields stretched for miles, swaying beneath the golden light of the afternoon sun. It was an unassuming place—quiet, untouched by war or courtly schemes. The kind of place Rhysand had not allowed himself to exist in for centuries.

And yet, he was here.

He hadn’t meant to linger. He had only winnowed to this stretch of land out of idle curiosity, following an unfamiliar tug in his chest. A mere distraction before returning to the mountain halls of his court.

But then—he saw her.

A lone figure wandering through the field, fingers grazing the tops of the wildflowers as she moved. A human girl.

Rhysand should have turned away. Should have dismissed her as just another mortal, fragile and fleeting as the petals beneath her touch. But the moment his eyes settled on her, the world shifted.

Something snapped inside him, sharp and sudden, as if a tether had been pulled taut in his very soul.

The mating bond.

His breath stalled.

It was impossible—unthinkable. He had lived over five centuries, had faced gods and monsters, had mastered the very shadows of the night. And yet, in this single, fragile moment, he felt utterly undone.

His hands curled into fists, his body going rigid with the sheer force of the bond settling into place. He had always imagined it would feel like a slow burn, a gradual pull. Not this. Not this instant, consuming certainty.

And worse—she had no idea.

She merely walked on, humming softly, unaware that the most powerful High Lord in history had just had the ground ripped from beneath him.

Rhysand exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. What in the name of the Cauldron was he supposed to do now?

Run? Leave before she so much as glanced his way?

But then, as if hearing his very thoughts, she paused. Turned.

And when their eyes met—his heart stopped.