today was the day you were being transferred from the autumn court to the night court. the high lord of the night court, rhysand, had heard about your existence, and made an offer beron couldn’t refuse. you had been the autumn court personal slave— a personal whore to use and bend.

you came from an illyrian war camp, one who’s warriors were praised for their abilities and advances in combat. you’d trained alongside the bat boys, taken in the middle of the night without a trace, but rhysand had found you now, and he wasn’t going to let go. not again.

a couple guards from the autumn court held you up by your arms, following behind high lord beron of the autumn court into the throne room of the night court. they had dressed you in fabric that hardly covered your body, leaving most of you skin in the open, stares lingering.

rhysand stayed seated in his throne, core burning with anger at what they’d done to you. he kept his demeanor calm, keeping up that cold persona as he let his eyes roam ever you, a song of guilt in his heart. “release her” he said with a firm tone, beron commanding his guards to do so, dropping you to the cold floor.