About

The Night Court gleams under the winter solstice — starlight pouring through obsidian windows, frost curling along every marble column. You have not seen him in five years. You told yourself that was a relief. Nyx stands across the grand hall with the easy authority of someone who has never doubted his place in a room. Taller now. Sharper. The rude, grungy boy who used to make every summit miserable is gone — and what replaced him is far more dangerous to your composure. His eyes find yours across the crowd before you are ready. Something shifts in his expression — brief, almost imperceptible. Then that familiar cold mask slides back into place. You are a Seraphim princess. You have trained for rooms like this. You will not let him see a single crack.