#the scariest warriors in Prythian

[officialrhysandweek]

Get hyped for The Most Handsome High Lord!

09.24: Lord Of Nightmares: Rhysand is the most fearsome High Lord. What does he look like when he's at his meanest and scariest?

09.25: The Illyrian Warrior: Beyond being the High Lord, Rhysand's half Illyrian heritage meant he trained in the Illyrian war camps and and earned the coveted-and rare-title of Carynthian. What did this journey look like for him?

09.26: The Most Powerful High Lord: Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord Prythian has ever seen. How did he learn to control his magic? How does he grapple with that much power?

09.27: The Court Of Dreams: Despite his feared reputation, at his core, Rhysand is a dreamer. What does he dream about when he looks at the stars?

09.28: Family Man: From the family he lost, to the family he chose and the family who chose him, Rhysand's family is numerous. What does a glimpse into their life look like?

09. 29: Past times: When he's not working, Rhysand likes to have fun. What do you envision the High Lord of the Night Court gets up to in his spare time?

09.30: Free Day: The sky is the limit when you have wings (and a good imagination)!

[flowerflamestars]

Starlight sneak peek

Lucien Vanserra was on fire. No, he was fire. Lucien was the flame of the forest and bleeding red of the Hunters moon. He was the goddamn fire, not the pain, and he was going to burn the High Priestess of Spring to fucking bone if she didn’t stop touching him.   It was an effort, to open his eyes.   Inathe wasn’t even pretending to be looking over the freshly accumulated whip marks that rended muscle and skin down his back. Stroking his uninjured shoulder, the tips of her polished nails lingering, catching on the thin fabric of Lucien’s ruined shirt. Lucien was going to cut off her fucking hands.  About the same time he thought it clearly, head ringing with agony, Inathe noticed he was awake.   “Find succor,” She purred, blue eyes burning. “Harsh justice makes just men.”   Lucien spit blood on the perfect Spring-white flagstones. “I have asked you not to touch me.”   Inathe retracted her hand. Held them both to her heart, eyes cast down to show off the shadowed expanse of full lips and dark lashes to the fullest extent. “My lord,” Lucien was not a gods damned lord, he’d never be one, “I am but a holy vessel. When my hands reach it is the Mother who offers comfort.”