Chapter One:

Before the First Night

Feyre.

Her eyes shot open. She would know that voice anywhere. Raising herself gently so as not to disturb the sleeping Tam beside her, Feyre scanned the edges of the room. Nothing. Even with her Fae sight, the shadows were just shadows, and not murky pools of darkness waiting to drag her away. She was ready to dismiss her fears as a nightmare when it sounded again.

Tomorrow night, Feyre. She could almost hear his lips crack into a seductive smile. I've missed you. The dark promise of his words sent shivers racing across her skin. She longed to snap back at him, to show him she would not be so easily intimidated, but she still hadn't worked out how to leverage their connection for two-way communication. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

With a sigh, Feyre gently lowered herself and rested her head on Tamlin's shoulder. Instinctively, his other arm came to wrap around her, pulling her tight to his side. She shouldn't be afraid, not here in the arms of the man who would rip the world asunder to keep her safe. He'd brought her back from the dead, and she was sure he would do anything in his immense power to keep her that way. Yet as she let her heavy-lidded eyes sink closed, she knew her fear came not from any external threat, but from something far more sinister.

"Please, please," the young fairy begged. Her hands trembled, yet she gripped the ash dagger as tightly as she could, lest it fall from her grasp.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed as she advanced on him. "So… sorry." Her entire body was trembling. She wasn't sure if she could take another step, yet her body brought her closer and closer.

As she neared the frightened creature, his features began to shift. His hair was russet brown, then raven black. His eyes were violet one moment, and a deep gold-green the next. Each time she blinked, he became someone new: Lucien, Tamlin, Rhys, even Alis' nephews. Each of them pleaded with her, begged her not to kill them, even as she felt the arm holding the dagger raise of its own accord.

"Kill him, you human filth," Amarantha's voice hissed in her ear. Feyre turned and saw Amarantha shambling towards her, looking exactly as she had after Tamlin was through with her. Even without a throat, the creature hissed again, "You've murdered so many already, Feyre. Surely you haven't lost your appetite for killing now."

Without her permission, Feyre's head snapped back to the shape-shifting man. Her left hand reached out and held his neck in place with a vice grip. His violet eyes searched her, pleading for reprieve. She felt her right arm raise, poised for the kill. "I'm sorry," she breathed, as she slammed the dagger through his chest.

"Feyre, Feyre!" Tamlin was shaking her, calling her name a little louder each time. She blinked awake and nearly sobbed with relief to see the familiar walls of Tam's bedroom, and not the dark and putrid throne room.

"Tam," she whispered, and pressed her head against his chest. He ran his hands through her hair, holding her close to him.

"It's okay, you're okay," he whispered against her ear. His words chased the images from her mind, but the feeling wouldn't quite leave her. She raised her head to look in his eyes. Concern lurked there, along with a hint of anger. He delicately traced the skin along her jaw line, and said in a low voice, "You called his name again."

Feyre wasn't surprised. This had become a near nightly occurrence as the weeks back in the Spring Court had dragged on. At first, she hadn't told Tam about the nightmares. She'd wake up drenched in sweat and spend the rest of the night pacing around her room, with nothing but the growing circles under her eyes as evidence of her torment. Her luck had run out after the first week. The next night, and nearly every night after, Tamlin had woken her after he found her screaming Rhys' name. Tamlin had even moved Feyre into his rooms to comfort her while she slept, but Rhys' name continued to escape from her lips every night.

"There might still be a way-" Tamlin began, and Feyre silenced him with a look.

"Absolutely not. You finally have your powers back after decades. I'm not about to let the first thing you do with them be starting a war with the Night Court." She held his gaze meaningfully, cupping her palm against his cheek. "He doesn't want to hurt me. He just wants to get under your skin. Don't give him the satisfaction."

Neither of them slept for the remainder of the night, but instead faced the dawn as it broke across the lush meadows and fields. Tamlin had an early meeting with several of the High Lords as each of them tried to rebuild and fortify their respective courts. That left Feyre to wander the grounds, taking in her last day in the sun.

She traced her usual path through the gardens and spied an easel Tam had set up for her some time back. She couldn't bring herself to paint. That space inside of her that was once swimming with color and light had cracked open, and nothing was left but an empty hollow. "Is this your doing?" she whispered to her swirling tattoo, "Or is there no light to be had in the world once you've taken the light from another's eyes?"

Just as the pain threatened to fracture her once more, a voice called out, "Working on your tan before you get sickly pale on us?"

Feyre spun toward Lucien and forced a grin. "I rather found the pallid color of those in the Court Under the Mountain to be quite flattering. Maybe I'll ask Rhys if I can stay longer just to get closer to that shade." The humor in her voice was thin, and both she and Lucien exchanged a look. "Don't even start. Tam tried it again last night, and I mean it. No battles, no wars, no conflict over this. We'll find another way."

Lucien sidled closer, a thoughtful look on his scarred face. "I know you will, Feyre. That's why I came here to arm you."

Fayre perked up at that. This was the first she'd heard about sending her in with anything but her heightened Fae awareness. Her mind was already racing. "Is there a dagger, or some essence… or spell… or something that the members of the Night Court are weakened by?"

To her annoyance, Lucien actually let out a throaty chuckle. "You may be Fae now, but Rhysand has his full power at his disposal. The difference between you now is infinitely greater than when you were a human and he was but a shell of himself. There isn't a weapon in all the realms you could wield that would bridge that difference."

Feyre doubted that. Her mind flashed back to that moment in her cell when Rhys had let his walls down. She could wound him, and the two of them knew it. She scratched absentmindedly at her tattooed palm, and forced her attention back to Lucien. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. "He's actually not the one I'm worried about. It's just…. what about the other creatures of the court? He won't let them kill me, but-" An involuntary shiver ran through her as she thought of the creatures she had come to know in the Fae realm that could give fates worse than death.

Feyre startled as Lucien's arm gripped her shoulder. She hadn't even realized she was shaking until she felt him hold her still. He tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, but said nothing. "Don't tell Tam," she whispered. Lucien scoffed, but Feyre rested her hand on top of his. "Truly, Lucien. He would never let me out of his sight if he knew." She couldn't stop the tear that spilled from her eyes. "I've already caused enough suffering. I will not be responsible for any more pain that could be caused by going back on this bargain." She may be frightened, but she was also resolute.

He considered her for a moment, then nodded. "I see the spirit of the huntress never dies. Come, let us stock your arsenal."

Rather than taking her to the armory, Lucien brought Feyre to the library. In response to her puzzled expression, he gestured to her tattoo. "You've seen firsthand how things are handled in the Night Court. They deal in words, not weapons." Lucien was right. Feyre massaged her am as she followed behind him. Rhys had never brandished a weapon toward her, but he himself was a weapon, and the mind was his battlefield.

Over the next several hours, Lucien showed Feyre pictures and read her excerpts from histories of the Night Court, adding anecdotal evidence whenever possible. Much like the Spring Court, it seemed, she should be in no immediate danger in Rhys' residence. Exploring the outer reaches unaccompanied, however, would throw her in the path of many a foe she had no desire to face. "And remember," Lucien told her for nearly the hundredth time, "trust no one. Not his servants, not his subjects, and least of all Rhysand himself. There are many who would not look fondly on a human becoming a Fae, let alone one who-"

"Who has murdered so many of their own?" Feyre finished for him.

Lucien gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I was going to say one who has not one, but two High Lords wrapped around her finger." She threw a book at him to wipe the smirk off his face.

All too soon, the sun fled through the sky overhead and dusk began to settle over the eternal Spring landscape. Feyre was with Lucien and Tamlin in the dining room, pretending to pick at the food on her plate. She glanced at Tam's place setting. Lucien had at least pretended to take a few bites, but Tamlin had made no such effort. With a sigh, Feyre set her fork down and rested her hand over Tamlin's. Too late, she realized it was her left hand bearing the mark of Rhys' tattoos. Her High Lord was staring at the pattern, so she gave him a squeeze to bring his eyes to hers. "It will be all right. I promise. I will return to you in seven days, unharmed." She tried a smile, but knew it could not have reached her eyes.

"That may be, but what about the seven after that? And the seven after that?" He dropped Feyre's hand as he could no longer stop the claws from bursting through his skin. "When you made this deal, you were human and had no reason to think your life would ever be otherwise. But now…" he growled as his claws flexed again. "Now you are a Fae and his bargain extends indefinitely through the centuries."

Feyre sent a pleading look toward Lucien, but neither his good eye or his golden one would look at her. "Then I will find a way to change the bargain. Or make a new one." A roar from Tamlin silenced her.

"You will do no such thing, Fayre. Whether he served her willingly or not, Rhysand is as much a trickster as Amarantha. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants." The flash of his eyes told her he knew exactly what Rhys wanted from her. Tamlin pushed himself forcefully from his chair. "Lucien, watch over her. Ensure she gets through the gate safely. I can't stomach the sight."

"Tamlin, you can't be serious!" Lucien called after him.

An image flashed through Feyre's mind of her in the throne room during the final task. Though now, it was she who was kneeling and Tamlin wielding the knife. And when he stabbed her, she bled. It did not stop.

Whether it was minutes or hours later, Feyre could not say. Lucien was back after fruitlessly chasing after Tamlin. He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, worked into a frenzy and muttering to himself. Feyre merely sat curled in an armchair hugging her knees to her chest and doing her best to keep her mind blank. If she let herself think of the wound Tamlin had opened within her, she would shatter into a million pieces. Just as she watched the last rays of the sun dip below the horizon, she felt a gentle tug at her core.

It is time.

As though moving of its own volition, her body rose from the chair with a grace that was not her own. She began striding from the room and was several paces ahead before Lucien noticed her movements and hurried to catch up with her. The thread leading her toward darkness pulled tighter with each step until she saw an orb of shadow just below the front steps of the manor. The orb spread out until it resembled a full-length mirror, only instead of reflecting light back, it seemed to absorb light from its surroundings. When she found she could control her movements again, Feyre turned to Lucien and wrapped him in a tight hug. "Tell Tam," she started, but faltered as she could not think of words that would make this right.

Lucien understood anyway, and held her at arm's length so he could meet her eyes directly. "I'll see you in seven days."

Somehow the confidence and calm in his voice was enough to help Feyre move her feet forward. With a quick glance back at the manor, she gave Lucien a short nod and stepped forward to let darkness consume her.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the start! I'm planning this to be a short fic focusing on just a few key nights that Feyre and Rhys spend together. If you're like me, and need something to hold you over for just a few more weeks, I'm hoping this will do the trick.