Hollering from the crowd below him rang in his ears as he slowly walked up the crooked stairs. His hood, black as night, covered his face perfectly, and apart of him wondered why he ended up this way. What happened to just getting a beer? Why did he have to take it this far? But the majority of him, the beast, didn't care. He wanted to forget. He wanted to feel better. He needed some, ah, release.

Behind him, a female voice interrupted his thoughts, "What's the occasion, Milord? A birthday, a-"

"Theres a name that I need to forget," he said snappily.

"Of course," she replied.

When he reached the uppermost floor, he turned to the nearest door. It was tattered and old, with a few cracks around the edges. It had probably been there for a good hundred years, going through various purposes. He pushed it through, leading the female figure behind him into the cold, dusty attic. There was scratches along the floors, nearly all of the furniture was broken, and there was a small window overlooking the village. He took a deep breath and turned towards the figure behind him.

"Put this on," he said coolly, tossing a red, lacy bundle to her. She caught it and undid the small, lacy bundle, smirking.

"Very beautiful," she commented as she shed her old clothes, slipping into the lacy cloth. "Do you want me to-?"

"Yes. Get in front of me." The girl went around him seductively, tickling his fingers as she brushed against him and stood in front of the hay-filled bed. He took a few steps back, leaning against the creaky door. Below him, he could still hear the hollering from the ground floor, and even the moans coming from the levels below him.

"Is this good, Milord?" The young lady purred after she put on the lacy cloth, a one-set lingerie that barely covered her boobs and stretched to her private parts. As Rhys evaluated her at a distance, his lips tightened. She had caught his attention first because of her tallness. She wasn't near as tall as Rhys, but she was tall for a lady. Her golden-brown hair twisted on top of her boobs, shining brightly even under the dim light of the attic. Her grey-blue eyes looked at him seductively, but something held him back as he stared at her. Instead of the ghost-pale skin that Feyre had possessed, she was far tanner, and had a slight scar on her cheek.

"How much?" He demanded after a moment, his fingers stroking his chin as he continued to look her up and down again.

"With the lace and the private room? Twice my normal price," she told him, twisting her hair around her finger. Not like Feyre at all. Feyre didn't play with her hair.

"Deal," he heard himself say, taking off his clothes and taking two large strides before pouncing her onto the torn-up bed.

~discidium~

"Where've you been?" The question was rhetorical, as the speaker had complete knowledge where Rhys's adventures lied this deep into the evening. He had just barely closed the front door to his house, the moon shining brightly overhead and hoped, disgracefully, that nobody was left in the house. He snarled immediately, already in defense as he swerved around and met eyes with the blonde figure on one of the nearby couches. He had hoped to ignore her, but her presence was inevitable lately.

"The brothel?" Mor went on. "While the rest of us are mourning Amren's sickness and praying to the cauldron that Feyre gets our messages, you were at the brothel." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"And you spend your time either crying or reading magazines," he spat back cruelly, eyeing the still-open magazine lying next to her on the couch. "And Cass is doing cauldron-knows-what with Nesta right now and Az hasn't been seen for the last four-eight hours. Don't tell me that going to the brothel for an hour and a half is the least productive thing I can do." While he glared at her, her eyes were filled with tears. That's all she did lately – cry and cry and cry. She was the one who hadn't stopped bringing up the fact that Feyre was gone and would lash out when people took their minds off things. He guessed that he should be the one acting like Mor in the end, obsessive because of the absence of his mate. But if he lived that way, insanity would catch up with him.

It was easier to just use prostitutes.

"I just don't understand how, while she, yourmate, is forced to stay in a prison and have sex with a man she bitterly despises, you can go fuck other girls," Mor said, but before she could even tear her eyes away he was in front of her.

"Don't you dare-"

"'While you're doing whores, she's practically being forced to be a whore," Mor continued bravely. "What happened to you? For two months you were obsessive about finding her and then you-"

"I ran out of resources!" He yelled, so loud that she jumped. "Don't you get it, Mor? She isn't even getting our messages. I don't even know if she's alive! And now you're here, trying to guilt trip me, as if I have no idea what I'm doing. Well, guess what? You act like you hate me, but I hate myself more than anybody could possibly imagine." She blinked at him, sympathy slowly filling her face. It was probably the first time ever that he had let her in so deeply. Normally, he would just shrug her off, but now she saw his inner demons. Have broken he really was.

"Don't," Rhys said sharply, stepping away from her as she began to get up. "Just…"

"You can't give up," Mor said. "You don't give up. You never give up. You're Rhysand, the strongest High Lord to ever exist. You have never been the person to quit!" His fingers tangled into his hair madly.

"I have four forces going against me, Mor," Rhysand said quietly. "Four enemies. All attacking me at once. I may be the strongest High Lord to ever exist but I can't do that. I will die before I stop fighting, yes, but what about my people? Feyre wouldn't want that. She wouldn't want me to pick her over my people." He watched Mor swallow.

"So, I assume that you're going along with the plan then?" Mor asked. "Marrying someone, that is." Rhys was quiet for a moment, blinking at her calm face. But then he laughed, his loud bellows echoing madly throughout his large mansion. Mor shrunk back, her eyes looking at him worriedly. He was laughing so hard that his cheeks were beginning to be red.

"I'm now a bit worried now, Rhys. What…What did you do?" But her words didn't meet his ears. He continued to laugh, pacing in front of her.

"Marrying someone?" He laughed. "Marrying someone? Shit, Mor. I thought you got less dense through the years," Rhys said throughout his fit of laughter. "You couldn't have honestly believed that I was going to actually do that? Do you? I truly am out of resources but I still have a mind. There are far better ways to get allies. Blackmail-"

"Rhys."

"Manipulation, human warfare-"

"Rhys."

"False promises, being someone's fuck buddy-"

"Rhys!" He stopped talking and looked at Mor's tearful face. She was hugging herself tightly, as if trying not to be taken away by his madness.

"It was a lie, Mor." He stated plainly. "A big, fat lie. I'm not going to actually marry someone. Just let the entire world think I am."

"But you have four different proposals."

"And?"

"Why would you-" Knock. Both Rhys's and Mor's heads swung towards the door, looking at it curiously.

"Did someone just-" Knock, knock, knock. Rhys rushed to the door, half in annoyance and half in anticipation. Because nobody ever knocked on his door. Nobody. One, because nobody had the falls, and two because…well, why would anyone want to willingly see him? He was known for melting people's minds and kidnapping their brides. Wasn't that a big enough warning?

But he swung the door open, prepared for the worst as if hand was already at his hilt, but then the small figure came into view.

"Vale?" The Priestess, a fragile young lady who reminded him of a black cat due to her feline mannerisms, walked through the doorstep. He watched as she glided into his mansion, slowly standing next to Mor. Mor's lips pursed and grew closer to her, but Rhys lifted his hand up.

"Don't, Mor. This is the priestess I hired months ago, Vale," he said, though unsure if she was truly working with him. "Months ago. And then I heard nothing back from you, Vale." Anger that he had forced himself to forget about rose quickly, suddenly angry about her disappearance. "Are you just now telling me that you fulfilled you duties and infiltrated the Spring Court? Because if so, you missed a vital part of who I was hoping to see you, her name starting with an F." Mor looked at him like he was insane.

"You honestly thought of getting Feyre out of there? Especially how it ended so horribly the first time? Rhys-"

"I have an invitation for you, High Lord Rhysand of the Night Court," the young girl interrupted. His left eyebrow went up, glancing at Mor quickly.

"I'm listening," he drawled.

"The High Lord of Spring would like you to meet him for dinner tomorrow night," The girl continued. "No weapons, no threats, no trouble. He wants to settle an amicable truce because, just like you, he doesn't have any resources to give either. But he does have one exception."

"Yes?" He heard himself ask.

"You must bring Elain," the Priestess demanded. "And only Elain."

Kinda slow so far, I know, but I wanted to get Rhysland's POV first and a bit of whats in his head.