Chapter 2:
The First Night
When she stepped through the barrier, she felt him. She'd grown used to the gradual feel of his consciousness reaching to her through their link, but now that she was here, she could feel him in full force. His presence radiated through everything as though he was made of the Night Court and it was made of him. After letting her senses adjust to this shift, Feyre began to take in the room around her. It was small, but lavish, decorated from floor to ceiling in shimmering blacks and swirling purples. A gleaming tub of black marble sat in one corner of the room, and a small dressing table was placed in another.
They appeared just as Feyre realized the purpose of depositing her here. Rhys' handmaidens came to her just as before, moving toward her and removing her clothes without saying a word. Feyre tried wriggling out of their grip as they moved her to the bath, but her Fae strength did little against them. They were older and stronger while she was but a child still learning how to move in her own skin. Resigned to their strength, Feyre gave in and allowed herself to be dragged into the tub and scrubbed. Please no paint tonight, she silently pleaded.
Are you sure? It did look quite delicious on you.
Her intake of breath was sharp enough to startle the servants. "It- it's nothing," Feyre muttered as they got back to work. You can hear me? He'd read her thoughts before, but never quite like this. Never so completely that it seemed he'd been in her head all along, a piece of the darkness within her that had been building since her trials.
Rhys' chuckle crawled along the curves of her flesh beneath the water. The sensuousness of it seemed as though he was here in the room, drinking in her naked form. The sound of it alone made her cheeks flush. She scanned the small room again. He was not here, she would have felt it if he was. How?
You'll understand soon enough. Though she could not explain how, Feyre felt the channel of communication between them had been closed off.
Mercifully, Feyre was both spared the paint and given a gown bearing little resemblance to the gossamer ones Rhys was so fond of. This dress was black as midnight, made of a satin so silky it seemed to be cut from the night sky. It hung just off her shoulders with a neckline plunged low enough to put her womanly curves on display. The skirt reached the floor, but contained a slit on the right side that exposed nearly her entire leg each time she took a step. When the handmaidens were done styling her hair in loose waves that cascaded down her back, they turned her toward the mirror. Feyre tried to stifle the wave of shock she felt at her appearance. The bony and angular girl stalking rabbits in the woods was truly gone for good. In her place was a woman who was both sensuous and mysterious. She looked as though she was born from night and tempered by darkness, a nightmare's mistress.
After a few final touches, the handmaidens took off with her in their usual style - cutting through doors and walls as if they were shafts of light and not solid structures made of stone and marble. Feyre never got used to the sensation, but tried to focus on tracing the path they had come, realizing even as she did so that her actions were futile. At last the servants stopped before a set of glass doors in a wrought iron frame. The glass was opaque, and Feyre was left wondering what could await her on the other side as the women turned and disappeared into shadow. After a few steadying breaths, Feyre forced her chin up, squared her shoulders, and prayed to the forgotten gods that her heart would slow down before Rhys could hear it thundering in her chest.
The doors opened to a large balcony several stories up with a wide view of the lands of the Night Court. Curiosity propelled her forward to drink in the sight. The land here was different than any part of Prythian she had seen before. Directly in front of her were rolling fields of a deep purple hue cut by streams that flowed an inky black. Further out was a dark wood, teeming with magic. The terror and wonder of what might lurk within sent a shiver down her spine. Toward the edges of the horizon were sharp mountain ranges that reached toward the stars, each dappled in small orbs that seemed to glow like the heavens themselves.
She felt the sharp tug of his presence at her core before she heard his voice. "If you think this is breathtaking, you should see it from the skies. That's how this land was truly meant to be enjoyed." Feyre tensed as he stepped directly behind her, placing his arms on either side of hers on the edge of the balcony. His lips lowered to her ear and his breath danced across her skin like tendrils of night. "This color suits you."
The wise thing would be to stay silent, but Feyre found she was never able to do the wise thing where Rhys was concerned. "You're right. It looks great on me, but just makes you look sallow." She whirled on him, not caring that his face was so close to hers, dying to show him his proximity had no effect. But as she drank him in, she knew her taunt couldn't have been more off-base. Free from the underground chambers and left to his own devices Rhys was a new being. His skin was already beginning to tan, his muscles taut as though put to frequent use, and his eyes that had once borne unending shadows were a shade of violet Feyre had never before known existed. She was entranced by a light in them she had never seen there before.
The feline smile he gave her sent waves of heat through her chest. "You were saying?"
Feyre took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of herself. "What do you want?" She had intended to lace her words with venom, but the poison died on her tongue.
Rhys smirked again and raked his violet eyes slowly over her form. Feyre fought to steady herself, unwilling to give Rhys the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. "I want you to join me for dinner." Feyre was preparing a sharp rebuttal when he stepped back to reveal a small table dappled in candlelight with steaming plates of food awaiting them. For once this was an actual offer and not a taunt. "Disappointed?" Rhys asked with a wink that revealed his too-intimate knowledge of the inner workings of her mind. Without another word, Feyre marched to the table and took a seat.
Rhys seated himself and picked up a bottle off the table. "Wine?" he asked with a dark look.
Feyre shot daggers at him with her eyes. "No."
He chuckled again and filled her glass anyway. "You'll find that the wine preferred by the Night Court has decidedly different effects than the other wines you have tried." Curiosity bubbled in Feyre's mind, but caution won out in the end. "Suit yourself." Rhysand shrugged and took a long swig from his glass. He started in on his food, but noticed Feyre remaining still. "Not going to eat your dinner?"
"Not until we set the terms of this arrangement."
A light danced in his eyes that mimicked the fire in her own. "The terms are: you will do as I wish for seven days and seven nights each month, then you will be returned to the Spring Court. Now eat."
She had barely felt the force of his will, but her hand was already bringing a forkful of steaming meat to her lips. Rhysand with all of his power was a force to be reckoned with. He could control her every move without even the slightest bit of effort. The thought only stoked the fire growing in her. "I have conditions," she said as her hand involuntarily reached toward her plate again.
Rhys arched an eyebrow at that. "Oh?" he asked with a mischievous grin.
"First, I will not be forced to serve in your bed."
He took another long sip from his cup and gave her the full force of his lover's smile. "Oh, I assure you, force will not be necessary."
Feyre felt her cheeks flush, but continued. "I will not be made to harm, torture, or kill anyone in any way by my own hand or by events that I set in motion."
He chuckled lightly. "Learning to be more precise with your words, I see." Despite his teasing tone, Feyre noticed a mild respect in his eyes. "Anything else?"
"Yes. If I follow through with my duties, you will not only refrain from harming, but will actively protect Tamlin and all members of the Spring Court."
Rhys downed the rest of his glass, then leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. He studied her carefully for a few moments. "There are few in this world who would be foolish enough to make demands of a High Lord without a bit of leverage. And while already in his captivity, no less." His eyes raked over her again. "Though if you are offering your body to me as payment for these conditions, I happily accept."
Feyre growled as her mouth was forced to accept another bite of food. Her eyes burned furiously.
"A shame." Rhys leaned back, looking carefree but clearly enjoying the control he had over her. "But since you inspire generosity in me, Feyre, I will offer you conditions of my own in exchange. Feyre thought again about reaching for the wine to steady her nerves, but held back. "First, you will share my bed each night." A string of insults were building on Feyre's tongue when Rhys flicked a finger and she found she was unable to open her mouth. "You will sleep beside me, but I will force nothing of you." That calmed her a bit, but she still did not like where this was headed. "Second, you will be trained in the skills necessary for survival at the Night Court: reading, writing, magic, and dancing." The reading and writing she would be grateful for, the magic sounded exhilarating, but the dancing she could do without. "And finally, you will not speak or even think of Tamlin while you are here." That condition sounded suspicious, as though there would be some hidden consequence that she could not foresee. Feyre thought back to the dining room with Tamlin earlier. Hadn't he warned her about making bargains with Rhys? And now that was the first thing she was doing. Yet the thought of her here had sent Tamlin into such a rage that he could not even see her off. Perhaps it would be best to keep these two lives completely separate.
Feyre held Rhys' gaze. "If I agree to your conditions, does that mean that you will agree to mine as well?" She couldn't risk giving in to him only to have his interests served and hers ignored.
"It does." He extended a hand toward her. "Are we agreed?"
Feyre extended her tattooed hand to his, laying her fingers gently on his palm. "Yes." With his eyes locked on hers, Rhys moved his grip to her wrist and brought the palm of her hand to his mouth. His lips pressed against her skin in a soft, deep motion that sent a bolt of lightning up her arm. When he pulled away, Feyre watched her tattoo swirl and shift, the tendrils of ink creeping just a bit higher on her arm.
After dinner, Rhys gave Feyre a tour of the parts of his manor she would need to know, never once removing his hand from her waist. It was all a little dizzying, but she kept track of their movements and began to form a map in her head. There was no telling when - or what - she might need to flee. At last, he stopped in front of a set of giant wooden doors with no discernible handle. She shot Rhys a puzzled look, but he merely moved the two of them closer and took her tattooed hand in his. He pressed the palm of her hand flat against the wood of the door. Feyre smelled that familiar tang of magic as the doors opened inward and quickly closed behind them.
"These are my quarters," Rhysand explained as he strolled toward the bed and sat Feyre next to him on its edge. "Explore them at your leisure, but know this." He tilted her chin towards him until their eyes met. "You are safe here. The walls are imbued with ash. No Fae can get through them. The only way to open them is with the touch of your hand or mine."
Her breath hitched as she caught the expression in Rhys' eyes. Try as she might to find it, no condescension or cruelty lurked there, nor were his eyes mired in shadows of despair. Had Feyre not known better, she might have called his look hopeful. What could he even be hopeful about? Feyre sprung off the bed and out of his reach. This was all too much. "So am I to be your captive, locked in here each night?" She had to keep her guard up. Someone had warned her about that. Had it been Lucien?
Without missing a beat, the sultry expression he usually wore descended on Rhys' features as he cracked a sly grin. "There are some who would thank a High Lord for working such magic to protect them. Do you think it wise to insult me in my own home? Perhaps I could find lodging for you elsewhere and invite some of the Court's more prickly inhabitants to be your bedfellow?"
Feyre hissed at the thought. "And you should know it isn't wise to threaten someone who is under the protection of-" she faltered. Why couldn't she name her protector? All that she could grasp were flashes of green-gold. It was as though her mind was moving through quicksand; the harder she tried to grab hold of the thoughts eluding her, the quicker she sank into a void. Rhys looked amused at her struggle, which only infuriated her more. "The protection of… the Spring Court," she offered at last. There was some missing piece here that she couldn't put her finger on. "What the hell did you do to me?" Feyre growled.
To her chagrin, Rhys' spiteful smile only deepened. "Nothing you haven't agreed to."
That must be it, the conditions they'd set! Feyre ran them over in her head again quickly. They all seemed rather straightforward until she thought of the final thing Rhys had asked of her. "You made me forget someone," she said slowly. "Someone important, judging by the twisted pleasure you're taking in all of this." She willed herself to remember, to spit the name in his face like liquid from a boiling cauldron. Feyre closed her eyes and searched within herself for any remaining shard of the person lost from her memory. "Someone I love," she said at last. When she opened her eyes, his smirk was gone. His eyes gave nothing away, but jealousy radiated from him so strongly, it was almost tangible. Feyre flinched as it passed through her. "Why do I feel you so much more here? It's bad enough having you in my head, I don't want to be in yours, too."
"Don't you?" He stalked toward her, his stare rooting her in place. "Don't you want to know exactly what game I'm playing at with our bargain? What I've dreamed of doing to you here?" He ran a hand through her hair, his fingers dusting over the skin of her cheek. "Just reach into our bond, Feyre. It's all there for the taking." Her heart was racing, but she couldn't pull away. Any information would be valuable, especially if it would prevent him from always playing his game six steps ahead of her. With the tiniest of nods, Feyre closed her eyes.
She focused on the feeling of their connection, allowing it to fill her. She became aware of his heartbeat as though it was her own, felt his pleasure at watching her. No sooner did she become aware of his consciousness, than an image overtook her.
Feyre stood on the balcony, dress as black as the night and skin as pale as the stars. He stalked closer to her as she turned to face him. "I've been waiting," Feyre said, the words dripping from her mouth like slow spoonfuls of honey.
"I'm here now," was his whispered reply as he slid his hand up the curve of her neck to graze the skin of her jaw. He brushed his thumb over her full lips and growled low in his throat when she gave it a small nip. Unable to wait a second longer, he brought his mouth to hers, lips crashing against each other as he plied her mouth open wider with his tongue. Fire coursed through the both of them as their kisses became more frenzied, more desperate. His hands dropped to the neck of her gown, tearing it apart to better feel the heat from her skin. Feyre moaned into his mouth as he ran his hands roughly over her exposed flesh.
Feyre gasped as she snapped back to her own mind. Her skin was still hot from where Rhys had touched her, except he hadn't actually touched her at all. It took a few moments for her breathing to slow and the blush to fade from her skin. "How?"
"You made contact with my consciousness," he said simply. "That particular thought happened to be one I had earlier this evening." He looked as though he would devour her in an instant. His expression softened a bit as Feyre suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion tear through her.
"Are you making me sleep?" she mumbled as she collapsed against his frame. Her muscles were so drained that she could no longer support herself.
Rhys chuckled softly against her ear as he scooped her into his arms. "That's the effect of magic on an inexperienced user. You'll grow stronger over time." He grazed his lips gently on her forehead and whispered, "You always do." Feyre barely even registered the feeling of the bed as her body sank into the tug of sleep. The last thing she registered before losing herself completely was a voice that came from within her as much as it came from without. Sweet dreams.
A/N: Wow, thank you for the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. I aspire to write as well as Maas, but that's still a distant dream. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I'm planning on focusing on just the most critical moments between these two, so expect some time jumps between the events of the next several chapters. As always, I hope you enjoyed this as well, and would love to know what you think. Thanks!