"Was she bleeding?" Mor was the first one to speak. I was pacing in circles in my room frantically, leaving black circles on the floor as I panted and heaved. After the story poured out of my mouth like puke, I was left with nothing but dread and dishonor. After Mor's question though, I halted.
"Bleeding?" I choked out, as if the word physically hurt me. Mor casted Azriel a grim look before looking back at me.
"Sometimes after someone is…" She paused for a moment, letting me take in each word carefully, "raped, they can be left with injuries. Sometimes they can bleed or have tears." My hands flew to my hair, pulling at it and soon began pacing in my black circles again.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" My voice rose. "I didn't even think about that! How could I not think about that? He raped her and all I bloody thought about was the marks on her arms. What kind've horrible mate-"
"You're not horrible," Azriel's chilling voice interrupted. My eyes shot to him. I could see in his eyes that he was worried about me – that he knew I wasn't okay. And maybe that was why he was standing at a distance, watching both Mor and I. We were both so breakable, while he had broken centuries ago. "It's too late to dwell on those memories, Rhys. Now we need to figure out why she won't leave him. Is it love?" I shook my head fast.
"Not love," I said. "She told me that Tamlin had a reason to get over the wall and that she was the only reason he hadn't already. I tried convincing her otherwise, pleaded, but she wouldn't listen." Azriel's arms, which were crossed tightly against his chest, loosened.
"Surely she knows that we are the strongest kingdom thus far?" He asked, almost defensively. "She has no reason to worry. She has no reason to stay here." Mor let out a sound of protest. I whipped my head towards her fast, eyeing her. She was staring out the window, as if searching for something she couldn't entirely reach. I knew this would be a sensitive topic to her, as she had been violated just as bad, just in a different way. There was a small part of me that almost hesitated to even tell her.
"She has plenty of reason to stay here," Mor argued. I stopped pacing and took a dangerous step towards her.
"Excuse me?"
"If she leaves, Tamlin wins," She said, not even wincing as black smoke rose from my shoulders. "If she leaves, she gives up everything that she has to destroy him." At first my eyes were wide, reflecting the black flames that now were dying to shoot from my fingers, but then I felt my stomach lurch. I took a staggering step back, my hand to my stomach, to where the string that attached me and Feyre ached.
"This is all my fault. I could've lived without her, you know-I could've watched her love Tamlin for eternity. If I hadn't taken her, if I hadn't let my selfishness consume me, Tamlin wouldn't have gone insane. She would've been safe. She would've been happy," I breathed. Mor took a step towards me, her hand already out, but then I felt a firm hand clamp onto my shoulder. I twisted around to face Azriel.
"Tamlin is a rapist. A rapist, Rhys. And not because he was sex hungry. The moment he felt vulnerable, he lashed out on her and took the one thing that could make a woman fall apart. Sane or not, he is too weak for her. He would've destroyed her in the end," Azriel said. I then nodded slowly, because he was right. Tamlin, even if my efforts did nothing, would never be able to handle her strength.
"So that's that," Mor said, her voice leaking with anxiety. "We're going to take her away, right? Hell or high water." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Maybe even a demand. Somewhere along the lines, she had become attached to Feyre. Maybe it's because she saw something in her that reminded her of herself, or maybe because she truly liked her, but when she saw me and Azriel hesitate, she growled.
"She is your mate," Mor reminded me. "Your mate. And that man – that disgusting piece of trash - hurt her! Do not look me in the eyes and tell me you aren't going to do something."
"It's not that easy, Mor," I growled back. "Remember that one time I kidnapped her and it basically back fired in my face?" She shook her head, disgust filling her face.
"He raped her," Mor hissed. "Raped her. Get her out! Get her out before I do!" My teeth grinded together impatiently.
"You don't think I want to do that?" I snapped. "You think I like that Tamlin abused her? That he did what Amarantha did to me? That she may never see herself the same again? Do you think I like this?" Her face, filled with anger and despise, faltered.
"I can kill him," Azriel offered. "Cut him up in tiny-itsy-bitsy pieces and nobody will ever find him. You won't ever have to take the blame." When he said it, he glanced at Mor quickly, as if trying to see if she approved. She was too angry to even meet eyes at either of us.
"No," I shook my head, my upper-lip curling. "If anyone is going to kill him, it's me." And Azriel looked at me as if a rock had hit head and gave him a realization that could possibly change our entire future. I meant it and he knew it. I couldn't tell if he agreed or disagreed, but he didn't object.
"You almost killed him last night, didn't you?" Azriel said, his voice neutral but stern. I swallowed, but I held my head high. Even if he couldn't read my thoughts directly, he still knew what was going inside my head.
"I only had enough time for one of my two options: kill Tamlin or get Feyre the hell out of there," I said, my voice filled with disgust. "And I guess by the time she declined my offer to get her out, it was too late to end his pitiful, ungrateful life." Thankfully, when I met eyes with them, neither of them disagreed. Neither of them argued.
"So what's the plan then?" Azriel asked.
"I will get her out of here," I promised them. "But I need her to trust me more. I can tell she already does a little bit – she's learned a lot in training. How to stand, how to throw a knife, how to approach an opponent. And to learn that much from someone in one day means that she…she has to trust me a little bit. Until then…"
"It's Feyre's way," Mor added grimly.
~*~ discidium ~*~
I couldn't find an excuse to skip lunch. I had instructed Mor and Azriel to scout the house again, spy on some servants and hopefully discover some areas that may contain the secrets that Feyre was talking about, but I knew I couldn't go with them. If Tamlin had any brains at all, he would've told every servant to look after me. So, really, in the end, I found myself laying in my bed uselessly, staring at the ceiling and trying to think of a sorry excuse to not see Tamlin's disgusting face. That I was tired, that I was sick, that I hated every single last bit of them, but though I was the master of orchestrating lies, I couldn't stomach the idea of letting her eat lunch with him alone. Even if I had to struggle every second from killing him in his own dining room, I couldn't leave her like that. Not alone. Not with Tamlin.
Given that, I was five minutes late for the extravagant meal and everybody was already seated. When I strutted in, everybody's eyes jerked up towards me fearfully, probably assuming that I was going to make it their last meal. Like before, Nesta was at the head of the table, but she looked happier. She was cleaned up, her hair glistening in curls, and clothes far better than she could possibly imagine was now on her back. Elain was wearing a simple, prudish gown and seated next to Lucien, leaning towards him too close to being friendly. And Feyre – my dear Feyre. She wearing a ghastly gown, so large that it oozed out of the chair and dipped out onto the floor. It covered as much skin as it could possibly hold – from her neck to her wrists. It wasn't a coincidence that I couldn't see any of her marks. That bastard, Tamlin, was seated next to her.
I eyed Feyre carefully, looking to see if, even though her skin was hidden, I could sense any more injuries. But nothing seemed any different, aside from the unreadable look in her eyes. I did notice though that she was seated as far away from Tamlin as she possibly could without him realizing it. As I sat down, the table was filled with loud, uncomfortable silence. Clearly, they didn't expect my arrival. I tried to brush away from Tamlin's gaze, because if not I may just have killed him. I wanted to melt his brain, burn him, make him suffer a thousand times than Feyre did.
"Are you going to a ball tonight, Feyre?" I said, eyeing her disgustingly colorful and humongous gown. "Oh, let me guess the theme! Is it Tamlin's personality?" Her eyes narrowed at me. I couldn't help but smirk playfully. It's supposed to be funny, I wanted to say.
"Some of us like to be cultured at meals," Tamlin muttered. My eyes whipped towards him, the anger in me spinning me so roughly just by the sound of his voice that my fingers began to tremble.
"You are the one uncultured," I snarled back harshly, black shadows beaming around me as I glared at him up and down. Tamlin's eyebrows flickered up in surprise, and the fork of mashed potatoes that was aiming for his mouth froze. He expected a backlash, but nothing filled with such hatred and despise.
"You didn't curse the food again, did you, Tamlin?" I continued, unraveling a napkin and cutting off a sliver of meat. "Because trying such an elementary stunt again isn't clever, it's just tasteless." I heard Tamlin take in a deep breath, as if willing himself to calm down.
"Can't you just give him the benefit of the doubt for tricking you?" Tamlin's lackey bursted. My eyes flickered up at him, Elain quickly gripping his arm as if to tell him to stop.
"I will as soon as you admit that you are nothing more than Tamlin's pathetic whipping boy," I shot back, reflecting a cold smile.
"You dare-"
"If you'd like to prove me wrong, you are more than welcome to join Feyre and I tonight for training. We are in need of a target after all." Lucien gripped his knife, as if a butter knife could even leave a scratch on me, but Tamlin interrupted us.
"Actually, in fact, Feyre can't make the training sessions tonight," Tamlin interrupted. My eyes shot towards him, my stare burning.
"Hell she's not!" I bursted, without even taking a breath. A small sliver of the anger inside me slipped out. "I swear to the cauldron, if she's not in there tonight without a valid, considerable excuse, I will burn your entire estate into black ashes!" He didn't even waver. While it may have seemed like an empty promise, I knew he could sense my sincerity. He had pushed my patience too far lately, and I only needed one more reason to cease his existence. Everybody was quiet, still as stone. Except Feyre.
"Actually, I am going to a ball tonight. Just not in this," Feyre said, her eyes flickering down at the hideous gown. I blinked at her stupidly, her words ringing in my head twice before I could even take a breath.
"A ball? A ball ball?" She had to be joking. Shitting with me. But she looked entirely, hundred percent serious.
"What other kind've ball would I be talking about?"
"Like, a ball with brainless politicians and wretched dancing and spiked drinks?" At this point, if she was actually serious, she was probably remembering Under the Mountain, but my heartbeat was running fast and I couldn't hide the wave of ecstasy that filled my body. A ball. It was the perfect plan to get her out of here. Any royal ball was filled with hundreds, maybe thousands, of everything from rich lords to commoners. There was no way that Tamlin could keep track of her, unless he decided to chain her to him but that wouldn't give the right impression to his people.
"Feyre-darling, pinch me. I think I'm dreaming."
"Oh, please. Like I would ever bother being a part of your dreams!"
"A ball," I said, ignoring her retort, and a smile spread wide across my face. My eyes, jittery with joy, landed on Tamlin. "Why the hell would you ever host a ball with the High Lord of the Night Court in your estate? Do you always forget to use your brain before arranging ceremonies?" His face was swelled with redness, but he barely even met eyes with me.
"I couldn't cancel it," he mumbled, half in shame and half in anger. Within a second, I was roaring in laughter. My laughter was twice as powerful as Tamlin's roars, with chairs splintering and the chandeliers ringing above us dangerously. Tamlin gritted his teeth as I let out my bellows.
"Oh my cauldron, you may just be able to kill me after all, Tamlin," I said, wiping my eyes from the laughter, "That's great. That's hilarious, actually. The one time you have to host a party, the High Lord of Night is just conveniently already in your household. At least now I don't have to worry about arriving without an invitation." He gritted his teeth angrily.
"And what is the occasion?" I pestered, my smile never dying. "Humor me." He took a deep breath before continuing.
"My lords demand a ball in honor of the Court of Spring's victory," Tamlin told me evenly, "It's a tradition." My smile died instantly, a darkness filling my body as his words echoed against my bones.
"The Court of Spring's victory?" I spat, anger overcoming me once more. "You mean Feyre's victory? Last time I checked you spent those three months sitting on your ass." And maybe I should have kept it in, but it was only a sliver of the anger that was boiling inside.
"Feyre is a member of the Court of Spring," Tamlin said defensively. "And I didn't sit on my ass. I went through just as much pain as-"
"Of course you did," I cut him off quickly. "Now, can I bring a date-"
"You," Tamlin said slowly, his index finger pointing at me, "Are not invited." I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head at him.
"So I'm just expected to live in your depressing house, listen to your dull conversations, and eat your mediocre food without any bit of complaining, but I can't even get some party food and mingle? I'm offended!" I said dramatically.
"Yes," he said sourly. I threw my hands in the air.
"What the hell am I supposed to do then? Sit in my room and count to a thousand?"
"Cauldron knows you'll do whatever you want anyways, Rhysand," he said, his voice leaking with defeat. "Just stay out of my party."
"I don't hear you saying please."
"Please."
~*~ discidium~*~
Of course I didn't plan on staying out of his party. It was laughable that he even believed that it was a possibility. Immediately after the lunch had ended, I raced up the stairs to find Mor and Azriel. Coincidentally, they were both in Azriel's room, sprawled out onto the bed, with only a foot between them. They were talking, but the moment I walked in their voices stopped. Mor jumped from the bed quickly, bouncing up on her feet with light filling her face.
"You look happy," she deducted, worry in her voice, "Why do you look so happy?" And so then I spilled, telling them about the ball as I pranced around the room, leaving a trail of sparkly blackness. Both of them looked at me in silent astonishment as I laughed at Tamlin's horrible situation.
"He is having a ball?" Mor asked, after waiting patiently for my happiness to slow down. I nodded happily.
"Isn't this a bit…suspicious?" Azriel added. My smile dropped, eyeing him.
"You know, it's always the worst feeling in the world when I'm happy and then you decide to be a debby-downer and ruin the mood off your suspicions," I said. But the words didn't even register in him.
"Amarantha is dead, we just conveniently infiltrated the Spring Court, Tamlin thereby hates us, and now his people are 'forcing' him to have a ball and he's just going along with it?" Azriel repeated back to me. "Rhys, that is suspicious."
"Actually," Mor argued, "it isn't that suspicious. Cassian sent a letter saying that there's been huge celebrations at every court, like some infectious disease. I feel like the High Lords are only having these parties just to gloat to the world how well they're doing. There's supposed to be many powerful people at these balls." My face twisted.
"I wouldn't be surprised either way," I muttered. "This world is filled with greedy bastards who want to destroy each other. But we don't have much of a choice anyways, do we?"
For the first time in my life, I didn't want to stand out. Usually I wore a coal-black tunic with silver and gold linings, so dark that it made commoners shiver. My pants were normally made out of the best material in the world, causing mouths to open and envy fill people's eyes. My fashion, even when I was the most vulnerable, had always been on spot. And especially at a ball, where my foes and competitors would be seeing me, I wanted to stick out the most. But I knew that tonight, I couldn't do that. I had to, in the simplest way, be invisible.
So, I wore a dark purple tunic, silk but nothing that would catch someone's eye. The collar plunged deep, revealing a portion of my torso. My pants were plain black, a typical material for a typical High Lord. With my daring good looks, it was the best I could do.
I waited for the sun to go down before leaving my room, knowing that the ball had already started and Tamlin was already too mixed into the ball to watch for me. I inched down the hall silently, stopping at Azriel's door.
"Are you-" I opened the door and I nearly closed it. Azriel and Mor weren't embraced – they weren't even intertwined, but when I opened the door they were laying upon the bed, clothes still on, only inches apart. There was no touching, no hint that they were about to do something, but I knew I interrupted something.
"Oh, Rhysand!" Mor gasped, almost a bit nervously. She bounced up, twisting in her plain dark dress. She looked amazing, of course, but it was good enough that people wouldn't notice her automatically. Azriel matched her, just a plain dark tunic and pants. I looked between them, both of them flustered.
"I was just," I stumbled on my words, "just leaving. I'm going downstairs. But I should…" I looked between them, trying to understand their very odd relationship. "Probably go in first though, so take your time." Before they could argue, I left the room, shutting the door with a slight bang. Flustered and shaking my head, I descended the stairs, cursing them. By the time I got to the main floor I could already hear the music, blaring and interrupting my thoughts. I continued to descend the stairs though in a hurried manner, until I got to the floor I knew the ballroom was held.
"If only they could just-" But then I saw her. Feyre had turned around with a gasp just as I hit the last step. I opened my mouth then closed it. She looked absolutely dreadful – she wore a dark orange dress, as puffy as a pastry and made her arms stick out awkwardly. It covered her neck to toe, with matching orange gloves. Clearly to hide the tattoo.
"You look festive," I said carefully, eyeing her. She fumed, shooting me a vulgar finger. I laughed to myself.
"Aren't you supposed to be hiding in your room and counting to a thousand?" She spat back. I smirked.
"I don't follow orders," I said, growing closer to her, "Especially not from Tamlin." She looked at me hard for a moment, like she was close to spurring out something angry, but she merely let out a groan and began twisting in a circle, pacing in front of the closed double doors.
"I have to ask," I said, beckoning to her dress, "Did you actually pick that out or-"
"It's pretty," she snapped, her face filled with redness. I laughed.
"Pretty? Pretty?" I asked. "You look like a fucking pumpkin." Though she scowled, I saw how she tried suppressing the smile on her lips.
"Okay, so maybe I didn't pick it out," she admitted, rolling her eyes, "But, it could be worse." My hands folded into my pockets as I eyed it again.
"I beg to differ," I said, starting to circle her as she froze. "I thought that dress earlier was ugly, but this-"
"I didn't have a choice, alright?" She growled. I blinked at her rapidly.
"Tamlin's idea, am I correct?" I asked. She frowned.
"Ianthe," she corrected, though it meant the same exact thing to me.
"Well, in that case, since you apparently don't mind other people dressing you like a doll, let me add my own touch."
Before she could open her mouth, I waved my hand and a black mist swirled around her. I heard a yelp as she disappeared into the blackness, but a second later I waved my hand again and the blackness tunneled away. She stumbled once or twice before she almost fell face-first, in which I quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her up.
"What did you-" But then she stopped. Her eyes dropped down to a dark red dress that was now draped around her, sinking to the floor and leaving a small train. It was thin, like newly-woven silk that fell across her body in such a way that made my breath catch. Unlike the ugly dress Tamlin had trapped her in, this one wasn't afraid to show her curves, flaunting her natural shape in an elegant manner. No, it wasn't like the provocative outfit that I had forced her in Under the Mountain, but it held the same daringness. The boldness. Unlike the other dress, this one was sleeveless. There was nothing to hide her scars and bruises, but it decorated her body in such a way that it was admirable. Beautiful. On top of that, I untied the uncomfortable knot that stuck up on top of her head, letting it bounce down in curls against her scarred shoulders.
"But my scars…" She said, her eyes draping across her bare arms. She bit her lip.
"Where them proudly," I instructed. "They are what made you into a hero." Her eyes, deep and serious, were fixated on them, as if trying to decide if she was even a hero at all, but she didn't argue.
"And those," I said, yanking off her gawky gloves and tearing them away from her grasp, "Have got to go."
"No, I-" But before she could say anything more, they disappeared into thin air. She let out a defeated sigh as she looked at the air longingly. After a moment of gaping and giving me a snarl, she looked down at her hands. A part of me was afraid that maybe she was embarrassed by the tattoo – that maybe I should've at least left her with one thing to hide her past. But then her back straightened.
"I feel…" She said, her chest heaving, "Free. I feel free." Her eyes gazed up at me, looking at me just like she had the moment I was meant to say goodbye to her. Like I was worth something. I gave her a small smile, a genuine smile.
"Good," I said, "And now, I think it's time for you to go. Your dear Tamlin and seven hundred of his closest friends are waiting for you." I eyed the door and instantly her composure shrank.
"You aren't going to go before me?" She asked hesitantly. I shrugged, stepping in front of her.
"If you wish-"
"No, wait!" Her anxious plead made me turn around, looking at her with just as much desperation as she had.
"Yes?" I heard myself ask, softer than I have ever spoken. Her eyes were filled with anxiety, looking at the door, and then I realized that maybe I wasn't a lost cause. If she'd rather be with me, alone, looking beautiful in a dress that could make a whole room stop breathing, than maybe there was a chance.
"He took everything I had," she said, her voice choking with anger.
My eyes gleamed, "Not everything." With our gazes stuck on each other, I held out my arm.
"Together then?" I asked. She gave me a slight smile.
"Together," she agreed, and while our arms only hooked for just a second, just to open the doors, it felt like I was finally whole. Like, just by her touch, every ounce of pain and misery that has ever exploded in me in the last five centuries was gone. I didn't stop looking into her eyes until she took a step into the ballroom. Without a word spoken, she unhooked away from me, disappearing into the crowd of hundreds of people. I watched as she whisked away, with a ripple of faces turning around and looking at her with awe. Scanning her body, staring at her scars, acknowledging her unusual beauty.
While the distraction was there, I disappeared into the opposite side of the crowd, pulling in my dark aura so that people wouldn't look at me. I was halfway into the heart of the ballroom when I found myself turning around. A thousand people away, I saw Tamlin spitting words at her fast. Her eyes were cast down for a moment, her shoulders slumped forward, but then she looked up at him and straightened. She said something to him, making him flinch. He tried reaching for her, pushing her back towards the door, but she tugged away from his grip.
Smiling to myself, I continued to weave into the crowd, slyly pushing past people and manipulating their minds into not registering my existence. The last thing I needed was for this ball to center around me. When I made it to an area that Mor and Azriel could find me, the refreshments bar, I grabbed a cold cup of punch. But right as it was about to hit my lips, a familiar voice interrupted me.
"She is quite the woman." I whipped around quickly. He was as I remembered – completely and utterly dazzling, even in the worst of conditions. Not short but not tall, a warm look that brightened his deeply tanned face, with white hair sweeping across his forehead elegantly. His eyes, so brightly blue and green that it almost seemed unreal, twinkled at me. But I didn't smile.
"What do I owe the pleasure, Tarquin? Aren't you busy enough repairing your own home, let alone entertaining Tamlin's?" He didn't even blink.
"We are a neutral kingdom," He said, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. "But, between me and you, you are the reason I bothered to travel so far." The drink in my hand suddenly felt very, very cold.
"People are already talking about me arriving at Tamlin's court?" I said, one eyebrow perched up. "I forget how fast fear spreads even when kingdoms are thousands of miles apart."
"Yes, well, it doesn't give the best of vibes when you hear of a high lord going to another high lord's court," Tarquin said, clearing his throat a bit, "And I'm assuming even if I did ask why you were here, you would lie." I gave him a shrug.
"I guess that makes us alike," I said, though my voice was far from crossed. Maybe it was because I knew some secrets of his own, secrets that could've murdered him, but I respected him. Though he claimed his kingdom was neutral, we both knew that his neutrality, his secrets, only made him stronger.
"I wouldn't doubt that," Tarquin agreed. My eyes flickered at him, eyeing him.
"Yes," I agreed stiffly, "So that only makes me wonder more. What makes you come to me?" His eyes fell away from me, turning his head to look back at Feyre. She was beaming, smiling. Tamlin was off at a distance, talking to some politicians, but his eyes kept wandering towards her cautiously.
"I have spies in Tamlin's court," he said bluntly. My eyes widened for just a moment. My gaze tossed around, making sure nobody had heard us, but my powers were everlasting – two of the most powerful people in the world, and yet nobody even glanced at us.
"Brilliant," I said, letting out a light chuckle. "Actually, truly brilliant. Most leaders wouldn't have the balls to take that initiative right after recovering from Amarantha, let alone the one lord who swore to neutrality. Tell me, do you have spies at my court too?" He had a smug look on his face.
"Couldn't get past your barriers if I tried, Rhysand," he admitted, "but I do know about your, ah, predicament with Tamlin." I swirled my cup of punch. While the hair on the back of my neck had begun to prickle up, I didn't have much to hide here. But elsewhere? If he knew my secrets, he had me by the balls.
"And?" I asked, my voice growing cold. "Unless you're up to destroying his entire kingdom with me, I'm not really interested in your input."
"Unfortunately for you, I have no interest in destroying the Spring Court," he told me, "But I do have interest in Feyre Cursebreaker." And then just like that, I felt like I couldn't breathe. The tone in his voice – the coolness, the determination. My grip on my cup was so tight that it cracked.
"I don't want you as my enemy, Tarquin," I hissed, "But if you even try touching her, I'll destroy you." To my surprise, he didn't shudder. He didn't even get mad. Instead he licked his lips, staring at Feyre again.
"Far from it," he said, "Our world is filled with corrupted leaders that will only cause war and destruction. Amarantha might be dead, but people like her will never stop if they have power."
"I have very little interest in what happens outside of my court," I said simply. He tilted his head.
"But you have interest in her," he noted, "And I think you're a good person. And I think she is even better. Do you want to know the truth? I think you want to wed her. I think you'll destroy Tamlin just to have her. I watched as you came at Amarantha with a knife when Feyre's neck cracked, and you knew that was suicide." I didn't respond.
"She would make a great lady, no doubt. But what if she was more than that, Rhysand? What if she was more than just a wife? What if we were able to conquer Tamlin, and make her the High Lord – or should I say, High Lady of the Spring Court without Tamlin by her side?"
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