Hiya, guys.

I've got a long chapter for you all...

I'm so excited for this part of the story. Even if it is just more misery for Rhys...

As usual, enjoy and review!

P.S. This chapter has lots of torture scenes... and dialogue from Chapter 34 of ACOTAR. This dialogue is not my own, it is all S. J. Maas's so respect that queen!


The days dribbled slowly through Rhysand's consciousness, just as cold and unforgiving as snow melting off the mountain side.

After Tamlin's 'welcoming party', Rhys had sworn off alcohol… for the time being.

The lack of chemical barrier was draining.

Each day started late, much of Amarantha's court staying up late into the night to enjoy the fresh screams and indulgences the twilight hours offered.

Not that Rhysand was able to discern much of what was day and what was night, a symptom that had been plaguing him for forty-nine years. He woke in his own bed when his body was rested, thankfully thrown from the room after Amarantha was done with torturing Tamlin and Rhysand alike.

He was empty. Hopeless. More drained than he had been in a long time. Despite his better instincts Rhysand had let himself begin to hope again, that glimmer of starlight enough to thaw his frozen soul… And once that hope was flickering and burning, Amarantha had blown it out.

Again.

He wished more than anything to go back to that comfortable state of apathy, the one when he didn't hate himself as much nearly as much as he hated Amarantha, the one where he was only ruled by boredom, rage and as much as he hated to admit it, acceptance.

But, those eyes, the ones that stripped him bare from the moment he had seen them, had destroyed the Rhysand created from nearly a half a century of servitude.

Now, Rhysand was barely able to conceal his distain, and oh he hated, loathed the red-haired witch who ruled Prythian. He couldn't tolerate that new hole left his in chest, the hole that had been filled from the moment he had smelled that familiar scent flowing through the Calanmai crowd.

The hole that had been ripped open when Tamlin arrived at Amaratha's Court, as what little hope he had of freedom was officially over.

Not that it wasn't partially Rhysand's fault… he had scared Tamlin into sending her away.

Some feral part of him couldn't bear the idea of that human girl in Tamlin's court, loving him. Freeing him. And then… he imagined Amarantha grinning as she placed those delicate hands in a set of iron manacles.

Those beautiful hands. As she had painted the table, the trimmings of her house, the canvases in the Spring Court she had painted a picture of a normal life. A life where the innocent were protected by the strong, the cruel punished, and peace reigned. A place where a beautiful human painter could paint the beautiful sky… while Rhysand watched from the shadows.

In this world, Rhysand was stuck in only the darkest and most cruel of shadows. There would be no freedom to paint here. Not in Amarantha's world.

Rhysand weathered the nights, a hole in his chest, no alcohol to patch it and a sudden disinterest in the soft skin of other courtiers.

He wasn't sure how long he could go survive before he cracked. Only the thought of Velaris, of his warded city and court keep his feet under him. Kept him from wrapping his hands around the Queen's pale neck… even if Tamlin did watch. Rhysand knew he would like watching that at least.

Just as Tamlin would like watching as Amarantha cleaved her power through Rhysand's chest.

Tonight was day six of Amarantha's most absolute rule over Prythian, day six of Tamlin's trial. Or maybe night. Rhysand was no longer sure. He had been spoiled by the opportunity to see the sky the past couple months.

He put on his show, a guise of cruelty and amusement. The perfect servant, the dark prince. The only ones who saw through it were Nuala and Cerridwen… Not that anyone saw them in turn.

The first three days had crawled by, and he had passed the evenings with careful counting of the pillars in the throne room. When Clare was brought up from the prison, as she was nightly, he concentrated on perfecting her screams. He clarified the nightmares in her mind.

Tamlin was a statue, his green eyes baring down on the girl. His face was impassive, his body calm.

The only sign of his distain was the swirling storm inside.

On day six, Rhysand had ran out of stones to count in the throne room. He compromised by dancing with a green-skinned lesser faerie from the Summer Court, if the color of her palm-leaved skin was any indication. She made exactly two hundred and forty-four steps before their dance was over, she breathed deeply twenty-five times, and only stepped on his feet twice.

Amarantha laughed on her throne in the meanwhile, Clare already brought out and chained to the floor in front of her throne. She was a crumpled form, her body broken. Her hands were missing fingers, her back sprinkled with half-healed scars and burns, her hair ripped out in places. The queen was always careful to return her back to the jail before she broke her new toy.

Rhysand was watching her from his mind's eye, his shadows protecting her mind for whatever was coming.

Tamlin was sitting in his little throne, a dark tunic on in contrast to his Springtime features.

Amarantha's Court was a dark force, enticing and violent. After days of partying, drinking, bathing in Tamlin's misery the crowd was hungry for more blood.

Rhysand didn't think he could bear any more of Clare's screams. Although induced by Rhys himself, each yowl sounded accusing in his ears. A reminder of his guilt… the fact that he had sentenced this poor girl to her fate.

His only consolation remained that he knew the freckled human girl was safe in her home…

On day two, his visions had started again. Rhysand had stopped them for a period, after he realized that she was with Tamlin. He couldn't stand the color of her visions, the tone… the love. None of it meant for him.

He was jealous. This was a little fact that he had pushed back in his mind, and had somehow kept his mind from slipping back into her own over those few days…

But after Clare was returned to her cell, after Amarantha used him in front his worst enemy, after he managed to escape to his own "private" quarters, he had fretted as he stared at the black canopy above his bed. Rhysand had desperately wanted to know that the torture of the innocent human in the throne room wasn't in vain.

It had started with the vision of a human man, or perhaps boy, Rhysand had guessed based from the poor excuse for a beard on his face. Rhysand had been staring into the darkness of his room, contemplating his choices when his vision was obscured by a vision of this man. It was… blurry. Cloudy. Like looking through a dirty window. But he could feel her, her mind… her thoughts were too far to reach but he could feel the feeling of… content. Gratitude. The boy had his arm wrapped around another young woman, her face pretty, her hips wide. Well fed, glowing. Looking at this boy like he was her world…

His human woman had nodded her head at the boy. Rhysand was struck again with an image of the boy's face, a lantern light above it, hay in his hair. A hand fisted in the hay, wrapped in both golden-brown hair as well as the hay itself.

Rhysand had thrown himself out of her consciousness, the vision fading slowly in his eyes. His face was hot, his fists clenched beside him in the bed, his heart in his throat. It was instinctual, the fury, the jealousy

After a few swallows of damp air, the fury had faded. Her scent lingered in his nose.

At least he knew she was over the wall. Away from this hell hole. Rhysand just had to figure out now how to keep Amarantha from spreading her defilement…

Over the next few days, the visions had slowly traveled threw his consciousness. Rhysand was trying to avoid them, trying to avoid the allure of her reality. A reality that would never be his own… but it seemed that his subconscious had other plans.

So far he had managed to keep them from appearing in the presence of Amarantha, a small consolation he was thankful for.

Rhysand was thrown from his thoughts as the mind he was holding did not react as her body was hit with a sharp torrent of pain. Rhysand threw himself back into his reality, glancing from his couch in the back corner of the room to where Amarantha had hit the human girl.

The girl had been thrown to her back with a force of Amarantha's spell, her head hitting the floor with force. A smear of blood was oozing out from under what was left of her matted hair.

Amarantha was laughing, not having even stood to deliver the blow of magic. She was looking at Tamlin, who looked at Jurian's ring once before looking back to the innocent body below them.

Rhysand made her make a small whimper.

He stood and sauntered over the linger amongst the crowd nearest the Queen. He did not take his usual position behind her, having learned that she seemed to prefer having only Tamlin on the dais with her now.

Rhysand looked longingly at the wine in the corner of the room.

"Practicing a life of sobriety, Rhys? How out of character." A deep voice drawled from behind him.

Rhysand turned slightly, not turning wholly away from Clare. He needed to make sure she responded to Amarantha to appropriately or face her suspicion.

"I was curious. I haven't been sober in say… five hundred years. I wondered if perhaps I would be more productive." Rhysand gave him a smile, glancing back to the girl as Helion stood beside him.

"I suppose I understand. I can imagine being a lover to the Queen requires a large amount of… productivity."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

A moment of silence passed, courtiers swirling around them in dance and in conversation.

"I have been watching you, Rhys." Helion muttered.

"Have you? I am flattered. Unfortunately for you, twin, I find myself more attracted to the opposite sex." Rhysand had smiled for the world around him, aware of always being watched. On display. But his quick glance at Helion's warm complexion had been a warning.

Helion said nothing, but instead sipped his wine.

"I see your sacrifice."

It was so quiet, Rhysand almost didn't hear it. By the time Rhysand tore his eyes away from his victim, Helion was gone. He had disappeared into the crowd.

He wondered for a moment he had hallucinated the whole exchange.

Rhysand was panicking a bit inside, wondering exactly how much Helion saw. Helion knew about his brothers, Mor, his Inner Circle… while he didn't know about, he knew that Rhysand had somehow kept his closest members in Court from Amarantha's clutches-

The crowd hushed around him. He glanced to Amarantha's dais. The crimson witch had stood, standing above the girl who was still bleeding on the floor, her wrists at odd angles. She was smiling, holding her hand out so Jurian could get a proper look… His hazel eye was swirling.

"Ah, I do think we have played well with our little doll. But like all favorite toys, eventually they are worn out and need replacing."

Tamlin remained a statue, his golden mask flickering the faelight. The crowd was gathering around the dais. Rhysand stepped forward so no one could obstruct his view.

"Jurian, don't you think her skin is a lovely shade of red?" She cooed once at her ring. "Hmm… dear Clare, sweet, darling Clare… what ever should we do with you?"

Clare was weeping quietly, curling on her side, her bleeding head dragging a smear of blood behind her. In Clare's mind, Rhysand was again humming Livana's song, soothing.

"You have been quite a disappointment. I have not dealt much with humans in the past few centuries I admit, but I remember them to be a bit more… feisty. But I suppose over the years, the blood thins out." Amarantha crouched over the girl, a single hand petting her hair.

"And you didn't even perform enough to create a rise out of Tamlin… it's become rather boring."

Amarantha pulled at the girls matted hair, causing her to shriek. Amarantha glued Tamlin down with dark eyes. "Nothing you want to say? You did condemn this girl to her fate, after all."

Tamlin said nothing. He didn't move. Rhysand wasn't sure that he was breathing. A small voice in Rhysand's head was whispering, I did this. I did this. I did this.

Amarantha huffed. "I tire of this. I will find a way, Tamlin. You will pledge yourself to me."

Tamlin raised one, defiant eyebrow.

Rhysand had to hold back a snort, which was much easier to hide after he remembered how Tamlin had seen him the night before.

"Attor, end this. I am sick of her soiling my floor." She let go of the girl, blood streaked over her hands. She didn't bother to clean them as she returned to her throne.

The Attor scampered forward, bowing clumsily. "The spit, Your Majesty?" His forked tongue flicked over his cracked lips.

Rhysand's stomach turned. Roasted like a pig for feast… it was one of Amarantha's favorite torture methods. Incredibly painful and slow. It burned the victim evenly over every inch of their body until they dried out to the point of death.

And it filled the throne room with a sickening stench of roasting flesh that lasted for days.

Apparently, she had gotten the idea from Jurian who had spiked Clythia to one using ash nails, keeping her weak. Jurian had let Clythia roast for three days before he grew impatient.

A muscle in Tamlin's face twitched. Amarantha luckily, wasn't looking at him.

She picked at one of her finely groomed nails. "Yes, yes. Hurry up." There was still blood on her hands.

Rhysand couldn't help but stare at those hands. Servants rolled in the spit, not bothering to bring fuel for the fire or any form of fire place.

They didn't need wood and stones when they had magic.

Eris and another of his brothers pulled to the front of the crowd, hoping to be of service. Rhysand wondered how long it would be before Amarantha killed Beron… the old bastard had power, but nothing Amarantha couldn't tame. Even Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord in existence, was useless under her spell.

Clare was dragged from the floor, her hands released from her chains. She whimpered as they pulled her forward, the wounds from her missing fingers leaking blood all over the floor. There was a ball of bloody hair left where she had been laying a moment ago. The Attor grinned and snarled in her face, enjoying as she shrinked away from him, her tears clearing a path through the filth on her face.

Rhysand hummed Livana's song more loudly in her mind. He of course, made her react in this way. It didn't make it any less difficult to watch.

They wrapped her hands together with ropes, tying them tight enough to hurt. Then, the Attor began to tie her feet together. As she was tied like a pig for roasting, Amarantha's lesser fae cronies were placing the base of the spit directly in front of Amarantha's dais. Tamlin remained impassive, but his rage was a shaking force.

Clare sobbed as she was tied over the spit. She hung painfully, held up only by her hands and feet. Realizing that her hands were not enough to hold her weight, the Attor sloppily wrapped another rope around her waist.

The crowd was a force of bloodlust and fear around him. The other High Lord's lingered around the room, watching the Red Queen and the human girl. Impassive. Lucien stood by the exit of the room, his face pale. He was leaning against a back wall.

"Eris… I require your services." Amarantha smiled sweetly at the red-haired male, lingering so close by.

"I thought you would never ask, Your Majesty." Eris smiled, sauntering forward. Rhysand had to ignore the urge to scowl. He would never forgive Eris for what he did to Mor. The world could turn to dust, the ocean dried to desert and yet Rhysand would hate him.

Although Eris's mind had always been an interesting place. The fact that Eris reminded him somewhat of himself… that was his worst crime of all.

Clare whimpered and shifted her weight slightly, swaying under the rod that held her up. The Attor backed up, giving Eris a clear space to work.

Amarantha smiled lazily, looking over her victim. "Begin."

Eris reached out a hand, his pointer finger reaching towards the spit. Rhysand gripped the poor girls mind more tightly in his claws. She was calm, relaxed beneath the coverage of his shadows.

A deep orange flame ignited under her, lapping up from the floor, burning from seemingly nothing. The fire reached out a burning tongue, searing pain across her back. Clare herself was safe, protected from the pain due to Rhysand but he had to make it real…

Clare shrieked. The rod began turning, burning her evenly as her body rotated. The smell of her burning flesh filled the room. Her screams echoed off the ceiling, off the walls of the throne room. Rhysand struggled to remain impassive. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His heart thrummed in his chest.

The room was split between couriers who relished in her pain and those who held back their disgust. The smell of rage, fear and pain floated around him.

As Clare shrieked, the party continued, the courtiers dancing with even more vigor. Those who were not drinking chugged glasses of faerie wine. Those who could not bear to look turned their attention to other activities. Amarantha was grinning like a fox and watching Tamlin with vigor.

Rhysand stared at the blood still smeared over her hands, her arms.

Hours passed. Eris maintained a stream of fire, and when he grew tired one of his brothers took over his post. He could Beron and Lady of Autumn Court near the back of the room. Beron looked bored, but the lady… her auburn eyes were shining.

Clare continued to cry, to scream. Her skin was blistering, red, and wilting.

Rhysand felt like he was choking on her scent. He had returned to his couch in the back of the throne room. He watched impassively as the crowd swirled around him. A few women tried to catch his eye but tonight he ignored them.

Each shriek coming from Clare shook his bones. There was a sense of finality in them, a symbol of the end. It was done. Tamlin was here, forever. There was no longer a way out of Amarantha's reign. That human girl that Rhysand had gone to the ends of the world to protect… he would never see her again. She was safe, across the wall. With some practice, her visions would stop distracting him.

Then Rhysand could focus on the rest of his miserable existence. Alone except for his shadowed wraiths… alone in his suffering, his sacrifice.

Clare, although unaware of it, had been tortured. Emotionally, physically. Her body was now failing her, the couriers even growing disgusted and disgruntled with her screams and the scent of her burning flesh. Each breath, each scream reminded him that he was the fool who had told Amarantha her name. He was the fool who hadn't realized Clare Beddor was more than a fake name, an alias.

When Rhysand could no longer take Clare's screams, he gathered her mind into his claws.

It was like trying to hold water in an open palm. Her body was black, twisted, burning. Her heart beating at an impossible pace.

Rhysand watched as Amarantha stared at Tamlin, smug.

He took a deep breath. One of his hands gripped the arm of the couch until his fist was white. No one was watching him. He was alone.

With a careful swipe of his claws, Rhysand wiped Clare from existence. Her mind, her human thoughts, her innocence… gone. All that was left was her body.

Then he slowed her heart, her flesh and blood yielding to his power.

Fae began to slow their dancing to glance at the human girl, hearing the slowing of her heart threw the chatter and music. It appeared that not just Tamlin and himself were listening, watching, praying for the peace that came for death…

He prayed to himself as her heart ground to a stop. Let her enter eternity. Let her fear no evil. Let her feel no pain.

When the silence came from her death, he rested back against the couch. His hand shook as he rested his chin on it. He hadn't realized how her heart beat had stalked him until the silence of it finally reigned. Quieting all other activity in the room.

Although the off-kilter music continued, the room was oddly silent. A moment for the innocent.

A moment for the human girl who should have never been in this room. A moment for all those who had been smothered by Amarantha's rule.

A hundred eyes or more were staring at the blackened, burned body.

Amarantha glanced up from her throne, aware of the sudden change in atmosphere.

The crowd sputtered to a stop… and then restarted back to the party with renewed vigor.

Amarantha straightened the crown on her head. He wasn't sure that she evened noticed her human doll was dead.

The fae began to dance again, looking anywhere but at the queen or the human corpse sitting in front of the dais.

A set of golden eyes stared at Rhysand from across the crowd.

I see your sacrifice.

He glanced once at Helion's burning gaze, looking away quickly. He made sure he seemed relaxed, unshaken. His reflection casual, his shirt immaculate.

He stared at Amarantha's blood covered hands from across the room.

Cauldron, he wasn't sure he could do this much longer.

He thought briefly of what he had told Tamlin that first night.

Welcome to the rest of eternity, Rhys.


Amarantha had pinned Clare's body to the wall of the cavernous throne room, directly above her throne. So that all who looked upon her knew who she was, what she could do. How she hated humans.

Lovely.

The night Clare had died moved slowly. Rhysand sat on his black leather couch in the back of the room, ignoring the women who tried to catch his eye. He wasn't in the mood for distractions. He watched as the Attor and the like flew the girl up on the wall, drove pins through her corpse into the stone wall.

Her blood dripped down the wall behind Amarantha.

After another night of making Tamlin watch as Rhysand was used by Amarantha, Rhysand was hanging onto his life by a thread. His city, his friends depending on him. But… he could feel Clare's watery eyes staring him down. The eyes of those children, empty and staring. Starry eyes that looked at him like he was a monster. He couldn't remember how his friends looked, their faces were like blurs. But he could picture those he had destroyed, murdered for Amarantha's sake with perfectly clarity.

He was brooding, and while he knew that wasn't wise, he didn't particularly care. He sat with a glass of water in one hand, resting the stem of the glass against his leg. His other hand supported his chin while his arm leaned up against the arm of the couch.

It was the night after her death and her corpse remained. Her blood had dried, turning the stone black. Amarantha wore a glimmering black dress, a dress that Rhysand suspected was in mockery to the girl's death. There was still an underlying scent of burning flesh.

Maybe Amarantha would think he was unhappy because she was attempting to replace him with Tamlin. Not that he would ever truly be free of her… even if Tamlin gave in to her demands, became her lover, her consort, Rhysand would always be there to control minds for her. To read them, to manipulate them. To destroy them.

A shadow moved in the corner of his vision, at odds with the colorful dresses of the Amarantha's court.

He reached out with his mind, searching for those familiar shadowy minds.

A swirling whirlpool lingered nearby, lurking in the shadows behind his couch. He took a careful sip of his water, pretending to watch the crowd. He put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Amarantha was lounging on her throne, watching the crowd with dark eyes. She was playing absent mindedly with the finger bone on her necklace.

High Lord.

Hello wraith. How can I help you?

The Inner Circle… they have heard of Tamlin's return to court.

Indeed. I'm sure they heard this news from the shadows, no doubt… Rhysand gave a small smirk. One that promised trouble.

They wondered… if there was any plan. If you had discovered anything that would allow freedom. The wards are strong, the white demon had noted few probes into our court. Much less than before Tamlin's capture.

Hmm… yes, I'm not surprised by that. Amarantha is more distracted by Tamlin at the moment. Rhysand turned his gaze back to Tamlin who was wearing the warrior leathers today and an empty Illyrian baldric. Amarantha had of course stripped him of his knives upon arrival. Rhysand took satisfaction that the knives he had once gifted his friend were now hiding in some room full of the courier's weapons.

There was a disturbance in the hallway, just past the entryway to the throne room. Someone was being dragged forward by the Attor or one of his ilk if the scratching gait was any clue.

The Attor strolled into the room, gripping a hooded figure by the arm. He was dragging the figure forward to the front of the dais, and as he did the court turned to watch his approach. Some continued to dance but most stopped where they were, interested in a turn of events. Rhysand looked at the figure in lazy interest.

It was probably just another attempted escape. What did it matter? It made things no different to him.

I have no plan now. It seems Amarantha's reign may be a permanent one. He finished off his water, setting it on the table in front of him.

The figure was thrown to the floor at Amarantha's feet, their knees hitting the stone with a sickening crunch. They caught themselves, slowly pushing themselves up from the floor with one hand. They remained crouched, almost as if they were going to bolt. As they looked up, their hood fell away from their face.

Golden-brown hair shine as the faelight flickered around them. She had braided it back out of her face, but the bottom layer of her hair fell down her back in loose curls. She was wearing leather leggings over a black tunic, two daggers at her belt. A shortbow was strung across her back, now covered by her hood. Mismatched arrows gleamed from their place in her quiver. As she slowly looked up from her crouched position in the floor, Rhysand got a glimpse of blue-grey eyes.

Rhysand stood involuntarily. No. The horror he felt as he took in her rounded ears, the freckles across her face, her cheeks shadowed by Amarantha's throne room… it was unlike anything he had felt before. His heart was in his throat, pounding so hard he thought he might choke on it. His hands were fisted by his side.

Rhysand? A shadowy voice whispered in his mind.

Those blue grey eyes flickered from Amarantha on her throne to Tamlin, lounging in his smaller bronze throne. Tamlin didn't react to seeing his human woman here, but… Rhysand reached out his mind. The horror on the inside thankfully, wasn't piercing through the outside.

Lucien was standing along the wall as usual, the horror clear on his face. But, almost as quick as Rhysand had glimpsed it, his face was impassive.

"What's this?" Amarantha smiled in that cruel way of hers.

The human girl thought about grabbing one of the daggers at her side. Her mind was so familiar to Rhysand, even now… he could smell her floral scent from the back of the room. He placed a curious, lazy smile across his face. He crossed his arms across his chest to hide the clawed fists. The wraith was silent.

No. No. No. No. Each beat of his heart pounded.

"Just a human thing I found downstairs," the Attor hissed, flickering its tongue. He shifted uncertainly, as though afraid he had done the wrong thing.

"Obviously," Amarantha ground out, each syllable carefully pronounced. Her darks eyes bore into the still crouching human girl.

The human girl was staring at Tamlin's boots, her face tight with fear.

"But why should I bother with her?"

"Tell Her Majesty why you were sneaking around the catacombs – why you came out of the old cave that leads to the Spring Court." The Attor snorted. He nudged the girl with his foot, but she did not lose her balance. She looked like a statue glued to the earth.

Don't tell her, don't say who you are, you just stumbled down here by accident… Rhysand was begging her. His heart still pounded, his mind swirling.

A moment passed. The throne room was silent. Even the musicians had stopped to listen.

The Attor kicked her hard this time and growled, "Tell Her Majesty, you human filth."

She thought about stabbing the Attor instead.

Then, she straightened, her movements fluid and graceful for a human. Her scent hit him with enough force that he almost stumbled back.

The woman stared at Amarantha's crown, opened her mouth and then, "I came to claim the one I love."

A new hole, one that hadn't existed before opened in Rhysand's chest. She was safe, she was safe, I couldn't save her, no, no, no…

He was holding his breath.

"Oh?" Amarantha leaned forward on her throne. Her face turned to the razor-sharp edge, the one she wore before she killed someone.

"I've come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court," the girl said quietly, but not weakly.

The crowd around her gasped, the High Fae a mixture of fear and glee at this new development. Rhysand struggled to take a breath.

Amarantha let out a laugh. A chill trickled down his spine at the sound.

She turned to Tamlin, baring her teeth at him in some guise of a smile, "You certainly were busy all those years. Developed a taste for human beasts, did you?"

Tamlin managed to keep his face impassive. He breathed evenly. Rhysand shoved his hands in his pockets as he realized Amarantha didn't recognize the lie yet, she didn't know he told her the wrong name… she thought Tamlin had managed to bring two girls to the Spring Court.

The star-eyed woman's face turned to despair as she took in the lack of reaction from her dearly beloved.

"But, it makes me wonder – if only one human girl could be taken once she killed your sentinel …" Her face lit up in excitement. "Oh, you are delicious. You let me torture that innocent girl to keep this one safe? You lovely thing! You actually made a human worm love you. Marvelous." Rhysand hid his wince as Amarantha quickly discovered the lie. Amarantha clapped her hands, facing Tamlin to observe his reaction.

Tamlin actually looked away from her, suddenly making direct eye contact with Rhysand. His fury was palpable from across the room, the scent of it coming in waves. It was clear who he blamed for this.

"Let him go." The human girl said evenly, her despair quickly hidden. The angle of her brows, the tightness of her lips… she looked intimidating.

Amarantha crowed out another bone chilling giggle. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't destroy you where you stand, human."

He swore his heart stopped completely.

The girl's heart was loudly pounding in his place. "You tricked him – he is bound unfairly."

Tamlin had stopped breathing as well. With his stone heart… it was difficult to sense any reaction beyond what Rhysand could feel.

Amarantha clicked her tongue, looking at Jurian's swirling eye. "You human beasts are so uncreative. We spent years teaching you poetry and fine speech, and that is all you can come up with? I should rip out your tongue for letting it go to waste." Her voice shook with anger.

"But I'm curious: What eloquence will pour from your lips when you behold what you should have been?" Amarantha pointed above her, to the corpse of Clare pinned to the stone wall.

The human girl shifted her eyes up, her face paling as she took in Clare's desecrated form. Her heart was running at a desperate pace.

"Perhaps I should have listened when she said she'd never seen Tamlin before," Amarantha smirked. "Or when she insisted she'd never killed a faerie, never hunted a day in her life. Though her screaming was delightful. I haven't heard such lovely music in ages. I should thank you for giving Rhysand her name instead of yours."

It was Rhysand's turn to pale. Amarantha was full of herself, and cruel, but she was no idiot. She knew Rhysand could have stolen her name from her mind if he truly wanted.

The girl was white, staring at the corpse in horror. Her thoughts poured out of her, impossible for Rhysand to ignore. I killed her. I saved myself, and I killed her. She was blaming herself this whole time… instead of blaming the person who was responsible for all of this.

It should have been me.

Rhysand blinked back the stinging in his eyes. No, it should have been him… he did this. Not her.

"Come now, precious. What have you to say to that?"

The desperation turned to rage in the human. She continued to stare at the body, although her face reddened. She was wondering how Tamlin could have allowed this… all the while, Rhysand wondered how he could have allowed this.

"Do you still wish to claim someone who would do that to an innocent?" Amarantha purred at her. Rhysand, not for the first time, wondered if she could read minds.

The woman snapped her eyes back to Amarantha, baring her teeth at Amarantha. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Amarantha bared her teeth right back.

Despite himself, despite the horror, there was something decidedly sexy about the sheer female aggression between these two.

Amarantha gave in first. She leaned back, crossing her legs beneath her black gown. "Well, Tamlin." She reached over, brushing her fingers along his arm. "I don't suppose you ever expected this to occur." She waved a lazy hand at the human.

The crowd laughed nervously around them.

"What do you have to say, High Lord?"

Tamlin stared at the girl. Then, he said the first words he had spoken since his imprisonment, "I've never seen her before. Someone must have glamoured her as a joke. Probably Rhysand."

Tamlin flicked his eyes from her, back to Rhysand's own.

Now it was Rhysand's turn to be raging. How foolish, to speak, to react now. Giving it away.

"Oh, that's not even a halfway decent lie." She tilted her head. "Could it be- could it be that you, despite your words so many years ago, return the human's feelings? A girl with hate in her heart for our kind has managed to fall in love with a faerie. And a faerie whose father once slaughtered the human masses by my side has actually fallen in love with her, too?" She snorted. "Oh, this is too good- this is too fun."

She played with that necklace around her neck and turned her dark eyes to Jurian's hazel eye. "I suppose if anyone can appreciate this moment, it would be you, Jurian." She smiled. "A pity your human whore on the side never bothered to save you, though."

The girl turned somewhat green. Tamlin was staring at her again, impassively. Hopefully, recognizing his own mistake.

Amarantha signed, leaning back in the throne again. "Things have been awfully boring since Clare decided to die on me. Killing you outright, human, would be dull. But Fate stirs the Cauldron in strange ways. Perhaps my darling Clare had to die in order for me to have some true amusement with you."

Rhysand's stomach was churning. He was still standing awkwardly by the couch.

"You came to claim Tamlin? Well, as it happens, I'm bored to tears of his sullen silence. I was worried when he didn't flinch while I played with darling Clare, when he didn't even show those lovely claws …" She glanced once at Tamlin's hands, resting comfortably on the sides of his throne.

"But I'll make a bargain with you, human," Amarantha murmured, leaning forward. The girl raised her eyebrows.

It's a trap, it's a trap, don't do it… Rhysand wanted to scream. But he didn't. He was just as useless as the rest of them.

"You complete three tasks of my choosing – three tasks to prove how deep that human sense of loyalty and love runs, and Tamlin is yours. Just three little challenges to prove your dedication, to prove to me, to darling Jurian, that your kind can indeed love true, and you can have your High Lord."

As he heard these words, he was in disbelief. Amarantha didn't play games with freedom. Even with humans… but, perhaps it had been a long time since she had dealt with humans. Perhaps she had forgotten how 'fiesty' they could be.

He had to gasp out a breath as his head was spinning. Breathing, yep, that was important. Even to High Lords.

But he wasn't alone in his disbelief. Even those who often bathed in glee at Amarantha's reign… they were staring intently between the two. Holding their breaths.

"Consider it a favor, High Lord – these human dogs can make our kind so lust-blind that we lose all common sense. Better for you to see her true nature now."

Tamlin remained impassive.

"I want his curse broken, too," the girl spit out suddenly.

Amarantha raised a delicate red eyebrow, smirking.

"I complete all three of your tasks, and his curse is broke, and we – and all his court – can leave here. And remain free forever."

It was utterly silent in the throne room now. Not a single faerie was breathing.

"Of course." Amarantha crooned.

Rhysand snapped his stare from that beautiful human girl, to stare at Amarantha. Lucien's mouth was open in disbelief.

"I'll throw in another element, if you don't mind – just to see if you're worthy of one of our kind, if you're smart enough to deserve him." Jurian's eye spun more than it had in a century. Amarantha glared at her ring a moment.

"I'll give you a way out, girl. You'll complete all the tasks – or when you can't stand it anymore, all you have to do is answer one question. A riddle. You solve the riddle, and his curse will be broken. Instantaneously. I won't even need to lift my finger and he'll be free. Say the right answer, and he's yours. You can answer it at any time – but if you answer incorrectly…" Amarantha pointed to the corpse above her throne.

Rhysand thought his heart would explode in his chest. Half of him wanted to run from this room, throwing the girl over his shoulders, screw his powers and his city, and fly to some cave far, far away from this place. The other half… well, something was blooming in the other half.

The human girl swallowed once. "And what if I fail your tasks?"

Amarantha smiled a snake's smile. "If you fail a task, there won't be anything left of you for me to play with."

The woman shivered once. It would be so foolish for this girl to think she could outwit the Deceiver herself… but if she could. Her voice was weaker than before, "What is the nature of my tasks?"

"Oh, revealing that would take all the fun out of it. But I'll tell you that you'll have one task every month – at the full moon."

Three months? A shadowy voice again whispered in the antechamber of his mind. Rhysand almost jumped. He had forgotten his wraiths were here.

"And in the meantime?" She glanced at Tamlin once, hopefully.

"In the meantime," Amarantha snapped, "you shall either remain in your cell or do whatever additional work I require."

Rhysand didn't like the sound of that one bit.

"If you run me ragged, won't that put me at a disadvantage?"

Amarantha rolled her eyes, growing bored. "Nothing beyond basic housework. It's only fair for you to earn your keep."

The girl nodded once.

"Then we are agreed?" Amarantha cooed.

"If I complete your three tasks or solve your riddle, you'll do as I request?" The girl said, trying to ensure there were no loopholes to their deal.

Rhysand saw a glaring one… but he could not speak up. He could not contact her without ruining everything. So… he stayed silent, his heart in his throat. The room remained deathly silent.

"Of course. Is it agreed?" Her dark eyes bore into the girl's own.

The horror in himself matched the horror he felt pouring out of Tamlin.

Tamlin was pale. He made eye contact with the girl, his body relaxed but… she stared back at him. In her eyes, something more than Rhysand had ever experienced poured from her. Love. And under his gaze, she stood straighter. Her face gained back its color.

A beast inside Rhysand roared.

"Well?" Amarantha snapped. The Attor was pacing behind her.

The girl stared at Tamlin for another moment, before she looked back at the Red Queen, her face determined. "Agreed."

Rhysand felt the magic building up like a wave from Amarantha, even as she smiled and snapped her fingers. He felt it settle in his bones, tingling past his face. It smelled like iron and rot. He blinked in disbelief, in horror at what just happened.

Amarantha looked to the Attor, as the girl looked unsettled by the magic. "Give her a greeting worthy of my hall."

The Attor hissed in anticipation as his cronies pounced on her. He hit her hard in the face with a clawed hand.

Rhysand forced himself to sit back down as the bones crunched in her face. Her nose was certainly broken, blood pouring down her face. A black skinned faerie ripped her quiver and bow from her back, as the Attor continually punched her in the face. Her face was already swelling.

He placed a shaking hand in front of his mouth, unable to look away.

You are being watched, master. He snapped his gaze away, quickly adjust his body language to a more appropriate form. He rested his shaking arm on the arm of the couch.

He could feel Lucien's gaze on his face.

They were spinning her between them, three of Amarantha's cruelest faeries. Punching her, kicking her.

By the time they were done, she was passed out on the floor in front of Amarantha's throne.

When Rhysand looked at Tamlin he was annoyed to see his claws had escaped from his knuckles. His face was calm, but he had given himself away.

He reached out his mind for the whirlpool nearby, watching as breaths rose and fell through her bloodied mouth.

I have no plan right now but… let me think.

As the crowd restarted, shadows again began to move from their position behind the couch.

Rhysand stole a glass of wine from a nearby servant, downing it in one gulp.

Well… at least he had tried being sober.

As the shadows zoomed away from him, a soft voice whispered in his mind, The commander wanted us to tell you to "Cheer up, buttercup."

He wasn't sure if he would have been able to smile now if he tried.


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