Rhysand was trembling on the inside. He knew that this time around he'd have a difficult time playing the ruthless High Lord. He knew that making Celaena play the whore would be even harder.
It had haunted him ever since they made the plan. Haunted him when he flew her to Hewn City, haunted him when he was getting ready. And it haunted him now, walking to the throne room. It was more than just making her play the act that he had to play for so many decades. It was so much more than that. As if injected with lead his heart laid heavy in his chest. Every step he took sounded deafening the closer he got to the room. It certainly felt different than last time.
Quickly he figuratively fixed his expression, a casual smirk on his face. He needed to do this. He would endure it himself; it was no one else's burden but his. So, Rhysand picked up every ounce of his courage and stuttered in. Automatically the room went silent and his subjects bowed down. But Rhysand wasn't looking at them. No, he was looking for her.
And he found her.
And didn't know what to do.
Celaena stood there near his throne, in her getup looking ever so fierce.
That barely-there cloth did not hide anything. Part of him wanted to bless that dress and another part wanted to curse himself for allowing his people to see her like this. The chain-like necklace stabbed him with regret, but he couldn't help but think that even like this, Celaena looked like she owned him.
He had to remind himself to continue to walk when he looked her in the eyes. He quietly breathed in and out, as he made his way to her, reminding himself to keep his expression in place.
His heart shredded instantly as he gave her his typical smile. A smile that she never had to see before. When he grasped her hand his entire body tingled. When he was finally able to speak over the roaring in his head he mustered up two words which killed a little part of himself; as he knew that Celaena would forever hate him for what he was about to do.