Rhysand

My eyes snapped open in the dark room, and I carefully kept my breathing even, to keep from alerting the sleeping form beside me. The hatred that always flared up in me at the thought of Amarantha flickered, but I ignored it, a practice I had become very, very good at in the last fifty years. I focused instead on the image that still burned against the inside of my eyelids. Giant piles of bundled sticks… kindling… I swiftly tallied the seasons, adding up the days I could remember… Calanmai.

I leaned over and brushed a lover's kiss on Amarantha's brow. Her eyelids fluttered, and she smiled sleepily up at me, looking so vulnerable, so—breakable. I knew it was all an illusion.

"The Spring Court is preparing for Calanmai," I said conversationally.

She scowled, all traces of vulnerability vanishing at the mention of one of the more persistent thorns in her side. "So?" she snapped.

I shrugged. "A gathering like that… it would provide the perfect cover."

Her eyes narrowed. "For what?"

"Well, if I were so inclined as to try to find a way to… circumvent the terms of a certain treaty…" I pushed a lock of hair tenderly back from her face, my own expression open. "It's just the sort of place I would expect to escape notice."

Her brow puckered as she considered. I didn't push, letting her come to the conclusion I sought, trailing a finger idly along her collarbone. "Go," she said at last. Her voice turned venomous. "Bring back traitors."

I smiled, letting her see how I truly would delight in disrupting whatever pathetic evasion Tamlin might be plotting. As if that coward had it in him to meaningfully take on Amarantha. "With pleasure."

I drew her close for a long, languid kiss, shifting to let her feel me harden against her, and proceeded to thoroughly distract her from any further reflection on the topic.

[* * *]

The sun had all but disappeared as the bonfires were lit, and a horde of faeries descended on the scene, mostly Spring Court, but enough maskless faces to give a good showing from several of the other lands. This was the only open celebration of its kind in Prythian, what with most of us holed up Under the Mountain, the only possible setting of the vision in my dream.

I prowled restlessly. I didn't know why I was even here, if I was honest with myself. Truly, I had no reason, although I had gotten much, much better at concealing any hint of that from Amarantha. I couldn't say why I felt so compelled, only—

Only I had to know, had to see if she was even real. The painter from my dreams.

A cluster of giggling sprites passed, and I sneered. Tamlin's relative freedom still grated on me, the only good thing about it that I didn't have to see his miserable face around every day, and watching his Court gather in revelry like this made me want to send them all screaming from this place. I grinned savagely at the thought. The look on that bastard's face, or lack thereof…

I sighed, sounding more like a snarl, as whatever sense had drawn me here quietly rebuffed that line of thought. I began picking through the minds of passing fae, looking for what, I didn't quite know. Nothing in the various faces I saw sparked any sort of recognition, but I felt certain I would know if I saw her.

Where are you? I thought exasperatedly, surprised when an answering thrum twanged somewhere just under my rib cage. I stilled, extending my senses out over the surrounding landscape, and snarled in frustration as I came up short, scraping up against the limits of my diminished power. I cursed Amarantha soundly and settled for prowling the perimeter, searching for anything that might give me some clue, some indication.

I preferred to avoid the processional thoroughfare, not wanting to actually run into my old nemesis, but as the evening wore on, I finally ventured to the east side of the forest, curling my lip at the more raucous nature of this crowd.

A sharp, wild scent filled my nostrils, and I tasted it eagerly. Human, and—familiar, somehow. My heart sped up. The painter. She was here—or had been. I looked around frantically, at the same time quickly sifting through the gathered minds.

"…bold statement from a human on Calanmai." I heard the leering voice about thirty yards to my left at the same time I saw her, hooded, face in shadow, in the bastard's mind. There were three of them, picts, and I didn't need to hear her own frantic thoughts to know she was in trouble.

"Once the Rite's performed, we'll have some fun, won't we?" My blood began to boil as images flashed of this scum's idea of fun. "A treat—such a treat—to find a human woman here."

"Get your hands off me!" Her voice was surprisingly fierce, given the fear I could feel rolling off her. I wasn't aware of consciously deciding, but I knew I had to end this before they began touching her in ways I could not tolerate. I began smoothly calculating the slaughter, how to keep it contained, keep from attracting notice—the explanation I would have for Amarantha, perhaps a trophy or two…

She stumbled out of their grip, and I reacted on instinct, winnowing to catch her—and suddenly she was there, in my arms, still shaking from the encounter, shrinking into me as the picts bared their teeth.

"There you are," I heard myself say. "I've been looking for you." The words rang with a truth I had not intended, but I carefully schooled my face into a bored expression, draping my arm possessively across her shoulders.

The picts' expressions blanched as they registered my presence.

"Thank you for finding her for me." I gave them my most depraved smile as I carefully memorized each of their faces. "Enjoy the Rite."

Once they had slunk off, she stepped away, and I bit back a snarl—some feral reaction to the sudden lack of contact I scarcely had time to register—as she turned to face me.

Her eyes widened. That has to be the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

Her thoughts, the mirror of my own as I gazed hungrily upon her awestruck face, were so open, so… loud, it was as if she'd spoken them. Something bright and warm was growing inside my chest, but I pushed it down as her mental litany continued.

High Fae, no doubt. She scrutinized my features, and I realized with something like horror that she had—no idea who I was. Human. The thought jolted through me, and suddenly the delicate curve of her face was distressingly fragile, and I felt the urge to get her out, away—but to where, I had no answer. There was no safe haven I could offer.

We stood in silence as her own instincts warred with curiosity and she struggled to come up with something to say. No mask… She was still evaluating. From another Court, then.

My senses returned as suddenly as they'd abandoned me, and I settled on a light, teasing tone. "What's a mortal woman doing here on Fire Night?" I asked, using the more common moniker.

I couldn't help feeling how she shivered with pleasure at the sound of my voice, as if we stood alone here, on a very different kind of Calanmai night, and it set something raging inside me.

Her fear was beginning to win out, however. "My friends brought me," she said, a slight tremor giving away the lie that shone in her thoughts, even as she continued to marvel at my inhuman beauty.

"And who are your friends?" My voice came out as a purr, and she licked her lips nervously in response.

"Two ladies," she lied, hoping the title would somehow dissuade me.

"Their names?" I prodded, taking a step closer, which she answered with a step back.

Have I just traded three monsters for something worse?

I paused, considering myself, looking through her eyes. I'd sunk so deep into the role of Amarantha's cruel, sadistic courtier that it seemed etched on my features, and I couldn't blame her for the fear.

I forced a laugh and changed tactics. "You're welcome," I reminded her. "For saving you."

Her fear turned to annoyance at my—arrogance? I quirked an eyebrow as she quickly moved on from the thought, evaluating her escape route. Maybe someone will take pity on me—maybe Lucia and Alice are here.

Both my eyebrows shot up in surprise. It seemed she really did have friends here, at least, here in Prythian, in the Spring territory. "Strange for a mortal to be… friends with two faeries." I wasn't sure I'd meant to say the words out loud as a flicker of movement near the bonfire caught my eye. Those miserable picts. I could hear their thoughts plainly, waiting for me to move on, as I didn't seem to have any intention of claiming the human for myself. I prowled toward her other side, angling myself between them, and continued my train of thought, "Aren't humans usually terrified of us? And aren't you, for that matter, supposed to stick to your side of the wall?" I didn't try to mute the note of warning that crept into my voice.

I am terrified of you, she thought bitterly. And yet here she stood, her glare intoxicating, as if daring me to come closer. "I've known them my whole life," she said, in a way she hoped sounded offhand. "I've never had anything to fear from them."

"And yet they brought you to the Great Rite and abandoned you." I had heard that some humans had taken to almost worshipping our kind, sought out a life in Prythian thinking they would be somehow rewarded for their devotion. But those who made it across the wall were quickly disabused of that notion, and she didn't strike me as an acolyte. How had she survived, to make it all the way here? Were these "friends" somehow sheltering her? Or toying with her?

"They went to get refreshments."

The picts were still muttering behind me, and I gripped their minds, silencing them as I realized abruptly that standing out here, in the open, simply talking with this mortal, showing such prolonged interest, was bound to draw attention. And I suddenly knew, with terrible clarity, that I couldn't be seen like this, with her.

I smiled lazily to cover my sudden dread. "I'm afraid the refreshments are a long way off. May I escort you somewhere in the meantime?" Dangerous, my mind whispered as I offered my arm. But I had to know she was safe, I couldn't just leave her here—

"No."

I stiffened, wanting to argue, but forced myself to withdraw. I could leave her, I told myself, and I must. I would take care of the picts; there was nothing in this glen more dangerous to her in this moment than being seen with me. I stifled the horror that rose in me at the thought of any whisper of this encounter getting back to Amarantha.

"Enjoy the Rite, then." I gestured vaguely, forcing myself not to think of what her purpose here could possibly be. "Try to stay out of trouble." I used my last glimpse of her to try to impress the imperative of that near-plea, for I knew with a certainty I could no more deny than understand that there was nothing I wouldn't do—including walk away now—to keep her from harm.

And she… would never think of me again, most likely. After all, there had been no hint of the barest recognition in her thoughts, no glimpse of strange dreams that had led her here tonight, to… me. Even her curiosity was clinical, detached. I was nothing to her, and I forced myself to think that it was better this way.

"So you're not a part of the Spring Court?" she called after me as I turned to go, snuffing out all my disclaimers, and at the sound of her voice, I felt again that strange tug from under my rib cage.

I let it pull me toward her, too stunned to resist, as her words registered.

I smirked. "Do I look like I'm part of the Spring Court?" Then I laughed gutturally, still reeling against the suspicion that was trying to ferret its way up toward my conscious mind. "No, I'm not a part of the noble Spring Court." I didn't try to mask my disdain. "And glad of it." Speaking of masks.

"Why are you here, then?"

She continued to stare at me, as if she, too, felt this tug, this… bond between us. I clamped down furiously on the thought. No. I had to end this. Now. It didn't matter anymore why she was in Prythian, why she was here tonight. All that mattered was that she get as far from me as possible—and never look back.

I answered her question in the low voice I reserved for terrorizing my enemies. "Because all the monsters have been let out of their cages tonight, no matter what Court they belong to. So I may roam wherever I wish until the dawn."

Her heartbeat sped up, and I forced myself to think of the picts, my plans for them, letting the cruel edge sharpen my features, to think of anything but the answering pitch of my own heart.

"Enjoy the Rite," she said breathlessly and—finally—turned and ran.

I stood rooted to the spot as she disappeared into the crowd, my traitor mind still racing with discovery. She was real… and she was—

Nothing, I decided, forcing myself to both admit and accept this fact. She would be nothing to me. I vowed never to so much as think of her again.

I turned my attention back to the picts I still held in my thrall, and a ruthless smile spread across my face. Amarantha had said to bring back traitors. I hauled them away with me, back toward the Mountain, meticulously peeling apart and rearranging their consciousness, molding them into exactly the kind of traitors Amarantha would kill most slowly.

[* * *]

I took up my place at the side of the dais as Amarantha settled herself decorously on the throne. She was in a good mood, a fact that put every one of the gathered fae on edge. Each of the High Lords had been summoned, save the obvious one, along with their high-ranking courtiers. Beron and his gaggle of offspring, all looking more amused than frightened. Thesan, Helion, and the newly ascended Tarquin, stone-faced among their retinues. Even Keir, my erstwhile steward, stood at the head of the assembled Night Court. And Kallias… his entourage was looking quite thin after Winter's recent decimation in the face of another failed uprising.

It seemed I'd been right after all about Fire Night plotting, though it hadn't come from Spring. I'd managed to convince Amarantha of my ignorance, though she still found small ways to punish me for the oversight, most recently sending me to stake the sedition leader's head on one of Tamlin's water features. Thanks to my previous insinuation, she was convinced he was in league with Winter, though we had yet to unearth any evidence that was the case, despite my meticulous deconstruction of each rebel's mind prior to their execution.

I had intervened once her vindictive eye turned to Kallias. He'd had nothing to do with the uprising—though somewhat to his chagrin, I'd gathered. The rebel leaders had acted alone, shielding their High Lord with ignorance after what happened to Nostrus. Amarantha had conceded, but she'd been somewhat cool, distant ever since—which suited me just fine.

I'd been brooding myself since Calanmai, without letting myself acknowledge why. The Winter uprising had provided a much-needed distraction as I'd hunted down the rebels, quietly sifting through their brains to see what, exactly, had been the cause of their various failures. If I ever had the chance to take on Amarantha, I would succeed. I'd have to.

"Joyous news, my darlings," she announced, her voice ringing clearly throughout the silent room. "The… disturbance"—her face twisted in a sneer—"has been subdued, and at last I have rooted out all those who would dare to threaten our glorious reign." It was not an effort to refrain from rolling my eyes at her exaggerated airs, given how much practice I'd had in doing so.

After sweeping her gaze menacingly over the gathered Courts, she nodded to the Attor, who stepped forward eagerly, bearing a scroll in its gnarled claws.

"The following," it announced, almost gleefully, "shall be executed for the charge of treason, by order of Her Majesty."

I raised an eyebrow in Amarantha's direction. She returned an impish smile that filled me with a sudden, nameless dread.

The Attor unfurled its scroll. "Antaro, son of Olar and Cira."

I heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the crowd. I didn't recognize the name but figured it must be someone of high rank to have elicited such an untempered reaction. I feigned boredom as the Attor continued.

"Nolda, daughter of Thorin and Elena. Larinia, daughter of Palar and Huna."

Odd, I thought distantly, still without a spark of recognition. I hadn't seen many females among the rebels.

Then I caught sight of Kallias's face, which had gone bone-white as he stared in horror up at the dais. I glanced back at Amarantha, who was now looking directly at him—only him.

"Lavar, son of Eldon and Haldir."

My dread grew as I reached for Kallias's mind, surprised to find it wide open, and—

No… they're—they're only younglings… she can't—

I froze, too stunned and horrified to process anything more than the seemingly endless litany of names, which I now understood all too well… Bile rose in my throat, and I fought to keep my expression blank, knowing that even with her eyes on Kallias, Amarantha was always watching me.

The Attor finished, and a deathly stillness fell over the assembled crowd. Several Winter courtiers lay where they'd fainted; no one dared move to assist them.

Amarantha's face contorted into a snarl. "Let it be known that I do not tolerate traitors"—she spat the word—"in my court." And with a nod to the Attor, she swept from the room.

I prowled after her in the stunned silence, not daring to hurry, even as I frantically searched for something I could say, anything that would dissuade her from carrying out this murderous decree.

She was waiting for me in her bedroom, lounging prettily on the settee.

"It seems my information is incomplete," I said lightly, affecting a casual posture. "I wasn't aware that the rebels had recruited younglings into their army."

"Yes," she said airily. "Quite the tragedy, really, the depths to which those ingrates would stoop."

"Strange," I mused, "that they would have managed to keep such a… striking detail from me."

Her eyes glittered with malice. "I have my sources."

"Perhaps your sources are mistaken."

She arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps your loyalties are wavering."

A cold hand wrapped around my heart. This. This was the crux of the matter. And I knew with icy certainty that no amount of persuasion tonight would sway her on this. It was a message for me as much as anyone.

"You don't have to do this," I said quietly.

She raised one delicate eyebrow. "Oh? And what would you have me do instead? Kallias's death would serve little purpose," she threw my words back at me. "This serves my purpose of ensuring others will not dare to follow in his footsteps."

"Don't do this," I answered, letting her hear the desperation in my voice.

A wicked gleam sparked in her eye. "And what would you be willing to do, to stop it?" she asked coyly. "Would you beg for it?"

"Yes," I said openly, without shame.

She smiled widely, and jerked her chin toward the floor at her feet.

Slowly, my eyes never leaving hers, I knelt before her, the marks on my knees burning like a brand, but—some things were more important than pride, and if there were the even slightest chance I could still stop this...

Her eyes glittered. "You can do better than that."

I lowered my head until it was practically touching the floor and whispered, "Please. Please don't do this."

There was mirth in her voice as she said, "It's already done, darling."

My eyes snapped up as my mind rebelled, reaching out frantically for whoever had been sent to carry out the order, even knowing I could hold only a few at most—

She was right. I recoiled as images came flashing into my mind through her soldiers' eyes. Amarantha just laughed. "Come to bed, darling," she said, her tone laced with that thread of command I was powerless to ignore.

[* * *]

"Minds shattered…Not enough to see them all dead…" The whispers seemed to follow me wherever I went, their weight as heavy as the malevolent hatred Kallias now leveled my way, which I knew, frankly, I deserved. After all, it was my actions, ultimately, that had led to this. I'd pushed too hard, still addled by that encounter at Calanmai…

I shoved the thought away roughly as I strolled up the manor steps. I had been wrong; only a small number of executions had already been carried out as I knelt to try to save them, and Amarantha kept me with her until it was finished, as much to conceal as contain me, I soon realized. If I'd had few friends before, now even the Court of Nightmares looked askance as I passed. Ironically, only the High Lord I'd been sent to antagonize today perhaps still thought there was some level to which I wouldn't stoop.

Much as I enjoyed the idea of taunting Tamlin, I had little pleasure in this excursion. Amarantha had made clear that the continuance of my relative privilege was dependent on a smooth transition in a few days, and with the consequences of failure still imprinted on my mind, I could not afford to indulge in simple pettiness here.

The scent hit me at the threshold, momentarily stunning me out of my bitter reverie. I took in the achingly familiar musk, marveling at how much stronger the pang of recognition was now, after only one meeting. I momentarily allowed my curiosity to distract me, following the trail of it with my gaze up the sweeping staircase…

Tense murmurs from beyond the walls brought me back to my purpose. The smell was faint, almost… muted, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, to puzzle over some other time.

I followed the whispers toward the dining room, strolling in with a swagger that would have made Cassian—I swallowed the tightness that rose in my throat at the thought of my brother—proud.

"High Lord," I greeted mockingly, fixing an amused gaze on the head chair's occupant.

His eyes glinted with the usual emotions—contempt, rage—but also, something that looked suspiciously like… fear. Good. "What do you want, Rhysand?"

I smiled derisively. "Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don't see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners call me that." I let myself enjoy the thought of Tamlin's return to Under the Mountain, let my expression remind him of his approaching fate.

A small shift in movement caught my eye, and I turned to the practically snarling mutt standing guard at the window. "A fox mask. How appropriate for you, Lucien." A thought tugged at the back of my mind as I spoke the name, but I dismissed it, putting my whole focus on the game at hand.

"Go to hell, Rhys."

I smirked. "Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble." I let my gaze fall upon the laden table sprawled before Tamlin. "I hope I wasn't interrupting."

"We were in the middle of lunch," Tamlin gritted out. He was losing his grip on the fear, and I relished the taste of it.

"Stimulating."

Tamlin's face hardened, and I could practically see him shifting tactics. "What are you doing here, Rhys?" he said coldly.

I shrugged. "I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little… present." I smiled widely.

"Your present was unnecessary," he growled.

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't it?" It had been rather entertaining, watching him scramble to determine who it was, what it meant.

I let my gaze rove around the room and tsked dispassionately. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don't know how you managed it." There was something niggling at the edges of my awareness, trying desperately to come to light. I began rambling slightly as I tried to ascertain its source. "But you're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands." I glanced sidelong at him. "Even now that things are getting interesting again."

"There's nothing to be done."

Coward. He was worse than Summer—Summer, with their centuries-long neutrality, their careful avoidance of anything that could be seen as a slight, who had had half the chance of this spineless cur and yet had risked everything. They had paid dearly, but I had seen Nostrus's mind at the end, and he at least had his dignity.

I prowled forward. "What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin," I sneered, sarcasm dripping from each word. "And an even greater pity that you're so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago." I looked for some spark, some indication that he might rise to the challenge in my words, but my old enemy just pressed his lips into a thin line, unable to disguise the hopelessness in his eyes.

From the window, Lucien, who I'd frankly quite forgotten, snapped, "What do you know about anything? You're just Amarantha's whore."

I barely spared a glance his way. As if he thought that word held any meaning for me anymore. "Her whore I might be," I said calmly, "but not without my reasons. At least I haven't bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell."

"If you think that's all I've been doing, you'll soon learn otherwise." Ah yes, there was that Autumn fire. If only Tamlin had half his right hand's gumption. I turned my attention to the only male in the room apparently willing to challenge me.

His feeble bravado was almost worse than the High Lord's apathy. "Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you."

Lucien lifted his drawn sword. "Watch your filthy mouth."

I laughed. "Is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian? Come now, Tamlin, shouldn't you reprimand your lackey for speaking to me like that?"

"I don't enforce rank in my Court."

I snorted. "Still? But it's so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father," I said the word with venom, "never bothered to show you."

Ever the persistent little flea, it was Lucien who continued to snipe at me. "This isn't the Night Court," he spat. "And you have no power here, so clear out. Amarantha's bed is growing cold."

I was growing tired of his unimaginative jabs. I crossed to him, using the weight of my presence to punctuate my words. "I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born. Besides," I said coolly, returning to casual indifference, "who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and…" I leered. "…females? You can't truly believe he learned everything in his father's little war-camps."

Tamlin, for his part, looked equally tried by his fiery second's continued outbursts. "Save it for another time, Rhys. You'll see me soon enough." The defeat in his voice sickened me. Amarantha had nothing to fear from this broken wretch. Soon enough, he would be the one warming her bed, and we both knew it.

"She's already preparing for you," I couldn't resist needling as I began making my way out. "Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you've already been broken and will reconsider her offer." As I passed the table, a scent caught my nostrils, and that niggling at the back of my mind grew more insistent. "I look forward to seeing your face when you—" I froze, suddenly noticing what had been nagging at me all along. There were three places set at the small, intimate table, and that muted fragrance…

I reached for the wineglass, trying desperately to deny what my senses told me, as the horror threatened to choke me. "Where's your guest?" I asked, with more sharpness than I'd intended.

Tamlin stiffened. "I sent them off when I sensed your arrival."

Liar, I wanted to snarl. My eyes snapped to Lucien, standing so casually, so—awkwardly against the window. I shredded Tamlin's glamour in an instant, and my heart disintegrated as her terrified face appeared and her undiluted scent flooded my nostrils.

Here.

The word seemed to echo inside my head. She couldn't be—not only here in Prythian, but in the house of my enemy… Her thoughts from Calanmai echoed in my memory. Maybe Lucia and Alice—maybe Lucien…

"You dare glamour me?" I roared, the utter terror I felt at the thought of her this close to Amarantha—practically at her doorstep—fueling my rage.

Tamlin was on his feet, but I ignored him, focusing instead on the white-faced mortal who had invaded my dreams.

"I remember you," I said softly, unable to pull my gaze from hers. "It seems like you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble." She didn't respond, whether from terror or defiance, I couldn't tell.

I finally regained some semblance of control, and I directed my next question to the High Lord behind me. "Who, pray tell, is your guest?"

"My betrothed," Lucien said quickly.

I arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries." I barely registered my own movements as the force of her presence drew me toward her. Her thoughts, so clear that night, were a mindless tumble of fear, registering little but the scene unfolding and her own mortality.

Lucien spat on me and raised his sword, as if to prevent me from coming any closer. I smiled ruthlessly. "You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you'll learn how quickly Amarantha's whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady."

"Put your sword down, Lucien," Tamlin said tersely from behind me.

I didn't care now where she had come from or how the bastard found her, but I would not allow Lucien to continue toying with this mortal. He knew as well as anyone what fate would befall a human Under the Mountain. "I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you'd actually dabble with mortal trash," I sneered, flinching inwardly as my callous words penetrated her terror. "The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I'd keep your new pet well away from your father," I emphasized slightly, a pointed reminder of his last dalliance's inauspicious end.

"Leave, Rhys." The weak attempt at command in Tamlin's voice was embarrassing.

I turned my attention back to the now-cowering female before me, batting Lucien out of my way as I took in her shaking hands, clutching a blunt table knife, of all things.

Those hands… Mine moved of their own accord, reaching for the delicate fingers I'd seen curled around a brush in much the same way they now gripped Tamlin's fine silver. I tried not to groan at the feel of her skin on mine as I extricated the paltry utensil from those fingers. "That won't do you any good, anyway," I crooned softly, my eyes boring into hers. "If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It's a wonder that you're still here, actually." Run, I pleaded silently. She only blinked up at me, and as I reached for her thoughts, I was met with scenes of idyllic Spring, as if Prythian itself were no more than endless quietude. "Oh," I breathed roughly, my fury reignited. "She doesn't know, does she?"

Tamlin was breathing heavily now. "You have seconds, Rhys. Seconds to get out."

And suddenly I saw what I'd been feverishly denying ever since I crossed her scent in the hallway. Tamlin hadn't been whiling away the time, giving in to despair, simply waiting to be collected at all. No, he'd been making a last bid for freedom, and this woman, this dazzlingly bright star that had drawn me so inexorably to his doorstep mere weeks ago, was his pawn.

In spite of myself, something like hope flared up in me. With Tamlin at full strength, he might have a chance. If he acted swiftly, before she realized what had happened, he might just be able to take Amarantha by surprise, and then—

But of course, he wouldn't, I realized as I took in the panicked set of his jaw. Selfish, spineless prick. He'd hole up here in his estate, protecting his own borders and nothing more.

And what would happen then, with the weight of six High Lords still at Amarantha's command? Tamlin had to know he stood no chance.

And her vengeance on this human, this fae-killer who had somehow bested her, however unwittingly, would be terrible, would make Jurian's death look like a mercy. If Tamlin thought he could protect her…

I had to make him see, I realized.

I narrowed my eyes, lacing my voice with lethal venom. "If I were you, I wouldn't speak to me like that."

I struck without warning, and her body bowed in the grip of my power.

Tamlin's voice practically cracked with panic. "Let her go." And my incredulity rose, seeing that the bastard actually thought he loved her, even as he kept her here, selfishly, in more danger than she could possibly understand. "Enough," he pleaded.

My resolve hardened, and I drew my finger along the pulsing artery running through her neck. "I'd forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells." Tears pricked her eyes, and a hand squeezed my heart, but I forced myself to continue. "Look how delightful she is—look how she's trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick," I crooned, "I promise."

Half to drive the point home, half unable to resist, I flicked through her memories. "She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin." Indeed, she was very close to the words that would break the curse. I shuttered the part of me that rebelled against the idea of her with him, focusing ruthlessly on the task at hand. "She's wondered about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs—between them, too." I forced a dark laugh and leveled my most piercing gaze on the snarling male behind me. "I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?"

Tamlin was practically beyond thought now. "Let. Her. Go."

Good. He was beginning to see. "If it's any consolation," I said tauntingly, "she would have been the one for you—and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She's more stubborn than you are." I could see that, and I tamped down the fierce admiration that welled within me.

I released her mind and blocked out any further sense of her, unable to admit to myself why I couldn't stomach the aftermath of my violation. I looked Tamlin in the eye, snaring his thoughts to ensure I had his undivided attention as I said slowly, "Amarantha will enjoy breaking her. Almost as much as she'll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit."

My words finally seemed to penetrate the fury, and the color drained from his face. "Please," he whispered.

"Please what?" I drawled, unrelenting. I would not allow him any quarter on this. He had to understand.

"Don't tell Amarantha about her."

"And why not? As her whore," I sneered for Lucien's benefit as well, hoping that if somehow Tamlin failed to act, his second would intervene, "I should tell her everything."

"Please," Tamlin said again, though I could still feel a spark of anger in him, a modicum of defiance, and that was unacceptable.

I thought back to the powerlessness I'd felt on the floor of Amarantha's bedroom. "Beg," I hissed, "and I'll consider not telling Amarantha."

Tamlin knelt without hesitation, that spark snuffing out.

"Lower," I said, holding Tamlin's gaze as he complied. "You too, fox-boy."

Finally, after letting his abject impotence sink in, I lightened my voice. "Are you doing this for her sake, or for yours?" Let him see how despicable it would be to try and use her this way. "You're far too desperate, Tamlin. It's off-putting. Becoming High Lord made you so boring."

Tamlin's voice was slightly muffled. "Are you going to tell Amarantha?"

I smiled savagely. "Perhaps I'll tell her, perhaps I won't."

That was too much for him. He surged upward, snarling, and I placed a hand lightly against his chest, letting him feel the surge of my still far superior power. "None of that," I said lightly. "Not with a lady present." I finally returned my attention to the window, where she sat huddled on the floor, sending a pang through me. I couldn't stop the treacherous words that followed. "What's your name, love?"

Her eyes seared into me, still brimming with the terror of my invasion, and even with the Winter massacre still heavy on my conscience, I had never felt more convicted.

"Clare Beddor," she blurted.

In spite of myself, I tasted the name eagerly. Clare. If the sight of her face weren't enough to haunt me the rest of my days, certainly her name would echo in my soul well beyond.

I forced myself back to the present, forced myself to look away for the last time. "Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in ages, actually. I'm looking forward to seeing you Under the Mountain. I'll give Amarantha your regards." I winnowed out of the room, not trusting myself to walk, to not beg her for more, drink in one last glimpse of her, even knowing she was his, she couldn't stay…

I stopped just past the edge of the grounds, spilling the contents of my stomach as my actions in that room, the implications of it all, caught up with me.

At least I knew now why I'd felt so compelled by her, I told myself, ignoring the false ring to it. The one chance we might have had at freedom… too bad Tamlin was such a useless heel. But yes, the Cauldron had granted me this glimpse, a mercy, perhaps, in light of my own desperation to rid Prythian of—

Amarantha. I stopped cold, then hurled again. This had been a test, after the Winter fiasco, and it was one that I could not afford to fail. If I returned with nothing, she would grow suspicious, might even send someone else. And if Tamlin hesitated, even the slightest bit…

I would have to give her something, I realized, but how could I—

My mind lit on one detail, the set of Clare's jaw as she gave me her name, the spark of defiance lighting her eyes… and suddenly I laughed with relief, with pain at knowing I would yet be denied that privilege, and with awe at her bravery and quick-thinking, daring to lie to my face after I'd held her entire being in my grasp… Tamlin didn't deserve her, and likely neither did I.

A name, then. I could give Amarantha a name, one that wouldn't haunt me the rest of my days after all, it seemed. I conjured a glass from Tamlin's table to wash the bile out of mouth, discarding it in the grass at my feet, and prowled toward the ancient doors, taking the long route back in order to give her the only thing I could—time to flee.

"Well?" Amarantha asked tersely as I approached her throne.

"It seems Tamlin has been… busy," I said smugly.

Her glare turned vicious. "Busy how?"

I shrugged. "The traces were faint, but I was able to use my particular… gifts…" I leered savagely. "…to ascertain that there had been, somewhat recently, even… a human woman on the premises." I paused to let that sink in.

Amarantha's face was white with fury. "Was? Where is she now?" she demanded.

I shrugged again. "I gathered that she'd been sent back over the wall, something about not meeting the criteria after all." I prayed silently that I was right, that the fear I'd shown Tamlin would be enough for him to get her out before catastrophe befell us all, even as I kept my face smooth, disinterested.

Amarantha's look turned shrewd, and she leaned back, tapping a bloodred fingernail against pursed lips. "Well? Does she have a name?"

My grin widened, twisting into that cruel smirk I'd become so adept at.

"Clare Beddor."