TW: Rape (in the form of a nightmare)
Late one night, long after Rhys had dismissed me to my cell, I was roused from an exhausted, drunken sleep by a tug deep in my belly. I was instantly awake and alert. Rhys.
Haltingly, I fumbled my way down that cord that connected us to the murky shadows at the other end. Rhys? I hovered at the dark walls of his mind uncertainly. Maybe I had only dreamt it.
But a second later I found myself pressed up against his walls, urged there by some nameless, irresistible instinct that pulled me closer. Rhys, let me in. I caressed the mental barriers between us, wondering what could prompt him to call to me so desperately. It had happened many times in the future, of course, usually when—
Without warning, a crack appeared in that impenetrable wall and I was sucked inside. Into his dreams.
Into his nightmares.
The room I was in was bedecked in all shades of reds and browns. The furniture was rich mahogany, the drapes and cushions a shimmering rust. And the massive bed that was the centerpiece of the room—satiny russet sheets twisted around two writhing bodies. A female astride a male, her long red-gold hair curling down her pale, bare skin. Her head was thrown back, her eyes narrowed to blissful slits as her back arched. Amarantha.
And beneath her, sprawled on his back at the center of the bed, Rhys.
Nausea rose in me at what I saw. Not just at the vile witch raping my mate, but at what else she had done to him. His large, beautiful wings were spread across the bed to either side, each one pinned in place with five ash bolts. With his hands and his body he worshiped her fervently, almost desperately, but he held his wings carefully, impossibly still. It would only take the slightest movement to shred them.
And his face—in this place of dreams and nightmares, his mask was stripped away. For all that his body moved like that of an enthusiastic partner, his face was full of horror and revulsion and despair.
Invisible in this dreamscape, my hands fisted at my sides. If I could, I would have crawled across that damned bed and ripped her off of him before I strangled her to death with my bare hands.
Bile crawled up my throat, but then the scene shifted. Rhys was at my side, but bound in blueish chains that I recognized as those that nullified his powers. His turn to stand by as helplessly as I was.
I looked back at the bed. Cassian had taken Rhys's place, the bolts driven through his wings in exactly the same places. I didn't think anything could pierce me worse than seeing my mate tortured, but Cassian—Cassian was a war leader. I had seen him take on impossible odds in battle, seen him covered from head to toe in blood, seen him near death from injuries he'd sustained in the war, but this—seeing him as an unwilling slave to that witch's wiles hit me like a physical blow.
"No more, Rhys," I whispered hoarsely, and was surprised at the sound of my own voice. The curse only affected my real voice, apparently. I turned to Rhys at my side and found that here, it was he who had no voice. He was straining against the chains, tears streaking down his face as the muscles in his neck bulged and his mouth gaped with his screams, but no sound emerged. His eyes were blown wide and I looked back to see what was happening.
Cassian had been replaced by Azriel, but he was barely there before he too was replaced. Mor, but with the bolts driven directly into her body. And then, perhaps the one most horrifying to see helpless, Amren with her arms bolted wide and her silver eyes gouged out. Then Cassian again, then Azriel. The cycle repeated.
I whimpered and stepped between Rhys and the obscenities that were playing out on the bed, cupping his face in my hands and knowing it would do no good. Still, I tried to meet his eyes, stroked my fingers down the straining muscles of his neck. "No more, Rhys. It's only a dream. Wake up. Wake up!" Wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup.
For a moment, just an instant, I could have sworn his eyes met mine and he actually saw me, and then something snapped and I fell back into my body with a swirling sensation that reminded me unpleasantly of falling into the Tail's whirlpool.
Then I was tumbling into something warm, something that was soft and hard all at once. Hands gripped me and I inhaled citrus and salt—sweat, tears and the sea, all three engulfing me.
I froze, panting, trying not to vomit at the memory of what I had just seen. In the dim light, I began to make sense of things. Somehow, I was in Rhys's room, in his bed, in his arms. I was sprawled across his chest, our limbs tangled together and twisted between the black sheets. He was also breathing hard, but rapidly controlling it and I struggled to emulate him.
His eyes narrowed to violet slits as we stared at each other, locked in our mutual shock.
They're safe, I thought fiercely, mouthing the words for emphasis. They're safe and she will never have them. I repeated it over and over until I wasn't sure which of us I was trying to reassure.
His hand came up to cup my chin. Stop. Stop, Feyre. I know. They're safe. I know. He brushed the tears from my cheeks and it was only then that I realized I had been crying. With a silent sob, I buried my face in his neck and he crushed me against his chest. His own cheeks were damp as he stroked my hair.
It felt like we clung to each other forever, but eventually I felt something shift. The darkness became a familiar comfort again and I could have easily fallen asleep right there in his arms.
I don't think about them. His warm velvet voice in my head roused me and I shifted against him. I don't think about them because this is what happens. I can't be worrying about what she would do to them when I'm playing— He broke off and I felt the fine tremble that ran through his entire body. When he was playing Amarantha's whore.
I lifted my head. His eyes were clenched shut, one arm thrown over them. Even now, even here in his own sheltering darkness, he was ashamed to bare his true emotions to me. A fierce wave of protectiveness rose inside me and my lips peeled back in a silent snarl, but my fingers were gentle as I touched his chin and waited until he lifted his arm to look at me.
She will die before she ever has a chance to touch them. I don't know what my face looked like in that moment or what slid down the bond along with those words, but his eyes went impossibly wide, violet orbs glowing in the darkness.
And then he surged upward and his lips were on mine and I could feel that cord pulsing between us, drawing us more tightly together. Rhys …
He drew back from the kiss to look at me, his gaze flicking over my eyes, my nose, the shape of my face, as if he had never properly seen me before and was desperately memorizing every detail. I felt stripped bare and could only stare back at him, at his tousled hair and bare chest, and think about how much I wanted to ravish him at that moment.
But—no. Not with that nightmare still lurking so close to the surface for both of us. With a sigh and a small apologetic smile, I untangled myself and slid away, letting my feet dangle over the edge of the bed. I frowned. I had no idea how I had ended up here.
Rhys chuckled weakly. That makes two of us. He hesitated, then asked gently. What happened?
I shrugged. I woke up and—and I felt something calling me. I followed it, in my head I mean, and there you were. I wasn't facing him but I could feel his eyes boring into me and I hunched my shoulders, anticipating his next question. I saw it. All of it. I swallowed. I couldn't stop it.
It's the nature of dreams, especially when they're not your own. The sheets slithered as he slid off the opposite side of the bed. Turning my head slightly, I could see him dressing out of the corner of my eye. On bare feet he padded around to stand before me and held out a hand. Let's get you back to your cell.
I stared at that hand, then looked up at him. I could stay, I suggested tentatively, cursing the blush that rose on my cheeks.
Rhys arched his brows at me and was silent long enough that I looked down at my lap. I hardly lack for that kind of companionship, he said at last, his words a seductive purr in my head. My head snapped up again and I scowled at him.
Not for that, you prick! Just to sleep. I just— I swallowed. Somehow I felt even more vulnerable now. It's just hard to sleep alone after that kind of nightmare.
He was studying me again. What kind of nightmares have you seen, for one so young? He shook his head. Never mind, you can't stay here. Rumors are one thing, but if Tamlin thinks I've actually touched you, it'll be me he goes after instead of Amarantha.
I nodded but my eyes met his with a silent question.
He was watching me intently. Yes, he admitted, quiet even with his thoughts. Yes, I want her gone. And yes, we are allies. You're our best chance, Feyre Archeron, and I'll do everything in my power to help you.
Feeling almost lightheaded with relief, I took his outstretched hand and we vanished, reappearing in my cell a moment later. The cold instantly began to seep in through my threadbare clothes and my cot never felt so uncomfortable as it did when I dropped down onto it just then.
Rhys cocked his head at me and then my fingers and toes tingled, as if someone had dropped a heavy warm blanket of magic over me. I glanced up at him but he was already vanishing into shadow. One last pulse down the bond warmed me from the inside as much as the magic was warming me from the outside.
Thank you, Feyre.
When I saw him the next evening, nothing had changed outwardly. Except that he offered me his elbow as we walked to the throne room and when I placed my tattooed fingers against his arm they tingled with warmth. My spine straightened and for the first time since embarking on this strange quest, I felt like a High Lady again.
That night I drank the wine willingly, welcoming anything to disguise the giddiness I was feeling. We were a team again, Rhys and I. At last.
Quickly enough after that, my second trial arrived. I had lost all track of time until one night Rhys casually mentioned that it would happen the next day.
I wasn't worried about the second trial. Of the three, it would be by far the easiest for me to repeat without fear for my life or sanity.
"You don't seem to have a care at all inside that pretty little head," Rhys noted, studying me.
I was more concerned about what was going on inside his head. I studied him in return. Something was still off about him. Even though he had acknowledged that we were working toward the same goal, he still spent most of the time hidden behind his cruel Lord of Nightmares mask. I was probably the only one who knew him well enough to notice the shadows that still lurked around his eyes.
I'm going to end this, I told him. And we're all getting out from Under the Mountain.
"Still dreaming," he said with a wry smile.
Yes, I replied, rising to stand before him, my chin tilted stubbornly. Dreaming about my family. They're safe. They're waiting for me.
He slid his hands into his pockets as he watched me, still smirking. "From what I've learned about your family, your sisters may be less than eager to see you again." I blinked. He meant his words to wound and it may have worked if I was truly the human Feyre he saw before him, but I was much, much more than that.
My mistake, I said, matching his tone perfectly. Must be your family I've been dreaming about.
He froze and something flashed through his eyes, then I felt his claws sifting through my mind again. My thoughts were full of Velaris and Mor and Cassian and Azriel and Amren. And him. I knew he had his reasons for forgetting them and that it hurt him to remember, but I had to let him know that he wasn't alone. He closed his eyes, the only visible concession to the turmoil roiling inside of him.
I stepped forward and slid my arms around his waist. He didn't react to my embrace, but nor did he resist it. I'm going to end this, I repeated, burying my face in his chest, inhaling his familiar scent that I had been missing for so long.
He swallowed. "So eager to start your happily ever after with Tamlin?" he asked hoarsely.
My hands gripped the back of his shirt reflexively. I carefully ordered my thoughts.
I think that our time here Under the Mountain has changed both of us—all of us. I don't know if I can fix what's broken in Tamlin. An image, Tamlin, helpless beside Amarantha, eyes first glowing with anger and warning, then dull with defeat. I don't know if he can even understand how I've been broken. Being hunted, being sick, being alone, being forced to continue because I have no choice, because everyone is counting on me. An almost overwhelming feeling of horror at what was yet to come.
I shuddered. I don't know how to go back, to the Spring Court or to Tamlin. To what he needs me to be.
His hands slid out of his pockets and wrapped slowly around my shoulders, and I relaxed into his embrace. I pressed myself closer against him and he sighed softly, his breath disturbing my hair. I felt something through the bond then. Regret.
"I knew I should have held out for two weeks," he murmured into my ear. "If it only took a month under Amarantha's rule for you to lose interest in dear Tamlin, I can only imagine how you would feel about him after two weeks of sampling the pleasures of the Night Court." His voice was the most intimate caress that turned my knees weak as I melted against him. Cauldron, did he mean that to be a threat? The Night Court was supposed to be full of unimaginable tortures, not pleasures. But when he said it like that—I didn't know if he was trying to frighten me or seduce me. Perhaps both.
Rhys must have picked up on some of the seesawing thoughts because he suddenly chuckled, his chest rumbling against my face before he untangled our bodies and put some space between us. He ran his eyes over me and sighed ruefully. "Feyre darling, after all the trouble I've gone to, you're determined to prove exactly how not loyal to Tamlin you are."
I glanced down at myself, where Nuala and Cerridwen's delicate work had been almost completely destroyed. I raised my brows at Rhys, who looked deceptively paint-free. I see now why you always wear black. He only shook his head and snapped his fingers, restoring me to my usual appearance, but for a moment at least, his countenance was lighter. His eyes shone with a spark of that brilliant vibrance that warmed my heart.
But when we entered the throne room that night, everything was different.
"Just stay close, and keep your mouth shut," Rhys murmured as he guided me through the gawking crowd toward where Amarantha waited.
As my eyes fell on the weeping Summer Court faerie who was crumpled before her, I suddenly wondered who he was to Tarquin. A friend? Family? They had to be close if he was involved in whatever failed rebellion the High Lord had planned. I felt as if rocks were being piled painfully into my stomach. I had never asked, never even thought twice about this poor male. Just one more horror from Under the Mountain.
As Amarantha and Rhys played their games of intimidation, I stood at the edge of the crowd, forgotten for the moment, and looked for Tarquin. He was intent on the scene before him, worry plain on his face as he watched. I thought of the last time I'd seen him, the last time High Lady Feyre had seen him. It was in his palace overlooking his beloved Adriata, his eyes sparkling like sunlight on the ocean, his expression full of pride and joy and laughter. To see him now, all but stripped of his power and forced to watch as one of his most trusted subjects was tortured and killed to protect a failed plot of rebellion—it was almost as unbearable as watching Rhys forced to perform the acts.
My eyes slid back to my High Lord. Without thinking, I reached down the bond, expecting to be rebuffed, and I was caught by surprise when instead I was pulled along as Rhys entered the faerie's mind and held him.
I was astounded by how easily he was able to flick through the male's mind, even as limited as he was by Amarantha's restrictions. I heard his attempts to soothe the male, assuring him that he would feel no pain and his secrets would be safe, that he had made a valiant effort and had not failed or betrayed his High Lord. No wonder the male looked so relieved when Amarantha ordered Rhys to destroy him—not because he was grateful to be spared the pain of torture, but because Rhys had already promised him so much more. Tarquin owed his life to Rhys and he would never know it.
As Rhys prepared to execute Amarantha's order in the most gentle and the most brutal way possible, I felt him mentally nudge me back, away from the psychic impact of what he was about to do. It was the first sign he'd given that he was aware I was listening in. I retreated just in time to hear Amarantha drawl, "I'm growing bored, Rhysand."
I saw Rhys's fingers curl into a fist, and then it was done. The male fell senseless to the floor.
Amarantha snapped, "I said shatter his mind, not his brain." I almost snorted. What was the difference, really?
Rhys seemed to agree, because he merely shrugged, concealing his hand in his pocket again. "Apologies, my queen." There wasn't even a hint of respect in his voice, only bored disdain, as he turned and strode away. Amarantha's red lips turned down but she let him go.
I hurried to follow him and heard the whispers begin to rise from the crowd. "Whore," they hissed, just barely loud enough for him to hear as he passed by. I glanced at Rhys. Outwardly, he looked completely composed. Calm. Relaxed even. But inside—my heart broke for what I knew he must be feeling.
How many times had he been called upon to kill, or worse, to appease Amarantha? How many times had it been like this, where he had managed to eke the tiniest bit of good from a terrible situation, preserving the identities of the greater rebellion at the cost of one faerie's life, and yet everyone only saw the monster that he showed them, the monster that callously shattered minds out of sheer boredom. How many times had he led them to think the worst of him so they wouldn't notice his own small acts of rebellion, his own small acts that were the only mercy he could offer?
Falling into step beside him, I slid my arm through his. I held my head high, my expression aloof and as regal as a queen, and the whispers fell into confusion as the crowd tried to figure out if they should be insulting Rhys or me or the both of us. Before they could sort it out, we were past them all, to the banquet table at the back of the room.
As I drank my nightly wine, he downed his own goblet beside me. I met his eyes as we set the cups down simultaneously. Then, without a word, I took his hand and let him to our usual couch, pushing him down and climbing into his lap with my arms twined around his neck and my face buried against his shoulder. Hot tears pricked my eyes and tendrils of darkness suddenly swirled around him, hiding us suggestively in shadows. More importantly, obscuring my face while leaving his arrogant smirk clear for all to see, if they dared to look at him.
Grateful, I let my tears drip silently onto his neck. He wrapped one arm around my waist, caressing and soothing, and I wept silently for both of us, for the terrible choices we were forced to make, and for my High Lord who was the most hated of all.
