I didn't expect to sleep that night but somehow I did, even if it was full of dark, half-remembered dreams. When the guards came to bring me to my second task, I was tired but calm.

It wasn't until I saw Amarantha, smirking down at me from her dias, that something inside me cracked. Rhys's nightmare came flowing back, the terror of it not at all dimmed by the brightly lit cavern. I could see her writhing in ecstasy over my family as she tortured them.

Easy. Rhys's voice in my head. I realized I'd frozen, pale and trembling, while the Attor leered at me. I arranged my face into a bored mask and folded my arms across my chest as I looked around the room, pointedly ignoring the creature.

"Well, Feyre," Amarantha smiled at me. "Your second trial has come. Have you solved my riddle yet?"

I just stared at her. I wouldn't give up the answer to the riddle this early, even if I could speak to say the words—

I couldn't say the words. Alarm clanged through me. Even when it was time at the end, I wouldn't be able to speak to answer the riddle.

But beating Amarantha's tasks by itself hadn't been enough. I had to be able to solve the riddle too.

I missed what Amarantha said next, but the floor moved beneath my feet and I was caught off guard, struggling to keep my balance. I scanned the room as it began to disappear from my sight, meeting Rhys's gaze briefly. He was frowning at whatever he saw on my face, or possibly the emotion he was reading from my thoughts.

Then all I could see was four walls—and Lucien. My hands fisted at my sides as I stared at him through the gate. He was chained to the floor and the nightmare again echoed through my mind, but I shoved it aside.

"Here, Feyre darling—" Loathing rolled through me at hearing that nickname from her lips. "You shall find your task. Simply answer the question by selecting the correct lever, and you'll win. Select the wrong one to your doom. As there are only three options, I think I gave you an unfair advantage."

With a snap of her fingers, metal groaned and the giant burning grates overhead began to lower. Involuntarily, I looked up at them and had to resist the urge to lunge for the levers immediately. The oppressive feeling of being trapped was almost overwhelming, but I forced myself to turn and face the wall with the riddle instead.

A tiny part of me had been curious about this moment. Not even having a fair chance at answering the riddle was what I considered one of my biggest failures. This time at least I would be able to read it and see if I truly could have solved it on my own. I didn't have very high expectations—riddles had never been my strong suit. But at least I'd have a chance.

But as I looked at the wall, something happened to my vision. The words rippled and swam, and for a moment the scent of the Tail's magic drowned out everything else.

Not fair. That was not fair. She had already taken my voice, now she would take my eyes too? I looked at Lucien, his panic plain, then again at that steadily lowering grate. Then back to the wall, which continued to be a rippling blur. The words were the only thing hidden from me.

Until that moment, I hadn't realized exactly how much I wanted a second shot at this task. It shouldn't have mattered so much. It was done and long past, but still—some part of me, perhaps a large part of me, had relished the chance to beat Amarantha fairly.

"Something wrong?" Amarantha trilled, interrupting my inner rage and disappointment. Glaring up at her through the holes in the grate, I stepped over to the levers. Without taking my eyes off of her, I slowly moved my hand over each one. Amarantha looked smugly amused.

Nothing happened. Not even a twinge from my tattooed arm. Apparently Rhys didn't think I needed help just yet. I hesitated. How important was it that he help me here?

The grate moved inevitably lower. "Just pick one!" Lucien screamed at me.

I turned my attention to the levers. Perhaps if I—

I reached decisively for the first lever. At the last second a jolt ran up my arm and I cringed back. Rhys?

I hadn't meant to call out to him and I almost jumped when he replied. Yes, Feyre darling? Having some trouble with the riddle? I could help you out with that, if you'd care to renegotiate our bargain. I believe I mentioned something about a second week?

I scowled, though I had the presence of mind to direct it at the levers and not look for him in the crowd above me. Yes, let's make a new bargain right here in front of Amarantha and her entire court. I'm sure she won't mind that at all.

His chuckle echoed through my mind. I suppose you'll just have to trust your instincts then.

I clenched my teeth and reached for the first lever again, receiving the same jolt as before. I repeated the gesture on the second lever with the same result, then the third—nothing. For good measure and to make sure anyone watching was convinced I was guessing blindly, I went over each of the levers again.

The spikes were only an arm's length from my head now and sweat rolled off my body from the heat. Lucien moaned in despair. I couldn't wait much longer. Feyre …

I lunged for the third lever.

The grate froze, then began to rise slowly. As soon as it cleared the lip of the pit, I sucked in great gulps of the cool air. I checked Lucian as best as I could through the gate, but he didn't seem to be harmed, just tremendously relieved. I didn't dare look at Rhys.

My knees were trembling. Even as it slowly vanished from sight, I still couldn't read the damn riddle. What other surprises might the Tail's magic have in store for me?

And how was I going to manage to answer the other riddle? Without that, everything failed. Change nothing, the Tail had said, but what if the magic itself forced the change? There had to be some way around it. There had to be.

The floor beneath me had been steadily rising and I was swaying unsteadily, still gasping for breath. I felt like I couldn't get enough air.

Deep breaths, slowly. Don't let her see your fear. The familiar voice in my head steadied me. I sucked in a long breath and placed one hand, my tattooed left arm, over my racing heart. Rhys had talked me through this last time and now he was here for me again. I clung to that tether between us, letting it ground me. My pulse slowed, my breathing evened out, and by the time I faced Amarantha I was composed, if not defiant.

I didn't wait for Rhys to guide me further. I gave Amarantha a long stare, then scanned the room in disgust, letting all of the assembled gawking faeries know exactly how I felt about this spectacle. And then I turned my back on them all and walked away.

As soon as I was safely alone in my cell, my knees gave out and I crumpled to the floor. I hadn't even wanted to change anything, just see what might've been if I could actually read the riddle, but even that had been taken from me. My mouth opened in a soundless scream of rage that was wholly unsatisfying.

But my anger wasn't strong enough to distract me for long. Soon enough I had to face what was truly bothering me.

How would I answer the riddle after my third trial? And what would happen if I couldn't? Amarantha would still be forced to release us—eventually. Rhysand had been fighting back. Tamlin would likely fight as well, as soon as he healed enough to do so. But Amarantha would still hold their power in check, and I—I would die. But there would be no High Lords ready to revive me before it was too late.

The thoughts circled around and around in my head until they were replaced with numb exhaustion.

I barely noticed when Rhys melted out of the darkness and stood looking down at me where I sat bonelessly against a wall, knees drawn up to my chest and face buried in my folded arms. Even he couldn't help me now.

"You've just beaten her second task. After making your point so adamantly, and repeatedly, that we're on the same side," his voice was full of wry amusement, "is it really so dreadful that you needed my help?"

I felt very, very small. He didn't know what I'd done. Or what I was going to do, or not do. It was complicated and I couldn't tell him any of it anyway.

I didn't realize he'd knelt before me until he pried my arms apart, forcing me to look at him. "You're one task away from winning," he breathed and I shuddered as I felt his scent wash over me, his warmth seeping into my hands where he gripped them.

His violet eyes danced in the darkness, flecked with stars, and I realized with astonishment that this was the moment he truly began to hope. What I saw as one of my greatest failures, he saw as the first real step to victory. To freedom.

It mattered to him, I saw at last, that he had been able to do something good for once. Decades of waiting, helpless, as Amarantha's willing slave and executioner of all manner of horrors.

But now, Rhys was waking up and remembering what he was fighting for, even when fighting had merely meant submission. Remembering all those who loved him and waited for his return. And for the first time in those long years, he had hope.

His expression was full of wonder and he leaned in slowly. Unlike after his nightmare when it had caught me, and perhaps him, completely by surprise, this time he moved with deliberation, giving me plenty of time to understand and stop him if I wanted to.

I didn't. I couldn't only watch breathlessly as the space between us narrowed and he pressed his lips gently to mine. My eyes drifted shut and something warm uncurled deep in my belly. He pulled back just enough to run his eyes over my face, assessing my reaction. I didn't wait for him to draw any conclusions, just leaned into him, pulling him into a second, longer kiss. His hands dropped my wrists to cradle my head and I gripped his shoulders.

When we at last parted again, we were both flushed. He rested his forehead against mine, fingers stroking the nape of my neck. The bond between us sang. "Clever thing," he laughed softly. "How do you burrow past my mask so easily? No one else has seen anything but a monster for 49 years."

They see what you want them to see. You only do what you have to do. My hands slid down his arms, feeling the muscles beneath his jacket. We're the same that way, you and I.

He went still and I felt a tug on the bond. "What a High Fae you would have made," he breathed, and I knew he was at last admitting to himself what the connection between us could mean.

My heart sank. I wasn't a High Fae, and I never would be. I let my hands drop back to my lap, my head falling back against the wall. Rhys studied me, head tilted. "What is it?" Talk to me, Feyre.

But I couldn't. I shut my eyes against the tears that were gathering.

Rhys stood and I could feel his perplexity as he frowned down at me. At last he had to give in to my silence, though I suspected he wouldn't let it go. "I'll spare you the escort duties tomorrow, but the night after that, I expect you to be looking your finest." There was a hint of his normal teasing tone, but it was overlaid with concern.

I didn't react, opening my eyes only when I knew he had gone.

As promised, he left me alone the next day, but every now and then I felt that gentle tug on the bond, as if he was reassuring himself that I was still there.

And after that, our nights resumed their normal pattern.

I was bathed, painted and dressed. When Rhys came for me, we didn't speak, but he always spent long minutes watching me as he leaned against the wall and waited for the wraiths to finish with me. I knew he was deliberately arriving early to give me time to talk, if I wanted to.

I didn't want to. And when he handed me my wine, I could no longer meet his eyes.

I had stopped all of my plotting. It felt useless when I was going to destroy everything. Would there even be a future for me to return to if I wasn't Remade? I drank the wine and wished it would drown me as completely as it used to. I danced, but only as long as I felt I had to, then spent the rest of the evening at Rhys's feet, resting my head on his knee until he sent me away. Sometimes he would run his fingers through my hair or over my shoulders, gestures that looked possessive to anyone watching but I knew were meant to comfort, the only thing he could do that wouldn't look suspicious. I clung to his leg, sometimes squeezing his ankle, one of the few invisible things I could do to reciprocate his attention.

Some nights it felt like we were propping each other up, alternating waves of dread and hope pulsing between us. The third task loomed over us, drawing relentlessly closer, winding the tension more tightly with each night. The end was coming, one way or another.

One evening, as I was half-drowsing in my usual spot, Rhys's fingers suddenly stilled in my hair. I opened my eyes to slits, glancing toward the throne to see if another staring contest with Tamlin was starting, but he had long since stopped paying any attention to us. I felt a momentary pang for the lost love that I was supposed to be fighting for. Tamlin had no idea that his last happy memories with the female he loved were already long past.

Rhys shifted, jostling me enough that I lifted my head, then blinked in surprise at what I saw. A female I didn't recognize had settled on the couch next to Rhys and was murmuring softly into his ear. Her legs were tucked delicately under her as she faced him, leaning close enough that even with my pathetic human nose I could smell her perfume. Her dress was almost as sheer as mine, though at least there was more to it, and the slight smile on Rhys's face said that he appreciated the view.

I scowled and pinched his ankle. His eyes slid to mine and amusement danced down the bond. Jealous, Feyre? "Get us some wine," he said aloud, jiggling his leg to shake me loose like some unwanted insect.

I knew I couldn't defy him publicly without compromising the roles we were playing, but that didn't stop me from sending a vulgar gesture mentally. Outwardly, I just pursed my lips, climbed to my feet, and headed for the banquet table sulkily. The female's tittering laugh as I obeyed so easily kindled a spark of anger that I couldn't quite extinguish.

I filled two heavy goblets with wine, debated spitting in one of them, and turned to go back to Rhys, but someone stepped in front of me, blocking my path. Another faerie I didn't recognize, this one a male. And making his interest in me very obvious. He was all but drooling as he looked me up and down. I had long since learned to ignore the stares of the crowd as a whole, but to have one specific person seek me out just to ogle me—it felt too personal. I couldn't ignore it and I didn't like it.

"So, the whore finally let his little pet off the leash," he slurred, and his obvious drunkenness endeared him to me even less. "Does that mean he's willing to share?" He leered at me.

I cocked my head at him and smiled coyly, almost an invitation. I set the goblets back on the table, sweeping my gaze over the male blatantly as I did so. He preened, his lecherous smile growing.

I twirled in a slow circle, swaying my hips lazily as I showed off my body for his perusal. I ran the fingers of one hand down the open sides of my dress, starting near my breasts, down my hips and ending at my thighs, leaving a trail of ruined paint in my wake. His eyes followed the movement intently. I stepped closer, looking up at him through lowered lashes.

And then I slapped him as hard as I could.

I doubt my puny human strength did much more than stun him, but I had picked up the wine and was halfway back to Rhys before I heard a shout from behind me. Rhys and the female, who had maneuvered herself almost into his lap, both turned to look. Someone mussed my paint, I told him smugly, stopping beside the couch and turning to face the irate faerie who was now storming toward us. A blue handprint stood out vividly on his reddened cheek.

Darkness exploded, engulfing the couch. I heard the female gasp. The male stopped his approach so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. I snuck a glance to the side. Rhys's eyes glittered from the center of that dark maelstrom, a reminder of who and what he was. The male sketched a hasty bow and changed direction, almost running from the room.

The whole exchange had attracted very little attention, partially because it was well into the night and everyone was too drunk to care, partially because everyone was used to not noticing the Lord of Nightmares, lest they draw his ire.

The dark tendrils slowly withdrew, revealing Rhys still seated comfortably as if nothing had happened, arms stretched casually across the back of the couch. The female was wide-eyed, frozen with one long leg stretched across Rhys's lap and one hand splayed on his chest, almost touching the bare skin at his throat.

I stepped between his legs and held out one of the goblets. He lifted an arm from behind the female, leaning forward slightly as he reached for the wine. The motion pushed the female back just enough that she broke free of her paralysis, scrambling inelegantly away, her expression twisted in fear.

I glanced boredly after her, then shrugged and took a long drink from the second goblet before settling myself on Rhys's now-empty lap, my knees on either side of his hips. His free hand curled around my waist and his eyes were sparkling with amusement. Aren't you a clever thing? His voice was a sensual purr.

Then his gaze turned piercing. How long have you been immune to the wine?

I went still, then decided I didn't care. Not immune. I've never been so drunk. I might make poor choices. I rolled my hips ever so subtly against his and had the pleasure of seeing his eyes darken. And I spend half of every day with a hangover to match, I added with a scowl.

His fingers traced the ruined patterns on my waist and down my hips, making me shiver. And here I thought I was sparing you, so you wouldn't have to rememberall of this. His thoughts were edged with sadness, though none of it showed on his face.

I touched his cheek, meeting his gaze. How un-monster-like, I teased, then added more seriously, the only eyes in this room that I care about are yours. His brows raised, and I fired through the bond quickly, if you mention Tamlin while I'm sitting half-naked in your lapI might get the wrong idea.

He almost lost his composure then, hiding his laugh as he took a long drink from his wine. I was facing him, my expression hidden from the world, so I took the opportunity to grin openly at him. He vanished both our goblets, gripping my hips with both hands as he shifted as if getting more comfortable. The movement generated just enough delicious friction between my legs to set my whole body tingling. My lips parted in a soundless gasp.

"Time for you to go to bed," he said with a lazy smile.

Yours? I couldn't resist asking.

Wicked, he shot back, his voice full of such dark promise that a shudder ran through me. His nostrils flared. Get out of here before everyone notices that you're enjoying yourself.

I pouted, but it was a good point, one I hadn't thought of. Faerie noses would definitely notice if I was attracted to Rhys rather than his unwilling puppet. Still, that didn't stop me from adding a bit of extra sway to my hips as I slid off his lap and sashayed away.

I lay awake that night, wondering if he might come to me, or summon me to his room. Somewhere along the way, I had decided that if I could fulfill my mission, if I could sleep with Rhys, the magic would release me and I would be able to answer the riddle and make sure events played out as they should.

There was no logical reason for my assumption—I was just tired of drowning in despair, so I told myself the magic had set the rules and it wouldn't have charged a price that caused me to break them. There had to be a way around it, and the only thing I could think of was that finally sleeping with Rhys would break the curse.

Late in the night, just as I was about to drift off, I felt—something. Not a tug, but something.

I tried a tug of my own. Rhys? Maybe he was asleep. Another nightmare? I traced my way carefully down the bond. A solid wall of darkness met me at the other end. Whatever Rhys was doing, he wasn't sharing. Rhys?

Something shoved me away, hard. I jolted back into my body, but not before I caught a glimpse of Amarantha, nude, back arched in ecstasy as she writhed above me. Above Rhys.

I cringed, swallowing bile and curled into a ball on top of my rough pallet. I'm sorry, I sent, not knowing if he could hear me behind the walls where he hid his revulsion at the actions he was forced to perform.