I decided to toy with the idea of shielding my mind. The idea of an enemy fae weaseling into my mind made my skin crawl. So I sat with my legs crossed in the middle of my room, harnessing every ounce of focus I had into imagining my skull was a shield around my mind. Hours passed while I imagined myself as a fortress, doing my best to remain focused, but it was a struggle.
I'll see you at home, Feyre.
Home. I tried to remember the vague feelings I'd held of my first home, before the ramshackle hutch near the forest, but there wasn't much left. There was a brief time, when I'd be painting poppies or a trellis of vines leading up to an ivory balcony, that I'd pictured the Spring Court as my home. There was a time I'd felt safe there.
It hadn't lasted long.
I couldn't picture the Night Court. Supposedly, Under the Mountain was based off the place, but I had a hard time believing that someone like Mor lived in these conditions. She was a star in herself. I still felt her presence long after she'd winnowed away. I imagined her with Azriel and Amren. Oh, and Cassian. I wondered what Rhysand's general would be like… I'd never met a general before. The sentries in the Spring Court had never spoken to me much, and I suppose Tamlin functioned as a general among them in a way. It seemed like such a serious position. I pictured Cassian as a wise, old man leading men onto a battlefield from a great white stallion.
Something told me the Night Court probably didn't use horses.
I brought my attention back to my shield. I pictured it as a wall, a layer around my thoughts. Form-fitting steel. My pulse suddenly grew stronger and I looked around the cell as if something had startled it without me noticing. Maybe that wall had kept me in instead of others out. But no, I was still alone, and a little cold, and as I lost focus my heartbeat settled to normal.
I tried again, this time closing my eyes. I relaxed my hands in my lap and focused on my breath. My imaginary wall pulled down like a curtain within my thoughts, coating the inside of my head.
My pulse beat deep in my chest. Over and over and over.
Not my pulse.
The Amulet of Storms.
My eyes darted open and steam surrounded me like a sweet fog.
I jumped up to my feet just as two High Fae females appeared beside me through slivers of darkness just like Rhysand normally did. But while he'd solidified into a tangible form, these faeries remained mostly made of shadow, their features barely discernable, save their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They remained silent when they reached for me. I didn't fight them - there was nothing to fight them with, and nowhere to run. The hands they clasped around my forearms were cool, but solid - as if the shadows were a coating, a second skin.
They had to have been sent by Rhysand - some servants of his from the Night Court. They could have been mutes for all they said to me as they pressed close to my body and we stepped - physically stepped - through the closed door, as if it wasn't even there. As if I had become a shadow, too. MY knees buckled at the sensation, like spiders crawling down my spine, my arms, as we walked through the dark, shrieking dungeons. None of the guards stopped us - they didn't even look in our direction. We were glamoured, then; no more than flickering darkness to the passing eye.
The faeries brought me up through dusty stairwells and down forgotten halls until we reached a nondescript room where they stripped me naked, bathed me gently, and then - to my horror - began to paint my body.
Their brushes were unbearably cold and ticklish, and their shadowy grips were firm when I wriggled. Things only worsened when they painted more intimate parts of me, and it was an effort to keep from kicking one of them in the face. They offered no explanation for the paint, though I suspected it was a part of my dinner plans. I imagined what this Dark Lord side of Rhysand would be like. He seemed terrified of showing me, but apparently not enough to keep me from it when I'd accepted the idea. I hoped I would at least get some sort of clothing over the body paint since there would absolutely be more than just the Dark Lord of the Night Court attending this dinner. I did my best to be pliable and let them finish.
From the neck up, I was regal: my face was adorned with cosmetics - rouge on my lips, a smearing of gold dust on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes - and my hair was coiled around a small golden diadem embedded with lapis lazuli. But from the neck down, I was a heathen god's plaything. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on my arm, and once the blue-black paint had dried, they placed on me a gauzy white dress.
Neither female even so much as touched the Amulet of Storms, not even during my bath. It hung from my neck like gold encrusted hellfire.
If you could call it a dress. It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover my breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jeweled belt that slung low across my hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between my legs and to the floor. It barely covered me, and from the cold air on my skin, I knew that most of my backside was left exposed.
The cold breeze caressing my bare skin was enough to ignite panic in my chest. Fae were going to see me in this. Amarantha. Lucien. Tamlin.
I gagged at the thought.
But Rhysand would be there… Or would the Dark Lord still bring me the same comforting bond that he did? Would the Dark Lord still be my mate?
"Of course," said a voice behind me.
The shadowy faeries disappeared and Rhysand stepped into my view. Comfort instantly flooded the bond and I felt my back straighten and my shoulders fall back.
"You look…" His violet eyes glittered with stars. "Wow."
I let a little smile pull across my cheeks. "I'm considering making the ink a permanent thing."
"Oh yeah?" he idly replied, still looking down at my, er, dress.
"Mhm," I mumbled, feeding off the bubbling fire in the bond. "Your servants were quite thorough."
His eyes shot to mine. "Oh, Feyre, darling, are you trying to make us late for dinner?"
My lips twisted. "Well, if we have better things to do, by all means."
He growled and was on me in an instant. His face inches from mine. I could feel his breath on my skin. I refused to look away, despite my pounding heart. The boldness he made me feel was addicting and suddenly I felt a thrill at parading around in front of everyone dressed like this, for Rhysand.
Eat your heart out, Tamlin.
He took a huge swig of a breath before reaching up to brush a finger through my golden brown hair. "What am I going to do with you, Feyre?"
My smile was wicked.
He sighed and gave a little shake of his head, but he didn't back away. "The paint is enchanted. The dress itself won't mar it, and neither will your movements," he said and I was suddenly aware of how close his teeth were to my throat. I gulped as a different kind of heat pooled in me. "But it will show if anyone touches you."
"Including you?" I asked.
"Including me."
My breaths were heavy in my chest.
"I'm going to enchant the wine I give you to be water, but everyone will think you are drunk and beyond remembering their actions. That could prove dangerous - both for you and for them, if we use the advantage well."
I gave a tiny nod. Any larger and we'd bump heads.
"Come," he said, stepping away. "We're already late."
We walked through the halls next to each other, not touching. The sounds of merriment rose ahead of us, and Rhysand held the corded bond between us completely taut. I couldn't help what the tension was doing to my insides and I was all too aware of my peaked breasts, entirely visible beneath the sheer fabric of my dress. Not an inch of my body was left to the imagination, and the cold cave wasn't helping: goosebumps raised in waves over my skin. With my legs, sides, and most of my stomach exposed save for the slender shafts of fabric, I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering. My bare feet were half-frozen, and I hoped that there might also be a bonfire at this dinner.
Queer, off-kilter music brayed through two stone doors that I immediately recognized since I'd slammed into them the day I'd arrived here, running from the Attor.
Rhysand gave our mating bond a squeeze before we walked into the throne room.
Faeries and High Fae gawked as we passed through the entrance. Some bowed to Rhysand, while others gaped. I spied several of Lucien's older brothers gathered just inside the doors. The smiles they gave me were nothing short of lupine.
Rhysand didn't touch me, but he walked close enough for it to be obvious that I was with him - that I belonged to him in this moment.
A wicked heat flattened the chills on my bare skin.
Whispers snaked under the shouts of celebrating, and even the music quieted as the crowd parted and made a path for us to Amarantha's dias. I lifted my chin, the weight of Rhysand's golden crown digging into my skull.
It was he and I against the world, against this crowd, against Amarantha.
And we would win.
Our bond was fluid between us, warm and familiar now. I held my end and he held his. We were mates. Equals. I did belong to him, just as I belonged entirely to myself. And he - the High Lord of the Night Court - belonged to me.
Tamlin was seated beside Amarantha on that same throne, in his usual clothing, no weapons sheathed anywhere on him. I knew Rhysand would want to publically declare the bargain we'd struck; everyone needed to see him waging war with the High Lord of the Spring Court.
"Merry Midsummer," Rhysand said, bowing to Amarantha. Thoughts of black flame and her blood streaming down that throne flooded my mind. She wore a rich gown of lavender and orchid-purple - surprisingly modest. I was a savage before her.
"What have you done with my captive?" she said, but her smile didn't reach her eyes and for a second I was worried. Had this been a bad move?
Tamlin's face was like stone - like stone, save for the white knuckled grip on the arms of his throne. No claws. Not yet.
My worries were dismissed upon the sight of Tamlin's rage.
"We made a bargain," Rhysand said and brushed a stray lock of my hair from my face. I forced a flinch, remembering my role tonight. He ran his fingers down my cheek - a gentle caress. It took everything I had not to melt with his touch like lightning on my testy nerves. The throne room was all too quiet as he spoke his next words to Tamlin. "One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task." He raised my left arm to reveal the tattoo, whose ink didn't shine as much as the paint on my body. "For the rest of her life," he added casually, but his eyes were now on Amarantha.
The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit - even the eye on her finger seemed fixed on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life - he said it as if it was going to be a long, long while.
He was letting everyone know he thought I would beat her tasks. I held back my fear that he'd get us caught with his brazenness, but I couldn't help a glance at him. I stared at his profile, at the elegant nose and sensuous lips…
I snapped my head back to the dias.
Games - Rhysand was playing a game with Amarantha - one I would have no idea how to participate in. I was now a key player, but this was not my game.
"Enjoy my party" was Amarantha's only reply as she toyed with the bone at the end of her necklace. Dismissed, Rhysand put a hand on my back to steer us away, to turn me from Tamlin, who still gripped his throne.
The crowd kept a good distance, and I couldn't acknowledge any of them, out of fear of revealing our ruse. I had to be unpleasant to Rhysand, at least until the wine came, the water-wine. I had to be a bitter, scorned lover filled with hate for the faeries around me - for Rhysand.
I kept my chin up in stubbornness.
Rhysand stopped before a table laden with exquisite foods. The High Fae around it quickly cleared away. If there were any other members of the Night Court present, they didn't ripple with darkness the way Rhysand did; didn't dare approach him. The music grew loud enough to suggest there was probably dancing somewhere in the room. "Wine?" he said loud enough for those around to hear, offering me a goblet.
I took the goblet from him and he smiled.
My heart raced as I sniffed the contents, images from the last time I'd drunk faerie wine threatened my mind and I felt sweat bead on my neck. The liquid was odorless, so I drank, holding onto the warmth of the bond. Rhysand still held it firm.
Water. It was just water.
My mate smiled a devilish grin.
"Come, Feyre, darling," he whispered, pulling out a chair for himself. I watched him wordlessly until he gestured to his lap.
My nostrils flared. Slowly, I set myself down on him, the fabric of my dress falling between my open legs to expose them entirely. I reclined on him and he reached his arm behind me for my hip, holding me close. I couldn't keep the arch from my back.
I felt his lips on my ear before I'd noticed him move. "If you ever want to be done with this, I can send you away in an instant," he breathed. Chills washed down my spine. "If this gets overwhelming, you don't need to stay."
"Mmmm," I mumbled and he laughed.
"You're being a little too convincing, Feyre, darling." He let his lips rest against my ear, each word like the briefest of kisses.
I yanked on the bond. "I can't help it," I managed to say.
He hummed against me and yanked the bond back. "If we weren't Under the Mountain, I'd think this was a dream." He trailed his words down my neck.
I leaned my head to offer him my throat. "You dream of me, do you?" I teased, my eyes fluttering open and closed and open again.
"Oh, I've dreamed of you for a long time, Feyre," he said kissing the crook of my neck.
I sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh?"
Three years ago, I had my first dream of you.
I stiffened, but he held my hip and set his other hand on my thigh, smudging the blue-black paint.
I dreamt of your home, your hunts, your habits. I dreamt through your eyes.
My heart stopped beating.
Once you were holding a brush, painting flowers on a table. I tried then, just the once, to push a thought back to you. Of the night sky - of the image that brought me joy when I needed it most. Open night sky, stars, and the moon. I never knew if you received it, but I tried, anyway.
I wasn't sure I was breathing.
He kept up our game, always aware of the gossiping faeries surrounding us. His fingers dug into me and his breath was hot on my skin.
My dresser. My precious dresser at home that I'd painted with the most brilliant night sky I'd ever imagined… It wasn't imagined at all. It was Rhysand.
I got your message. I painted your night sky onto my dresser.
It was Rhysand's turn to freeze. I reached for the bond, letting it ground me - to him.
My mate.
For three years Under the Mountain he'd known he had a mate somewhere. He felt the bond even then, drawing us together. He'd felt the bond while Amarantha…
Blood. I would have her blood.
I stared at him, watching him look off somewhere far away, lost in himself. I leaned into him and nuzzled into his neck. He melted around the touch leaning into me, squeezing my thigh.
You'd have found me, I told him through the bond. Even if I'd never come to Prythian, you'd have found me and we'd have been together.
He rolled his head back and I let myself taste his skin, feeling a little drunk from his words.
Feyre, he growled my name through the bond. His thumb started drawing lazy circles on my thigh, crawling higher and higher.
I leaned into him. I felt incredible. Beautiful. Strong.
His sharp exhale caressed my ear.
I felt myself purr. He stroked a knuckle down my bare ribs.
How about a dance, Feyre, darling?
Despite myself, I preened, rising from his lap to stand before him, bare save the sheer white gossamer slits falling down my risen breasts.
Anything for my Dark Lord.
I didn't look for Tamlin or Lucien the rest of the night, though I knew they were watching. I didn't even check to see if Amarantha was on to us. I spent the entire night dancing or in Rhysand's lap, occasionally feeding him his dinner like the good slave girl I was. We didn't mention our bond again, but we both clung to it - to each other - all night long.
And when I was finally back in my cell in the early hours of the morning I was covered in smeared blue-black paint.