A howling wind swept in from the Northern territories on the night of Amarantha's masquerade celebration. The force of it shook the panes of glass in the windows of Rhysand's dressing room as he finished buttoning his velvet black tunic. He turned from his reflection in the mirror to look outside. Night had already fallen in Velaris. Because of the whipping wind, the streets were largely empty. The Sidra was churning wildly, water breeching the banks and splashing up onto the sidewalks.

Rhysand's eyes unfocused for a moment and his reflection was suddenly superimposed over the roiling river and the trees bent in the punishing wind. He felt unsettled, almost ill, as he anticipated the night to come. He hadn't felt such powerful and uncomfortable emotions since the end of the war. He'd never forget the feeling of staring out over the bloodied battlefield, dotted with broken bodies, burning standards and gore as far as the eye could see. The sight had changed him. The war had changed him. He was still struggling to fight his way back to normalcy, to feeling something, anything but this crushing dread.

And hate.

He hated her, hated Amarantha for what she'd done. For forcing him to watch as she'd slaughtered his men. So cruel, so callous. She'd smiled and laughed and flipped her ruby red hair over her shoulder as her soldiers carried out her commands. She was a monster. And she needed to be stopped.

So he'd go to her party and smile and laugh. But by the end of the night, either Amarantha would be dead, or they would both follow death together, because he wouldn't go without first taking her with him.

A soft knock sounded at his bedroom door and Rhysand barely kept from jumping. He took a long, deep breath to steady himself. Then another, and released it slowly on his way to the door. Morrigan stood on the other side, swimming in an oversized cashmere sweater and silken skirt that matched the color of her sunlight hair. Her eyes were wide as they looked up into his. They stood silently for a moment. Rhys heard the nearly silent hitch of her breath sticking in her throat, and realized she was holding back tears.

"Please," she began, her voice smaller than he had ever heard it, "don't go." Her wide eyes remained unblinking, glassy and fervent as they bore into him. Rhysand paused, unsure of how much she actually knew or what she was just inferring. Mor knew him better than anyone, and he had tried to be the most careful with what he said or did around her the past couple weeks as his plan took form.

Rhysand tried for a broad, placating smile, focusing on each muscle to keep it from turning into a grimace. She studied him hard.

"Mor, what's this about?" he asked in a soft voice. He reached for her hands and squeezed them lightly. "It's just a party."

"Then let me come with you," she said defiantly, with no hesitation.

Rhys let out a quiet chuckle. "I need you here. Amren is away and there needs to be order in the Court of Nightmares. Especially now," he said.

"Then take Azriel. Or Cassian. Just take someone with you, Rhys, please." She squeezed his hands back for emphasis. Rhysand drew in a deep breath through his nose, pretending to consider her request, and not wanting to appear too determined against it. Finally, he exhaled and shook his head.

"I'll be back by morning. Probably sooner. I need to do this to show her that the Night Court is amicable to this trade deal with Hybern. All six of the other High Lords have accepted her invitation and the treaty —"

"Yes, and they're likely bringing a guest or two with them tonight. Rhysand, see reason!"

Morrigan was getting more and more upset as she spoke. Her lash line was barely holding back the tears that were gathering. Rhysand knew he had to say something to quell her worries for the night or he would run into the very real risk of her following him against his orders. He didn't want to command her to stay - both because she was his family and he respected her, and because he didn't want to use his power that way.

"Mor," he said after a long moment, his voice steady and firm. She blinked and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Rhysand reached up and wiped it away with a knuckle before putting his hand on her shoulder. "I am going to a party. The war is over." He had to pause at that and swallow down the lump in his throat. Knowing that his plans would surely throw them back into a terrible spot. But the pause gave Mor a moment to collect herself. When Rhysand could once again trust his voice to remain steady, he continued. "You and I both know I am more than capable of taking care of myself."

He heard her take a breath through her nose. Using the hand on her shoulder, he guided her back into the hallway with him and walked them toward the door. She was moving rigidly, like each step was against her will. He knew there was so much she was holding back, so much she wanted to say to him, but didn't.

They walked down the stairs in silence, the rustling of their clothes the only noise in the deserted foyer. Rhysand's boot heels clicked against the marble when they reached the front door. Mor's bare feet made no noise at all. Rhys turned back to her and once again gave her a reassuring smile. He tried as hard as he could to pour his old self into it, to force the twinkle back into his eye. He came close enough for her shoulders to sag slightly in defeat.

"I'll wait up for you," she said stalwartly. Rhysand almost argued back. Almost insisted she go to bed and get some rest, but he knew it would be a fruitless request. He also knew he would break her heart when he didn't return, if it came to that.

So, he merely nodded. "As you wish," he said softly.

Rhysand stepped back into the shadowed vestibule, leaving Morrigan in the warm glowing light of the foyer, and winnowed away.

The main room inside of the Mountain was warded against winnowing, so Rhysand appeared just outside the imposing double doors. He hadn't had time to properly collect himself in the way he would have liked in front of Mor, so he remained still for a moment just behind a large boulder, tall and wide enough to shield him from the guests filing into the space.

He was quite late, both by design and simply due to the fact that he didn't want to be here. But, his tardiness only added to his unaffected air, his cruel aloof nature. The traits everyone expected from the murderous, evil High Lord of the Night Court. Not the gentle, loving cousin, the dedicated brother, the broken, suffering soul. Besides, his subjects from the Court of Nightmares in the Hewn City had likely already arrived long before him. He hadn't wanted to arrive with them either. And he hadn't dared bring anyone from Velaris, or worse, his closest friends and family. No, he had to keep his mind unoccupied with their safety. Best to keep them where he could be sure they would be unharmed.

He tugged hard at the hem of his tunic, then ran his hands along the front to smooth it down. He adjusted his cuffs and the diamond livery collar across his chest. His hair had gotten too long and it now fell in front of his eyes, mussed from his travels here. With a shaking hand, he smoothed it back into place, running his fingers through the black locks several times to calm his jittering nerves. The hair at his temples was slightly damp from sweat and he had to push a little cooling magic into his body.

The monotonous checking and re-balancing of his person gave him the mental space to let go of his nerves. It had been a long time since Rhysand had appeared in any official capacity in front of his peers. Everyone had opted to take time to heal and reset from the war. He was not the only one seemingly hiding away in his castle. But he was one of the more prominent figures from that time, definitely immediately recognizable both for his actions and his enormous well of power. Rhysand knew Prythian feared him much more than they respected him. But that was enough for him. Either way, it kept other territories from his doorstep.

It was why he was so certain of what he had to do tonight. With Amarantha alive, he knew Prythian could never truly know peace. He knew his beloved Velaris, his family, would always be between her crosshairs. She longed for power, for control, for more. But what was more to her? Did she want the human territories? Would she settle for this in-between land as her own? Or did her ambitions stretch far beyond this sacred mountain and encroach on what was his by blood and by right. He couldn't wait and find out.

Within seconds, Rhysand's heart rate had slowed, his hands had steadied and an aristocratic sneer had materialized across his lips. In the next breath, he had successfully slipped on the mask of his infamy — the cold and callous Lord of Night. Instead of stepping out from behind the boulder, he winnowed again to the center of the threshold, startling the Autumn court couple that had nearly walked into him as he appeared. He raked his eyes down the form of the female with a roguish grin and simply ignored the irate grumbling from her male companion. He watched her surprise turn to a deep red flush that crept up her chest and neck, staining her cheeks as he swept her deeper into the crowd.

Once they were out of sight, Rhysand slipped his hands into his pockets and stalked into the main room.

He immediately clocked Tamlin and Lucien standing off to the far right side of the room, drinks in hand, heads bent low toward each other as they spoke. The din in the room was deafening. There were far too many people assembled than what was comfortable for the space. Rhysand felt slightly claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in, even though people gave him more than enough space as he cut through the crowd. He should be used to the feeling of existing deep within the earth. His official seat of power was beneath a mountain of his own, after all. But this felt different. The air felt heavier, the walls seemed closer, more slanted, giving the room a strange, domed ceiling.

A tray appeared in front of him and Rhys snagged a fluted glass of bubbling liquid from the silver surface. The urge gripped him to chug it as quickly as he could, if only to feel the burn of the bubbles as they fought their way down his throat. Instead, he brought the glass up to his lips demurely and sipped, years of fine breeding overriding his more base desires.

Though he didn't approach Tamlin, Rhys kept his eyes on him and watched. Tamlin was the cornerstone of his plans. As much as he loathed the other High Lord, there was a through-line there that Rhysand needed to follow. While the other High Lords were busy signing their names with a flourish on her treaty and all but throwing laurels at her feet, Tamlin was watching her as if with barely contained disgust. In fact, Rhysand was sure it was just that — Amarantha disgusted him. Tamlin hated her. His father's close friend and ally.

Tamlin and Rhysand were both new when it came to ruling their territories, and despite being on the opposing sides of the war, it seemed they now shared a common hatred for the woman whose party they now attended.

Rhys followed Tamlin's blackened gaze now and was greeted with the sight of Amarantha in all her glory, holding court atop a raised stage that concerningly resembled a dais. She wore a deep purple velvet gown, nearly black, and so voluminous that her partygoers could only get so close to her before their shins brushed her skirts. Her long red hair tumbled down around her shoulders and she wore a diadem of black opals across her forehead.

Rhys couldn't help but notice that she looked very much like a queen. But queen she was not. She was merely a commander in the King's army. An army that was not currently at war, rendering her status temporarily inactive. He had to stop his lip from curling at the sight. At the pomp of it all. The show she was putting on. A quick glance back toward Tamlin revealed that he very much felt the same way. His knuckles were white as snow as he clutched his glass. Lucien seemed nervous, rocking ever-so-slightly onto the balls of his feet then back to his heels again. If Rhys didn't know any better, he would have said they looked as though they were getting ready to run.

"Oh, Tamlin, my dearest one. Come here." Amarantha's deep voice echoed across the crowd, cutting through the noise like it was not at a full roar. After her summons, there was no noise at all. Rhysand could physically feel the silence pressing against his ears like a thick fur blanket. He watched Tamlin's back straighten as he pushed himself away from the wall.

Tamlin passed close enough to Rhysand to touch, and he turned his head to look at him as he did. Rhysand expected to see a similar loathing there when Tamlin's eyes met his, perhaps a glimmer of revulsion, but all he could see was barely veiled alarm and a deep dread. Rhysand raised his glass to his lips and sipped his drink when Tamlin looked away, trying to make sense of the situation before it happened, and to help veil his own look of dread.

Slowly eyes moved away from him and resettled back on Tamlin as he ascended the dais. His steps were slow but deliberate and he drained his flute before coming to a stop well away from Amarantha. Like Rhysand, he was dressed in his own house finery, plus the addition of a golden mask, keeping with the theme of the party. His tunic was a deep green with gold stitching, a livery collar of emeralds and topaz adorning his chest, in replacement of his typical baldric. Amarantha had been clear on her rule against weapons at her party. No matter that each High Lord was a weapon unto himself. It was more about the optics. There had been a treaty, peace had been achieved. They must abide.

A smile broke across Amarantha's face, slithering open to reveal too-white teeth. Rhysand drained his own drink and began to test the edges of her mind.

He started prodding gently, his ministrations light and undetectable. She was focused on Tamlin like a predator, her pupils dilating to tiny pinpricks despite the low light in the room. Rhysand was powerful, but he had not expected Amarantha to take such intense and extreme measures to guard her mind. Breaking in would be no small feat and he had to work quickly. If he could just slip in quietly, he'd crush her mind until it sloughed out her ears.

"I'm so glad you've come, Tamlin," Amarantha cooed, her arm rising to beckon him closer. Rhysand listened with half a mind, watched with divided attention. But even he knew that Tamlin's manners would not allow him to embarrass a lady in front of hundreds of people. So he stepped closer slowly, reaching out to take her fingertips in his when he was close enough. He dipped his mouth toward her hand but did not make contact before straightening and releasing her as if she had burned him.

"Amarantha. Kind of you to host us and facilitate the treaty." Tamlin's voice boomed coldly throughout the room. Amarantha seemed momentarily ruffled and her mental shields shivered at the distraction. Rhysand felt himself slip a little further inside. A bead of sweat formed at the back of his neck and he was grateful for his high collar.

"Of course. It was well past time we got back to merrymaking, don't you think?" Amarantha swung her arm out across the crowd, seemingly addressing everyone in attendance. Murmurs of assent rippled throughout the room. Some raised their glasses and drank, others nodded their agreement silently. Rhysand remained rooted in place, his eyes boring into the side of her pale face as she turned back to Tamlin. Her smile spread slowly as she did. Something in her eyes forced Tamlin back a step whether unconsciously or not.

A silence deeper than the one before fell over the room. Rhysand worked faster, pushed harder. He balled his hand into a fist in his pocket, nails biting into the flesh of his palm.

"And I think it's high time we united our two great houses, Tamlin," Amarantha said sweetly, dipping her chin like she was a coy schoolgirl, not a demon dripping with the blood of a nation.

Silence prevailed, most notably from Tamlin himself. If Rhysand wasn't so hyper focused on his task, he would have chanced a look over at Lucien, who he could tell from his peripheral was still rooted in place.

"Join with me, bond with me and we will rule together."

This, Rhysand knew, was not a new offer. Amarantha had been propositioning Tamlin in some way for years and he had been firmly declining. It was a known secret. No one spoke of it, but for the most part, everyone knew Tamlin continued to rebuff Amarantha's advances. So her offer itself did not give him pause. What did was the wording. Rule? Rule what, exactly? He could see Tamlin trying to work out the same thing before he responded.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the offer. I am not looking for a partner in the Spring Court at this time," Tamlin said slowly.

Rhysand could see now that Amarantha had reached her limit. Even with his attention divided as he drilled into her mind, he could see how her jaw clenched and her eyes darkened threateningly.

"You may keep the Spring Court," Amarantha sniffed. "My aim is higher than that." A smile teased the corners of her lips. Around him, quiet murmuring began. It became harder for him to keep his concentration on his task. Her words were not just alarming, they were borderline treasonous. He pushed harder, drove himself deeper into her mind. Something was coming and he had to finish; he had to stop her.

Her eyes swept over the crowd. She let out a little laugh. "So much power in one little room," she said sweetly. A chill went down Rhysand's spine. He couldn't afford to split his attention any more than it already was. He couldn't dedicate more to his onslaught of her mind. To hear what she was saying was just as paramount as the silent work he was doing. And he felt close, so, so close.

"Perhaps you will change your mind when you realize all that I am offering you," she purred, moving closer to Tamlin. He stiffened. Rhysand suddenly felt a cold sweat grip him and he immediately knew it was more than just his rising panic. His attack on Amarantha's mind sputtered; he felt all at once lightheaded and oddly weak. Sweat beaded on his forehead, slicked the palms of his hands. He reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt and pulled his attention away from Amarantha to risk a glance around the room. High fae around him seemed to be experiencing something similar. Some rubbed their foreheads in confusion, others were blinking rapidly, dropping their drinks to the stone floor. The sound of intermittent breaking glass broke up the growing murmurs of unease and shock throughout the room.

"What have you done?" Tamlin's shaking voice cut through the rising noise.

Amarantha laughed again until all the panicked shouts died down. "Have you all not made merry with drink tonight?" She asked, her voice razor-sharp.

Fuck.

Rhysand had to will himself to calm down. He looked at the glass-strewn floor. She had poisoned them.

He felt his powers slipping away at an alarming rate, and despite the iron grip he maintained on his calm facade, his heart was racing.

Amarantha was laughing, Tamlin was shouting, there was a mass rush toward the doors, which had been sealed up tight. Rhysand remained rooted in place, mind racing as fast as his heart.

He made a decision quickly. He yanked himself out of Amarantha's mind hard and fast and cast it out over the hundreds and hundreds of miles between himself and his family in Velaris. He worked frantically on an order of operations even as he had already tapped into their minds. The entry was abrupt, most definitely painful, but he couldn't help it, and he probably exacerbated it as he forced all their minds together.

All at once, Cassian's panic washed over him, as did Azriel's shock, Amren's outrage and Morrigan's devastation. He held their minds as sweat dripped down his nose.

Tricked by Amarantha. Powers fading. You must remain in Velaris in order to keep my shields active and the city wiped from the map. Protect Velaris, protect each other. I love you.

Outrage bombarded him, hurt, denial and wrath flooded his senses for just a second before he severed the hold he had on their minds and worked to divide his power one last time.

His strength trickled out of him like a bleeding wound. Rhysand stumbled forward a step, then sideways another. He'd drop to his knees if he had to in order to finish what he needed to do. Half of his remaining power cast a shield over his beloved city of Velaris, warded tightly and unbreakably to Amren, Mor, Cassian, and Azriel. With the other half of what he had left, he broke into the panicked minds of those in attendance from his court in the Hewn City. He felt the seconds ticking away from him. He stumbled again but held onto their minds just long enough to wipe away any memory or inkling or errant thought of Velaris.

When he pulled out of their minds, Rhysand fell sideways, his hip connecting painfully with a table of abandoned drinks and half-eaten food. He was panting, sweating, hands shaking as he felt the final dregs of his power sucked away, leaving him nothing more than a mere mortal.

Around him, the room was in utter chaos. People were screaming, crying hysterically, clawing at their necks and temples. Even the other High Lords in attendance appeared pale with horror, just as lost in the churning panic of the noise in the chamber was nearly unbearable. Boots slammed against the ground as people tried fruitlessly to find an exit, glass shattered against the floor, fists banged against the hard stone of the sealed double doors. Rhysand suppressed the urge to join them. The need to run was making him nearly vibrate with energy. But where was he to go? He had to maintain some semblance of power, of calm.

His eyes snapped up to the makeshift dais where two black thrones had appeared. Amarantha had seated herself in one, while Tamlin appeared to be standing in front of the other against his will. His body was so rigid that Rhysand could see the tendons in his neck bulging against his skin.

Amarantha was smiling as she began clapping her hands together tauntingly. Slowly, the crowd began to quiet, hearing her mock applause at their show of horror.

"What a show!" She chirped with glee when the room had fallen silent. The sound of heavy breathing and muffled crying filled the space between her words. Rhysand gripped the edge of the table behind hm. "By now you've most certainly realized that your powers are gone," she said calmly. "What you don't know is that those powers now belong to me."

Rhysand felt his stomach drop even as anger bubbled up within him. Anger at both himself and at Amarantha. If he had only been faster, worked harder to break into her mind, he could have stopped this…this abomination from happening. Instead he was distracted by her advances toward Tamlin and the show she was putting on for everyone. He had been too confident in his abilities, in the familiar efficacy of his powers. His powers that were now gone. Worse than gone — they belonged to her. His greatest enemy.