If She Had Known

The High Lord of Summer

Before I could fully register what was happening, I was pulled into Rhys' embrace, his arms locked tight around me as if I would be ripped from him. Amarantha wanted to make a scene, and I could feel Rhys' resentment and worry that her attention would find it's way to me once again.

"Rhysand." Amarantha called into the grand room, her gaze not leaving the sobbing faerie kneeling at her throne. Tamlin, motionless and expressionless as ever at her side. A beast without claws.

The events came back to me all at once as Rhys' cool and casual demeanor settled over him, his muscles relaxing. He pulled me into his side and whispered low in my ear, an edge of desperation in his voice, "Stay close to me."

As if I would ever leave.

The crowd parted as if we were on fire as we approached, the fear clear on their faces as they realized what Rhys was being called to do. His grip on me tightened a fraction before he let go completely, a parting glance telling me to stay at the edge of the crowd. I saw the carnal urge to keep me close to him, so that he might protect his vulnerable mate warring with the want to keep me far from the Queen of the Mountain and outside of her watchful eye. I tried to return some kind of look that would make any of this easier, but there was not much I could do.

Amarantha caressed her ring, watching every movement that Rhysand made as he approached. "The summer lordling," she said of the male cowering at her feet, "tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why."

I almost gasped when I spotted Tarquin at the crowd's edge— his hair near-white, eyes of crushing, crystal blue, his skin of richest mahogany. But his mouth was drawn as his attention darted between Amarantha and Rhysand. I would learn later on that this moment would be one of the worst for the High Lord of summer during his time here. His desperate attempts to get some of his people out of this nightmare thwarted and punished, but it was also a moment that would later solidify the friendship between Summer and Night.

Rhysand slid his hands into his pockets and sauntered closer to the male on the ground.

The summer fae cringed, his face shining with tears. My eyes stung with tears as the male wet himself at the sight of Rhysand. "P-p-please," he gasped out. Sometimes I forgot just how powerful my mate was, and was not the only one to do it. The High Lords that had considerable magic of their own could stand to forget. But the lower faeries among us hadn't forgotten for a moment. He was the stuff of nightmares. The night court was so frightening, artists were afraid to paint it on maps.

The crowd was breathless, too silent.

His back to me, Rhysand's shoulders were loose, not a stitch of clothing out of place. But I knew his talons had latched onto the faerie's ming the moment the male stopped shaking on the ground.

The High Lord of summer had gone still, too— and it was pain, real pain, and fear that shone in his eyes. Tarquin was a new and untested High Lord who had not yet had to make choices that cost him lives.

After a moment of silence, Rhysand looked at Amarantha. "He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice." He jerked his chin toward the puddle growing beneath the male. From the corner of my eye, I saw Tarquin sag with what I knew was relief, but looked like sadness.

This had been one of the moments I had started to see Rhys for who he truly was— a good and noble male who would do anything to protect the people he loves and would do anything he could to help an innocent. And it hadn't been just this one instance. Rhys had allowed the vilification of his character as a carefully played hand. He let me believe we were enemies to keep me angry enough so that I wouldn't dissolve into my own despair. Tarquin would not forget this, and neither would I.

Amarantha just rolled her eyes and slouched in her throne. "Shatter him, Rhysand." She flicked a hand at the High Lord of Summer. "You may do what you want with the body afterward."

Tarquin bowed as if he'd been given a gift and looked to his subject, who had gone still and calm on the floor, hugging his knees. The male was ready— relieved.

Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and it dangled at his side. I could almost see phantom talons flickering there as his fingers slightly curled.

"I'm growing bored, Rhysand," Amarantha said with a sigh, again fiddling with that piece of bone. She hadn't looked at me once, too focused on her current prey.

Rhysand's fingers curled into a fist.

The faerie male's eyes went wide— then glazed as he slumped to the side in the puddle of his own waste. Blood leaked from his nose, from his ears, pooling on the floor. And he was dead.

I watched as whatever remaining stars in my mates eyes winked out. There were so few to be seen here.

"I said shatter his mind, not his brain," Amarantha snapped.

The crowd murmured around me, stirring. Tamlin hadn't flinched— not a muscle. And at this point, I hadn't expected to. I hadn't expected much from him anyway.

Rhysand shrugged, his hand sliding back into his pocket. "Apologies, my queen." He turned away without being dismissed, and didn't look at me as he strode for the back of the throne room. I fell into step beside him, struggling to keep up with his pace. I brushed my knuckles across his fingers, as much comfort as I could give him while all eyes were on us.

The crowd stayed far, far back as we walked through it. "Whore," some of them softly hissed at him, out of her earshot; "Amarantha's whore." But many offered tentative, appreciative smiles and words— "Good that you killed him; good that you killed the traitor."

Rhysand didn't deign to acknowledge any of them, his shoulders still loose. He didn't pause once on that long trek across the throne room, but when we reached the food and wine at the back of the room, he handed me a goblet and downed one alongside me.