A Court of Madness and Depth

Chapter 3

AN: Just a reminder that this is a prologue to ACOTAR. This story happens about 500 years before. Rhys hasn't evolved into the feminist icon we know him to be today... yet. xxx

The morning of our first training session I woke early, before my brother. For the past few nights the mountains had trembled. Rhysand had continued to sleep on the floor of my bedroom. Each night I had awoken to find him deep in a nightmare. Only through our mental bond could I soothe him. I would cradle his head in my lap as he thrashed. I would ease myself into his palace of nightmares and find the fragile most infantile part of his mind, the bit of consciousness that remained trapped in a horrific memory of the Blood Rite.

Watching my brother's memories of the Rite from inside his mind was unsettling. Sometimes he was with Azriel and Cassian, sometimes he was alone. He was always covered in blood. I would call his name and when he would turn to face me the look he shot towards me was feral, utterly primal. Kill or be killed.

Last night had been different from the rest. After I had awoken him the violent blood thirsty expression hadn't left his face. Though awake, he remained trapped in the Rite. He had grabbed for me, and thankfully my fighting lessons with my mother had allowed me to subdue him. In his manic state it was easier to force him to sit down, to breathe deep, and to look at me. When clarity glazed over his violet eyes once again I saw something within him break. Tears spilled out of them and I held him while he wept.

Once he was calm we lay next to each other on my bed, staring up at my domed ceiling, which was made of thick glass, allowing us to see the stars above. From the time spent inside his memories of the Rite I knew that staring up at the stars had been one of his small comforts while in hell. As we lay together I held his hand and he clutched me so tightly it was as if I was his only tether to reality.

"In the Rite, while I was fighting for Azriel and Cassian's lives I realized something," he whispered, so quietly that I could hardly hear him, " I don't think I want to be High Lord."

I sucked in a deep breath. It was the first time my brother had ever said the words aloud to me. I had suspected, essentially known, but hearing the words aloud was completely different. If my father knew what my brother said he would utterly destroy him as penance.

"High Lords have too many enemies and I have too much to lose. I have so many people I love, so many people who can be taken from me. I don't want to live consumed with fear that I will lose everything."

"You put too much pressure on yourself to protect us."

"Someone has to."

The reality, harsh and condescending, sat in between us. There was a truth to his words, but also an offense. My brother was the only male in our family who would stop at nothing to protect my mother and I. He would give his own life for us, I was sure. My father may not be relied upon to do the same.

However, there was a way my brother spoke, something in his tone that was soaked in resentment. As a male he believed it was his duty above all else to protect the females in his family. I bristled slightly at the unspoken lack of confidence in my mother and I defending ourselves. After pushing that defensive feeling to the side. I took a deep breath, letting my confidence gather deep within me, building like a steady wave reaching for the surface.

"You don't have to be High Lord," I said softly. The words were a test, a light push. I was dipping my toe into the pool of possibility and hoping to wade into the depths of my dreams. Rhysand studied my face with calculation. He did not push into my mind, he simply brushed the fabric of the woven strands. I let four words slip through those woven cords and caress the part of him that waited. I could not speak the words out loud.