Accidentally Fated

Chapter 21

Night after night, Celaena was washed and then dressed. Dressed in the same style and presented as Rhysand's plaything. She drank, danced, and woke up the next morning with fragmented memories of the previous night. Shattered memories of dancing between Rhysand's legs and resting on his lap. The only indication that he touched her was the smudges on her body.

She prepared herself for tonight. Once again, star-struck by her sheer beauty. She seemed to be more and more transfixed by her reflection with each night. Rhysand even made a complaint about being late because of it.

Though the High Lord made no sound, she knew the moment he appeared. Celaena was starting to become used to his presence.

"Your second trial is tomorrow night," He said by way of greeting.

"So?"

"It could be your last,"

She gave him an unimpressed look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He gave her a look.

Before the assassin could dissect that look, he led her to the throne room.

They reached the throne room, and she braced herself to be drugged and disgraced again. But it was Rhysand the crowd looked at. Amarantha's clear voice rang out over the music, summoning him.

He paused, glancing at red-headed males, who seemed to be brothers. And who were looking at Celaena that she was their next meal.

"Just stay close, and keep your mouth shut," he murmured in her ear as he led her by the arm. The crowd parted and the assassin mentally rolled her eyes at the male's command.

A brown-skinned High Fae male was sobbing on the floor before the dais. Amarantha was smiling at him like a snake—so intently that she didn't even spare Celaena a glance. Beside her, Tamlin remained utterly impassive.

Tonight was not about her then. How disappointing.

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."

Oh. This was bad.

There was a tall, handsome High Fae male standing 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. She vaguely remembered seeing him before, during that first task—the High Lord of the Summer Court. Before, he'd been shining—almost leaking golden light; now he was muted, drab. As if Amarantha had leeched every last drop of power from him while she interrogated her subject.

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

The mask of the evil High Lord in place.

The Summer faerie cringed, his face shining with tears. Her own bowels almost turned watery with shame as he wet himself at the sight of Rhysand. "P-p-please," he gasped out.

From the glint in the queen's eyes, the assassin knew that the male was done for.

The High Lord of Summer had gone still, too—and it was pain, real pain, and fear that shone in those stunning blue eyes.

Celaena could almost taste his fear as he trembled before Rhysand. And Rhys, well there he was, not a hair out of place. She watched him as he entered the blue-eyed male's mind. She knew when he entered, from how still the other male went. So this is what Rhysand did for Amarantha. What he tried to do to her too, when the assassin revealed that she knew his secrets.

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."

Lies. Rhysand was such a liar.

Celaena knew that he was spewing nonsense instantly. She knew that Rhys was not truly Amarantha's pet. That he done that to protect others from the same unavoidable fate, or for his own interest.

Nonetheless, Amarantha did not seem to notice that he was feeding her lies.

The queen was truly a fool for thinking that her right-hand male was so loyal. Amarantha rolled her eyes and slouched in her throne. "Shatter him, Rhysand." She flicked a hand at the High Lord of the Summer Court. "You may do what you want with the body afterward."

The High Lord of the Summer Court 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 faerie was ready—relieved.

Rhys slipped a hand out of his pocket, and it dangled at his side, and his fingers curled.

"I'm growing bored, Rhysand," Amarantha said with a sigh, again fiddling with that bone. She hadn't looked at Celaena 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. That fast—that easily, that irrevocably ... he was dead

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

The queen was pissed. Because Rhysand had granted the poor male mercy. The mercy of death rather than whatever horrors the queen would have no doubt wanted to upheaved onto him.

The room was filled with quiet murmur as Rhys shrugged.

"Apologies, my queen."

Celaena wondered if anyone else noted the mocking in his words.

The queen certainly did not. But she did look displeased with Rhys turning his back on her without being dismissed. If the lord wasn't careful, Amarantha might very well kill him too.

Celaena regained her steps behind him and picked up on the surrounding murmurs.

"Whore," They said. "Amarantha's Whore."

Then there were others. Those that approved of his actions, and thus told her that there were some that were loyal to the queen.

Celaena did not say anything. Did not do anything to give away the precious information she had just acquired. Instead, she pretended not to notice the darkness in Rhysand's eyes as she drank the wine he gave her.