ACOTAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 9

From the doorway, I could see Cerridwen and Nuala applying last minute touches to Feyre's appearance. They had set her in a typical dress of our court, white and very revealing. From the mirrors reflection I could see the two strips of fabric went from her shoulders, over her breasts, and met at her hips to flow between her legs. The sides of her legs were completely exposed, from the tops of her thigh down to her feet. Her back was bare, displaying her delicate skin. But her face, as I knew it would be, was fixed into a scowl as she tugged on the fabric, wanting to tear it to shreds. "I wouldn't do that."

Feyre's eyes flicked to me in the reflection. "Our bargain hasn't started yet," she said tightly through her teeth.

"Ah, but I need an escort for the party. And when I thought of you squatting in that cell all night, alone..." The former was true, there were many others who would leap at my invitation. But the latter, I felt more strongly than I was ready to admit - to myself or her. I dismissed the two females, leaving Feyre and I alone. She turned as the two disappeared, passing through the wall. A chuckle escaped my throat at the stunned look she stood there with. "You look just as I hoped you would."

"Is this necessary?" Feyre gestured to the gown, her face, her hair - the paint that covered every inch of her from the neck down. It flawlessly matched with our bargain imprinted on her left arm and hand. She was dazzling in her attire, she would fit right in with my court. Her features were accentuated in the best way, making her even more celestial than she already was.

The markings were necessary, though. Taking her anywhere near Amarantha and the other High Fae, Tamlin especially, was risky. I had to ensure her safety and my loyal front. Most of my time was spent deciding how to achieve both. "Of course. How else would I know if anyone touches you?" I moved forward and traced a finger along the curve of her shoulder. The paint smeared at first, but rearranged itself back into their markings. "The dress itself won't mar it, and neither will your movements. And I'll remember precisely where my hands have been." How could anyone forget. "But if anyone else touches you - let's say a certain High Lord who enjoys spring time-" Or anyone else for that matter, "I'll know." And I'll rip out their teeth.

Feyre only stared back, the essence of her nerves lingering in the air. Our faces were close, very close. Just like in those dreams. I broke the tension, flicking her nose. "And Feyre, I don't like my belongings tampered with." I didn't even know who was speaking anymore. Every word that dribbled from my lips were dry of common sense. Luckily, she made no retort and had no questions - none she voiced, anyway. "Come," I reached out my hand, "We're already late."

***

Sounds of the Midsummer celebration echoed through the halls. Music and laughter that did not match the place we dwelled. Feyre strode alongside me, chills rippling against her skin that turned her nipples peaked. Mother above... I would avoid looking at that as much as possible. It was obvious how uncomfortable she was, physically and emotionally. There were many necessary evils of this entire design, ones I would have to explain myself for I was sure. I didn't like them either but, I had to ensure both of our safety. And what was better? Rotting away in those cells, losing ones sanity, or an escape? Was I convincing myself or the future Feyre who demanded these answers?

There was a sudden shift in Feyre upon entereing the throne room. Another aspect I hadn't thought of. Of course this would be distressing to her. The last two times she was here were less than pleasant. One, of which, almost ended her life. I remained composed and nodded to the faeries we passed. Each eye passed to me with a bow, then to Feyre, many pulling into a devilish smile. And I tallied each one. I kept Feyre close enough to let the others know who she was with, but left enough space for her own autonomy as we continually approach the dais.

My breath stopped at the foot of the dais, peering up at Amarantha. Whispers and hushed murmurs creeped through the gallery, even the music seemed to lower in our presence. Tamlin sat beside her, ever unmoving, ever emotionless. "Merry Midsummer."

Amarantha donned a festive gown of pastels to match the significance of the event. Her face didn't match the elegance of it. "What have you done with my captive?"

"We made a bargain." My eyes went to Tamlin, waiting for his recognition. "One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task," I lifted her arm to distinguish where the paint ended and that bargain began. "For the rest of her life." It was wrong to feel the satisfaction of that sliding over my tongue. I knew she would have a life, after the trials, with Tamlin. My contentment quickly swept away.

Amarantha only eyed us both, perhaps deciding if this was a deliberate insult to her or feeding my own selfish desires. But she only said, "Enjoy my party."

I steered Feyre and I toward the long tables of refreshments. The awfulness was almost over for her, at least. Goblets of wine were lined along the elegant tables. It would affect Feyre much differently than faeries, probably erasing most of this night for her, which was my intentions. I didn't like doing this but, again, what was better? The alternative of freezing in a damp, dark cell or - I was arguing with myself once more. "Wine?"

Feyre simply shook her head. She was too smart for my own good. Wise, very wise to turn down this wine. But, for what I needed to do, I didn't want her to see that.

"Drink. You'll need it."

Feyre reached her hand forward but stilled, inches from the cup. "No."

I lilted my voice, "Drink." This felt very, very wrong. My insides were turning. But Feyre finished her reach and grabbed the goblet, splashing back the beverage. My shoulders instantly laxed, but my gut remained twisted.

***

It was truly abhorrent, my plan. From the leer Lucien bore into me, I knew this would get back to Feyre. Tamlin kept his unnatural stoicism, avoiding any and all eye contact with me and who spun in my arms. I did hate myself for this, but to have her so close, our skin grazing each others.. it was magnetic. My hands remained on her waist. Enough smearing of the paint for show, but I wouldn't dare violate her physically. I was already doing enough of that to her, mentally. That ache in my center grew stronger.

We danced and danced and drank some more. And during our breaks, I fed her pieces of each luxurious meal that was served. Which she washed down with even more wine. This time, not from my own prodding. In my lap she shoveled back desserts and shifted to the music. I was in awe of her. She was sensual, often pinning me to my seat with her eyes. The way she looked at me, it wasn't completely devoid of disgust, but it wasn't the standard loathing that so often filled them.

***

The night, reluctantly, came to a close. The musicians finished their last song, trailing off into a somber end. Very fitting. Clanking of silverware and dishes bounced around the room. And Feyre, she was barely hanging to a thread of consciousness. Her kohl liner was smeared with sweat, gold glittering flecked around her face. Her rouge was entirely gone from her lips, now staining glass rims and napkins. I smiled.

So thoroughly exhausted, I propped Feyre into my arms and guided her from the throne room. Nuala and Cerridwen were outside my doors, but I waved them away. Almost to the stairs, Feyre could no longer keep herself standing. I swept her legs over my arm, her upper back resting on my other. She fell in and out of sleep as we descended into the cells. No guards were there to meet us, most likely in a similar state to Feyre after that party. I rested her in the worn spot of the floor where she slept, her warm skin meeting the icy ground. I thought about giving her my coat, but, I was pushing it too far as it was. I willed some heat into the room, it would last long enough to allow her to fall into a deep rest. I turned back at her peaceful, sleeping form. I winced at that ache still festering in my chest and slipped away, back to my empty room.