ACOTAR (Rhysand's POV)

Chapter 10

The line where Feyre's needs ended and my desires began, were becoming a blur. She could not be left alone in that cell. It was too dark, too full of despair, and absolutely reeked. Her figure was emaciated still, even with the meals I had sent down there. I had put a stop to her chores, but now had her posing as my escort. Was I fooling myself to think this was better? Was it better for her, or for me? The guilt ate at my conscience, night by night, as Feyre was plucked, prodded, and dressed for me. Yet, I didn't send her back down to that cell. I couldn't. 

Feyre spun between my legs as I sat, wine in hand, and a large grin on my face. The weight of the mask had become unbearable, but it could not slip. Not while Amarantha watched from her throne. Her eyes slipped to mine frequently, analyzing. Every moment had to be calculated. The only reprieve was when I watched Feyre. The way she moved to the music, her hips rolling and arms above her, was enticing. It was no difficult task to look mesmerized - I was.

But each night, after laying Feyre in her cell, I would swallow the bile that rose in my throat. The disgust in my actions, my choices, and, most of all, the pleasure I felt when Tamlin would grip his seat. His knuckles white, sentenced to his apathy, while watching his beloved twirl in my arms. For what he did to my family, I relished the torture the scene must cause him. What I saw in his eyes with Feyre's hands in mine, was only a fraction of the anguish I had that day, long ago. The wounds still felt fresh. An eternity wasn't long enough to forgive, and surely not long enough to forget. Still, I could not miss when Feyre's eyes met Tamlin's each night, just before the wine took hold. The pain and the love conveyed within in them were familiar. Along with the guilt, the pleasure, and pain, I felt shame.

***

The orange dressed flowed in a similar manner to all the rest, but she was just a striking. Instead of going directly to the throne room, I closed the door. While we spent every night together, we rarely exchanged words, aside from the occasional sneering and disparaging comment. I wanted to know what was in her mind. "Your second trial is tomorrow night." 

Confusion flicked over Feyre's eyes, but she quickly composed herself. "So?" 

"It could be your last." 

"If you're taunting me into playing another game of yours, you're wasting your breath." It was meant to sound more sharp, but I could hear the exhaustion in her voice. The wine may have helped pass the days, but it did a hell of a job on her physically. 

"Aren't you going to beg me to give you a night with your beloved?" The hold on my thoughts was falling apart day by day. I hoped I wasn't planting an idea in that pretty little head.

Feyre remained standing in front of the mirror, arms folded across her chest. "I'll have that night, and all the ones after, when I beat her final task." The words stung my skin. 

I loosely strode toward her. A smile tried to form, but I tightened my lips into a hard line. Her amusing quips were something I'd never tire of. "I wonder if you were this prickly with Tamlin when you were his captive."

"He never treated me like a captive - or a slave." Irritation glowed in her eyes. 

"No - and how could he? Not with the shame of his father and brothers' brutality always weighing on him," And it should. "The poor, noble beast. But perhaps if he's bothered to learn a thing or two about cruelty, about what it means to be a true High Lord, it would have kept the Spring Court from falling." Bitterness laced my tongue and the words slid out like the blade of a knife from its sheath.

"Your court fell, too." The bile rose, once again, and I gulped it down. My eyes burned with anger, with grief. It took me several moments to straighten myself, to tuck those thoughts back into their place, tightly. Feyre must have felt it, regardless of how brief it was, because she quickly changed the subject. "When you were roaming freely on Fire Night - at the Rite - you said it cost you. Were you one of the High Lords that sold allegiance to Amarantha in exchange for not being forced to live down here?" 

I clamped down, hard, on that darkness swirling within. I felt it thrashing and gnawing to get out. Whatever sadness existed in my gaze, vanished at her question. "What I do or have done for my Court is none of your concern." I chastised myself for opening my mouth, to even starting this conversation. 

"And what has she been doing for the past forty-nine years? Holding court and torturing everyone as she pleases? To what end?" She was too comfortable asking these questions. Right, but edging on dangerous. 

"The Lady of the Mountain needs no excuses for her actions." It came out droll and unconvincing. 

"But-"

"The festivities await." A finality to the conversation. I turned to the door, gesturing us to leave. 

Yet, Feyre continued. "What do you want with me? Beyond taunting Tamlin?" 

If that's what she thought my only motive was, then good. I only hoped it seemed as much to the others. "Taunting him is my greatest pleasure. And as for your question, why does any male need a reason to enjoy the presence of a female?"

"You saved my life." 

"And through your life, I saved Tamlin's."

"Why?" 

"That, Feyre, is the real question, isn't it?" The air vibrated, an energy both of us felt. It hung there as I led her to the door. It was a question I asked myself often, during the many sleepless nights I now faced. Why was I doing any of it at all?

***

"Rhysand." Amarantha summoned from her dais as Feyre and I entered. Lucien's brothers stood near, creeping forward, toward Feyre. I stifled a snarl and whispered in her ear, "Just stay close, and keep your mouth shut." A High Fae male knelt on the marble floor. His sobs rang over the murmurs and whispers of the crowd. From his back, I could tell he belonged to the Summer Court. The dress, their rich-toned skin and fierce white hair, were markers of their homeland. I glanced back at Feyre to find her looking right back. Please, stay there. I was afraid to turn, fearing she would be gone if I looked again. 

"The summer lordling tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why." Amarantha caressed her ring, Jurian's eye swirling in response. I stopped mere feet from the male, Brutius. A cousin to the Summer Court's High Lord, Tarquin. Like his cousin, Tarquin had smooth, dark skin. His hair shared the same icy hue, and had stark blue eyes. I kept my face laxed, almost looking bored to be bothered with such a nuisance, and slipped into Brutius' mind. 

Many faces of the Summer Court looked back at Brutius. They laid out their plan, speaking only a hair above a whisper. Nerves, excitement, and hope shuttered through their small gathering. The lordling knew he would be the one to test the exit. He offered to, in place of his High Lord. The chances of being caught were high. Not impossible, but definitely risky. And if they were caught- He didn't want to think about it. It was pride and pain that glimmered in the High Lord of Summer's eyes, looking at his family. Months of planning came down to this-

I pulled myself out of the memory. I could sense the High Lord of Summers' fear nearby, even stronger than what emanated from the lordling himself. "He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory." I gained as much from the glimpse of memory. "He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice." 

Amarantha rolled her eyes. "Shatter him, Rhysand. You," she motioned to Tarquin, "may do what you want with the body afterward." The scent of dread and fear in the air now shifted to despair. "I'm growing bored, Rhysand." Amarantha breathed a sigh of impatience. 

I invaded Brutius' mind once more, gripping tightly, caressing the fear, removing the pain, as his eyes glazed over and he dropped. His mind as empty as I felt.

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

I shrugged. "Apologies, my queen." Without waiting for a response or reprimanding, I turned. I didn't care.

I stalked to the tables lining the back of the room, covered with refreshments. The silence began to fill with chatter, lilting into full blown conversations, already forgetting what just happened. I sense her trailing me. I should feel some kind of contentment, that she listened, that she came back to me, but I didn't. I couldn't. We came to a stop at the table of food and drink. I ignored the glances and comments as I grabbed a goblet and handed another to Feyre. Without meeting her eyes, I threw back the drink. And then another. And another.