Dance of Fate

Chapter Four

TEN YEARS LATER

-Under the Mountain-

I wondered if this ball could possibly be any more dull. Not even nine glasses of wine were enough to entertain me. 

"You look like you're having fun." The only voice I was happy to hear said. I turned to see a smirking Rhysand, though his smile didn't reach his eyes. "I could say the same of you." I sighed. I examined him a bit more, noticing the darkness under his eyes. I clenched my fists, urging down the anger and intense surge of power that came with it. "Easy." Rhys warned. I sighed again.

An image that didn't match the scenery that was just before me flashed into my mind. Something crashed against a chair, like it had been thrown with a noticeable amount of force.  A million little pieces of shattered glass shimmered in the light, wine splashing everywhere. 

I blinked, and I was back at the ball, facing my brother. I blinked again, trying to make sense of what I had just seen. I rarely had visions anymore, and they never made any sense, like this one. I'd had a few of the stars, like I was watching them through someone else's eyes. Sometimes I saw woods. Other times just sky. They were always short, and never seemed to have any meaning. Honestly, they just kept reminding me of the world above, outside of this mountain, like they were taunting me.

"You alright?" Rhysand asked, his voice low. I focused my thoughts away from the vision, urging myself back to the present. "I'm fine." I said, turning my eyes to the ball before us. No one ever appeared to be truly enjoying themselves. They really seemed like they were faking it, like they could convince themselves they were having fun. Of course such a thing did not exist here, and never would.

I never danced. I never spoke to anyone other than Rhysand. I just drank and drank, praying that it would be enough to drown out the memories that the dancing people brought. It worked most of the time. But not always.

Some nights, I wasn't able to keep the memories out. The feel of Azriel's hands gripping my waist, of him lifting me into the air and spinning me around would invade my senses until I wanted to bang my head against the wall to make them stop. I remembered all of it, all too well. It was like I was in my own personal hell every time he crossed my mind.  

Suddenly, the ballroom's doors were thrown open, and a red haired male stepped in. Everyone stopped, even the music, but the male did not pay any mind. Instead, he just walked up to the dais, where Amarantha was lounging on her throne as usual.

 It took me a moment to recall who it was, but as I noticed the looks of pure hatred that the Vanserra's were giving the male, I instantly realize it was the High Lord of the Autumn Court's youngest son, Lucien. 

What kind of idiot was he to strut in here, when he could be enjoying his temporary freedom above this miserable court? I couldn't help but be envious of him, and the entire Spring Court. I couldn't help but resent them a bit, too. Tamlin was a useless prick. He had the chance to save us, to save all of Prythian, and he had still not done it. I didn't imagine it would be too difficult to make a human girl fall in love with you, especially being a High Lord and all. And yet, thirty five years later, he had still not managed to break the curse. Rhys said it was because he was so incredibly boring, that not even a fly could ever be attracted to him. 

Lucien Vanserra halted a respectable distance from the throne, his eyes flashing to the left of Amarantha's throne, were Rhysand and I stood. Our eyes met for half a second, before he looked away, unease filling his expression.

I resisted the urge to scoff, deciding to take a brief look in his head, although I was almost sure I knew the reason he was here. Upon rifling through his thoughts, I realized I was right. He was here on behalf of Tamlin.