The Devil You Know

Part I: Chapter 3

The girl had fallen asleep eventually, which had let Rhysand sleep for a few hours himself. He made sure to be out of the room before she woke, leaving her a note about the clothes in the armoire for her and to not leave his room. He could of course lock her in, but he wanted her to try to open the door—to see for herself that he had purposefully left it unlocked should she decide to leave.

He was praying to the Gods that she didn't.

"You look tired, Rhysand," Amarantha purred from her place on the throne. She had called him up to the dias. "Where's the girl?"

"I'm afraid she's a bit...indisposed." Rhysand chuckled.

Amarantha let out a laugh that sounded like the caw of a crow.

"Very well then," she replied. "I expect to see her at the end of the week festivities."

"Of course, my Queen."

The wretched day went on as normal, though Rhysand had to deal with more snide remarks outside of the typical "whore" ones thrown his way. He was sneered at by the other High Lords as they made comments about his willingness to use that girl as revenge for what Tamlin's family did to him.

As much as it hurt to hear, he was used to it by now. The end of this week would mark the twenty-fifth year under the mountain. He had dealt with years and years of these remarks, of Amarantha's cruelty for the sake of his own court. And he would keep dealing with it for the same reason.

Amarantha had gotten word from one of her cronies that some humans had slipped past the wall into the Spring Court, likely ones part of that fanatic cult that called themselves Children of the Blessed. She had sent the Attor and a group of guards to retrieve them and bring them here.

Two human women and a young boy had been dragged into the throne room hours later.

Amarantha made them all endure hours of screams and cries as she had the humans tortured beyond recognition. Rhysand did as much as he could to hold their minds, to spare them some of the pain. It was never enough. It would never be enough. Each death under this mountain was another gouge in his soul.

He was drained by the time the night festivities began. Part of him wanted to down as much wine as possible until he passed out from the alcohol. But he couldn't. He needed to keep his wits about him right now—especially with the girl that may or may not be in his room at the moment.

Fae danced to the horrid music, others played games and gambled.

It wasn't until dinner was served that Rhysand realized he had left Irelia in the room with no food. He hoped she hadn't gone looking for some on her own. The dinner dragged on forever. As usual, Amarantha made him sit at her side—her hand on his thigh the entire time as she told the same stories over and over again.

The fae around her appeased her with their fake laughter, pretending as if they had never heard of her tales. He played his part, kept to his role. He dreaded each minute that passed, waiting for Amarantha to excuse herself to her chambers with him on her arm.

By some miracle of the Gods, she waved him away when night came. Gave him a wink and told him to continue to enjoy his new present. It should've been a relief, and in part it was, but it also made him weary as to what she was doing during the times he was normally with her.

He high-tailed it from the throne room, only stopping by the kitchens to tell them to send a plate of food up to his room for Irelia.

He wasn't sure what he was going to be greeted with when he entered his room, but he prayed she had followed his orders and stayed put. It was the safest place for her in this Gods awful place right now.