Ravening

cool ink

Opening your eyes, the first thing you noticed was the blissful absence of pain and shards of bone poking out of your hand.

The second: that it was still being held by Rhysand.

The third: the intricate tattoo that like a black lace enveloped your arm from the tips of your fingers and climbed up to your elbow.

"I must have been out for a while if you had time to draw all this. Were you bored?" The artist inside you appreciated it.

Rhys looked at you with a quizzical expression, silently asking if you were serious.

"It's magic, Feyre."

"Oh."

The handsome demon took pity on this uncultured mortal and explained.

"It's a custom of the Night Court to seal and represent bargains with ink."

"Ohhhh."

He chuckled at your impressed face.

"Though a certain high lord might not be too pleased to see it."

You were currently wondering what kind of magical arbiter decided the tattoos' designs, so you missed the subtle dig at Tamlin. Why was there an eyeball on your palm?

And as you examined the detailed lines, there was another thing that caught your attention.

"Oh my, you even cleaned me!" You exclaimed in surprise, there was no longer any mud, blood or vomit on your body and even your disgusting clothes were now crisp and fragrant. 

"Thank you for that, it felt like I was prematurely rotting."

Rhysand smiled in discomfort. Stop being so kind to Feyre! Don't be nice, don't be grateful. His rotten heart can't bear to act as a villain if you continue to treat him like a friend. You should be spitting on him and cursing him out. Why was there a smile on your face when looking on a piece of cursed **** like him?

"Why would I waste time healing you if you just decided to get sick from the dirt and die anyway," he mused as carelessly as he was able to. "You're my little toy now, I need to take some care of you."

Your heart ached at those words. Curiously though, it was not unpleasant at all. Because underneath all those insults and mockery, you felt something that almost seemed genuine.

"Then can you answer this little toy's question?"

"Hm?" Rhysand tilted his pretty head.

"Is Lucien okay?"

Surprise flashed across the immortal's face, amethyst eyes scanned you wordlessly.

Were you already aware? No, there was no way you could know what had happened to Lucien. It was probably just a good guess. That, or there was someone else helping you... Rhysand didn't like that idea.

"You wouldn't have come if Lucien was going to show up." You said with little doubt. The evidence for such claim... you had none. Still, you were almost certain. You had no idea it was the queen who first expressed her interest. And Rhysand wasn't going to tell you on the off-chance this knowledge would make you happy.

"And Lucien would definitely come if he could. But since he has helped me during the task..." Your eyes searched in Rhysand's for confirmation.

"Yes, well, she is not very fond of cheaters. That foxy friend of yours made her quite displeased."

Forgetting death was squatting in front of you, you gripped Rhysand's shirt.

"What happened?"

So this was what kind of person you were, Rhys thought, far too kind for this world.

"Well..." A smile grew on his face. He seemed to be recalling a fond memory. It made you inch away – and he noticed that. Even though he was playing a role, it made his mood sour.

"Your High Lord had to abandon his stoic act for a bit to save the fox's life. It was refreshing seeing him grovel at her feet." Anger raised inside your chest, but you calmed it down, you needed answers.

"And?"

"Hm? Oh, he was tasked with deciding on the punishment himself. Twenty lashes." Your blood grew cold, poor Lucien.

"Yes well, I don't expect he'll show up here for a while. Even if he manages to get out of bed, he's not going to risk it."

Although your heart sank when you heard those words, you managed to swallow your disappointment. "Good." As long as he keeps away from you, he will be safe... you hoped.