A Court of Games and Fate

Prologue

                                                                               The Mountain's Heir

          The horrors witnessed Under the Mountain with Amarantha's rule were absolutely nothing compared to the twisted, cruel hand fate dealt when the wretched queen became with child. A child that was nothing more than a further promise of power and long-standing reign. Rhysand could harbor many emotions and feelings of guilt, but nothing prepared him for the reality of his seed being stolen and used in a way that was far beyond even his control. The High Lord of the Night Court had always wanted children one day, but not like this. Never like this.

          Amarantha had never considered children outside of the pawns they were in political schemes. The queen of her own forced domain knew her lover's power and how much stronger it was compared to the other Lords. None of the other men could hold a flame to the magic radiating from Lord Rhysand, therefore none of the other men were deemed suitable for the task of providing her an heir. See, Amarantha adored her power, her control, and she had zero intentions of releasing this from her vice grip. A properly trained heir, along with meticulously thought out marriage planning, allowed for her rule to remain even long past her death. There was never the typical pregnancy glow on the crooked queen. Only the glow of a female who knew she won and will continue to win.

          On the thirty-third anniversary of the creation of the court held Under the Mountain, the Mountain's heir was born. A female by the name of Andromeda, who cried loudly and heartbreakingly, as if she too knew the fate that beheld her within this court. With curls dark as night and violet eyes that beheld the stars she would never see, Rhysand could hardly contain the devastation that the child so closely resembled his likeness. The devastation that stemmed from how little he could shield this unlucky child from this darkened world. Devastation for the atrocious acts that may be committed by somebody who so clearly was his spawn. Rhysand had no power over this child, at least none that would not immediately give up his position and rip away the mask he bore of the wicked Lord of the Night Court, darkness incarnate, ruler of nightmares, and Amarantha's whore. All Rhysand could do to keep his court and his heir safe was keep up his ruse and present himself as an uncaring father, biting down the growing sickness within him over the knowledge that he could never truly protect the one thing that should matter to him most in this world.

          On the thirty-third anniversary of Amarantha's rule, the court held Under the Mountain all bowed to their princess, the harbinger of their fates.