𝙰 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜: 𝚂𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚌 𝙴𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢(𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 34)

i'm picturing Arobynn from TOG for male Amarantha. Pic above.

  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

     The Attor kept its icy grip on my upper arm as it half dragged me to the throne room. It didn't bother to strip me of my weapons. We both knew they were of little use.

     Tamlin. Alis and her boys. My sisters. Lucien. I silently chanted their names again and again as the Attor loomed above me, a demon of malice. Its leathery wings rustled occasionally--and had I been able to speak without screaming, I might have asked why it hadn't killed me outright.

     The Attor just tugged me onward with that slithering gait, its clawed feet making leisurely scratches on the cave floor. It looked unnervingly identical to how I had painted it.

      Leering faces--cruel and harsh--watched me go by, none of them looking remotely concerned or disturbed that I was in the claws of the Attor. Faeries--lots of them--but few High Fae to be seen.

     We strode through two ancient, enormous stone doors--taller than Tamlin's manor--and into a vast chamber carved from pale rock, upheld by countless carved pillars.

     That small part of me that had again become trivial and useless noted that the carvings weren't just ornate designs, but actually depicted faeries and High Fae and animals in various environments and states of movement. Countless stories of Prythian were etched on them.

      Chandeliers of jewels hung between the pillars, staining the red marble floor with color.

      Here--here were the High Fae.

      An assembled crowd took up most of the space, some of them dancing to strange, off-kilter music, some milling about chatting--a party of sorts.

      I thought I spied some glittering masks among the attendees, but everything was a blur of sharp teeth and fine clothing.

      The Attor hurled me forward, and the world spun. The cold marble floor was unyielding as I slammed into it, my bones groaning and barking. I pushed myself up, sparks dancing in my eyes, but stayed on the ground, kept low, as I beheld the dais before me. A few steps led onto the platform. I lifted my head higher.

      There, lounging on a black throne, was Amaros.

      Though attractive, he wasn't as devastatingly handsome as I had imagined, wasn't some god of darkness and spite. It made him all the more petrifying.

      His red-gold hair was kept long, much like Lucien's, with several strands braided. He wore a golden crown, the deep color enriching his snow-white skin.

      But while his ebony eyes shone, there was some kind of permanent sneer to his features that made his allure seem contrived and cold. To paint him would have driven me to madness.

      The highest commander of the King of Hybern. He'd slaughtered human armies centuries ago, had murdered his slaves rather than free them. And he'd captured all of Prythian in a matter of days.

      Then I looked to the black rock throne beside him, and my arms buckled beneath me.

      He was still wearing that golden mask, still wearing his warrior's clothes, that baldric--even though there were no knives sheathed along it, not a single weapon anywhere on him. His eyes didn't widen; his mouth didnt tighten. No claws, no fangs. He just stared at me, unfeeling--unmoved.

      Unimpressed.

"What's this?" Amaros said.

      From his neck hung a long chain--and from it dangled a single, age-worn bone the size of a finger. I didn't want to consider whom it might have belonged to as I remained on the floor. If I shifted my arm, I could draw my dagger--