A Court of Chaos and Confusion - An ACOTAR Rewrite

Chapter 34

If I was counting the schedule of my meals correctly, about four days after I'd seen Rhysand, two High Fae females arrived in my room.

They appeared through the cracks from slivers of darkness, just as Rhysand had in my cell. But while he'd solidified into a tangible form, these faeries remained mostly made of shadow, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They remained silent when they reached for me. I didn't fight them – there was nothing to fight them with, and nowhere to run. The hands they clasped around my forearms were cool but solid – as if the shadows were a coating, a second skin.

They had to have been sent by Rhysand – some servants of his from the Night Court. They could have been mutes for all they said to me as they pressed close to my body and we stepped – physically stepped – through the closed door, as if it wasn't even there. As if I had become a shadow, too. My knees buckled at the sensation, like spiders crawling down my spine, my arms, as we walked through the dark hall. None of the guards stopped us – they didn't even look in our direction. We were glamoured, then; no more than flickering darkness to the passing eye.

The faeries brought me up through dusty stairwells and down forgotten halls until we reached a nondescript room where they stripped me naked, bathed me, and then – to my horror – began to paint my body.

Their brushes were unbearably cold and ticklish, and their shadowy grips were firm when I wriggled. Things only worsened when they painted more intimate parts of me, and it was an effort to keep from kicking one of them in the face. They offered no explanation for why – no hint of whether this was another torment sent by Amarantha. Even if I fled, there was nowhere to escape to – not without damning Tamlin, Lucien, and the entire Spring Court - especially not naked. So, I decided to stop demanding answers, stop fighting back, and simply let them finish.

From the neck up, I was regal: my face was adorned with cosmetics – rouge on my lips, a smearing of gold dust on my eyelids, kohl lining my eyes – and my hair was coiled around a small golden diadem embedded with lapis lazuli. But from the neck down, I was a heathen god's plaything. They had continued the pattern of the tattoo on my arm, with more whorls and spirals with intricate flowers, leaves, and stars. Once the paint had dried, they placed on me a gauzy white dress.

If you could call it a dress. 

It was little more than strips of white gossamer fabric, just wide enough to cover my breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections flowed down to a jeweled belt slung low across my hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between my legs to the floor. From the cold air on my skin, I knew most of my backside was left exposed.

The cold breeze caressing my bare skin was enough to kindle my rage. 

The two faeries ignored my demands to be clothed in something else. Their impossibly shadowed faces veiled from me, but held my arms firm when I tried to put my tunic back on.

"I wouldn't do that," a deep, lilting voice said from the doorway. Rhysand was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

I should have known it was his doing, should have known from the matching designs all over my body. "Our bargain hasn't started yet," I snapped. The instincts that had once told me to be quiet around Tam and Lucien utterly failed me when Rhysand was near.

"Ah, but I need an escort for the party." His violet eyes glittered with stars. "And when I thought of you squatting in that room all night, alone..." He waved a hand, and the faerie servants vanished through the door behind him. I flinched as they walked through the wood – no doubt an ability everyone in the Night Court possessed – and Rhysand chuckled. "You look just as I hoped you would."