Acotar retelling

Mercy

The next night, I was again washed, painted, and brought to that miserable throne room. Not a ball this time—just some evening entertainment. Which, it turned out, was me. After I drank the wine, though, I was mercifully unaware of what was happening.

Night after night, I was dressed in the same way and made to accompany Rhysand to the throne room. Thus I became Rhysand's plaything, the harlot. I woke with vague shards of memories—of dancing between Rhysand's legs as he sat in a chair and laughed; of his hands, stained blue from the places they touched on my waist, my arms, but, never more than that. He had me dance until I was sick, and once I was done retching, told me to begin dancing again.

I awoke ill and exhausted each morning, and though Rhysand's order to the guards had indeed held, the nightly activities left me thoroughly drained. I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine, dozing to escape the humiliation I endured.

I had finished being painted and dressed—my gossamer gown a shade of blood orange that night—when Rhysand entered the room. The shadow maids, as usual, walked through the walls and vanished. But rather than beckon me to come with him, Rhysand closed the door.

"Your second trial is tomorrow night," he said neutrally. The gold-and-silver thread in his black tunic shone in the candlelight. He never wore another colour.

It was like a stone to the head. I'd lost count of the days. "So?"

"It could be your last," he said, and leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms.

"If you're taunting me into playing another game of yours, you're wasting your breath."

"Aren't you going to beg me to give you a night with your beloved?"

"I'll have that night, and all the ones after, when I beat her final task."

Rhysand shrugged, then flashed a grin as he pushed off the door and stepped toward me. "I wonder if you were this prickly with Tamlin when you were his captive."

"Of course I was, who do you take me for?" I smirked at him.

"Perhaps if he'd bothered to learn a thing or two about cruelty, about what it means to be a true High Lord, it would have kept the Spring Court from falling."

"Your court fell, too."

Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I felt it—deep inside me. My gaze drifted to the eye etched in my palm. I asked, "When you were roaming freely on Fire Night—at the Rite—you said it cost you. Were you one of the High Lords that sold allegiance to Amarantha in exchange for not being forced to live down here?"

Whatever sadness had been in his eyes vanished—only cold, glittering calm remained. A shadow of mighty wings stained the wall behind him. "What I do or have done for my Court is none of your concern."

"And what has she been doing for the past forty-nine years? Holding court and torturing everyone as she pleases? To what end?"

"The Lady of the Mountain needs no excuses for her actions."

"But—"

"The festivities await." He gestured to the door behind him.

I knew I was on dangerous ground, but I didn't care. "What do you want with me? Beyond taunting Tamlin."

"Taunting him is my greatest pleasure," he said with a mock bow. "And as for your question, why does any male need a reason to enjoy the presence of a female?"

"You saved my life."

"And through your life, I saved Tamlin's."

"Why?"