bloodlust

9

She stealthily avoided Rhysand for another week before a dress with a note magically appeared hanging in her room. It was a gorgeous, draped cornflower blue gown with a high slit up the side. The bustier was corseted and shone with an intoxicating iridescence.

The note read, "Feyre darling, be ready by 8."

She groaned, realizing she didn't have very much time to get ready. She wasn't sure why she obeyed, and thought about just blatantly disregarding his orders, when her tattoo began to burn again. She hissed in pain, holding her arm to her chest protectively. As always, the burn stopped when she began doing as she was told.

So, she bathed and dressed and styled her hair and looked like a perfect little doll when finally a knock sounded at her door. She opened the door to reveal an immaculately dressed Rhysand. His scent hit her immediately and went to her head like a drug. She fought to scowl at him, attempting to not let him know he'd affected her in any way.

"We're attending a dinner tonight with my inner circle."

Her stomach dropped. Why would he want her to come to such a thing? Rhysand's inner court was intimidating to say the least. She was certain there was nothing she could add with her presence, so why did he want it? On the way, he stopped in his office, claiming to have forgotten something.

She crossed her arms, following him to the edge of his desk and sighing impatiently as he shuffled through some papers. She looked around, noticing a closet sitting slightly ajar. Rhysand's brow was furrowed as he read something, and she walked over to the closet quietly, pulling the door open and peeking inside.

Shelves and shelves of bottled potions lined the inside of the small room. Her lips parted as she read the labels. They spanned from pain concoctions to memory potions, even truth serum. She paused when she came to a sparkly purple jar. There were significantly less of them. Only two of the bottles sat on the shelf, and they were slightly dusty when she picked them up. They were tucked in the back corner, like he'd honestly forgotten they were there.

The label read 'Lust'. Feyre's brow quirked up and she fought back a bubbling laugh. Rhysand had a lust potion in his closet. She heard his footsteps, sliding it into the deep pockets on her dress she was now incredibly grateful for.

"Are you ready to go, nosy girl?" He said with an elegantly arched black brow, his lips curled slightly in amusement. Oh she couldn't wait to wipe that smile off his face when she interrupted his plans for the night. She was stoked on the thrill the idea of sneaking Rhysand the lust potion gave her. He'd never see it coming.

"Yes," she said confidently, following him through the Great Hall until they arrived at the dinner.

"That's bullshit and you know it!" The conversation at the table was already intense, the stunning blonde woman clearly enraged by something the two men with demon's wings sprouting from their back. Feyre recognized Azriel immediately. That face was impossible to forget. His intelligent eyes scanned her, giving her a small nod of greeting.

"Rhys, tell him he can't just keep me in the dark because he knows something will piss me off!" The blonde shouted, her hand held out toward the one with longer hair. Feyre's mind, however, latched onto the level of comfort the blonde had to call him Rhys. She wondered if perhaps they were together.

"Can you two save your squabbling for someone who cares?" Rhysand rolled his eyes, serving himself a glass of red wine and pouring some into Feyre's glass as well. She gingerly took a sip. "Morrigan, keep the peace, would you?"

"Cassian, I am a part of this, whether you like it or not,"  Morrigan said, ignoring Rhysand's request. Feyre's eyes immediately flicked to capture Rhysand's reaction, but he just looked mildly unamused as he drank the deep red liquid from his long-stemmed goblet. Odd. This was not at all his normal temperment. Rhysand seemed... comfortable.