𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟑

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 "

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╰┈˚ · ° .  ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴅᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪɢʜ ꜰᴀᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ɢɪʀʟꜱ sat together at the table for lunch—which was breakfast for all of them.

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent. Feyre hid her smile as she asked him, "And where were you last night?"

Lucien's metal eye narrowed on Maiven before turning to Feyre. "I'll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, and I was sober enough I got stuck on border patrol." Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, "With some company." He gave her a sly grin. "Rumor has it you two didn't come back until after dawn."

"You bit my neck on Fire Night," She said under her breath. "If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing."

Maiven widens her eyes at the new information. She, of course, had talked with Feyre. She knew of her feelings for the High Lord and the looks that the two exchanged but this information was new.

Tamlin braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to the girl. "Nothing?"

As Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him and Maiven groaned putting her hands to her face, the two lovers didn't seem to spare them a glance as they continued to flirt shamelessly.

"Nothing,"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm trying to eat," Lucien said

"We, we are trying to eat" Maiven muttered with a huff

"But now that I have your attention, Tamlin," Lucien snapped. With some effort, Tamlin glanced back at his emissary. "Not to be the bearer of truly bad tidings, but my contact at the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me." Lucien took a steadying breath "The blight," Lucien said tightly, softly. "It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen, all gone." He swallowed. "It just ... burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything—no one could stop it once it turned its attention toward them. Their grief is ... unfathomable. My contact says other courts are being hit hard—though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed. But the blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way—farther south with every attack."

"The blight can ... can truly kill people?" The oldest twin managed to say.

Tamlin's eyes were shadowed, and he slowly shook his head—as if trying to clear the grief and shock of those deaths from him. "The blight is capable of hurting us in ways you—" He shot to his feet so quickly that his chair flipped over. He unsheathed his claws and snarled at the open doorway, canines long and gleaming.

The house, usually full of the whispering skirts and chatter of servants, had gone silent.

Maiven knew that someone was near. Someone powerful. She quickly stood up from her chair and grabbed her sister by her shoulder not so gently.

"Get Feyre to the window—by the curtains" She said lightly pushing the girl into Lucien's arms.

Maiven hoped that at least with her here she could cover up the human scent of her sister.

The younger twin sat herself down in the chair, one from where she could see the entrance of the room.

She picked the small blade from her boot and rested her back on the chair. The blade twirling between her fingers.

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

Tamlin continued cleaning his nails, Lucien assumed a position of appearing to be looking out the window as Maiven still twirled her blade between her fingers, a look boredroom on plastered on her features . The footsteps grew louder—the scuff of boots on marble tiles.

And then he appeared. The men from Fire Night.

Of course, just my luck— Maiven thought.

"High Lord," the stranger crooned, inclining his head slightly. Not a bow.

Tamlin remained seated "What do you want, Rhysand?"

Rhysand smiled, putting a hand on his chest. "Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don't see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that." His grin widened as he finished, and something in his countenance turned feral and deadly. Rhysand turned as he ran an eye over Lucien. "A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien."

"Go to Hell, Rhys," Lucien snapped.

"Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble." Rhysand said, and faced Tamlin again. "I hope I wasn't interrupting."

"We were in the middle of lunch," Maiven said—her voice void of any warmth as the cold mask of the assassin was now placed back on her face.

Rhysand eyes snapped to me smirking "The girl from the Fire night. The human girl" He preciside.

Rhysand knew that the girl was there since he entered the mansion. He knew. He just didn't know how he knew.

Maiven tilted her head. The predator look in her movement made Rhysand smirk just wilder

"What are you doing here, Rhys?" Tamlin demanded, still in his seat.

"I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present."

"Your present was unnecessary."

"And lacked of any sense of creativity" Maiven added glancing at the knife that was still twirling in her hand

"But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't it?" Rhysand clicked his tongue and surveyed the room. "Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don't know how you managed it. But," he said, facing Tamlin again, "you're such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed like a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised, though: forty-nine years, and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again."

Maiven couldn't understand what Rhysand was saying; everything that she cared about at that moment was Feyre. And she was in danger with him here

"There's nothing to be done," conceded Tamlin, his voice low.

Rhysand approached the blond fae, each movement smooth as silk. His voice dropped into a whisper "What a pity that you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin—and an even greater pity that you're so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago."

Lucien interrupted, "What do you know about anything? You're just Amarantha's whore."

"Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons. At least I haven't bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell."

Lucien's sword rose slightly. "If you think that's all I've been doing, you'll soon learn otherwise."

"Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you."

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. "Watch your filthy mouth."

Rhysand laughed, low and soft. "Is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian? Come now, Tamlin," Rhysand said. "Shouldn't you reprimand your lackey for speaking to me like that?"

"I don't enforce rank in my court," Tamlin said.

"Still?" Rhysand crossed his arms. "But it's so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you."

"This isn't the Night Court," Lucien hissed. "And you have no power here—so clear out. Amarantha's bed is growing cold."

Rhysand snickered, but then he was upon Lucien, too fast for to follow with human eyes, growling in his face.

"I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born," Rhysand snarled. Then, as quickly as he had come, he withdrew, casual and careless. "Besides," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females? You can't truly believe he learned everything in his father's little war-camps."

"Gross" Maiven mumbled under her breath scrunching up her face.

Of course everyone in the room heard thanks to their enchanted hearing but Mai really couldn't have cared less.

Tamlin rubbed his temples. "Save it for another time, Rhys. You'll see me soon enough."

Rhysand meandered toward the door. "She's already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you've already been broken and will reconsider her offer." Lucien's breath hitched as Rhysand passed the table. The High Lord of the Night Court ran a finger along the back of Feyre's chair—a casual gesture. "I'm looking forward to seeing your face when you—"

Rhysand studied the table.

The table was still set for four, Feyre's half-eaten plate of food sitting right before him.

"Where is your twin?" Rhysand asked turning towards Mai

"Home" She simply answered without turning her attention from her blade but Maiven could still see the High Lord

"Where's your guest?" Rhysand asked, lifting Feyre's goblet and sniffing it before setting it down again.

"Tamlin sent them off when he sensed your arrival." Maiven lied coolly.

Rhysand now faced the High Lord, and his face was void of emotion before his brows rose. A flicker of excitement—perhaps even disbelief—flashed across his features, but he whipped his head to Lucien. Magic burst into the air, and now, Feyre stared at Rhysand in undiluted terror as his face contorted with rage.

"You dare glamour me?" he growled, his violet eyes burning as they bore into hers. Lucien just pressed her harder into the wall.

Tamlin's chair groaned as it was shoved back. He rose, claws at the ready, deadlier than any of the knives strapped to him. Maiven was quickly to follow, unsheathing the knife on her thigh.

Rhysand's face became a mask of calm fury as he stared and stared at the older twin. "Here is the other twin," he purred looking at Mai who simply rolled her eyes. He turned to Tamlin. "Who, pray tell, are your guests?"

"My betrothed and her sister," Lucien answered.

"And, who is the betrothed and who is the sister?" The High Lord of the Night Court asked raising an eyebrow

"I am definitely not the betrothed," Maiven said snorting. For the situation they were in, that was highly inappropriate but Mai was Mai and even in now she couldn't resist to throw her sharp comments

Rhysand turned towards the girl. He now noticed the knife in her right hand that accompanied the blade in her left one. He noticed the faint scars on her neck and face and more noticeable ones of her hands. He was surprised that a human girl could even fathom to look at a faerie without passing out but here she was, the same girl that dared to point a knife to his throat at the Fire Night and now more than ready to do it again to protect her sister. For a second his mind traveled and he thought of Cassian, the General Commander of his armies. His brother. He could see the two getting along very well. Probably spitting out insults to each other and then teaming up to annoy everyone else with sarcastic comments.

Rhysand sharp eyes turned to Lucien, ready to play his part once again "Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your commoner lover after all these centuries," Rhysand said, stalking toward Feyre

Lucien spat at Rhysand's feet and shoved his sword forward

Rhysand's venom-coated smile grew. "You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you'll learn how quickly Amarantha's whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady."

The color leached from Lucien's face, but he held his ground. Maiven held her blade tightly ready to do everything that she could to help her sister. It was Tamlin who answered. "Put your sword down, Lucien."

Rhysand ran an eye over Feyre. "I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you'd actually dabble with mortal trash." Lucien was trembling—with rage or fear or sorrow "The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I'd keep your new pet well away from your father."

"Leave, Rhys," Tamlin commanded, standing a few feet behind the High Lord of the Night Court. And yet he didn't make a move to attack, despite the claws, despite Rhysand still approaching the oldest twin.

Rhys brushed Lucien aside as if he were a curtain.

There was nothing between him and Feyre now.

"If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. Both of you. It's a wonder that you're still here, actually." Her confusion must have been written across her face, for Rhysand laughed loudly. "Oh, they don't know, do they?"

"You have seconds, Rhys," Tamlin warned. "Seconds to get out."

"If I were you, I wouldn't speak to me like that."

The tang of magic erupted through the air as Rhysand entered Feyre's mind

"Let her go," Tamlin said, bristling, but didn't advance forward. A kind of panic had entered his eyes, and he glanced from Feyre to Rhysand. "Enough."

"I'd forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells," Rhysand said, and ran a finger across the base of her throat. "Look at how delightful she is—look how she's trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise. She has the most delicious thoughts about you, Tamlin," he said. "She's wondered about the feeling of your fingers on her thighs—between them, too." He chuckled. Rhysand turned to the High Lord. "I'm curious: Why did she wonder if it would feel good to have you bite her breast the way you bit her neck?"

"Let. Her. Go." Tamlin's face was twisted with such feral rage that it struck a different, deeper chord of terror in me.

"If it's any consolation," Rhysand confided to him, "she would have been the one for you—and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She's more stubborn than you are."

Maiven quietly and deadly slipped behind the High Lord of the Night Court. Her knife pressed to the base of his throat as her blade on his back. It was close enough that he could feel the tip of it on his skin between the layers of clothes.

"Let her go. Now. I won't repeat it another time. I am not as patient as the High Lord of the Spring Court here is and not as benevolent." Mai finished pressing tighter the knife to his neck.

To say that Rhysand was surprised was an understatement. He just showed her that he could just shatter her mind like it was nothing and still she pointed those knives at him. Threatened his life.

Rhysand let out a small laugh, being cautious at the steel that the human girl held against him.

Those invisible claws lazily caressed Feyre's mind again—then vanished. She sank to the floor, curling over her knees as she looked at her sister. Maiven slowly retired her blades from the High Lord as she helped her Feyre to stand up

"Amarantha will enjoy breaking her," Rhysand observed to Tamlin talking about Feyre "Almost as much as she'll enjoy watching you as she shatters her bit by bit." He then nodded his head towards Mai "But she will enjoy breaking you the most" He said with a cruel smirk

"Someone already did, sweetheart. And now, there is nothing that will make me break again. He made sure of it " Maiven revealed with a taunting smile

Rhysand titled his head trying to understand the meaning of her words but Tamlin was frozen, his arms—his claws—hanging limply at his side.

"Please" was all that Tamlin said.

"Please what?" Rhysand said—gently, coaxingly. Like a lover.

"Don't tell Amarantha about her," Tamlin said, his voice strained."About them"

"And why not? As her whore," he said with a glance tossed in Lucien's direction, "I should tell her everything."

Maiven wasn't stupid. She knew that there was something else. Rhysand wasn't Amarantha's whore for nothing. But she didn't care. Not now when he was still a threat.

"Please," Tamlin managed, as if it were difficult to breathe.

Rhysand pointed at the ground, and his smile became vicious. "Beg, and I'll consider not telling Amarantha."

Tamlin dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

"Lower."

Tamlin pressed his forehead to the floor, his hands sliding along the floor toward Rhysand's boots.

Rhysand pointed at Lucien. "You too, fox-boy."

Lucien's face was dark, but he lowered himself to his knees, then touched his head to the ground.

"Are you doing this for your sake, or for theirs?" he pondered, then shrugged, as if he weren't forcing a High Lord of Prythian to grovel. "You're far too desperate, Tamlin. It's off-putting. Becoming High Lord made you so boring."

"Are you going to tell Amarantha?" Tamlin said, keeping his face on the floor.

Rhysand smirked. "Perhaps I'll tell her, perhaps I won't."

In a flash of motion, Tamlin was on his feet, fangs dangerously close to Rhysand's face.

"None of that," Rhysand said, clicking his tongue and lightly shoving Tamlin away with a single hand. "Not with the ladies present." His eyes shifted to the twins' faces. "What are your names?"

Maiven glanced at her sister. She knew that they couldn't give their family's name. Mai looked at the High Lord clenching her jaw to show frustration as she gave him their names. Or in reality, the names of the only other twins in their village.

"Ava" Maiven said "Ava and Claire Beddor" Mai finished

"And tell me who is the younger and who is the oldest of you two?" Rhysand asked amused.

"None of your business" Maiven hissed

"I am older" Feyre breathed out. She was really trying to prevent her sister getting killed by the High Fae

"Hmm" He hummed "Interesting" Rhysand turned back to Tamlin "Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in ages, actually. I'm looking forward to seeing you four Under the Mountain. I'll give Amarantha your regards."

Then Rhysand vanished into nothing—as if he'd stepped through a rip in the world—leaving them alone in horrible, trembling silence.

✎

˗ˏˋ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ˊˎ˗

Hello everyone! New chapter!

I don't know how to feel about this chapter actually but there is a mention of Cassian!!

This is the end of Act 1!!! 

Anyway please if you liked this chapter, leave a comment and a star. I really appreciate it.

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!

– 𝐋𝐨𝐥𝐚 ☾