𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚

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╰┈˚ · ° .  ONCE OUT OF THE THRONE ROOM they had separated us. I didn't know where my sister was. But without showing any resistance, I was thrown into a dungeon.

A very familiar sight, indeed.

Days passed and the only thing that I could hear were the screams of agony of the faeries trapped down here, probably tortured for nothing more than the amusement of the twisted Fae Queen. But suddenly those screams were replaced by the scrape of the cell door against hard dark stone that made the pavement.

Two red-skinned faeries entered the cell. Another species of Faerie that I knew could only come from the lands of Hybern. I rose to my feet without uttering any words but one of them tried to reach for my arm. Not very sharp of them, I would say. Ducking to the side and glaring at said faerie, I noticed how their reflexes were even worse than the ones of the blue creatures.

"There is no need for that. I will follow you." I hissed, keeping my hands away from my weapons to not spook them further.

The two red-skinned faeries clenched their jaws, but nevertheless they moved to the side making an opening for the outside of the cell for me to walk through before gesturing for me to go forward.

Marking the path that we took to the throne room was instinctual. And since this place was a labyrinth carved in the rock, I picked out any details in the hall—interesting cracks in the walls, features in the tapestries, an odd bend— anything to remind me of the way out of the dungeons.

I entered the throne room, already there, at the foot of the dais, kneeled my sister for the High Queen.

"Oh here she is. The other twin. I was asking your sister about your names. As I said to her, you know mine. Isn't it fair that I know yours?"

I looked at her, the sarcastic answer on the tip of my tongue, but I stood still, not emitting even a louder breath.

Amarantha's jaw clenched when she understood that no answer would've come from me. Fury shone in her eyes.

"Rhysand," Amarantha said—not needing to raise her voice to summon him. That was the extent of her power.

Casual, strolling steps sounded from behind. Those steps stopped when they were beside me.

The High Lord of the Night Court bowed at the waist. Night still seemed to ripple off him, like some near-invisible cloak.

Amarantha lifted her brows. "Are these the girls you saw at Tamlin's estate?"

He brushed some invisible fleck of dust off his black tunic before he surveyed us. His violet eyes held boredom—and disdain. "I suppose."

"But did you or did you not tell me those girls," Amarantha said, her tone sharpening as she pointed to Clare and Ava still nailed to the walls, "were the one you saw?"

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Humans all look alike to me."

Amarantha gave him a saccharine smile. "And what about faeries?"

Rhysand bowed again—so smooth it looked like a dance. "Among a sea of mundane faces, yours is a work of art."

Flattery. And such a bad one that almost made me snort.

"That was the most fake compliment I have ever heard." I thought, and for some reason, I already knew he had heard it too.

Rhysand knew exactly how we looked— he'd recognized us easily that day at the manor. But both Feyre and I said absolutely nothing to his reply though.

"What are their names?" She demanded of Rhysand.

"How would I know? She lied to me."

"I did." I nodded agreeing with the High Lord.

"If you're inclined to play games, girls, then I suppose we can do this the fun way," Amarantha said, heaving an annoyed sigh. She snapped her fingers at the Attor, who reached into the crowd and grabbed someone. Red hair glinted as the Attor yanked Lucien forward by the collar of his green tunic.

I tried to contain any facial expression, looking as unbothered and as unfazed as possible. Everything that could indicate that he could ever indicate a weakness. Even after all the hate that I reserved for everyone other than my sisters, Lucien was someone that I somewhat learned to stand. And he was going to get hurt because of us.

Better him than my sisters. Better him than my sisters. I repeated in my mind. I did not know if Amarantha wanted our last name too, and I would not put them in any danger by speaking of our name.

"Stop it. You are getting on my nerves." I heard Rhys' voice. I didn't acknowledge the fact that it had become even easier for me to hear him.

Amarantha flicked a finger in Rhysand's direction. The High Lord of the Night Court lifted a groomed brow. "Hold his mind," she commanded.

Lucien went utterly still, sweat gleaming on his neck as Rhysand bowed his head to the queen and faced him.

Behind them, pressing to the front of the crowd, came four tall, red-haired High Fae. Toned and muscled, some of them looking like warriors about to set foot on a battlefield, some like pretty courtiers, they all stared at Lucien—and grinned. The four remaining sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. His brothers.

And what shitty brothers.

"Their names, Emissary?" Amarantha asked Lucien. But Lucien only glanced at Tamlin before closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders. He was too loyal to Tamlin to say anything.

Lucien's brothers lurked on the edges of the crowd—no remorse, no fear on their handsome faces.

Amarantha sighed. "I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue." Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, himself, into dust.

"Their names?" she asked Tamlin, who didn't reply. His eyes were fixed on Lucien's brothers, as if marking who was smiling the broadest.

Amarantha ran a nail down the arm of her throne. "I don't suppose your handsome brothers know, Lucien," she purred.

"If we did, Lady, we would be the first to tell you," said the tallest. He was lean, well dressed, every inch of him a court-trained bastard. Probably the eldest, given the way even the ones who looked like born warriors stared at him with deference and calculation—and fear.

I watched it all. My eyes ice cold and my face a mask of boredom.

Amarantha lifted her hand in command. Rhysand cocked his head, his eyes narrowing slightly on Lucien.

Lucien stiffened. A groan slipped out of him, and—

"Feyre!" My sister shouted. "My name is Feyre."

Amarantha nodded and Rhysand stepped back. He hadn't even removed his hands from his pockets.

Lucien sagged on the ground, trembling. His brothers frowned—the eldest going so far as to bare his teeth at Feyre in a silent snarl.

"Feyre," Amarantha said, testing her name "An old name—from our earlier dialects." Her eyes then drifted to me. "What about your name?"

I waited a couple of seconds to answer, just enough time to see those sparkles of anger shine in her eyes at the delay.

"Maiven" I replied.

"And tell me Maiven." The Queen said, her hands gripping her throne, looking much amused at everything. "What would you not do for your sister? Because you were definitely going to let Lucian die."

"Does it matter?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Amarantha narrowed her eyes before answering "I decide what matters, assassin." She hissed. Taking a calming breath she smiled again. "But I guess that I already know the answer, don't I?" She heaved a sigh, one filled with nostalgia. It almost seemed like memories played before her eyes. "You would do anything for her."

Clythia. Her sister. Clearing her throat and mind from the memories,

Amarantha turned towards Feyre. "Well, Feyre. I promised you a riddle. Solve this, Feyre, and you, your sister, your High Lord, and all his court, may immediately leave with my blessing. Let's see if you are indeed clever enough to deserve one of our kind."

There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet, And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.

At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair,

But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.

By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet, But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.

For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow...

As Feyre said nothing a ripple of laughter spread across those assembled, the loudest ones coming from Lucien's brothers. Rhysand was watching her, wreathed in night and smiling faintly.

"Think on it," Amarantha said consolingly, and flicked a grin down at her ring—at the eye swiveling within. "When it comes to you, I'll be waiting."

Just as she said that the door opened. With careful silent steps he entered the room. His pointed ears showed through the long black straight hair.

I knew that it wouldn't be much before he would've come.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my fear arising knowing that he was here.

I met Rhysand's eyes, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I looked like nothing had changed on the outside, but somehow he knew. He knew that I was terrified.

The male walked forward, passing Rhysand and Feyre and I, reaching the dais with elegant strides. Dresses all in leather, his long hair having only a couple of braids to keep the front strands away, Braken bowed to the waist. A sly grin on his lips.

"My Queen." He said. And to my ears I knew he had said it as a mockery. Not that anyone noticed, I just knew him enough to know that he was the only person that he could ever have in such high regards.

I turned towards Feyre, I always knew that there was no way that Amarantha, the High Queen, didn't know Braken.

He was here now and I belonged to him.

"I'm sorry." I mouthed to my sister knowing that she would blame herself for this.

Because I knew she would soon understand that the show that I did when first arrived here, was for the enjoyment of the Queen. For her to recognize the fighting style, for her to recognize an assassin of The League. Because someone like Amarantha enjoyed power, and to only need to give a singular look to command someone to kill, to torture, to do her bidding and her whatever darker thought crossed her mind, was a much better option then a mere human that she was convinced wouldn't even live to see the first trial.

"Braken. My friend. A long time has passed since I last saw you, dear." Amarantha purred, her long nail tapping the arm of her dark throne.

"I know, my queen. You must forgive me." Braken answered, his voice like the cares of a caring lover. "You sent someone to tell me that you have something of mine, but I can already see what it is."

At his words I squared my shoulders, arms behind my back as I took a couple of steps forward. What it is.

Everything seemed to still. Faeries and High Fae alike in the crowd stared with could only be confusion. Braken and his assassins were far too infamous even in the land of Prythian.

Amarantha watched with wicked amusement as I didn't dare to look away from the marble floor.

Braken turned around and waited for the one thing that I couldn't help but not do.

Kneeling.

Both my knees touched the floor, the coldness radiating from it only helped ice my heart. My head was bowed down in submission, arms behind my back

But I wasn't kneeling for Amarantha. No. It was for him. For Braken.

I could feel his stare from my position, like the feeling of his whip on my back. He stared as a predatory grin formed on his lips, eyes glistened with so much amusement...

"Hello, my little creature."  

✎

˗ˏˋ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ˊˎ˗

Hello everyone!

Plot twist! Did you think that something like that was gonna happen?

My question now is, what do you think will happen next?

Maiven lives to spite Amarantha even in the smallest ways, lmao. I find them hilarious.

Anyways, thank you for reading this chapter, I'll see you on Thursday!

˚ · ° . 𝐔𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐞 . ° · ˚

𝐓𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞!

– 𝐋𝐨𝐥𝐚 ☾