Stepping through the gates of the Court of Nightmares after five centuries stirred a disquiet I rarely felt. This place, within my own Night Court, was alien to me, a realm of unruly beasts I held little interest in governing. The mask of the cruel High Lord, under which they cowered, was easily donned. Power surged within me, enough to drown them all if I so desired.
But today’s visit was different. Today, an important observer was present, someone whose feelings towards me remained an enigma, and how she would react to the monstrous charade I was about to enact was even more uncertain. Especially the monster that would be pawing at her in front of this court I held in contempt.
Cassian and Azriel stood as sentinels at the imposing doorway leading to my throne room. Feyre was already inside with Morrigan. I could hear the sharp, grating tones of Keir, Morrigan’s father, as they greeted each other – a sound that twisted my gut with revulsion. I resisted the urge to delve into Keir’s mind, to witness his perception of Feyre, fearing I might lose control and obliterate him then and there.
Azriel subtly shifted, his shadows attuned to the tense exchange. “Ready?” Cassian’s brows arched in question.
With the ease of unbuttoning a shirt, I released the damper on my power. Darkness billowed from me in waves, a tangible fog so thick it blurred the line between my black tunic and the encroaching shadows. The stars swirling above my head blazed with unwavering light, forming a formidable crown, palpable even within the mountain’s deepest recesses. There was solace in this release, in embracing my true self, a state I rarely permitted myself. My oldest companion, the darkness that soothed and empowered.
I nodded to Cassian. Together, he and Azriel swung open the massive doors. They entered first, stepping into the now eerily silent hall, packed with gathered courtiers. The ground trembled beneath my advance as I followed, my gaze instantly finding Feyre. She stood as instructed, head lowered.
In a synchronized motion, the entire court knelt.
“Well, well,” I drawled, relishing the power I wielded over this detested court. “Looks like you’re all punctual for once.” My voice dripped with boredom, my eyes sweeping over the cowering figures with feigned disinterest.
Then, Feyre shifted, and my blood ran cold. Morrigan’s handiwork was striking. Feyre was adorned in a flimsy sheet of black fabric, daringly revealing, threatening to expose her most intimate curves. For a fleeting, disorienting second, we were back Under the Mountain. I was on the precipice of plying her with drink, attempting to erase the memory of my manipulative schemes. Guilt pricked at me as I halted before her, my fingers clamping onto her chin with deliberate force.
“Welcome to my home, Feyre Cursebreaker,” I bit out, turning her face towards me with predatory command. “Come with me.”
Feyre rose, the fabric clinging and swaying. Cauldron damn me, my guilt morphed into something primal, a surge of pure, animalistic instinct. I tightened the leash on my carefully constructed mask as the fabric shifted, revealing the gentle curve of her hips, now fuller, softer than when she’d first fled the Spring Court. Her breasts were high, ripe, seemingly straining against the thin material, and her lips – damn Morrigan and her cunning artistry – were full, red, and pulsing with an invitation to be tasted.
A subtle, involuntary smile, not entirely for the benefit of my court, touched my lips as I settled onto my throne. I practically pulled Feyre onto my lap, positioning her intimately against me. My hands found the delicate cage of her ribs, the smooth curve of her inner thigh, tracing teasing circles on her skin with my thumb. Aside from a slight tremor of discomfort at the initial coolness of my fingers, which I instantly rectified, Feyre seemed… composed.
And so, the performance began. I was acutely aware of the court, still kneeling, their eyes fixed on us. I leaned close to Feyre’s ear, my breath ghosting over her skin as I half-whispered, “Try not to let it go to your head.”
“What?” Feyre’s voice was soft, questioning.
“That every male in here is contemplating what they’d sacrifice to have that pretty, red mouth of yours on them.”
My muscles tensed, anticipating Feyre’s reaction, gauging if she could stomach this charade, a cruel echo of the nightmares she endured in Amarantha’s vile prison.
But then Feyre’s gaze swept over my court, a look that claimed them as if they were hers. No fear. No revulsion. Only a chilling, regal command as a smile, as treacherous as the serpents etched into the throne, curved her lips.
A hum resonated through my blood. I had dreaded this day, fearing it would shatter her, perhaps regress her to the brokenness she had fought so hard to overcome, dredging up the trauma of her past. We still had a treacherous path ahead, but seeing the deadly smile Feyre aimed at the kneeling fae ignited a spark of confidence. A smile I desperately hoped to one day elicit for myself, a smile meant only for me.
My thumb ventured a fraction higher on Feyre’s thigh, and she leaned into the touch, a subtle yet undeniable shift, pressing herself even closer against me.
“Rise,” I commanded at last, and the court obeyed. I dismissed them to their meaningless intrigues with an air of supreme boredom, before summoning Keir to the dais. Morrigan’s father approached, his face a mask of strained composure. My inner circle watched him from the periphery, eyes narrowed, especially Azriel, whose gaze lingered on Truth-Teller strapped to his back. The day Azriel plunged that blade into Keir could not come soon enough.
“Report,” I spat, a barely perceptible nod signaling my friends to disperse. Within seconds, Azriel vanished into the shadows, and I sensed Mor and Cassian melting into the throng.
“Greetings, milord,” Keir’s voice was surprisingly even, devoid of the usual tremor, especially when addressing me. “And greetings to your… guest.”
I glanced at Feyre, momentarily pausing the lazy circles on her thigh. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”
“Indeed… There is little to report, milord. All has been quiet since your last visit.”
“No one deserving of punishment?”
“Unless you wish for me to select someone here, no, milord.”
“Pity,” I murmured, my gaze never leaving Feyre. Nervousness, cold and sharp, intertwined with the stars above, tightening its grip as I contemplated my next move. She would likely despise me, deem me irredeemable for using her body in this manner, but the act was necessary. Keir, and by extension, all of Prythian, needed to believe the illusion.
A flicker of fear, laced with the agonizing sting of potential rejection, flashed through my mind, conjuring images of loathing and disgust in her eyes. Summoning resolve, I leaned towards Feyre, my lips finding the delicate curve of her earlobe, nipping gently with my teeth. Shivers rippled through her. Her stomach tightened, her back arching slightly. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought she would recoil, flee from me in disgust.
But then, her body softened, her limbs went limp, her legs subtly widening around mine. She yielded, falling back against me, into me. I dared to resume the enticing circles of my thumb on her thigh, and heard her breath catch, felt the burgeoning heat radiating from her core. My thumb stilled instantly. Was she… enjoying this?
Feyre sighed, a breath so faint it was almost imperceptible, and my stroking resumed, a renewed confidence surging through me. It required conscious effort to maintain the facade of bored indifference as Keir droned on, his one-sided report fading into background noise.
Feyre remained pliant, unyielding to my touch. Her body molded to mine, drawing the room’s collective gaze, despite the music and the feigned revelry. My index finger joined my thumb, each pass higher on her thigh, my other hand grazing the underside of her breasts, the deceit and longing blurring into a potent haze. I was falling, and falling hard.
Would she hate me for this? Would she curse me? What I was doing felt perilously close to abuse. Guilt, sharp and relentless as a storm-tossed sea, gnawed at me. She had no obligation to be here, to endure this. I slammed shut the doors to my mind, erecting an impenetrable barrier, lest I be tempted to breach hers and confront the ugly truth of my actions reflected in her thoughts.
Yet, I couldn’t stop touching her. Couldn’t command my fingers to find another, less treacherous, territory. It was both a reprieve and a torment when Keir’s voice interrupted my ministrations, my thumb a mere breath away from slipping beneath the fabric at Feyre’s crotch.
“I had heard the rumors, but I confess, I doubted their veracity,” he said, his tone laced with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to… envy? “But it appears true: Tamlin’s pet is now owned by another master.”
Pet. Master. How grotesquely inaccurate those words were. Feyre was no one’s pet, no one’s property, even as she sat luxuriously draped across my lap, my fingers tracing her form. But I amplified Keir’s distorted perception, projecting it back at him as I replied.
“You should witness how I make her beg,” I purred, nuzzling my nose against her neck, a fleeting respite for my restless fingers.
“I assume you brought her here to make a statement.”
“Everything I do is a statement, Keir.”
“Indeed. This one, it seems, you adorn with both cobwebs and crowns.”
Disgust, raw and undisguised, permeated his voice. Feyre and I both froze, our gazes snapping to Keir. A violent urge to throttle him surged through me, but Feyre reacted first, her stare piercing, her lips curling in wicked disapproval.
“Perhaps I’ll put a leash on you,” she retorted, her voice laced with venomous sweetness.
The demon within, the one I kept leashed and hidden, surged towards Feyre’s mental shields, abandoning its retreat, pounding on the doors of her mind with approval and awe.
“She does enjoy playing,” I chuckled, my fingers tightening on her thigh. “Fetch her some wine, Keir.” Keir retreated, and as we sat alone, the weight of a thousand eyes scrutinizing Feyre’s near-nakedness crashed down, intensifying my guilt. I pressed a soft kiss below her ear, a silent apology, hoping she could somehow sense the depth of my regret for forcing her into this humiliating role. The last thing I ever wanted her to be was a harlot.
And then, it struck me with the force of a physical blow.
Sorrow, heavy and suffocating, flooded me. I shouldn’t have let her come. I couldn’t strip her of her freedom to choose, especially after Tamlin’s suffocating control, but I could have tried harder to dissuade her. Surely, there was something I could have offered, another task, equally vital, to entice her to remain in Velaris, to feel useful, yet shielded from this. Anything to spare her this demeaning performance.
I should have prioritized her protection as much as her liberation. Sitting here with Feyre half-naked on my lap, I was no better than Amarantha. Still her captor. Still her wretched whore.
As if sensing the shift in my mood, Feyre turned, her eyes searching mine, her mental shields subtly lowering, an unspoken invitation.
What? I projected into the fragile space between our minds, but she remained silent, her internal touch caressing my mental shields instead. The sensation was soothing, drawing me in. I opened my mind to her as much as my fear allowed, and her voice filled my consciousness, a melody echoing the music I once sent her, a salvation I had craved for centuries.
You are good, Rhys, Feyre’s thoughts resonated, clear and unwavering. You are kind. This mask does not frighten me. I see you beneath it.
The sincerity in her words, the utter absence of the fear and disgust I had braced myself for, shocked me to my core. My grip on her tightened involuntarily, and I found her cheek, pressing a kiss of profound gratitude and adoration against her soft skin.
Feyre leaned closer, her legs widening further. And her next words shattered my carefully constructed defenses, dissolving them into dust. Why’d you stop?
A low, feral growl rumbled in my chest, threatening to erupt, loud enough to shake the snow from the mountain peaks. Feyre felt the pulse of music around us, and writhed against me, granting my hands free reign, her own hands exploring my thighs. My carefully maintained inhibitions shattered at her touch, desire slamming into me, hard and undeniable. I inhaled deeply at her neck, the intoxicating perfume of her skin filling my senses, imagining the taste, the sensation of consuming her, body and soul. I wanted her with a ferocity that dwarfed any desire I had ever known.
My mate. My mate. My mate.
Heat radiated from Feyre’s fingertips, scorching my thighs as she gripped me. Her thoughts swam with vivid images of the burning desire consuming her core, and I choked back a laugh of pure, possessive pleasure at the intensity of her longing.
Easy, I cautioned her through the bond, my voice laced with amusement and burgeoning desire. If you spontaneously combust, poor Keir will have a tantrum. And then you’d ruin the party for everyone.
Feyre’s hands cooled, but to my utter delight, she arched her back, pressing herself into the crook of my neck as I shifted beneath her. The sensation of her body against mine was ravenous, the intoxicating knowledge that her desire mirrored my own – a divine, glorious revelation.
My hand slid higher on her thigh, finally hooking beneath the flimsy fabric, entering dangerous territory. My other hand cupped the underside of her breast, her nipples now hard peaks against the thin material. Her mind opened to me, a torrent of more, more, more, before Keir’s startled movement broke the spell.
We turned to see the stupid prick standing there, mouth agape, a forgotten glass of wine clutched in his hand. Feyre’s interest waned instantly, and I wanted to laugh at his utter foolishness. Instead, I settled for licking my way up Feyre’s neck, watching Keir gape at us. Feyre’s back arched further.
I think he’s so disgusted he might just hand over the orb to get rid of us, I projected to her.
You and I put on quite a show, Feyre’s reply resonated in my mind, a voice I had never imagined she would bestow upon me. It was heavy, sultry, a seductive pull that resonated through the bond. My fingers curled tighter on her thigh, tightening in possessive approval, starved for her attention. Her body twisted in my lap, striving for an impossible closeness, before she stilled, acutely aware of the evidence of my arousal pressed against her with every movement.
My breath hitched. I braced myself for her to recoil, to pull away, but instead, she pressed even closer, grinding against me, mirroring my earlier exploration by tracing her lips up my throat.
Her scent was intoxicating, a rich, sweet liquor I could willingly drown myself in, night after night, in unending ecstasy. I craved this. I craved all of her. Right here, on the floor, in front of everyone, until she cried out from the sheer pleasure of my possession, and we were bound, consequences be damned.
A laugh, feline and amused, yet edged with a growl, escaped me. I trailed kisses across her shoulder, her neck, and dug my fingers into her thigh, dragging them upwards, higher, until they encountered a thick, sticky slickness.
Feyre froze the instant my fingers brushed against the dampness between her thighs. I was consumed by a blinding desire to dip my fingers in, to taste her – fuck, what would she taste like? – that I almost lost sight of the present.
It’s alright, I reassured her, attempting to quell the sudden unease radiating from her. It means nothing. Just your body reacting. But my words sounded ragged, even in my own mind. Her body was mirroring mine, reacting with the same raw, undeniable desire. We both wanted this, but the intimate contact had jolted Feyre back to a harsh reality, a confrontation she might not yet be ready for.
Because you’re so irresistible? Feyre’s thought was breathless, tinged with a surprising hint of amusement. Mercifully, Azriel reappeared at that precise moment, sparing us from navigating the burgeoning tension between us.
Keir offered me the wine, and I snatched it with the hand that had been nestled between Feyre’s legs. It was both a torment and a relief to withdraw from that intoxicating warmth. My fingers ached to return to their newfound home, but as I grasped the goblet and caught the lingering scent of Feyre on my fingertips, a faint shimmer of her slickness catching the light, desire reignited, boiling through my veins anew. I knew, with absolute certainty, I was utterly, irrevocably fucked.
“Should I test it for poison?” I drawled to Keir, as I subtly directed Feyre towards Cassian. Our performance was concluded, but I sent her away more for my own self-preservation. Another moment with her scent ensnaring me, and I would have thrown caution to the wind, flipping her over and closing the distance between us completely.
Feyre moved away, embodying the perfect image of the High Lord’s plaything. The room’s attention followed her as she approached Cassian, Keir included. He stared at her with undisguised distaste as she passed, his lips twisting in a foul sneer as he muttered words he believed only she could hear. How profoundly mistaken he was.
“You’ll get what’s coming to you, whore,” he spat, his voice laced with venom.
Lounging casually on my throne, I unleashed darkness into the room, a consuming wave. For several heartbeats, visibility vanished entirely. The inky blackness whipped and cracked, dragging Keir to his knees. Fear. Confusion. The darkness that punishes.
And punish me it did, just as much as Keir. Whore. I had made Feyre my whore. All of Prythian would soon whisper the word, regardless of any retribution I inflicted upon Keir. I was no longer just Amarantha’s whore. In a twisted way, I had become Amarantha, embodying her despicable manipulation, betraying Feyre in the process.
So, I did the only thing left. I saw the mask of the cruel, evil High Lord of the Night Court, the persona everyone expected, swirling before me, and I yanked it tighter, anchoring it to my very being.
When the darkness receded, I reappeared on the throne, the epitome of casual terror, poised to unleash my wrath upon Keir, to break him for every bone in his body.
“Apologize,” I commanded, lethal intent threading through my voice. Yet, the bastard remained silent, defiant. “I said, apologize.” Still, silence. So, I began with his shoulder, forcing the bone to splinter four times down to his elbow. No physical movement, just the raw force of my will. My cousin, Morrigan, stood in the distance, a flicker of venomous pleasure dancing in her eyes.
Keir remained mute, choked sobs his only response. So, I disintegrated his elbow. Only then, with half his arm shattered, did he manage to mouth the words I’m sorry to Feyre, punctuated by screams. I broke the bones in his other arm for his pathetic effort, a dangerous smile playing on my lips.
This was the monster I had shielded Feyre from seeing, yet she looked almost as pleased as Morrigan to witness Keir’s downfall.
“Should I kill him for it?” I addressed the room at large. Silence met my question. “When you awaken, you are forbidden from seeking a healer. Should I hear otherwise…” his pinky finger – gone. “Should I hear otherwise, I will carve you into pieces and scatter them where no power in Prythian could ever reassemble you.” Keir collapsed, and I ordered him dragged away to his chambers, hauled off by guards. I relaxed back into my throne, a flicker of grim satisfaction. However deeply I had betrayed Feyre, at least I had offered her a small measure of amends.
Slowly, other courtiers, their movements hesitant, dared to approach, filling the void left by Keir. I sat on my throne, enduring their reports for over an hour, but my thoughts remained tethered to Feyre. I permitted myself only fleeting glances in her direction, but each time, her gaze was locked on mine. No fear. No disgust. Her eyes burned with a raw, captivating intensity, radiating the heat and passion she had experienced on my lap. And her mind remained open, basking in the lingering echoes of our intimate charade. She seemed wild, vibrantly alive, her energy restored for the first time in months. Perhaps even since our first encounter on Fire Night.
My mind raced with possibilities as the darkness settled between us, within our minds, observing the nascent bond slowly unfurling, taking root. The darkness that waits. The darkness that hopes.
The darkness that binds.
