Chapter Text
It was surprising how a simple itch could consume one’s mind wholly. It was all I could think about for the last hour and a half as I watched my sister Elain flit about the ballroom, charming sudden suitors with her perfectly intact social etiquette. How she and Nesta could remember it all was beyond me, but I found some comfort in the fact that Nesta did not bother to reinstate herself. She wore the dresses, stood and watched the sparkling menagerie of wealth we had magically found ourselves in this spring, but she had clearly accepted her spinster-hood.
As for me? I’m not sure there was even a shelf in existence for me to put myself up on. This gala, in all its glory, marked my very first season. Even Feyre had at least seen the bejeweled innards of a ballroom, had some hope of prospects with the paints she cherished. I was too young when it all happened, my birth marking the death of our fortune- and our mother.
Elain, with her soft wiles and predisposed mild temperament, was the only one I did not think blamed me for the curse I had brought on our family. Thus, I was happy to don the silks and lace and hair pins and other doo-dads for which there was a name that I did not care to know. Thus I watched as Graysen took her for yet another spin, filling her dance card with fake names so that no one else could claim her for the night.
The bright, happy heat in Elain’s face must have emanated and torched the room, it was suddenly stifling. I needed air.
“Where are you off to?” Nesta’s cold blue eyes pierced through me. I knew she was simply curious, and yet I already felt judged for a decision I hadn't yet voiced.
“A walk.”
“A walk where?” she straightened off of the corner, as if she had delegated herself to accompanying me.
“The gardens, where else?”
“You should be chaperoned-” her voice trailed off toward the center of the dancing. I spared a glance over my shoulder, just in time to see Graysen’s hands dip far below their appropriate placement on Elain’s waist.
Suddenly, Nesta was very occupied.
The perfect distraction played out just long enough for me to skirt away undetected by my stone-faced keep and into the warm, breezy night outside.
For a moment, the sour feeling of boredom and dread departed. My stomach stopped its roiling. I was free for now.
Yes, I was walking around unchaperoned, which was social suicide in most circumstances. But it wasn’t as if I had company. No handsome, eligible males were out stalking the gardens tonight-
I was hearing things. Surely. Because those were footsteps, expensive ones, softly clicking their way across the cobblestone. Right behind me.
“Hello, darling.”
An instinct deep within me whispered not to turn around, but my mind compelled me to anyway. I was face to face with quite possibly the most beautiful man I had ever seen.
Eyes so blue they were nearly violet, gold skin that had seen the glow of the sun for the past weeks, hair as dark as raven wings. To top it off, the suit he wore had a thread count well above what my family could have ever afforded until… well, the Lord Feyre was seeing gifted us.
He was likely out there to chastise me. Nesta must have notified someone of my departure. “Pardon me, my Lord,” I dipped into an obligatory curtsey. “I was only seeking fresh air, I will return to the ballroom shortly.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the man said, his head tilting with almost feline amusement. His smile widened, as if he could hear the change in my heartbeat, now racing.
He drew closer. I didn’t have enough time to think, to dare a step backward away from him. Long, sensual fingers slid up my arm, plucking off the silky gloves I wore. “Your sister sends her regards.”
“Nesta sent you?” my heart stuttered.
“Try again,” the male purred. It was as if the night itself descended below. Whorls of black ink traced their way across my wrist, over every inch my gloves had concealed. An eye blinked to life in the center of my palm.
Magic.
Some kind of mist faded away, and I could see now the pointed tips of his ears, the strange shadows that seemed to darken the air around him.
I ran. It was no use.
~~~
One week of every month. That’s what Rhysand had outlined as the agreement Feyre had made while broken and bleeding in some underground kingdom. Somehow, I would be serving her sentence. The loophole felt intentional, that a fae as powerful as this ‘High Lord’ would forget to specify which Archeron would serve in his court, but what purpose that served was not something I was privy to.
Nothing could have prepared me for the Night Court. I hadn’t even stepped food on its ground, but the view from my room was nothing short of stunning. A silver band of water traced through snow capped peaks running off the edges with wild freedom. It was so beautiful, closing the curtains at night felt like a crime, but if I hadn’t the magnificent cast of stars beyond would have kept me awake. The stars had not shined like that at home.
“Admiring the view?”
Rhysand’s face was smug, a cat that had gotten its cream. I half expected some sort of attempt at flirtation, a sweet nothing that likened me to a more spectacular view. He spared me. “I am,” I answered, seeing no point in telling him otherwise.
“Good. You’ll be spending a lot of time here.”
“As you said. Loopholes and all that. But why?”
Rhysand walked further into the bedroom. “I made the mistake of crashing a very boring wedding, as one does. The Lord of Spring was not pleased, and so I came to collect from you instead.”
“Why not one of my other sisters?” Perhaps it was selfish to wish he had nabbed them instead, but I needed to know.
“It was Feyre’s choice.”
“Ah.” Not random chance, then. And not some brilliant, magical destiny for me either. The view dulled spectacularly.
“Are you going to mope about that for the whole week?”
“I am entitled to feel how I like. The bargain did not specify that I be ‘useful.’” I slumped into a too-comfortable settee.
“I prefer the guests in my court to be useful.”
“Guest? I was kidnapped. I think ‘prisoner’ makes more sense.”
Rhysand’s full lips wilted into a pouty frown. He was amused. “That is a very ugly word.”
“And this is a very ugly situation,” I snapped back.
“You have a temper just like your sister’s. No wonder she dislikes you.”
“Which one?” I forced my eyes to roll. It wasn’t like this was new information, but it was better for him to see me as devil-may-care rather than disappointed.
He did not respond, and a silence as thick as the velvet curtains in my room descended. I turned my gaze back to them, to the vista beyond. My sole comfort for now.
“You are not here to be punished,” Rhysand said at last.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“Why do you assume I am so cruel, have I not provided enough?” He gestured to the room around us, to the untouched tray laden with oranges and fresh bread and tea that had magically sustained its heat.
“You appeared in a garden, marked my skin with some strange rune, and then informed me I would be leaving my home and family for one week of every month. What would you call that?”
He considered for a moment. “The consequences of negotiating.”
“Well, they’re not my consequences, and I wasn’t part of this negotiation.” I had been letting my mouth slip. It was impolite to speak to any gentleman this way, certainly inexcusable to a lord- a High Lord? It certainly spoke against his cruelty that he had let me go unpunished.
“No, you weren’t,” he agreed with a sigh.
The silence allowed my mind to wander more bitterly. Nesta would have sharpened her tongue on him like a sandblock. Elain would have taken his ‘court’ and whittled it down to nothing, starting with the improper placement of the cutlery on the breakfast tray. And I-
“You think this is about convenience.” His eyes narrowed and I felt the strange prodding of talons somewhere in my mind. I lost my breath instantly. “Get out.”
“Out?” Rhysand’s pout turned playful. “I don’t follow.”
Fingers threading through my hair, I tugged, as if there was some way to rip him out by force. “Get out of my head!”
“Ask nicely and I'll consider it.”
Oh that Godsdamned smugness. I was glad to have forgotten my manners suddenly. The little tea cup from my tray found its way into my hand instantly, and the liquid inside found its way to his coat.
He hissed for a second, then frowned. That magic heat had simmered away into nothing. “Interesting.”
I had gotten myself incredibly close to him, the mistake was quickly dawning on me. I waited for him to grab me, or shake me or- something like that. He didn’t. The talons retreated from my mind and I knew what they had seen. He frowned, sincerely this time,and cleared his throat. “I hope, in time, that you'll see this as an opportunity, rather than a heavy commitment.”
He turned to leave. The words left my mouth before I could quiet them. “An opportunity for what?”
“To sharpen claws of your own,” he said.
My fear boiled down to nothing, a bit of smoke in my stomach. Perhaps Feyre had not doomed me after all.