𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖 (ACOTAR FANFIC)

Fifty-Seven

The wound in my side hurt like hell.

It had been two days since the first trial. Two days of sitting in my cell and allowing my wound to get worse. But above both of those things, I was tragically bored.

The adrenaline from the task had worn off within an hour after the task and my pain had increased tenfold in the time since. My body had been covered in beads of cold sweat and my head felt cloudy like my thoughts were scrambled. My pulse had sped rapidly in my chest and had grown faint while my breath came in short pants. I was losing too much blood that had yet to stop flowing from the wound I had been attempting to tend to with very limited resources. By that I meant none.

I had been injured enough times in my life to know what the beginning signs of blood loss and infection were. And when my nausea seemed to make the room spin on and off for hours on end I knew that it was not a good sign. After a while, my body shook so forcefully with chills that I was out of breath.

My wound was a long gash, spreading from my left hip to my navel. It wasn't deep enough to hit anything vital. But deep enough I'd need stitches—stitches that I didn't have access to. My wound was worsening rapidly in my dark and dirty cell. I was unable to clean it at all so the mud that coated my body hadn't been helping.

I wasn't waiting for Lucien to heal me as he did with my sister. I was certain I concealed my wound well when I spoke with Amarantha.

I might die here.

The thought struck me like a blow.

Death.

I'd never really thought about the notion. It all seemed so tedious growing up. Though, I suppose everyone thinks that until you actually face it.

I always believed I'd die in a blaze of glory or on a mission—I knew I'd never die a peaceful death, I didn't lead that kind of life. But infection was definitely not how I thought I'd go down.

I was certain I was beginning to hallucinate as my door seemed to sway in front of me Like a cloud with some kind of mist that looked like night itself swirled around it. But as the High Lord of the Night Court became fully corporeal before my eyes, I knew It was real.

Of course.

I couldn't be left to die in peace, Rhysand just had to rub it in.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I asked in my weakened state.

Rhysand hummed, "What a sorry state for Tamlin's champion."

"Ew," I groaned before I went into a small coughing fit. "I might be a prisoner but that was low." disgusting. That was the greatest insult anyone could deal me.

Rhysand stalked closer, crouching down next to me in the sorry corner I was sitting in, "You don't look so good." his face held such vanity, that I wished I had the energy to punch it off his face.

I got a little irritable when I was sick.

"Oh, Rhysand, no wonder you're not in favor with the ladies if that's how to deal out compliments." I had practically whispered the sentence as it was interrupted by gasps and pants. I'm sure I looked like a mess.

Rhysand chuckled—a sound that seemed to blend with the shadows. He reached his hand up and I didn't have the energy to swat his hand away as he touched it to my brow. He cocked his head, "What would Feyre say," He murmured, "If she knew her sister was rotting away down here, burning up with a fever?"

Sister. He knew we were sisters and yet Amarantha didn't. Why wouldn't he tell her?

"Go to hell," I breathed out. My throat had gone dry.