A Court of Death || ACOTAR

29

Rhys was exhausted. Exhausted and crumbling inside despite his mask of calm collectedness. Starfall was last night. Just like she had for every year Rhys had been here, Amarantha kept him busy the whole night.

He got through the night by reminding himself why he let her use him. He reminded himself that the people of his court depended on him. He reminded himself that if it wasn't him trapped in that room with her, it could have been Cassian or Azriel. The idea of that haunted too many of his nightmares. The idea of failing and one of his friends being forced to take his place in Amarantha's bed. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let them go through this.

So, he endured. He made it through the night and he did his best to pretend he had any ounce of attraction towards Amarantha. And then when finally freed him from her room when the night ended, when he had missed Starfall completely, he went back to his own chambers and bathed for hours. He scrubbed his body clean as if that could erase what happened. He scrubbed his body until his skin was red and irritated. Until he felt that irritation more than he felt the ghost of her touch.

And then he got dressed, and he slid his mask back into place and head his head high and played the role he had assigned himself. Fae sneered at him as he roamed the halls, looking at him in disgust and hatred.

"Whore."

"Traitor."

The words never stopped when he was out. There was always someone there, throwing those accusations at him. He imagined the words rolling off of his skin like drops of water. They didn't, of course. Traitor...well, he knew he wasn't a traitor. He was doing this for his people, for his family. That other word, though, that one burned a little worse every time he heard it. That one felt like it was true. Whore. Even in his mind, even with all the logic he threw at himself, he found that word impossible to ignore.

He feigned indifference. That was something he had mastered within his first year in this role. Pretend it didn't impact him, pretend that word didn't sink into him so deeply he felt like it was staining his bones.

Whore.

And that was all he was anymore.

Amarantha was already in the throne room, and her eyes went right to him when he entered. He should have been there an hour ago, but his bathing ran long thanks to his desire to clean away the night before. Other eyes were on him too. Always so many eyes to see what he would do—what Amarantha would ask of him and if he would ever even attempt to rebel.

"Rhysand," she purred, waving him over. He went to her, like a fish on a hook being drawn in to be gutted and cooked—aware of the doom he was approaching and unable to do anything but follow the line. Her fingers lightly stroked his arm when he got to her. The jacket and long sleeve shirt he wore beneath it had been intentional on his part, for exactly this reason. "Tonight." It wasn't a question or a request. A simple demand.

"Of course, my Queen," he replied, faking lust, eyes gleaming with false desire. He imagined ripping her heart out of her chest and crushing it in his hand.

She caressed his cheek before lightly shoving him away. He kept his back straight and his head high, doing his best to ignore the stares and the insults.

He had stopped hoping for freedom. He had stopped hoping he would ever see his home again. He had stopped hoping he would ever see his family again. He no longer pictured their faces to remind himself why he was doing this. His mind wouldn't allow it, wouldn't allow the hope that came with their memory. The only time he saw their faces anymore was in his nightmares, when he had those terrible dreams of Amarantha taking Azriel and Cassian the way she had taken him.

His hope had died. All that was left was his bitter determination not to lose anyone else. Astryn was gone, but he could still save the rest of his family. He could spare them the fate he had come to. His own life was over, and he accepted that for the most part. No part of his life was about him anymore. It was for them. For his family, for his people. As long as they were free, it didn't matter that he wasn't.