A Court of Blood and Glory

Vengeful

Rhysand

I was vengeful. It was as simple as that. I wanted him dead, for he had taken everything from me; my mother, my sister, my mate, and then he'd taken my wings.
My wings. My beloved wings, now hanging somewhere in his manor, besides my mother's and sister's. He had taken someone from me, so I took someone from him. Lucien. I'd told Azriel of my plans in secret, before we left Velaris; I would get Tamlin close to us while unaware of our deceit, and the Azriel would attack, going for the throat.
He would have killed him, had Lucien not stepped in his way, taking that fatal blow himself. I suppose he'd done me a favour, as I could now take my time torturing Tamlin, ensuring that he suffered before I killed him, the way that he'd killed my family, and I would enjoy every minute of his suffering.

Feyre

I was screaming, not willing to believe it, to believe what had happened. It was to be a diplomatic meeting, peaceful, allowing us to leave without bloodshed. I should have known that Tamlin would try to punish us, punish Rhys, as much as he could. But I had still hoped. And then Azriel had drawn his sword to kill Tamlin, and Lucien had stepped it to save the High Lord he'd served so faithfully.
Dead. He was dead. He had been my first friend in the Spring Court, a male only following orders. But he'd abandoned me when I'd needed him most, opting to present a unified front. He'd deserved what he got, but I still felt so guilty, I still screamed his name as he died, still wept as Rhys winnowed us away from Under the Mountain, and the body within. Just another body to add to the others.
We winnowed straight to the town house, Mor, Amren and Cassian waiting for us in the kitchen, having not moved since we'd left an hour ago. An hour. How had so much gone wrong in less than an hour?
"What happened?" Mor demanded, and I realised I was covered in blood, Lucien's blood, which had sprayed onto my deep blue dress, the crystals now red. I couldn't stand it. I sat down, the fight having gone from my too weak body.
"Lucien is dead." Hearing Rhys confirm it made it real, permanent. "Azriel killed him on my orders." What? He'd gone in there to kill my friend and not told me?
Catching my eye, he turned to me and said in a soft voice, "I'm sorry, Feyre. The plan was to kill Tamlin, but you were so weak, your mental shields only up half the time, we didn't want to risk your mind being infiltrated by one of Hybern's daemati, giving away our plans."
"But Tamlin didn't bring daemati." My voice was still quiet, still raspy, and inaudible to a human ear.
"I couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk you, not again." He was almost pleading with me, begging me to forgive him. I'd seen this before, in a different High Lord.
"You sound like Tamlin."
It was all I said before I went upstairs, not daring to look back and see the agony on his face, or the shock on my friends'.

Rhysand

Tamlin. She was comparing me to Tamlin, to the bastard that had ruined her life. I was nothing like him; I loved her and cared about every part of her, good and bad. Tamlin only cared about having her, owning her, like she was his doll.
No. We were nothing alike, and I wasn't going to let her go on believing that we were the same.
I turned to my family, the shock on their faces too clear, but there was something else on Mor's.
"What?" I demanded of her, my voice almost a growl, making her flinch away, but I wasn't ashamed, or even sorry. She wasn't allowed to gawk at me, treat me like I was some weak baby. No. I was the High Lord of the Night Court, an Illyrian soldier, raised on the battlefield.
A wingless Illyrian.
"You need to be patient with her, Rhys, she has been through so much, and from her point of view you are behaving like Tamlin did in the beginning. Remember, Rhys, that he only wanted to protect her as well."
She was right. I knew she was right. Everyone was right except Rhysand, who couldn't stop sacrificing himself to save others. Unable to stand their pitying looks any longer I stormed up the stairs, determined to apologise to Feyre, and show her how I was much better than that piece of shit parading as a High Lord.
I knocked on the door, but I could hear her deep breathing, already asleep. I entered anyway, only to find a distinct smell of burning, and her blood splattered dress nowhere in sight. I left her room, but I didn't want to remain in the house, so I winnowed to the rainbow, unable to walk past my family, who would only want to follow me.
I kept walking the streets of Velaris, until I eventually found myself outside Rita's, about to close up for the night, but Rita saw me and beckoned me inside, sitting me down at a table at the back where no one could see us from the street.
Without me asking she bought over a drink, which I assumed contained a lot of alcohol, and told me to down in one or not at all. You don't refuse a drink from Rita, not if you wanted to see the sun rise.
I went to sit down, but I winced, my back still sore. Since losing my wings I had been unable to make their stumps disappear, so I had bandaged them and tried to hide them as much as possible, whether I had a jacket over them or used a glamour, but they still hurt. All. The. Time.
Rita noticed this, of course, but didn't show any pity.
"I'd heard the rumours, Rhysand, but I had hoped that they weren't true. Seems I was wrong." She said it in such an offhand way, using my first name instead of 'My Lord', as she had always done.
"Hope hasn't done me well recently." I said, my words beginning to slur. How much alcohol had she put in that thing? Whatever it was, I needed more. And she kept it coming. And coming. And coming.

I came to as the streets became full of life and the people of Velaris headed to work. I'd spent the whole night drinking at Rita's, until eventually passing out drunk after some hours. I stood from the table, still hidden from the view of the streets, and dusted down my tunic. I hadn't noticed the blood last night, but they were very clear now. I couldn't go out in public like that, especially in my hungover state, so I chose to winnow back to the town house, stumbling as I landed in the kitchen, Feyre and Mor sitting at the table with mugs of hot chocolate. Whether they were startled by my appearance or not they didn't show it.
"Nuala and Cerridwen are upstairs waiting." Was all Feyre said before returning to her conversation with Mor. Fine.
I stumbled up the stairs, my balance still not quite back to normal, and indeed found the half-wraiths awaiting me, a steaming bath awaiting me.
I washed quickly, before falling into bed, not bothering to dress myself, or even remove the towel.