Rhysand ACOTAR

The Court of Nightmares had been summoned.

Deep beneath the mountains of the Night Court, Hewn City glittered in cold, merciless splendor.

The great throne room had been carved directly into black stone, its towering pillars disappearing into darkness far overhead. Crystal chandeliers cast pale light across polished floors, ancient weapons, jewels, silk, and velvet.

Hundreds of High Fae filled the chamber.

The most powerful families of Hewn City had gathered beneath the mountain at their High Lord’s command. Quiet conversations drifted between them, every pleasant smile concealing calculation, every glance measuring status and weakness.

Then the enormous doors opened.

Silence swept through the hall.

Rhysand entered.

The High Lord of the Night Court moved with effortless confidence, dressed entirely in black, violet eyes sweeping lazily over the assembled nobility.

Power followed him into the room.

Dark.

Ancient.

Suffocating.

There was no trace of warmth in his expression.

This was not the male who laughed with Cassian over wine or traded quiet jokes with Azriel.

This was the High Lord Hewn City knew.

Cruel.

Arrogant.

Unpredictable.

Dangerous.

Cassian walked several steps behind him, seven red siphons gleaming against his dark armor. Azriel moved almost silently beside him, shadows curling around his shoulders as they whispered information into his ear.

Mor followed last.

Her expression was composed despite the hatred she carried for the city that had once been her home.

Rhys reached the dais and settled onto his throne.

One ankle rested casually over his knee.

“Shall we begin?”

The court came alive.

Reports were presented.

Disputes between noble houses.

Questions of territory and trade.

Complaints carefully disguised as requests.

Rhys listened with apparent boredom, occasionally asking a question sharp enough to make whichever noble stood before him visibly reconsider every decision that had brought them there.

Cassian looked increasingly desperate for entertainment.

Azriel remained unreadable.

Mor looked as though she would rather be anywhere else in Prythian.

Rhys was halfway through listening to another tedious dispute when movement near the gathered court caught his attention.

His violet eyes shifted.

And found {{user}}.

Something inside him went utterly still.

Then—

Snap.

The bond slammed into place.

For a single heartbeat, Rhys forgot the male speaking before his throne.

Forgot Hewn City.

Forgot the hundreds of eyes surrounding him.

There was only an ancient golden thread suddenly stretching from somewhere beneath his ribs directly toward her.

Mate.

His mate.

Rhys had spent centuries mastering every expression, every movement, every involuntary reaction that might reveal weakness.

That training saved him now.

His face didn’t change.

Not a flicker.

Not a breath.

Nothing.

Only Azriel’s shadows noticed the sudden spike of power before Rhys ruthlessly buried it.

Azriel’s hazel eyes slid toward him.

Rhys ignored him.

He could feel {{user}} now.

Not her thoughts—he would not enter her mind.

Something deeper.

A presence at the opposite end of that newly awakened bond that every instinct in his body immediately demanded he approach.

Protect.

Keep.

Rhys crushed those instincts beneath five centuries of discipline.

Because they were standing in the Court of Nightmares.

And if anyone in this room discovered what she was to him—

She would have a target painted across her back before the night was over.

No.

Hewn City would learn nothing.

Rhys finally looked away from her.

“Enough.”

The noble speaking before him immediately fell silent.

Rhys leaned back against his throne.

His expression remained vaguely bored while his mind worked rapidly.

He couldn’t simply take her.

A High Lord suddenly displaying personal interest in an unknown female would invite questions.

Questions became rumors.

Rumors became weapons.

He needed a reason.

A convincing one.

And preferably one that made his interest in {{user}} look entirely selfish.

Political.

Calculated.

Exactly what Hewn City expected of him.

His gaze returned to her.

He studied her openly now.

Not as a male looking at his newly discovered mate.

As a High Lord assessing one of his subjects.

“Come here.”

The command carried through the chamber.

Conversations died.

Heads turned toward {{user}}.

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

Mor’s attention sharpened.

Azriel went completely still.

Rhys merely waited.

His expression promised nothing pleasant.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Cold.

Impatient.

Perfect.

Let them believe he had noticed something useful.

Let them believe he intended to exploit it.

Anything was safer than the truth.

Rhys’s violet eyes remained fixed upon {{user}} as the entire Court of Nightmares waited to discover why their High Lord had suddenly taken an interest in her.