Slowly, very slowly, torture became a normal thing and normal things became rare. When all you could see was her red hair, all you could hear were your own cries, all you could feel was the pain in your chest, your sanity begging to be free.

He would your partner, and that wasn't necessarily good. Usually one would think that going through hell with company was better than alone, but that only meant that the suffering would duplicate. Or more.

Amarantha was a monster in a gorgeous form. Purely cruel, to the point of craving not only one, but two fae to keep her satisfied.

Rhysand was first. Then she remembered you. To take you into her world and curse you in it. There was nothing he could do, as much as he wanted to. You were just like him, in a way—doing everything you could to save your loved ones, even if that meant losing your soul in the way.

The air was colder that night, an enormous feast thrown at the High Queen's feet as her so-called people danced to the music in revealing clothings. You were there with Rhysand, while she stood by your side, sat on a throne, utterly satisfied.

You weren't allowed to move away. Not unless she said so.

Rhysand did his best to politely ask her to get you a drink, and so he led you away, towards tall glasses and shiny liquids. Making sure you both didn't leave Amarantha's sight, or the consequences would be tragic.

"Are you ready for tonight?" he asked, voice carefully casual and low, as he handed you a drink.