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skkkatey-blog · 4 years

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humane

When the evening celebrations started to die and with the queen’s court milling out of the throne room. Amarantha desired company. She turned to face the High Lord by her right.

Her High Lord

Her childhood friend, her ally, her lover.

All the things she wanted Tamlin to be, but wouldn’t. She had been rather petty that night after seeing Rhysand and Feyre in that hallway, and knowing exactly what had happened before that just set her off even more. She also knew questioning the High Lord of Spring would just make her even more furious. But she did it anyway.

“Tamlin, what happened in that hallway?” She queried. Like it was just a mere innocent question. But Tamlin knew it was a demand more than anything. He stood and started towards the doorway. That scene flashing vividly, fresh in the forefront of his mind, anger boiled in him. That monster, touching Feyre. He wanted to rip his throat out, skin him, skewer his flesh, carve his bones, for Feyre, for everything he had done to her. When it came to Feyre, Tamlin would get blinded by his emotions. Ever since her appearance under the mountain, Tamlin had slowly started losing his sanity. Nevertheless, his face remained a mask of disinterest, just as it had remained so since he was brought here to her court.

“Just as you saw.” Tamlin replied, careful to hide any slither of rage in his tone.

“Hmm,” She mused. Watching Tamlin’s continued retreating figure, she couldn’t help but ask the question that bounced at the tip of her tongue.

“I don’t suppose you’ll visit my chambers tonight?”

Tamlin paused. Knuckles white from the tight clench of his fist. He sucked in a deep breath. Tired of the relentless courtships from Amarantha, the constant invitations to her bed. The hope she desperately clung on by keeping him at her side. Give it up, he wanted to tell her. A slut who couldn’t take no for an answer.

“Your whore would service you better” He dismissed, as he exited the throne room.

Amarantha’s features twisted into ones of rage. Yes, indeed, had she not witnessed him tangled up with the mortal in the hallway. Cauldron, to think of that mortal disgusted Amarantha. Repulsed her, humans, repulsed her. She snarled at Tamlin’s retreating figure, nostrils flared in anger.

“Summon Rhysand to my chambers” She commanded. Guards poured out the hall as her magic enveloped and materialised her into the dim lights of her chambers.

----

Amarantha stalked to the plush settee and sunk into it, revelling in the softness of the pillows. She willed her clothes to disappear, leaving Amarantha bare in only the thin silks that covered her intimate areas. Her naked skin felt great on the furry settee. Grabbing a bottle of the finest fae wine Prythian had to offer, she poured herself a glass and took a sip. Staring distantly at the ring on her finger, the eye swiveled at the sudden attention, as if not wanting to look at her. She let out a low earthly chuckle, her honey smooth voice reverberating through the room. “Oh Jurian.” She sighed, as she recounted the moments of his death. Her dealing the final blow. Her ripping his eye and finger out. And her dragging his limp body away with blood trailing behind them. Then the screams of Jurian as she had tortured him and torn him apart day by day. Amarantha gave a wistful sigh. Almost as if recounting a past memory of fondness.

The High Queen of Prythian, a cold bloody, psychopathic murderer, was who she was.

And Amarantha had loved it. Every bit of it.

Feint shadows leaked in the room from behind the grand doors of Amarantha’s bed chamber. Signaling the High Lord of Night’s arrival. The double doors swung open and a muscular, tall figure strode into the room. He stood in a crisp black tunic. The tattoos of night adorned the skin on his chest slightly exposed by the V of his neckline. His hands were tucked into his pockets, while the pair of piercing violet eyes landed on Amarantha’s lounging figure. He took two steps towards Amarantha, cautiously distancing himself from her.

“You called for me?” Rhysand’s voice was laced with annoyance. Even more so than usual Amarantha had picked up. She was aware that it was due to her intoxicated state. A drunk Amarantha was basically a needy teenage girl.

“Aw come on, don’t be such a sourpuss.” Amarantha cooed.

She pushed Rhysand towards her with an invisible force. Amarantha was in a sullen mood that night, she just wanted Rhysand to entertain her then, want her, want to be here with her. Even if he was just pretending. Amarantha wouldn’t admit it, but after the decades spent together, though not willingly on Rhysand’s part, she had developed a special liking towards him. So here she was downing glass after glass of wine in front of him.

The reason for this was pathetic really, Amarantha thought. Pathetic was, in fact, too small to be able to capture what she was feeling now. Amarantha had recognised that her reign was about to end. Her court was to crumble and Prythian to be free. She had recognised that the disgusting mortal human’s presence was about to change everything. She was going to lose everything to Feyre, her queenship, her court, Tamlin and Rhysand. And her life. How utterly pathetic, honestly. Amarantha would reflect on the years these past few sleepless nights. Maybe she wanted to prove to the King Of Hybern. Maybe she wanted to prove to the Fae of Prythian. Maybe she just loved killing so much that she had spent all these years Under the mountain, harbouring this demonic obsession. Regardless, all of it was about to end.

“Comfort me, Rhysand.” Amarantha requested.

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first time writing a fic and have discovered that im a sucky writer...

#acotar

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