Rhysand had always told himself he would never beg. That he would never bow to anyone—not even to the gods themselves.

But that was before you. Before your life hung by a fraying thread in front of him.

You were barely conscious, your lashes fluttering as Amarantha’s claw-like hand curled around your throat. Each breath you drew was shallower, more ragged, and Rhysand could hear the desperate rasp in your chest.

His body moved before his mind caught up.

“No!” His voice cracked through the hall like a whip, sharp and filled with raw terror. He lunged forward, shadows writhing at his heels. “Don’t do this—don’t touch them! They’re innocent!”

Amarantha turned slowly, her amber eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as they slid from your face to his.

“Innocent?” she purred, tilting her head. “You—High Lord of the Night Court—want me to spare their life?”

“They’ve done nothing wrong,” Rhysand said, his voice low but trembling with a fury he could barely contain. “Let them go. Take me instead if you want, but let them go.”

Her lips twisted into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ahh,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over you, “now I understand. This little fae… this fragile creature… they’re yours, aren’t they? Your mate.”

The word struck like a knife, and Rhysand stiffened, but said nothing. His silence told her everything.

“No wonder,” she crooned, dragging her nails lightly across your throat, making you whimper, “no wonder you’re so desperate. So reckless.”

Her fingers tightened, and you let out a strangled cry as your knees buckled. Rhysand’s shadows lashed out violently, but one look from Amarantha had them scattering like smoke.

“You want their life spared?” she asked, voice silky and venomous. “Then show me, High Lord. Show me what they mean to you.”

His heart stopped as she gave a sharp, cruel smile.

“Beg,” she said softly, tilting her head. “Get on your knees and beg for it.”

Rhysand’s chest heaved as he stared at you, at the way your lips trembled as you tried to form his name. He wanted to tear her apart, to rip her limb from limb. But you were slipping—your breaths shallow and fading—and there was no time.

“Rhys…” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

And that was what broke him.