The scent of salt and sorrow clung to the stagnant air as I stood in the shadows, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. I had perfected the art of calm indifference under the mountain, but now, with you watching, every thread of that façade threatened to unravel.

I hadn’t wanted you here. Not in this cursed pit of despair. Not where Amarantha could reach you. I’d kept it hidden—our bond, the fragile thread that connected us, the truth that you were mine and I was yours. I didn’t care that I’d had to bury that secret so deep that even my own thoughts whispered it cautiously. What mattered was keeping you safe. And now… now you were being forced to witness this.

Amarantha lounged on her throne like a spider in the heart of her web, her eyes gleaming with malice and amusement. Her smile as she addressed me was as sharp as any blade. "Come here, my pet," she purred, her voice a caress that made my skin crawl.

I felt you stiffen in the shadows, where you’d been forced to stand by her order. I dared not meet your eyes—I couldn’t. Because if I looked, if I saw the horror, the fury, or worse, the heartbreak, I wasn’t sure I could do what needed to be done.

"My, my," she continued, her crimson nails tapping on the arm of her throne. "Don’t look so dour, Rhysand. Surely you’ve come to enjoy your role by now."

Every step toward her felt like walking through fire. Each movement was a betrayal, not just to myself, but to you. To what we were. What we could have been.

She beckoned me closer, running a finger along my jaw when I was finally before her. Her touch was poison, but I forced a smirk, forced myself to meet her gaze with that familiar glint of insolence. "Always a pleasure, Amarantha," I drawled, my voice smooth and unbothered. A mask I’d worn for decades.