The North Star

5

My father was one of the most ruthless High Lord of the Night Court, as well as Prythian. It was an unarguable fact. The Fae were known for their cruelty, and he was no different. He was worse.

To him, I was a pawn, and I acknowledged that from a young age. My mother didn't love that, so she kept away from Hewn City as much as possible. I was raised in Velaris, in the Court of Dreamers, as my brother dubbed it.

When my father came to visit, he was a different man there. The burden of High Lord didn't hit so heavily on his shoulders, and there was glimmers of memories when he acted like a true father. But no matter how much I wanted him to be that, he never was.

But when I was of age, he brought me to Hewn City. More like ordered me, while my mother watched helplessly.

I dressed and acted how I was ordered. Father said he would cut off one of my fingers if I disobeyed, and I believed him. I saw him do it once when I was eight, and had nightmares for months after.

To my father's delight, I was a daemati just like Rhysand.

I was trained as a daemati from a young age, and my father used me for his own scheming plans.

Rhysand was his Heir, training with the Illyrians, learning how to be the perfect ruler.

I was the Spare. I was his tool to use as he saw fit.

I split minds, ravaged through them, of traitors and sinners and spies of the Court. Even at parties, he would command me, just to show off my powers, his power, of the leash he had over me.

Rhysand was the warrior.

I became the Nightmare. 

It started out as a joke, because I was my father's most prized mare, waiting to be sold and married off to the highest seller or the highest connections.

But I began to wear it with pride, my father killed anyone who spoke poorly of me, or even at the unholiest of thoughts.

I became my worst fears in Hewn City, but it's not like I had a choice. None of us did. Not in the Court of Nightmares.

When I could escape to Velaris, when my father didn't need me to interrogate a prisoner, or torture someone in fractals of who they were, I like to believe I was a different person.

I was free.

I treasured these moments, with my mother, with Rhysand, with Morrigan, with Cassian, ... and with Azriel.

I had a crush on him, when I was a little girl, and he was a late teenager training with Cassian and Rhys.

I had half grown out of it.

But he loved Mor. Azriel always did. Who didn't?

I was jealous of Mor when I was growing up. She was like an older sister to me, and I envied her golden hair, her ruby red lips, and confidence she wore like jewelry.

She hadn't changed.

I couldn't be flashy, or anything like her, under the control of my father.

In this moment, I didn't want to be her. Because with one scream, she could level Velaris.

I remembered the simple silencing spell, praying that it would work, and locked the doors to the bathroom.

I waited for the tub to fill with water, and watched as the steam rose from the water.

I slipped into the water, and screamed.

I screamed, because no one would hear me.

I screamed, for all the time that I had lost.