eclipsed nova (UTM Feysand)

28: Rhysand's POV

A/N: Please before you start rioting and coming at me with pitchforks, PLEASE have faith in me after this cliffhanger. I would never betray you. xoxo. 

I woke up with bleary vision and a pounding headache. I was ready to fully blame it on the tears I'd shed until I looked to the nightstand to see an uncorked bottle of whiskey and remembered. Surely, I hadn't drank enough to feel this badly? There was only a little gone from the bottle. I grimaced, sitting up to rest my head in my hands.

Screeching filtered through the hallway and registered in my ears. Panic sucker-punched me as I realized Feyre was no longer next to me. Her side of the bed felt cold, like it had been a while since she had laid next to me. The clock read 4am. She should not have been out of bed, and I should never have slept through her leaving.

I scrambled up from the bed, my legs getting tangled in the sheets in my haste. I pulled on pants and a shirt faster than I think I'd ever dressed myself, ducking into the bathroom to make sure that wasn't where she'd been. She wasn't there. My skin went cold. A bead of sweat formed at the nape of my neck. I yanked on my boots, storming down the hall, breathing heavily.

More than anything, I wanted to scream her name, but I knew that wasn't wise. Gods, where was she? My mind continued to venture toward the fear that something very bad had happened. I'd been foolish last night to believe Amarantha wouldn't have hunted me down for my reaction to her work. But the only reason she would take Feyre and not me was if-

I couldn't even allow myself to think it. I attempted to summon my magic, trying to connect with Feyre mind-to-mind, but my powers felt muted. This was very, very bad. Amarantha had likely dosed my whiskey, knowing it was where I tended to bury my sorrows. She'd done this on purpose, to distract me. To hurt me. Then, while I was unable to protect her, stole Feyre in the middle of the night.

"One can only play a game for so long without growing bored," Amarantha sighed, her voice echoing down the hall to me. The stone reverberated her speech like it was haunted. And truthfully, it might as well have been.

I picked up my pace, rounding the corner.

And I saw.

Nothing could have stopped me from falling to my knees.

My kneecaps cracked harshly against the stone, making my teeth clack together.

I didn't care.

I couldn't care.

My worst fears were actualized right in front of me.

Amarantha's lips formed into a curve of crimson.

She was proud of her work.

She'd certainly taken artistic liberties in its creation.

The sound of a weak, wet inhalation was all it took to snap me from my daze.

She was still alive.

Feyre hung from the wall behind Amarantha's throne, her blood coating the wall underneath her like fresh paint. Her hands had been stabbed entirely through, nails violently shoved into the gaping holes, holding her to the wall in a position that limited her ability to breathe severely. I wasn't sure how long she'd been hanging there, but I knew how little time she had now.

I was back on my feet, sprinting directly at Amarantha, my rage so volatile it was likely flowing off me in crashing, ruinous waves. She turned, her eyes catching mine. She feigned shock before giving me a wicked, conniving smile. I wanted to peel every inch of skin from her bones and make her watch.