Throne of Glass and ACOTAR Crossover (complete)

Chapter 9 - Aelin

The court of nightmares reminds me of Adarlan, of the places I frequented as Celaena Sardothien. The darkness, the noise, the everybody  being pressed too close together, that is all familiar. I smile to myself, this I know how to do.

I can feel all the eye's in the room glued to our party. Feyre and Rhys are still outside, probably so they can make a grand entrance, but even without them we are apparently worth watching. I smirk and toss my hair over my shoulder. I know that as the newcomers, the strangers, everybody will be watching Rowan and I. Trying to gauge whether or not we will be a threat. I bare my teeth at them. 

I can sense Rowan, tense at my side. I know he doesn't like the mask that I'm wearing, he doesn't like seeing me as Celaena. I send him a silent apology. 

Suddenly a hush fall over the entire court. They all turn to face the door. I turn with them, to see Feyre and Rhys walking into the room.

But the two people before me are not the two people I have gotten to know over the last day. They are power and cruelty and fear, all packaged into one. As one the entire court falls to its knees, including Rowan and I. 

I hate that I have to kneel, the queen of Terrasen does not kneel, but Feyre explained to me before that there are certain expectations that must be met if she and Rhys are to keep their power in this place. And one of those is that if a subject does not kneel they will very soon find themselves missing limbs. I, for one, am very fond of my limbs, so I will kneel. But I made it very clear to Feyre that this does not mean anything. I am not her subject, not her slave. She seemed to understand, and didn't push me on the matter. 

As the pair make their way through the room there is not a single sound. Nobody dares so much as breath. I'm astounded, and slightly unnerved. I don't like those that rule through fear, they remind me too much of the old king of Adarlan and Erawan. I shudder a little at the thought. 

Feyre and Rhys reach a dais placed in the center of the far wall. There is only one throne. I almost laugh at the collective wave of shock that passes through the room as Feyre takes it, rather than Rhys. The members of the court of nightmares seem scandalized. Feyre smiles, a cruel expression, and gestures for her subjects to rise. 

They do so, and she says, "Go, drink, be merry. Don't let us interrupt your fun!"

Even her voice is different, it carries weight and the promise of pain. She sounds like me. 

The rest of the court begins moving around, but it's different than before. Everyone is on their guard, and they each have one eye perpetually glued to the dais. I can see Feyre and Rhys there, engaged in a heated discussion with a male who looks quite like Mor. 

I soon grow bored of being separated from the crowd. I dart forward and I hear Rowan's soft curse as he follows me. I move through the crowd, dodging stray elbows and feet. "Hello gorgeous" Somebody whispers close to my ear. 

I whirl on the unknown person, a knife in my hand. In less than a second I have the blade against his throat and i say "tell me that one more time. Please. You have no idea how much I want to use this knife."

The faerie whimpers, fear causing sweat to roll down his face. After several moments I let him go. I consider slitting his throat, just for effect, but I figure that might cause a commotion. I look up, and find Feyre's eyes fixed on me. I blow her a kiss. When her eyebrows contract a little in surprise and confusion I laugh aloud. 

I wander off into the crowd, a knife always concealed in my hand. I feel more alive than I have in months of trying to run a country. I'm Celaena Sardothian again, and I'm in my element. 

Rowan is always a few steps behind me, his wary eyes scanning the crowd looking for any threats. But he keeps his distance, lets me play my part. I'm grateful. 

Finally, after what seems to be hours Feyre and Rhys rise and the whole room falls silent again. I walk over to Mor and the rest of our group, and we prepare to leave with the High Lord and Lady. 

Just as we are about to depart, I hear the male who looks so much like Mor whispers to Feyre "You're still a little whore."

Rhys looks about ready to rip the man's head from his shoulders, but Feyre quiets him with a single look. Then she turns to the male and says, her voice ringing out over the frozen room, "I think you were once warned not to call me that. Well, now your warnings have run out."

Then, faster than I can register it, the male is encased in ice from the waist down. I shoot a quick glance at Rowan, but he shrugs his shoulders. Not him. Apparently the lovely high lady is multi-talented. 

Feyre gestures with her hand, and to my surprise it is Az that walks forward, a wicked looking blade in his hand. He shoots a quick glance at Mor, a glance I can't quite decipher, and when she nods, he plunges the dagger straight into the male's heart. 

The room is so silent that you could hear a drop of water hitting the ground. In fact, we do when the ice encasing the dead male melts. Then Rhys points to a male cowering on the floor. "You are steward. Rule well." Then Mor grabs my arm, and we all winnow out. 

A moment later we are standing back in the beautiful airy house. I look over at Feyre and Rhys. They have dropped the masks they had been wearing, and now just look tired, sad. There are even tears streaming down Feyre's cheeks as she lets herself be embraced by Rhys. I avert my eyes.

Feyre is constantly surprising me. I don't know whether I respect her, or am disgusted by her. I don't know whether she's weaker than me, or stronger than me. I just don't know. And not knowing...

It's scaring the shit out of me.