A Court of Thorns and Roses

Feyre is a huntress. She thinks nothing of slaughtering a wolf to capture it's prey. But, like all mortals,she fears what lingers mercilessly beyond the forest. And she will learn that taking the life or a magical creature comes at a high price... Imprisoned in an enchanted court in her enemy's kingdom, Feyre is free to roam but forbidden to escape. Her captor's body bears the scars of fighting, and his face is always masked - but his piercing stare draws her ever closer. As Feyre's feelings for Tamlin begin to burn through every warning she's been told about his kind, an ancient, wicked shadow grows. Feyre must find a way to break a spell, or lose her heart forever...

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21. Scene 21 - Rhysand in Spring

(FEYRE, TAMLIN and LUCIEN are eating lunch at a table)

 

FEYRE – And where were you last night?

 

LUCIEN – I'll have you know what while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.

 

(TAMLIN coughs pointedly)

 

LUCIEN – With some company. (slyly) Rumour has it that you two didn't come back until after dawn.

 

(TAMLIN stares at FEYRE)

 

FEYRE – You drugged me with magic and kidnapped me to get me here. You have forcibly kept me here, and the native inhabitants of Prythian have nearly killed me a few times. If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.

 

TAMLIN – Nothing?

 

LUCIEN – (muttering) Cauldron spare me.

 

FEYRE – (distantly) Nothing.

 

TAMLIN – Are you sure?

 

LUCIEN – I'm trying to eat! (pause) But now that I have your attention, Tamlin, not to be the bearer of bad tidings, but my contact at the Winter Court managed to get a letter to me.

 

(TAMLIN stops smiling)

 

LUCIEN – The blight. It took out two dozen of their younglings. Two dozen, all gone. It just… burned through their magic, then broke apart their minds. No one in the Winter Court could do anything. My contact says other courts are being hit hard, too, though the Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed.

 

TAMLIN – (muttering) Rhysand…

 

LUCIEN – The blight seems to be sending its wickedness this way – farther south with each attack.

 

FEYRE – The blight can… can truly kill people?

 

TAMLIN – (slowly shaking his head) The blight is capable of hurting us in ways that you –

 

(TAMLIN jumps up knocking his chair over)

 

TAMLIN – Get Feyre to the window – by the curtains.

 

(LUCIEN drags FEYRE to the stage curtains and she grabs a knife on the way)

 

FEYRE – What's –

 

TAMLIN – (sitting down) Shh…

 

(footsteps are audible as RHYS prowls on stage)

 

RHYS – (inclining his head) High Lord.

 

TAMLIN – What do you want, Rhysand?

 

RHYS – (smiling, puts a hand on his chest) Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don't see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my prisoners and my enemies call me that.

 

(looking at LUCIEN)

 

RHYS – A fox mask. How appropriate.

 

LUCIEN – Go to hell, Rhys.

 

RHYS – Always a pleasure, dealing with the rabble.

 

(looking at TAMLIN)

 

RHYS – I hope I wasn't interrupting.

 

TAMLIN – We were in the middle of lunch.

 

RHYS – Stimulating.

 

TAMLIN – What are you doing here, Rhys?

 

RHYS – I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.

 

TAMLIN – Your present was unnecessary.

 

RHYS – But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn't

it? Almost half a century holed up in a country estate.

I don't know how you managed it. But you're such a stubborn idiot that this must seem like paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I'm surprised though: forty-nine years and no attempt to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again.

 

TAMLIN – What do you know about anything? You're just Amarantha's bed-warmer.

 

RHYS – Her bed-warmer I may be, but not without

my reasons. At least I haven't bided my time among the hedges and flowers as the world has gone to Hell.

 

LUCIEN – If you think that's all I've been doing, you'll soon learn otherwise.

 

RHYS – Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing to see your mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.

 

LUCIEN – Watch your filthy mouth.

 

RHYS – Is that any way to speak to a High Lord of Prythian?

 

NARRATOR – In that moment, my heart stopped dead. That was why everyone has stayed away from him at Nynsar – to cross him would have been suicide. And there was only one court he could rule with the way darkness seemed to ripple from him.

 

RHYS – Come now, Tamlin. Shouldn't you reprimand your lackey for speaking to me like that.

 

TAMLIN – I don't enforce rank in my court.

 

RHYS – Still? But it's so entertaining when they grovel. I suppose your father never bothered to show you.

 

LUCIEN – This isn't the Night Court. And you have no power here – so clear out. Amarantha's bed is growing cold, Rhysand.

 

NARRATOR – Rhysand – he'd been the one to send that body here. As a gift.

 

RHYS – (snarling) I was slaughtering on the battlefield before you were even born. (calmly) Besides, who do you think taught your beloved Tamlin the finer aspects of swords and females. You can't truly believe he learnt everything in his father's little war-camps.

 

TAMLIN – Save it for another time, Rhys. You'll see me soon enough.

 

RHYS – She's already preparing for you. Given your current state, I think I can safely report that you have been broken and will reconsider her offer. I'm looking forward to seeing your face when you – (pause) Where's your guest?

 

TAMLIN – I sent them off when I sensed your arrival.

 

(RHYS sniffs)

 

RHYS – (with rage) YOU DARE GLAMOUR ME! (looking at FEYRE) I remember you. It seems like you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble. (to TAMLIN and LUCIEN) Who, pray tell, is your guest?

 

LUCIEN – My betrothed.

 

RHYS – Oh? Here I was thinking you still mourned your common lover after all these years.

 

(LUCIEN snarls at RHYS and draws his sword)

 

RHYS – You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you'll learn how quickly Amarantha's bed-warmer can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.

 

TAMLIN – Put your sword down, Lucien.

 

RHYS – (staring at FEYRE) I know you like to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you'd actually dabble with mortal trash. (pause) The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I'd keep your new pet well away from your father.

 

TAMLIN – Leave, Rhys.

 

(RHYS brushes LUCIEN aside and takes the knife from FEYRE)

 

RHYS – This won't do you any good, anyway. If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It's a wonder that you're still here, actually.

 

(FEYRE is obviously confused)

 

RHYS – (laughing) She doesn't know, does she?

 

TAMLIN – You have seconds, Rhys. Seconds to get out.

 

RHYS – If I were you, I wouldn't speak to me like that.

 

(FEYRE goes taut)

 

TAMLIN – Let her go. Enough!

 

RHYS – I'd forgotten that human minds are as easy to shatter as eggshells. (running a finger across FEYRE'S throat) Look at how delightful she is – look how she's trying not to cry out in terror. It would be quick, I promise. (pause) Lucien, you should get her under control – she has the most delicious thoughts about Tamlin.

 

TAMLIN – Let. Her. Go.

 

RHYS – If it's any consolation, she would have been the one for you – and you might have gotten away with it. A bit late, though. She's more stubborn than you are.

 

(FEYRE collapses onto the floor)

 

RHYS – Amarantha will enjoy breaking her.

 

TAMLIN – Please.

 

RHYS – (gently) Please what?

 

TAMLIN – Don't tell Amarantha about her.

 

RHYS – And why not? As her “bed-warmer” I should tell her everything.

 

TAMLIN – Please.

 

RHYS – Beg, and I'll consider not telling her.

 

(TAMLIN gets on his knees, bowing his head)

 

RHYS – Lower. (pause) You too, fox-boy.

 

(LUCIEN gets on his knees, bowing his head)

 

RHYS – Are you doing this for your sake, of for hers? (shrugging) You're far too desperate, Tamlin. It's off-putting. Becoming High Lord has made you so boring.

 

TAMLIN – Are you going to tell Amarantha?

 

RHYS – Perhaps I'll tell her, perhaps I won't.

 

(TAMLIN lunges at RHYS. RHYS holds up a hand)

 

RHYS – None of that. Not with a lady present. (to FEYRE) What's your name, love?

 

NARRATOR – To give him my family's name would have been suicide, so I blurted the first name that came to mind.

 

FEYRE – Clare Beddor.

 

NARRATOR – She was a village friend of my sisters whose face I couldn't recall.

 

RHYS – (to TAMLIN) Well, this was entertaining. The most fun I've had in ages, actually. I'm looking forward to seeing you three Under the Mountain. I'll give Amarantha your regards.

 

(lights dim)

 

NARRATOR – Rhysand vanished into nothing – as if he'd stepped through a rip in the world – leaving us alone in horrible, trembling silence.

 

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