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possumsandprose · 1 year ago

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A Court of Trials and Tragedies

Hello my loves! In honour of #feysandweek2023, I've created a multi-chapter Eros and Psyche AU for them. I'm not sure how often this will be updated as my work schedule is pretty crazy, but I'll do my best. The first few chapters will be shorter, but they will bulk up once the main plot starts rolling. Read the first chapter below, or here on A03. Always open to constructive criticism, and apologies if there's any mistakes as I'm my own beta reader.

Summary: Feyre Archeron, the princess of Prythian, has suddenly begun to be worshipped as a reincarnation of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love. When Amarantha discovers this, she is furious, and sends her son Rhysand to prick her with a magical arrow to make her fall in love with a horrible beast. All goes according to plan, until...

Feyre Archeron stared out at the flat plains that stretched out beneath her castle. The grassy lands of Prythian were beautiful, and she was lucky enough to be the princess. She observed the party currently happening in the town square. There was dancing and music, food and fun, and everyone had come in celebration of her 18th birthday. Feyre knew she should be out there, dancing with some important noble. She had just come of age, and she knew her father would be soon seeking a suitable partner for her to strengthen their political alliances,

and yet here she was, hiding in a small tower, dreading when her mother would call her down and demand she present herself.

Feyre was dressed immaculately, with her hair pinned up into a bun, small stars adorning it. Her lips were painted a striking bright red colour, stained with some berry imported from a far-off land, and her eyes we line with kohl. She knew she looked like a vision, and that was why she was hiding. Her sisters were both truly stunning, and had already secured themselves rich, influential husbands. Soon it would be her turn. But Feyre knew she was more beautiful than her sisters, because since she had gone from a cute little girl to a stunning young woman, men had been throwing themselves at her, begging for her attention. Soon her sisters began to hate her, as they got less and less attention.

It didn't matter to them that Feyre never wanted the advances of men, never wanted the wooers, constantly being in the spotlight. Suddenly she heard the sound she'd been dreading.

"Feyre! Where are you? It's almost time for you to come and present yourself to the town!"

Her mother's shrill voice cut through the air, and Feyre sighed. She knew this time would come eventually, but here she was all the same.

She stood, knowing making her mother wait for her would only lead to trouble, and looked in the mirror at her reflection. Her dress was a white gossamer piece covered in delicately sewn flowers, buckled with a gold belt, and clasps holding it to the purple shawl her father had given her this morning. She fingered the shawl, tracing its edge. Purple was so rare and expensive; she was still in awe she had received something so beautiful.

"Only the prettiest for the prettiest girl," he'd said with a smile as he presented to her.

"Feyre! Don't make me come and get you."

Once again, her mother called out for her, and she sighed, moving along down the corridor to where she knew her mother would be waiting to escort her out.

She approached the main gates of the castle, and there she was. Emeline Archeron, looking as beautiful and regal as she always did, her gossamer dress the same shade of periwinkle as the valerian Feyre had seen when she was visiting the temple. The temple. The temple brough back the memories she’d been fighting so hard to avoid.

She had gone to the temple of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love, to leave an offering as was her custom. It was a lovely day, surprising considering December weather was usually horrid, but she had decided to make the most of it. Her servants had prepared all of the necessary things for sacrifices, and they were off. The trail to the temple was a representation of the goddess herself, people said, as the scenery was as lovely as she was. Flowers of every type grew in numberless bunches along it. Pale white narcissi spread their petals next to the dainty irises, whose amethyst hues stood out amongst the grass. In the lake, plump ducks swam through the water lilies that filled the air with their sweet scent. Sweeping trees that Feyre couldn’t identify waved their branches over the dirt road. The temple itself was a humble structure, made of stone, though still beautiful in its own regard. A row of columns held up a simple roof, ivy hugging tightly to each one. Grapes hung in small bunches from the vines, and Feyre knew all were invited to take some as a gift of the goddess’ bounty. Inside the temple, a large marble statue of Amarantha stood erect right at the back, with an altar directly in front. Torches burned all along the walls, and materials for burning sacrifices were laid in neat piles, ready for whoever came to make their offering. But something was off. Along with the thin layer of dust that coated every surface, there was no one there.

“Is anyone there?” Feyre called out, wondering if perhaps the priests had just slipped outside to pray, or perhaps were out of sight.

However, no one came at the sound of her call. This was unheard of, as the temple always had at least a dozen priests and priestesses caring for it, and this level of disrepair should never have been allowed. Suddenly, a clicking noise sounded from the entrance she had just come from. Feyre turned, and an old man with a cane hobbled in.

“Chrysis! It’s so good to see you!” She rushed forward to hug the frail, bearded, limping figure that had just walked in.

Chrysis opened his arm and embraced her. He had known her since she was a baby, and she had grown up listening to his stories of gods and monsters, heroes and tyrants.

“Where is everyone? I thought the Festival of the Sun wasn’t until tomorrow,” she said in confusion, hoping her friend, the high priest of all the surrounding temples, could provide some answers.

Chrysis sighed. He looked greatly troubled, which was very strange. As long as Feyre had known him, he had always been calm and happy, but now he looked distressed.

“My princess…,” he began, which set Feyre on even higher alert than normal. He knew he never needed to call her that.

Words seemed to fail him, so he tried again.

“Lady Feyre, the priests and the people…have all gone to worship another.”

Feyre frowned. “But the priests are bound to this temple! They are free to go wherever they please when not working, and of course the people may go to all the temples, but why have they all abandoned this place?”

Chrysis clutched his stick tighter, his wrinkled hand turning white from how hard he held it.

“They do not believe they need to serve Amarantha anymore. You see, they believe she now walks the lands of Prythian in human form. The people and priests have gone to her residence to worship her instead.”

“But that’s apostasy! Amarantha will be furious. Who is this woman? She ought to deny all these claims and send everyone back to the temple,” Feyre responded angrily, trying to think through all the ladies it could have been. She certainly knew plenty of females who would love nothing more than to have people worshipping them as the reincarnation of the beauty goddess, and if Feyre had to bet, she’d place her money on Ianthe. That horrid priestess of Helion, with her fake blonde hair and her unnatural blue eyes, only played at modesty, while secretly revelling in the attention men paid her.

Feyre was snapped out of her thoughts when Chrysis looked her deep in the eyes and said, with a more solemn voice than she’d ever heard him use before,

“The woman, my lady, is you.”

--------------------------------------------------

Amarantha was fuming. She yanked her hand through her scarlet red hair as she stared down upon Prythian in an utter fury. She’d first begun to notice that her numbers of sacrifices were dwindling, so naturally she sent out an epidemic of what the mortals called “chicken pox”, which left many of the young women pock-marked and scarred. That got everyone back to worshipping her again, knowing that a curse against someone’s appearance would always be hers. Strangely, it started happening again shortly thereafter. And some of her priests had left the temple one day, never to return.

She wondered what could have happened, and decided to give one last reminder. She sent her servant out to wreak havoc amongst all the families of the earth. It was cruel, weaponizing the one she called her son against innocents, but Amarantha had never been known as a kind woman. Rhysand would be back any minute now, and shortly thereafter everyone would resume their sacrifices to her.

A smile played on her red lips. How foolish the humans were to forget her. Soon she would haunt their waking hours and their sleeping ones. However, in one small corner of her mind, a little voice nagged at her to figure out why her worship had ceased. Surely not everyone would have forgotten all at once, so why then?

Just as she was considering doing something she so rarely did-leave her pristine palace, dressing in human clothes, taking on the despicable human form, and walking amongst them to discover the source of the issue-, the smell of citrus and ocean waves reached her. Amarantha frowned. He was back on time, bow slung across his shoulders, black hair swept from the wind.

“Rhysand,” she said contemptuously. She had a feeling whatever news he was bringing would not be news she liked.

“What news do you bring of the human world? Have you done all that I asked?”

Rhysand bowed stiffly, his wings jostling behind him.

“I have done as you requested, and many have fallen victim to the blight. Many will not make the week,” he said, and though this information made Amarantha cackle in evil delight, Rhysand’s scowl seemed to grow by the second.

“However, the people still will not return to worshipping you. They have found another, a human they believe to be your incarnation. All their praise and adoration is for her now,” Rhysand said, and if Amarantha had been angry before, now she was livid.

“What human DARES to present herself as me?” she screeched loudly. Whoever this wretched girl was would soon find out just what it was to slight a goddess. Her wrath would be unquenchable, and the girl would never know a day of respite until her last feeble breath squeezed out from her pathetic lungs.

“It is the human princess, Feyre Archeron. She has tried to cease the people’s worship of her, but to no avail. Already a temple is being constructed in her honour, though she has attempted to stop them at every turn,” Rhysand said, but Amarantha had tune out everything but the girl’s name. Feyre. Archeron. The fact she was a princess made this all the more fun.

She began to consider what possibilities existed for her to destroy Feyre. All her usual methods of illness and torture seemed insufficient for this task. She then turned to Rhysand, her cold eyes surveying him. Yes. That would do.

“I see,” she responded coolly, even though her mind was racing, “well my dear, I have one more task for you.”

“And what might that be, my lady?” he said, and Amarantha did not miss the hint of bitterness in his tone. Clearly, he knew what she intended to ask him, and he didn’t like it. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t care.

“I want you to go to this human while she sleeps, and pierce her with one of your magical arrows. Make her fall in love with something so hideous, so vile, so repugnant, that not only will she be shamed by her whole family, but she will disgrace her whole kingdom. No one will ever be able to say her name without spitting it, when it is done. That is your task. Do not fail me,” she stated with authority, and she could see she had won. No matter whether Rhysand liked it or not.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he said, “So be it then, my lady. I will see to it that it is done.”

With that, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

A/N: Thank you for reading! The next chapter should be up before the end of the week. Let me know if you enjoyed!

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