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darling-archeron · 4 years

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Beneath the Dark - Chapter Six

What would have happened if Feyre had come to Prythian much earlier? Feyre Archeron has left her mortal life behind, and accepted being demi-fae. She has found her place in the Night Court's Inner Circle. But when her and Rhys attend a ball hosted by Amarantha Under the Mountain, they are in for much more than they bargained for.

A huge thanks to @theleadcinnabon for helping beta this chapter and story!! <33

Three weeks had passed since we had been trapped here. Three infinitely long, dark weeks. Some days passed by as slowly as watching shadows shift. Others seemed gone in a blink.

Amarantha had been toying with Calder all week while everyone else watched helplessly. Some of his family had tried to heal him, tried to get her to stop, but to no avail. Not only were his healing abilities weakened by losing his magic, but some damage wasn’t meant to be survived. That was the kind of damage The Deceiver knew to inflict. Not to mention that she didn’t take kindly to anyone trying to steal her entertainment. But yesterday it had finally ended, as he had gasped his last breaths out, the color of his blood only a bit darker than the red marble floor. It seemed that even his enemies felt some shade of remorse. They had hated him, yes, but...not like this.

Jurian’s eye had gone wild inside her ring as if reminded of his own execution. Indeed, it wasn’t the noble death of a High Lord as I would have hoped – it had been a welcome, sad thing. An older High Fae was High Lord of Winter now, his eyes serious by the burden laid upon him. I hadn't yet spoken to him. I would wait, see what sort of leader he turned out to be.

But in the time since we had first been trapped, some semblance of normalcy had begun to knit itself together. We had all begun to get a feel for the central part of the mountain and the passageways it contained – though the tunnels and catacombs far below were still a mystery. Amarantha had even been halfway agreeable when you considered that she hadn't ordered any more mass murders. The week prior, she had commanded the High Lords to find out what their High Fae needed so she could have it shipped over. Of course, requests of the lesser fae were ignored. Yet, among the most requested goods were fabrics, spices, and various other precious items. As if finery and riches would save us, improve this false court in any way. She had even left a few, though not all, requests for weapons slide by, though I knew it was nothing but a taunt.

Rhys was scarce these days, and I could never decipher where he had slipped off to. I caught glimpses of him at the nightly revels and around the halls, but we had exchanged few words over the bargain bond, and even fewer face-to-face.

I would have been lying if I said his ignoring didn’t sting a bit, even if I knew why it was. In the absence of him and his orders, I made it my mission to learn everything I could about the inhabitants of the Mountain and its layout. Gathering any bit of little information that could help me get Rhys, Nuala, and Cerridwen out.

As it was now, the afternoon was drawing to a close, and I found myself standing in a cavernous room, speaking with males who thought themselves better than me as I held a glass of wine in my hand.

A common occurrence these days. Somehow, nobody had lost their taste for alcohol despite the catastrophic curse it had laid on us.

This time, the males were High Lord Nostrus, who seemed to have the interests of his people at heart, and though he was intelligent, was also weak-willed, and his much younger cousin, Tarquin. Beron had also inserted himself into the conversation and was my least favorite to deal with. Misogynistic and cruel, I would never forgive him for what he had done to Mor.

“Truth be told, Nostrus, I can’t see why any of the Courts should consider consolidating their resources. Maybe Summer is weakened, but Autumn doesn’t need to lean on anyone else.” Beron replied.

“That may be true now, but what about in forty years? Not just for us, but for our people. Our trading with the continent has been seriously impacted by recent events.” Tarquin interjected, ever eager to help.

“Tarquin has a point, but I can’t be convinced that the Courts should consolidate completely, Nostrus. But there’s no reason we shouldn’t plan for it in the future.” I pointed out.

Nostrus looked irritated but stayed silent. It was Beron who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“And who invited you to participate in this, Lady Valspian?” Beron jabbed.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Are you going to pick a fight with me, Beron? As Lord Nostrus pointed out, we are all in this together. Perhaps when the time comes, you wouldn't be so quick to shun what Night offers.” I fought to keep the bitter edge mostly out of my voice. Beron was cut off from responding by Tarquin gesturing to behind me.

I turned around to see a grey-veiled female servant standing a few feet away. The fabric distorted too much of her features for me to see her clearly, but I could make out a pair of bright, catlike green eyes. She shrunk back under my gaze. “Lady Valspian?”

“Yes.” The sound of her voice startled me – I had never heard one of these servants speak. They were quiet and submissive, just as Amarantha liked them. Supposedly they were her servants from Hybern, but I had heard rumors of Prythian’s Lesser Faeries being kidnapped, cursed into silence and servitude.

“I have a message for you. Her Majesty requests your presence in her chambers in an hour for dinner.”

I had known this was imminent. I had waited with bated breath day after day, knowing that Amarantha would not forget about me. And I had promised myself I would meet it head-on. I was not weak, not helpless anymore. I knew how to use my powers. I could break into minds and glamour and win a swordfight against someone stronger than me.

And yet – my courage faltered. As those images flashed in my mind. Of all Amarantha had done. Of all the times I had failed.

“Tell Her Majesty that while I am honored, I have already promised dinner with Lady Cyra tonight, and I’d prefer not to go back on my word.”

Behind me, I heard Beron snort.

Was it a shit idea? Absolutely. Was it going to put Amarantha off my trail? Probably not. Through the veil, I could make out the girl’s eyes widening. “I-I do not think it was an optional invitation, My Lady. To dine with Her Majesty is a great honor.”

I narrowed my eyes. “The Queen should know that I keep my word. Now leave, before I have to make myself any clearer.”

She nodded once, turning away and soundlessly retreating down the hall. I prayed that Amarantha wouldn't take her wrath out on the servant.

A little over an hour later, I heard Rhys for the first time in days.

“What the hell, Feyre?”

“What?”

“You refused Amarantha? By telling her that you were dining with Cyra, of all things? Couldn’t you have at least come up with a better lie?” His temper was barely in check, anger so sharp lashing down the bond I could nearly feel it.

“I’m trying to keep my secrets just that Rhys – secret. And you’re always so insistent on me staying away from her, I would have thought you would have been pleased.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve only succeeded in drawing more attention to yourself.”

A cold feeling crept over me. I had been irrational…I had known all along that this wasn’t a permanent solution.

“I’ll be fine, Rhys. I can take care of myself. But how did you hear about it so fast?”

“I’m entertaining her right now. I’m the next best thing to your delightful company tonight.”

Was that where he had been spending all of his time? With her? That cold in the pit of my stomach grew. “I didn’t realize…I’m sorry, Rhys.”

Stony silence. I attempted humor. “ Is the food at least decent? If you’re subjected to her company you should be fed properly.”

No response. Once again, towering walls of adamant environed him. I didn’t bother trying to get past them.

Holding in a groan, I resisted the urge to ask for something stronger to drink. The gravity of the situation had truly settled on me in the past days. At first, despite the horrors, it had almost seemed like a bad dream. That luxury was fading away with each day.

At least I actually had agreed to dinner with Cyra. The youngest daughter of High Lord Julius, the female was certainly clever, if not a bit shallow. Rhys’s ties with Day were tenuous at best, and if having dinner with one of their royals would help me keep a better eye on them, so be it.

An hour into my dinner with Cyra and I hadn’t figured out if she was asking nonstop questions about Rhysand for political reasons, or because she thought he was handsome and marriage material.

Well, he was. Handsome, certainly. But that was no reason for me to spend my time answering question after question about him, all while trying to turn the conversation back around to her.

“And where does Rhysand spend all his time these days? I can’t say I’ve seen him in – well, I don’t know how long!” She tittered, and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

If she was trying to wile secrets out of me, she was making an interesting approach.

I focused on cutting my chicken into tiny, tiny pieces. “I couldn’t say. He hardly confides in me about his whereabouts And even -.” I was interrupted by the door being violently opened, handle knocking against the stone of the wall.

There in the doorway, framed by faint faelight from the hall, stood Amarantha herself. She looked otherworldly in the lighting, a painting waiting to be created with a crown on her head and a dark dress.

Cyra's fork clattered against her plate.

“Cyra. You will excuse Feyre. She has much greater plans with me this evening.” Her voice left no room for argument. “Feyre.” A beckoning, as if I was a dog to be summoned. I stood from my chair and followed her out the door, not bothering to look back at Cyra.

A string of expletives going off with each step I took, following close behind her, I hoped I was only being over cautious. She didn’t speak.

I had known from my explorations that Amarantha’s chambers had two entrances – the doors to her bedroom, and an entrance to her living quarters. Amarantha took me to the latter, the door less grand than the main ones but still carved. I wasn’t sure what to brace myself for – heads on a pike, more finger bones, servants waiting on her hand and foot – but no. Instead, it was surprisingly empty. The walls had been papered with a rather gaudy purple and cream pattern, and a giant faelight chandelier hung from the ceiling. Amarantha settled herself on a velvet mauve chaise, hand open and awaiting something. A heartbeat later, a grey-veiled female servant appeared, placing a glass of red wine in her open hand. I stared at her for a moment, and frightened green eyes peered back at me. It was the same servant from earlier - Amarantha hadn't harmed her.

“Feyre. So nice to dine with you.” She scanned me up and down, a catlike smile forming on her lips.

“It’s my pleasure, my Queen.” I dipped into a curtsy.

“Likewise.” She gestured to a chair with a wave of her claw-like hand. “Sit.”

I made my way over to the matching velvet chair nearest to her, dress crinkling around me as I sat. I had barely blinked before a wine glass was placed into my palm. Then both of the silent maids were out of the room, nearly floating like specters. Now that I was closer to Amarantha, I could sense the wards and spells she had placed on herself, making physical attacks impossible. Of course, magic ones were already out of the question.

“So.” She angled her body towards mine, eyes crackling with dangerous power. “I'll do you a favor just this once and not mention the way in which you slighted me this evening. I trust it won't happen again."

I scrambled for a response. "Of course. Thank you, My Queen."

Her entire demeanor changed then - from threatening to untroubled in a heartbeat.

"Then, how are you faring? Are you comfortable here?”

I nodded. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.”

She rolled her eyes. “A boring answer. Come now, Feyre. I find you interesting. So entertain me.” Indeed, I had never quite seen this side of her. How many sides did the Deciever have?

This was what she had called me in here for? Petty gossip and entertainment? I took a long, slow sip of my wine.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report on.”

She took another sip of wine, otherwise unmoving. I had to force my fingers to stop playing with the fabric of my dress. “I won’t dance around niceties anymore. I’m sure you know why I’ve called you here. You have quite a unique skill set.”

I had considered this at length. To play dumb or go along with this. And I still wasn’t sure that my decision was the right one. “I do.”

“I was quite surprised at first. You seemed so ordinary, and yet you walked so close to Rhysand the night of the masquerade. He valued you, and now I know why. You might be the only other of his kind on the continent. I never imagined you’d reveal your secrets on your own so quickly. You fought rather spectacularly in the fight. You even brought down one of my personal guards. I didn’t think many women fought in the Night Court.” She took another swallow of wine, and then lowered her hand again, resting it on the side of the chaise.

For the first time in weeks, the idea of a painting flashed in my mind. The dim lighting, the glinting jewels, the rich fabrics – it would make for quite the portrait. For a moment, I wished that was that she had called me here for instead. It was almost laughable, and though painting her would have been like ripping off a bit of my soul, it would have been infinitely simpler.

I let out a short, mirthless laugh instead. “I have no desire to be weak, to be considered lesser, among these males.”

“Perhaps if you revealed your true gifts, you wouldn’t be.”

“I have already done it without that. Why would I show my true hand?” I countered.

“Powerful and a strategist.” She mused. “What other gifts are you hiding?”

I did that bored half-shrug I had seen Rhys pull off so effortlessly.

“You’re from Night, so you must have some sort of shadow manipulation, correct?”

Right – at least sort of. I could manipulate shadows, but not even close to the extent that Rhys could. They were half inconsequential things of smoke, shades of Rhysand's wonderous creations. Usually, if I wanted shadows, it was easier just to create a glamour.

"I've also seen you walking. You practically prowl, your feet are so silent. In another life, perhaps you could have been an assassin," she mused.

Damn it. Just like that, she had me pinned down.

“Since you insist on knowing, yes. I can manipulate shadows, I can break into minds, I can stab someone before they even know I’m in the room.”

“You’re my kind of female, Feyre Valspian. And we could do great things together.”

“What are you proposing?”

Amarantha ignored my question. “Do you hate me, Feyre?”

I forced myself to not break eye contact, to keep my hands still. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you don’t like me, Feyre. I can see it burning in your eyes, you know. If you want to get anywhere, you really should get better at concealing it. But luckily for you, hate has never deterred me.”

Do not let surprise show, keep your face a mask –

I finally found words. “I don’t hate you, My Queen. I hate the murders of my people that you’ve committed. I admire your ambition.”

She tilted her head. “Those deaths were necessary, Feyre. Certainly, acceptable losses in the grand scheme of things.”

“Perhaps.” I allowed, clamping down on my rage. Many of those nobles had been wicked, many of them I could barely name. And yet, I still felt such unmatched anger at their deaths. Perhaps even deeper than Rhys had. Maybe it was because of my youth – I hadn’t had time to grow a shield between myself and the world.

“Your dislike is hardly enough to discourage me, dearest. You’re far too much of an asset.”

“Please, explain to me what it is you want.” I insisted.

“What I want?” Her breathing grew quick, fingers so tight around the glass goblet I thought it might shatter. “I want to see Tamlin fall. I want to make sure all of Prythian recognizes me as their true Queen. I want to watch the dawn of a new age.” She locked eyes with me. “And you are going to be the one to help me do it.”

My breath hitched a bit, but I looked down at my wine instead, swirling the dark purple around in the glass. “Why should I?”

Amarantha set her wine glass down on the table, the motion making a loud clunk. Cauldron, I was playing a dangerous game.

“Do I need to spell it out? We share so many common goals, Feyre. Don’t pretend you don’t want the High Lords brought to their knees. I saw the way you looked at the likes of Tamlin and Beron. You’d rather die than scrape before them, wouldn’t you?” Her voice was so soft, so persuasive, that I wondered if she had spelled it. “You claim you have no desire to be seen as weak. Prove it to me. The High Lords are already pinned beneath my thumb. The next step is to make it known to everyone else who their ruler is. At the end of these forty-nine years, when Tamlin’s spirit has been broken, I will keep you at my side when everyone else falls and grovels.”

I sat in silence for a moment, pretending to contemplate when I already knew what my answer had to be.

She laughed. “Don’t pretend you have to consider it, Feyre. Would you prefer me to threaten your life and force you to obey?”

I was going to die beneath this mountain. I hated this feeling. After I had left Tamlin, I had worked so hard, for so long, to ensure that I was not a pawn. I told myself I would never be one again. And yet, here I was. To succumb to it might kill me one day.

For a moment, I debated trying to bargain for more. For Rhys’s protection – for my court’s protection. But Rhys could certainly take care of himself, and it would be a risk anyway. With all of his dinners and conversations with her, he certainly had made bargains of his own. The court would also be safe for now – Velaris was hidden, and if she murdered everyone else Under the Mountain there would be none left to worship her.

“We have an agreement,” I said softly, raising my wine glass to hers in a toast. She did the same, a faint smile playing on her lips. I brought the glass to my lips and drank deeply for the first time since sitting down. At least there wasn’t a curse attached this time.

“There’s no point in us wasting time over chit-chat, then. I’ll tell you what first needs to be done.”

“Word has gotten out to the common faeries about this little exchange of power, and some of them are planning some foolish uprising or another. Offenders will need to be imprisoned. I’ve arranged for extra space in the tunnels and extra caverns to be made into cells.”

There were already at least a hundred cells carved out in the deepest chambers of the mountain, left over from the War four and a half centuries ago.

“How many prisoners are you planning on having…My Queen?” I tacked on the honorific at the end.

She shrugged. “There are entire villages that need to be dealt with. You’ll see. I want you at the forefront with some of mine. I’ll be dividing the courts between you and several of my lieutenants. By the end of the week, I want you up in the courts dealing with the masses appropriately.”

Horror squirmed in my stomach as I realized what she was planning. Imprisoning the royals, the key players in her twisted little game, that made sense. But she truly was planning a full-scale takeover.

I couldn’t leave my Court defenseless as I had planned. “The honor is mine, my Queen. But surely you don’t plan on extending your forces all the way north?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Well, for one thing, the war bands of Illyria are hardly a threat right now. They’re indeed a fearsome power, but only if united by Rhysand. Otherwise, they’ll never unite under one front, they prefer to clash with one another. If you leave them be, they’ll probably take out some of their own weak members. As for the cities…well, you’ve visited Hewn City. They’ll take a liking to your reign anyway.”

She wrinkled her nose at me. “You speak so ineloquently. But Rhysand did say the same thing, albeit with a much finer tongue.” She mused

“Then, you know I speak the truth. You must expect that I have loyalty to my birth court.” I pointed out as breezily as possible, ignoring the insult borne of my human upbringing.

"And what of the towns and villages that have no nobles or war bands to fight amongst themselves?"

"The towns are remote and defenseless. Any rebellion could be quelled when the need arose. Why extend your troops so far North and raze what isn't even a threat?"

Amarantha considered it. “I’ll allow it, for now. As a favor to Rhysand. But I will be sending a squadron of soldiers to be permanently stationed there.”

I clenched the side of the chair to avoid slumping over in relief.

“Then, your will is mine.” I dipped my head.

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parchment-and-petrichor · 7 years

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Look, publishing community. We need to talk.

About ten years ago, you let the Twilight series take over the world, and with it, naive young girls’ belief that overly protective stalker boyfriends were something to strive for. Since the series’ completion, readers and moviegoers alike have vowed to do better. We hoped to put these toxic ideals behind us with every conversation we had about the problematic nature of Stephenie Meyer’s books. We hoped in doing so, we could finally move forward to read and support more wholesome, meaningful content.

Yet somehow, you chose to invest your money in Sarah J. Maas, and unleashed a whole new, far worse beast upon the world.

Why are we still letting toxic romances dominate the YA genre? Have we learned nothing from the likes of Meyer at all?

Let’s take a step back for a moment. As with her first series, Throne of Glass, Sarah J. Maas set out to write another fairy tale retelling in her latest A Court of Thorns and Roses series. By the time Mist and Fury begins, we’ve all but cast the Beauty and the Beast pretence to the wind. In perhaps the most dull first third of any novel, Feyre is suffering extreme depression and PTSD following the trauma incurred at Amarantha’s wrath. I am wholeheartedly here for portrayals of PTSD in YA. In fact, I encourage it. And given how much of a non-entity it is in Throne of Glass following Celaena’s pre-series traumas, this almost seems like an improvement on Maas’ part. But not when it goes on and on and on for 200 pages. Reading about any protagonist moping in self-pity is a 50-page deal at most. I get we’re supposed to see Feyre’s lack of self-worth at the start of this novel. I get that her trajectory is clearly one of her realising her value and gaining empowerment. Fine. But you can tell that story in 150 less pages. Believe me, as someone who has opened a novel with significant scenes of abuse and trauma, I know what it means to cut back. It pays to trust your reader and rein it in sometimes.

Which comes to one of the most blatant transgressions Maas commits: her lack of editing. Sure, at this point, she’s kind of well-known for her signature long sequels. But larger word counts do not good writing make. This novel could have easily been a solid 400 pages without the faffing about she does in the beginning.

There are some books that really excel in being split into distinct acts. Separating segments via setting or plot shifts can really solidify the narrative, but Maas’ acts can be separated out according to isolated moments sliding along a scale of boring, great, horrifying, and dire. Which is not what you want out of a narrative arc.

I actually thoroughly enjoyed the middle of this novel. For 200 pages, it seems like Maas has begun to atone for all her grievous harm done in her previous works. She introduces some interesting female characters for Feyre to befriend. The friend dynamic of Rhysand’s council is easily one of the strengths of the series and I wish she could have introduced them by the end of the first book. Amren in particular is a fascinating character, who, for a hot second, seems like she might kick some ass in a dark, ruthless, gory kind of way. She and Feyre have a great scene where they’re given permission to go out on a mission and be badass. I was excited to see where this would go and I looked forward to seeing these new battle sisters doing some serious damage together. Unfortunately, there are once more, long interludes where Amren keeps herself locked up, decoding things while the others go out and do the exciting stuff. Until the climax of the novel, the best, most dynamic addition to the cast has been shafted. As are all of the female characters in this series.

Here’s the thing.

For the most part, I like the girls in this book. At face value, they’re great. Nesta, Amren, Mor, and Feyre could all hold their own in battle as easily as they could all have a slumber-party style ki-ki over wine together. But the patriarchal world they’re placed in does no favours for them. Maas’ faerie world is build up by patriarchal traditions, where the men are led by their territorial, violent animal instincts:

“What’s normal?” I said.

… “The … frenzy … When a couple accepts the mating bond, it’s … overwhelming. Again, harkening back to the beasts we once were. Probably something about ensuring the female is impregnated. … Some couples don’t leave the house for a week. Males get so volatile that it can be dangerous for them to be in public, anyway. I’ve seen males of reason and education shatter a room because another male looked too long in their mate’s direction too soon after they’ve been mated.”

This hyper-masculine tradition also happens to heavily feature treating women like commodities they can use and throw away whenever they like. Rhysand, a character Maas tries so hard to pass off as a celebrated feminist, even tells Feyre in the heat of passion that, “I want you splayed out on the table like my own personal feast”. Every single one of Maas’ male characters, including, and especially Rhys, is a product of this tradition. But instead of engaging with commentary about how toxic such a worldview is, Maas just lets her characters carry on in this reality without consequence, self-awareness, or rebellion against it, as can be seen by Rhys’ explanation of women’s place in the kitchen, and Feyre’s subsequent acquiescence to that role as Rhys' partner:

“It’s an … important moment when a female offers her mate food. It goes back to whatever beasts we were a long, long time ago. But it still matters. The first time matters. Some mated pairs will make an occasion of it– throwing a party just so the female can formally offer her mate food … But it means that the female … accepts the bond.”

This old-fashioned, dare I say, archaic misogynistic ideal is just treated as the norm, effectively cementing every other male fantasy writer’s depiction of patriarchal societies as the ultimate world-building feature of the genre.

I don’t know what Maas is thinking, but whatever it is, it’s not cute.

Why are we still putting fantasies set in patriarchal worlds on such a high pedestal? It’s fantasy! What’s more, it’s 2017! You can’t tell me it’s more realistic to write a patriarchal society than literally any other kind in a fantasy world. When Maas, a woman writer creating her own world from scratch, has the chance to do whatever she wants, this is what she gives us?

One of the most horrifying scenes in A Court of Thorns and Roses (which is also shockingly overlooked) is Rhysand drugging Feyre and turning her into his slave whore without her consent. Maas sweeps this under the rug with a quick explanation that is all justified to a.) save Rhys’ fearsome reputation among the other realms, and b.) protect Feyre from the horrors of Amarantha’s kingdom. Just when I thought this particular plot was given its much needed closure (shut it down, Sarah. Shut it down right now!), the slave whore plot rears its ugly head again:

“I had heard the rumours, and I didn’t quite believe him.” [Keir’s] gaze settled on me, on my breasts, peaked through the folds of my dress, of my legs, spread wider than they’d been minutes before, and Rhys’ hand in dangerous territory. “But it seems true: Tamlin’s pet is now owned by another master.”

“You should see how I make her beg,” Rhys murmured, nudging my neck with his nose.

Keir clasped his hands behind his back. “I assume you brought her to make a statement.”

“You know everything I do is a statement.”

The only difference is, Feyre’s aware and consenting this time. Still, the skimpy dress and incredibly graphic touching on Rhys’ part all in the name of creating a diversion isn’t good enough to justify his actions. Rhysand’s created a thinly-veiled excuse to once again, objectify Feyre, touch her inappropriately in front of everyone, and lay claim to her when she’s not his to claim:

“Try not to let it go to your head.”

…I … said with midnight smoothness, “What?”

Rhys’ breath caressed my ear, the twin to the breath he’d brushed against it merely an hour ago in the skies. “That every male in here is contemplating what they’d be willing to give up in order to get that pretty, red mouth of yours on them.”

…His hand slid higher up my thigh, the proprietary touch of a male who knew he owned someone body and soul.

His eyes on the Steward, Rhys made vague nods every now and then. While his fingers continued their slow, steady stroking on my thighs, rising higher with every pass.

People were watching. Even as they drank and ate, even as some danced in small circles, people were watching. I was sitting in his lap, his own personal plaything, his every touch visible to them.

This isn’t romantic, this isn’t sexy, and it’s straight up not okay!

At what point did this series just turn into a horrific Princes Leia/Jabba the Hut smutfic? I know the only ones imagining what it might’ve been like had Leia been chained to Sexy McSexMachine instead of a giant blob are usually the pervy weirdos. Meaning no one in their right minds would want that mental image. Absolutely no one. In fact, the moment that image popped into my head, the final implosion of Rhys and Feyre’s sexual tension was made all the more cringe-worthy. There’s a reason Carrie Fisher spoke so strongly against Jabba and the gold bikini. She knew what it meant to be objectified, something Maas does not succeed in exploiting with Rhys’ choice to put Feyre in these skimpy outfits not once, but twice in this series. While yes, putting her in these outfits is ultimately a con-game, why should he be lauded for still playing by patriarchal rules in the first place? Shouldn’t the correct course of action be to break down those gender barriers?

All I have left to say about that is, I’m sorry, Sarah. You wrote that Leia/Jabba fanfiction. You made your bed. Now lie in it.

I suppose it’s about time to address the elephant in the room: Rhys. Oh boy… I don’t know how someone can pull together a character’s development so offensively, but Maas somehow wins the prize. He spends the entire first book as a lackey to the villain, doing the best he can to humiliate and emotionally manipulate Feyre. Now, we’re expected to believe he’s not only Feyre’s true love (oh, sorry… mate), but a feminist icon? I’m sorry. No. Did we already forget that he drugged her and made her dance for him in Leia’s gold bikini? It happened. I’m not about to let people forget it…

Readers fall all over themselves over him for coming to Feyre’s rescue when she begs to be saved from her wedding to Tamlin. On the surface, he’s set up to directly juxtapose Tamlin’s controlling over-protectiveness by letting Feyre do whatever she likes. Yet there’s still an unhealthy amount of Rhys manipulating situations in order to do what he feels is best for her. Not what Feyre thinks is best for herself, but what he thinks is best. Every single decision Feyre makes is based on Rhys’ influence. Nothing she does is for herself. By making Rhysand’s word law, Maas effectively strips Feyre of her agency, ironically, the one thing Rhys has attempted to help her regain in the first place.

What’s more, I don’t know who any of these characters are outside of their relation to Rhysand. They all revolve around him, because in Maas’ paraphrased words, he’s the most beautiful, powerful, strongest male in the kingdom. I honestly don’t need this overcompensation to make up for how toxic he is as a person. Not to mention, his male friends are nothing but carbon copies of him. Cassian and Azriel share his colouring and Ilyrian wings. I’ve seen plenty of fanart out there depicting the full cast of characters and I can never tell one male character from the another, nor one female character from another. The men (Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand) are handsome and dark haired, the women (Feyre, Nesta, Elain, and Mor), beautiful and blonde. Again, the only stand-out is Amren, who is woefully underrepresented and poorly used in the novel. When you have a white cookie cutter template for every character in your patriarchal world, you’ve gotta step outside your box to deliver some diversity at some point. Otherwise, everything’s just vanilla with a side of racism.

If you think Rhys is the only male character abusing women in this novel, you would be dead wrong. Every single female character in this series has an honestly triggering backstory involving rape, whether emotional or physical. This novel is undoubtedly the sort of thing that should come with a warning. I’ve seen copies with warnings that the series is not suitable for young readers on the back cover, but it’s both irresponsible to then market it as YA, and not discuss rape and abuse responsibly. In fact, given how frequently Maas uses the rape card and how non-existent any discourse concerning the consequences is, I’d say this is a dire case of romanticising rape. And I’m tired of seeing readers obsessing over series like these en masse. It's doing nothing but perpetuating rape culture.

Mor in particular has a brutal rape backstory. This is made all the more upsetting by how eager her father is to sell her off to the highest bidder, and her desperation to lose her virginity on her own terms:

“I wanted Cassian to be the one who did it. I wanted to choose … Rhys came back the next morning, and when he learned what had happened … He and Cassian … I’ve never seen them fight like that. Hopefully I never will again.I know Rhys wasn’t pissed about my virginity, but rather the danger that losing it had put me in. Azriel was even angrier about it–though he let Rhys do the walloping. They knew what my family would do for debasing myself.”

“I wanted my first time to be with one of the legendary Illyrian warriors. I wanted to lie with the greatest of Illyrian warriors, actually. And I’d taken one look at Cassian and known. … He just wants what he can’t have, and it’s irritated him for centuries that I walked away and never looked back.”

“Oh, it drives him insane,” Rhys said from behind me.

What’s worrying here is that while the men are praised for playing the patriarchal system to protect their women, female characters like Mor aren’t shown the same respect for protecting themselves. Mor’s entire character arc is punishment for her female sexuality, kept completely out of her control. Not once does a female character speak out against her sexual abuse, nor do they seek justice for it.

In a recent interview, Maas has stated that she only writes sex scenes if they further the plot. When literally everyone’s backstory hinges on sex, whether consensual or otherwise, I find that doubtful. If there’s one positive thing i’ll say about Maas, it’s that i’m glad she’s leading the charge for sex-positive female characters. But empowering are these characters really, when they’re defined by their desirability to men and their past sexual traumas? Sure, Feyre has sexual agency, but what else does she have? Especially in a patriarchal world where this is expected of her, and she doesn’t even use this “power” to her advantage…

Look, I’m glad Feyre’s getting pleasured the way she wants it, when she wants it, and the detailed depiction of her sexual stimulation might help girls become more aware of their own bodies and sexuality. But when this is the highest profile series featuring female sexuality in the YA market right now, what kind of example are we really setting here?

Feminism doesn’t begin and end with sexual expression. It’s more than that and Maas’ characters have to join that fight. Especially given it’s one of the highest selling fantasy series in the market right now. Sarah J. Maas is not the feminist role model we need for this generation of girls.

We need more than this.

In short, I’m absolutely shocked and appalled that so many people blindly gave this book 4 and 5 stars. Even those who acknowledge how problematic Maas’ writing is. Is it really worth overlooking blatant normalised rape culture to call something your favourite series? As I said from the outset, we’ve already been there with Twilight. An entire generation of girls fell head over heels for Edward Cullen, a 100+ year old stalker who dictated Bella Swan’s ever action and motivation. Now, here we are again, encouraging a new generation of teens to swoon over this sexy, emotionally manipulative product of rape culture, without any acknowledgement of the consequences.

We need to do better. Starting with readers. Starting with authors. Starting with publishers.

It’s time to hold ourselves accountable for the content we praise and allow kids to read. Because toxic masculinity and rape culture are not values to uphold. We live in a world where the President of the United States can brag about grabbing women by the pussy without recourse. Where old, white men are constantly dictating women’s reproductive rights. Where women are catcalled in the streets and victim blamed for the clothes they wear. Where girls can’t even go out at night on their own without the threat of sexual assault.

Is this really what we want to teach our daughters, sisters, students, friends? That it’s okay, to allow passing men to objectify us, just because they have power over us?

Listen, girls. This is the thing: men have power over us so long as we give it to them. So long as we keep laying down and accepting that we’re weak and in need of defending, they’ll keep doing it. And people like Sarah J. Maas will keep holding to those gender expectations. They’ll keep defining romantic ideals based on hyper-masculine overprotective, possessive men.

It’s up to us to redefine romantic ideals. To tear down toxic masculinity and uplift healthy, equal relationships based on mutual respect.

Because you’re worth so much more than that. You deserve better than Rhysand. Align yourself with people who value you for who you are and not just your body. Listen to them when they praise you for your talents. Accept their recommendations when they stumble across media showcasing aspirational women rising above the status quo. You are more than just an object holding a man’s attention. You are yourself and you deserve the world.

Look beyond the smokescreen of Sarah J. Maas’ works and aspire to be something more.

#sarah j. maas #acotar #acomaf #anti-acotar #anti-maas #fantasy #feminism #YA #young adult #toxic masculinity #female sexuality #rape culture

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