The High Lord of Spring sat at his desk, pen in writing on the paper in front of him blurred. For every waking moment, Tamlin could not concentrate on his duties. His only thought was getting her back.
His fiance.
Feyre would have been his wife right now if Rhys hadn't…
No, not Rhys, his thoughts reminded him.
They were not friends anymore.
Tamlin threw his pen down and sat back in his chair. He pictured her face as she walked down the aisle. The horror in her eyes. Had he caught a hint of that look before Rhysand had crashed the wedding? And the way she stopped in the middle of the aisle...
She was happy to marry you. Why else would she have said yes? This was what she wanted too.
He sighed through his nose.
A loud, urgent knock sounded on the door. The sound almost echoed off the walls.
Tamlin looked up to see Ianthe standing there, a folded piece of paper in her hand.
"What is it?" he asked, almost impatiently.
"My Lord," she started, slowly moving towards him. "A letter has come for you." He eyed her, his expression sour.
"And?"
"It came from the Night Court."
In an instant, he was on his feet. "Give it to me," he demanded.
"Of course, my lord," Ianthe said with a small smile, and placed it in his outstretched hand. The writing on the front was elegant. He'd never seen it before.
Was it…?
Tamlin flipped open the paper and read the words. He went rigid.
What is this?
This couldn't be right. There was no way. Suddenly, he slammed the paper onto the desk. He saw the high priestess flinch, slightly, at the sound.
"Ianthe?" he seethed.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Did you read this?"
"No, my lord. I would never dare delve into your privacy," she replied with a small bow of her head. He wasn't quite sure he believed her. But that was a different matter.
"Fetch me Lucien," he commanded. "It's imperative that we bring Feyre home before this situation gets any worse."
"May I ask, my lord, what did she say?"
"It doesn't matter what it says," Tamlin said, his temper starting to slip. "Just find Lucien."
"Of course." Ianthe curtsied and backed out of the room.
When alone again, Tamlin tried to reel in his anger once again. His body was shaking, brimming with hatred for his former friend.
How dare here? How dare he play with her mind? How dare he pluck her from her happy life and drop her in that horrible place? How dare he make her think that she was okay with this?
He'd known for years that Rhysand liked to play games. He didn't trust the fellow High Lord. Would never trust him again. He never thought-
No, that's a lie. He had thought.
But, he never imagined that the Lord of Night would go this far.
"Tam?"
Tamlin looked up from the desk to see Lucien standing in front of him. His good eye was on him, but his gold eye whirred in it's socket and stopped on the letter that was now crushed in his hand.
"What does it say?"
He relaxed, slightly, and handed the paper over to his emissary. Lucien's eyes scoured the writing, and looked back up in a panic.
"Do you think-?"
"Yes, I do," Tamlin said, cutting his friend off. "How else would this letter be possible?" Lucien pursed his lips together. "I know what you're wondering. I implore you to think very carefully about the next words coming out of your mouth." A dark expression passed over his features, but was gone not a moment later.
"I'll put together a squad and we will begin our search immediately."
Tamlin nodded and sank back into his chair.
"However many you need."
Lucien gently placed the note back on the desk. He gave a small, curt bow, and left the room.
Alone once more, Tamlin picked the note up again. He almost cradled it in his hand, examining the writing.
How had he never seen it before? His future wife really had such charming handwriting…
Don't worry, Feyre. We're coming to bring you home.