Warnings for sexual content in this chapter. This chapter also contains lines and reference to events in the book.
Disclaimer: A Court of Thorns and Roses & A Court of Mist and Fury is copyrighted to Sarah J. Maas. I am simply using these characters for story-telling purposes.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS REVIEWED SO FAR, YOU'RE THE BEST.

"So, how did your trip to the village go?" Ianthe leant against the door-frame, staring at me through the dark.

"Get out," I said, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. I'd stretched myself out over the bed, my hand massaging the top of my right leg, which was still aching a little, despite having had ample time to heal. I healed slower these days, it seemed, since Amarantha had used her magic on me after the whipping.

"I heard Feyre found out about the naga attack." Ianthe ignored my command and stepped into the room, closing the door after her. I scowled, but refused to look in her direction. "And after Tamlin was so adamant you didn't tell anyone."

I ignored the tightening in my chest, pretending not to hear any of Ianthe's words. Tamlin had indeed been adamant that I kept the naga attack to myself. In-fact, he'd been down-right furious when I had limped over to him, after the fight.

"How could you let them attack you like that!? I thought you were a warrior!"

"I'm sorry, Tam! They jumped me from behind—I was lucky to survive."

"You don't survive on luck, Lucien, you survive on skill. I thought that's what I was getting, when welcomed you into my court."

"I'm sorry, Tam."

"Now you're limping. Feyre's going to notice, she's going to worry, ask questions—"

"I'll tell her I fell off my horse!"

"You do that." His claws dug into my shoulder. I wasn't sure if he knew he'd summoned them or not, his grip vice-like. "Don't give me a reason not to trust you, Lucien."

"How did Feyre react?" Ianthe snapped me back to the present, and I closed my eyes, not bothering to reply. Ianthe already knew how Feyre had reacted, half of the sentries set to guard her also answered to Ianthe, spies to both the High Lord and the conniving bitch who was serving as advisor.

I could still hear Feyre's accusatory tone, still feel her hands on me as she gave me a shove.

"A tumble off your damned horse?"

"Tamlin really does put a lot of pressure on you, doesn't he?" Ianthe sighed, coming to the bed and perching on the side of it. My skin crawled to have her so close, and a flash of one of our blind, angry fuck-sessions came to my mind, turning my stomach. She'd pinned me down in this position a few days ago, held my wrists as she's ridden me and I'd lain, waiting for my body to climax so I could be rid of her.

The memory made me want to stand and go to the window, but I didn't give Ianthe the satisfaction of seeing me finch away.

"Did the villagers play their part?" Ianthe asked sweetly, and I growled.

"You're a fucking bitch."

"She's going to be the wife of the High Lord," Ianthe said prettily. The rebuilding she has to do is more important than putting together a few houses…She's rebuilding the hope of the people, and the power of the Spring Court. And for that, she needs to find her place here…All the rest of it was distracting her. This will help, in the long run."

It was an effort not to sit bolt upright and strike her. I had never laid a hand on a woman before, but for Ianthe I would make an exception. She wasn't a woman, she was a snake.

"I don't know why you're complaining," Ianthe continued. "You stuck to your script perfectly. 'We need rules, and rankings, and order, if we're going to stand a chance of rebuilding' - isn't that what you said?"

So they'd been watching us in the forest too? I shouldn't have been surprised. There was nowhere in the Spring Court I could go where Tamlin's ears wouldn't follow me, especially not when Feyre was concerned.

It had taken considerable effort to convince Tamlin to let her go out. I knew a part of him was half-conscious of what he was doing to her, but the blazing fear in his eyes when he couldn't immediately reach her, or keep her safe, always won over.

"She's just going to keep asking, Tam! Let her go out. She needs this."

"What she needs, is to be safe!"

"I understand—Cauldron, you know how much I understand—But you can't keep her locked up here forever. Eventually she needs to go back into the world—"

"—And she will! But she's vulnerable now! Our enemies—"

"—Time doesn't pass for her like it does for us Tam! We're centuries old, she's only just become a High Fae! A few months—years—is nothing to us, but it's an eternity to her. You need to show her this adjustment period won't last forever. You need to show her that her future isn't stuck behind the walls of this house!"

"I am your High Lord, Lucien! I don't need to do anything you tell me!"

"Tam, please. I'll stay with her, alright? I'll keep her safe."

"You can't even handle a group of naga!"

Ianthe had eventually settled the affair with her own solution; a way to let Feyre out, and simultaneously curb her desire to keep asking to leave…Send her to a village, and show her that she wasn't needed there. Show her that she wasn't wanted.

Sneaky, manipulative bitch. I'd swallowed down the curses that had pressed against my mouth, only because I knew that this was the best chance Feyre was going to get, and if anyone could convince Tamlin now, it was Ianthe. My council had long since lost any power.

Besides, maybe—and a small part of me didn't want to admit it, because it meant agreeing with Ianthe—but maybe it was good for Feyre to see the world was repairing itself. Good to remind her that she didn't need to feel responsible for it all anymore. Maybe, in the long-run, it would help her find her place as Tamlin's wife…Maybe it would force her to confront what was really bothering her, and finally do something about it.

Because Feyre didn't really want to rebuild a village. Feyre wanted to be free, and to atone for the guilt of a sacrifice she'd been forced to make. A sacrifice she refused to talk about, even when I'd given her the opportunity, even when I'd tried to get her to speak to Tamlin…

"Talk to him about it—really talk to him, Feyre. You'll figure it out." I'd begged her, as she'd pushed me. Pushed me without knowing any of the implications of what she was asking, without even considering the magnitude of what she wanted from me. "Don't ask me to pick."

She hadn't liked that, but then she didn't like much of anything I said or did these days. It didn't change the facts. Feyre didn't stand a chance of healing the world, until she admitted that she needed healing first, and that wasn't something I could tell her. She was still far too stubborn for her own good, in that respect.

The only one who could give her what she needed was Tam. And the only one who could save Tam from this endless pit of paranoia and obsession and supressed rage, was Feyre.

And so, I'd gone along with the plan, even though it had made me uncomfortable, even though Feyre had pushed and pressed me and made it hard to stay on script. Even though she had spat spiteful words that had hurt me, probably more than she knew.

"For all that you refuse to interact with Ianthe, you certainly sound a great deal like her."

I'd hated Feyre a little bit for that. I'd hated myself more, for opening my mouth and letting Ianthe slip out.

"Tamlin doesn't know what a friend he has in you," Ianthe suddenly purred, and leaning over, she rested her head on my chest, like a lover.

I shoved her off and rose in a single movement, feeling sick. "Don't touch me!" I spat, retreating to the wall as Ianthe knelt on the bed. She was smiling coyly, as if this was a game. "Don't touch me. Get out."

"Don't be like that."

"Get out!" I roared, and in the next second she had leapt off the bed and was pressed into me, pushing me back against the wall. She put her finger to my lips.

"Not so loud," she breathed, as I pushed at her. "You'll attract an audience. Feyre's in the room down the hall…How do you think she'll react if she comes to investigate, and sees me coming out of your room, looking like this?" She reached down and undid her clothes, letting them fall over her shoulders, her breasts exposed. "Do you want people to know? Do you want them to know what we've been doing? Do you want it to get back to Tamlin, that Feyre saw me running from your room, clutching my clothes around me, crying? What sort of impression do you think that would give?"

I closed my eyes and turned my head away. Fire burnt inside of me, and I wanted to reach for that power and unleash it. I wanted to send Ianthe up in flames.

She undid my belt, and slipped her hands into my trousers. I didn't look, didn't want to acknowledge as she moved her hands against me. My body betrayed me, roused by the stimulation, and I knew she took that as a victory. A sign that of consent.

I didn't know the full extent of the permission Tamlin had given her, in regards to me…I didn't know if he'd merely said it was fine for her to pursue, or if I'd been gifted, like some sort of stallion for breeding. And I never asked either, because I didn't want to know. I wanted to live in the illusion that the world was oblivious to what Ianthe was doing. I wanted to live in the illusion that Tamlin still thought of me as his friend, below the layers of anger and suspicion.

If I push her away now, she'll make a spectacle. She'll do things, say things that will turn Tamlin against me. Turn Feyre against me, I told myself, as I felt Ianthe kneel down.

Her mouth took over from her hand, and I was humiliated by the pleasure. Humiliated by my own arousal.

"Stop it," I said. Begged.

She moved quicker, taking me deeper. My knees went weak. Why did she make my body so hard, when I felt so sick? How did she arouse me, when her touch made my flesh crawl.

"Stop." I fisted my hands into the curtain beside me, holding myself up. "Ianthe—" I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this whilst I was sober. I couldn't do it like this. "Please."

Her eyes flashed up to mine, her mouth around me, and I could have sworn I saw her smile. She liked that I was pleading with her. She liked that I hated this. Liked that my body enjoyed it.

She liked my shame.

Her mouth moved quicker, my words fuelling her. She touched me, as she sucked, and touched herself, and I closed my eyes and turned my head away.

I ripped the curtain down as I came to orgasm, and Ianthe laughed, sitting back, her lips parted and wet.

"It's good for you to let go, isn't it?" she said, and she kissed me before dressing herself and leaving.

I didn't come to dinner that night.