This chapter is the shortest so far...but after this chapter, I'll be getting more into SJM's story line. I'll still try to add some scenes when Feysand is apart, so we'll see how that goes.

Not going to lie, this chapter is also slightly slow, but I promise, promise, promise that things will be more interesting from here on out. Please don't let this chapter stop you from continuing this story.

Happy reading!

After that first night, I threw myself into research and planning for the war against Hybern that would inevitably occur. My spymaster had been sending spies anywhere he could get them, collecting any information he could while Cassian was preparing our armies. It had been three months of nonstop preparation for what was coming. Three months of trying to shut out everything that Feyre had sent down the bond unwittingly.

I jolted up from my bed, not from my own nightmares on most nights, but from Feyre's. Though I couldn't sense every part of my mate's life, I got enough to piece things together. There were enough times that Feyre felt trapped and smothered that I wanted to break her from the Spring Court, but I knew I couldn't. Not without starting an unnecessary war and not without her hating my guts.

When Tamlin had proposed two months ago, it had been during a meeting where Cassian was discussing the plans we had made with his Night Court lieutenants. I was sitting at the head of the table, my feet perched on the wood as Cassian did his thing. Tamlin's voice was grating in my ears as he expressed his love for Feyre, I wanted to vomit. I dropped my feet to the floor, my hands gripping the arm rests of my chair, wood splintering under my touch.

She's happy. She's happy. She's happy, I chanted to myself over and over again.

"High Lord?" Cassian asked, the voice he used was that of a loyal army commander, but I could see the worry in his face that ran deeper than that. His hazel eyes flicking to the talons that had emerged and were digging into the wood of my chair. I took a deep breath and willed the dark nails away. "Everything is set, armies at the ready."

"Good, you're dismissed," I said, my voice tight. Cassian's lieutenants rose and bowed before exiting the war room. We had had the same conversation with the Illyrian army just an hour before.

Cassian appeared next to me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. "You alright, Rhys?"

I looked up at my brother and shrugged. "I'll survive, let's get going. I hate this place." Meeting in the war room meant traveling to the Court of Nightmares and being in the Hewn City meant portraying the swaggering High Lord that everyone in Prythian feared. Though it felt good to unleash the hold on my magic, I was ready to get out.

Since then, it had been two months of random snippets of absurd dresses and talks of wedding decorations. Feyre hated most of it, but played the part of complacent fiancée as Ianthe made decision after decision. It made me grind my teeth to see how the Spring Court had oppressed her, how she went from such a spirited beauty, to a shell destined to be Tamlin's trophy.

Sitting in my office in the House of Mist on the day of my mate's wedding, I decided I needed a drink or however many it took for me to get rip-roaring drunk. I shoved out of my seat and went to the House of Wind, storming through the house in search of Cas.

I was about to pound on his door when a wave of overwhelming anguish washed over me, sent down through the bond that I shared with Feyre. The emotion opened up a window that allowed me to see everything that was going on through my mate's eyes.

Past a sea of hundreds of faceless people, Feyre was looking toward the High Lord of the Spring Court, dressed in an ostentatious outfit of green and gold. Her attention turned back to the path set before her that was lined with white and red rose petals, ones that she had specifically told Ianthe she didn't want.

I could feel the grip on her sanity was cracking as she walked toward Tamlin and through the path of red rose petals that reminded her of blood. Blood that she had spilled to save the male before her, blood of the Fae she had killed, I realized. My heart broke for her, at the torment she felt.

The grouping of petals made her stop in her tracks and I watched through her eyes as Tamlin reached a hand toward her. The brows on his stupid rutting face narrowing, trying to push her towards him. Her heartbeat might as well have been my own, beating too fast. Beating not in anticipation and excitement, but fear. Her emotions ran through my body: guilt, humiliation, terror. Under the sun, everything was too hot, too stifling. She couldn't breathe, her thoughts were moving as quickly as her heart.

I'm unfit to be clothes in whites when my hands were so filthy.

I was a murderer and a liar.

Bound to Tamlin forever.

My broken and weary soul.

The thoughts that ran through Feyre's mind made me want to hold her to me, comfort her in any means possible. It hurt like nothing else seeing my mate feel the way she did and I didn't know how to fix it, how to hold her together. There was nothing I could do to help.

Tamlin called out to her and another part of her cracked. She was so close to falling apart.

Help me, help me, help me, she begged. Her voice loud and clear in my mind. There was something I could do to help her. I could keep her from binding herself to Tamlin, to someone who would ignore the fact that she was falling apart right in front of his face. Save me—please, save me. Get me out. End this. Moving quicker than I ever thought possible, even for me, I magicked into something more appropriate for a wedding and prepared myself for the role I would need to step into.

I winnowed into the Spring Court, appearing on the rose petal lined path that had sent Feyre into a panic. The face of the High Lord of the Night Court that everyone pictured me as was in place, wings glamoured. Being my dramatic self, I had unleashed a little more magic than strictly necessary. A crack of thunder signaled my arrival to the hundreds of people that had come to witness their High Lord's marriage. I let my darkness seep from me like tendrils of smoke caught in the wind. Screaming in terror, most guests vanished in a matter of seconds and I smirked.

Feyre turned to me in that ridiculous cake dress of hers and I almost forgot that I had a role to play.

She had lost so much weight. She was too thin, too skinny. Even under the makeup, I could tell that her skin has lost the glow that was present when she had been remade as High Fae. How had Tamlin not seen that change? I was so very tempted to mist him right then and there, but I needed to get Feyre out.

I quickly looked over her once again, swallowed by the monstrosity of a dress Ianthe had undoubtedly chosen. The capped sleeves were practically swallowing her head and part of me wanted to set the whole thing on fire.

Clearing my head for the encounter about to come, I straightened the lapels on my jacket and looked Feyre in the eyes.

"Hello, Feyre darling," I purred.

As always, reviews, advice, follows, favorites, and all other love is appreciated. Love fuels my writing. The next chapter should be up within the week, if not this weekend.

Au revoir! See you next time.