The first night that I knew of Feyre being under the mountain, I dreamed of making love. But there was a catch in the beautiful dream – that our making love wasn't sex. It wasn't our bodies grinding up and down each other, filled with gasps and moaning each other's name. It didn't feel like our bodies were flooding with exhilaration, both of us becoming one. Instead, we made love by baking a cake. We made love by fighting next to each other on a battle field. We made love by dancing under shooting stars and holding hands at a wedding ceremony and falling asleep next to each other. For the first time in the five hundred years of me being alive, I realized that sex doesn't make love. As I grew to be Amarantha's whore, I began to believe that I would never be whole again. That because she took that part of me – the part that conjoins me with someone else, the part that makes me someone else's, that lets my lover have everything I have, vulnerabilities included – nobody could ever love me, and I could never love someone else. But after that dream, after that dream of Feyre making love with me without me having to forfeit my body to her, I promised myself that if I ever escaped that mountain with Feyre at my side then I would make love to her every day for the rest of my life.
And that's what I held onto. That's what I held onto when I looked into Feyre's lying eyes, the pair of eyes that still believed sex made love, the pair of eyes that believed love can only come from Tamlin.
"It's daylight," Nesta snapped, as if I were too dumb to realize the golden rays in front of me. She stood in front of me limply, looking like absolute death. Circles ringed her eyes from the loss of sleep and her hair was a tangly mess, as if she hadn't touched it for days. But she still looked like she would kill someone to get past the front door.
Feyre, next to her, didn't look far different. Her eyes were darting back and forth, clearly not having any trust between Azriel and Mor. She hadn't bothered to change clothes and she was standing oddly close to the sister that she claimed to dislike. I took a step towards her, and she watched as my legs elegantly moved. It was a mix between admiration and hatred.
"You remember our agreement?" I asked, my eyebrow flickering up. Her eyes narrowed, bunching her hands into tight balls.
"Unfortunately," she spat. The corner of my lips tilted up as I looped around her. Her legs straightened up instantly, very aware how close my lips were to her neck as I leaned down behind her. She took a ragged breath.
"Then, you won't be mad once I do this." Before she could see what I was even doing, I took a pair of misty handcuffs and latched it around one of her wrists, the other cuff on mine. She let out a gasp and shifted her head to me, her eyes wide in horror.
"What did you just-"
"While I don't underestimate your desire to rescue your sister, you were willing to die for that man," I hissed, disgust growing in my tone. "I'm not stupid, Feyre. I know that you won't give up that easily." She shot me a look – a look filled with despise. I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, looking deep into her grey-blue eyes, which only reflected resentment.
My eyes fell to Mor almost instantly. Though she looked at me worriedly, her thoughts hadn't shifted. She'll forgive you, she had once told me. But only if I told her I was her mate. And maybe I should've done that, instead of tricking her like a deceiving enemy. But I couldn't let the words out of my lips even if I wanted to. Even I have had trouble accepting it.
"You're foul," Feyre said to me, eyeing the shadowy wisps that circled her wrist.
"Don't even try getting out of them," I warned, giving her a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. I wiggled my side of the handcuffs, showing how the black wisps didn't budge from my wrist. "They aren't your typical substance." She fumed.
"You bastard," she hissed. "Once Tamlin knows about this-"
"He'll kick my ass?" I snorted, looking her up and down, trying to figure out if she truly believed that. "I guess we'll just have to see." I nodded to Azriel and Mor. Azriel latched onto Nesta's arm rapidly, as I pulled Feyre towards me.
And then, before her blue-grey eyes could realize what I was about to do, I winnowed into the darkness
~discidium~
The first thing I smelled was the sweet scent of the dew still stuck on the grass. While Feyre took a great inhale, I wrinkled my nose. Garbage smelled better than this atrocious vegetation – all I saw was green and trees. It was like I stepped into an old couple's garden, intentionally trying to never see anybody ever again since I was now stuck in the countryside. As I turned, Mor and Azriel had the same look, and something dark passed over Nesta's face. She was quiet.
"I can't believe somebody would intentionally do this to themselves," I said, looking around at the dull horizon. "It looks like a prison." With no walls, nothing from stopping somebody from stepping out of the grounds, but a prison all the same. Something changed on Feyre's face once I said that – as if she was finally seeing what I was seeing. Amarantha.
We all, in unison, began walking closer to the castle. Mortals probably thought the residence was absolutely amazing – star struck by its beauty – but it was average, maybe even below average, compared to the rest of the castles. It was Tamlin's safe haven, but I couldn't fathom why he would see it as safe. It was distant, plain, dull. It wasn't home. It wasn't loveable. And I hoped, deep down, that Feyre saw that. For a mortal, it resembles heaven. To an immortal, is resembles a cage.
I didn't realize that I made it to the front door until I was nose to nose with it. Looking back on it, it probably would've been easier to just winnow inside the castle, instead of standing outside of it awkwardly.
Mor, abnormally neutral so far, offered an idea, "Should we use the door or-" But then Nesta went around us and without consulting any of us, decided to simply knock on the door. As if we were all one person, we all objected to the action.
"We do not knock on doors," Azriel said coolly. "Not our enemy's door." Nesta spun around, glaring at my shadowsinger.
"Go find a shadow to melt into," she hissed. Mor stepped in front of him, barring her teeth.
"Don't mess with him," she told her. "I will tear you to shreds." And she meant it. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant it. Azriel and her – they were an interesting cup of tea. A cup of tea that I wasn't sure I wanted to happen.
To be honest, I was slightly unnerved that both Mor and Azriel were coming along. While I was humored by Feyre's pick, it had been fifty years since I had witnessed them together, and yet there was still an uneasiness as they stood a few feet apart. Cassian was usually between them, filling the buffer that both of them needed. Azriel, on one hand, preferred Cassian's buffer, because it gave him an excuse not to let himself love her. Mor, on the other hand, needed the buffer because she wanted Azriel more than he could ever give to someone, even if he tried. They were both two very broken creatures, while on the exact opposite sides of the spectrum. Azriel was filled with secrets and distance, and Mor never wanted to let anyone go. Throughout the last fifty years, I hoped they'd solve the issue, instead of persisting to use Cassian as the buffer. Because, for once, Cassian wasn't here and I had a feeling it was going to be a very long journey.
Not long after I started pondering on this though, the door opened. I felt Feyre tense beside me, and my two inner circle members prepare to fight. Nesta, the one person who had been waiting to be here the most, stood up straighter, as if she was preparing to run down the first person who opened the door.
"You-you…" It was Tamlin who opened the door. He was only wearing pants – his chest was bare, with cuts and scrapes all over it. His pants, the only piece of clothing that he had on, were ripped and tarnished. While there was a time I had stood next to him on a battlefield, was the first to see him after he had lost his virginity to a rough escort, and had witnessed the look on his face after his family was murdered, I realized there was no coming back from this. He had never looked at me with such disgust, such bewilderment, so much emotion. Despite my hatred for Tamlin, I really didn't want him as an enemy. He was tiring – relentless. And despite being utterly useless, I could benefit from his resources. In all honesty, I never expected for him to truly care about her. Not in the end. I believed it was just lust and hunger, not true feelings.
But when he opened the door, I realized he did.
I had given him a slight hint that Feyre and I, including a couple of my inner circle members, were going to be dropping in today just so that he had a few hours to cool down before seeing us, but he still looked shocked.
"Lost at words again, Tamlin?" I taunted as he held my gaze like a mountain lion prepared to attack. "Wouldn't be the first." He took harsh breaths. My eyebrows went farther and farther up my forehead.
"TAMLIN!" Feyre cried, trying to take a step towards him but then pulled back by the handcuffs. She snarled at me.
"I'll kill you," he said, not the first time he has ever said this. "I will murder you just like I-" And just to taunt him, I smirked.
"Just like you tried killing her sisters? Just like you tried destroying a piece of her that you'll never get back?" I continued, my eyes motioning to how dreadful Feyre looked due to his actions - like a corpse too thin for the wolves to eat. His talons were beginning to cause dents in the doorway.
"I should've known it was you. I should've…" But then his eyes finally found Feyre's. To my greatest dislike, she was crying. Crying. Over this deranged, disgusting individual that I didn't even truly believed should be allowed to exist.
"I am so-so sorry, Tamlin," She choked. "I never meant to leave you. He took me. I didn't have a choice." The anger on his face shattered.
"I don't-" Just as he was about to brush past Nesta to get to her, Nesta swung a dagger out the side of her belt and held it to Tamlin's neck. He let out a breath of surprise as Nesta's hand, abnormally steady, poked against his throat. A drop of blood was starting to trail down. Even I was a bit surprised – where the hell did Nesta get a dagger? And not only that, but it was Cassian's dagger.
Oh, I thought, he will not be happy.
"Nesta," Tamlin said casually. "Please remove the dagger from my throat. I do not want to hurt you." I snorted. Nesta didn't budge an inch. He clearly didn't know who he was dealing with. Feyre had a nervous look on her face as well, but not for Nesta's safety – for Tamlin's safety.
"You did though. And you hurt Elain too," Nesta hissed instead. Finally, Feyre spoke.
"Nesta, this won't help anything," Feyre agreed. "Just let him breathe. He was upset, angry-"
"I don't try killing people when I'm angry," Nesta spat, her words cold as ice. Tamlin bowed his head a bit.
"I admit to the sins I had committed and the wrongs I have done," Tamlin said, his voice dramatically regretful. I rolled my eyes. "Please, let me make it up to you. I'll do anything." When he met Nesta's eyes, her hand slackened. A wave of disappointment soared through me, because I had admired Nesta's fire. I really truly did.
"That's…" Nesta said softly. "That's not good enough." And then she spat at him, square in the face. Within a second, his face was fuming in anger, his mask shattering and showing his true self.
"Tamlin," Feyre said, nearly begging. He looked back at her, more beast than fae. And then he noticed it. The black, ghostly rings that formed around her wrists, chaining her to me. His eyes went from her, to the handcuffs, to me. My smile brightened.
"Now the fun begins," I said. Without a single beat, he elbowed Nesta in the face, forcing her to stumble back and fall to the ground, the dagger falling with her. He lunged towards me with his own sword – gleaming with sharpness. I, though I considered it, didn't dare grab my weapon. I had nothing to hide. Nothing to fear.
Because the shadowsinger – my friend – knew that I could easily fight with someone chained to me, I was trained to fight in far worse situations, but I didn't want to. It would only put her in more danger, and I couldn't bear that. Not now, not when I was staring a monster in the face who only wanted to damage her more. He swung around me, hitting Tamlin's sword with his own just as it was about to hit my face. He disarmed him within three seconds, Tamlin's sword swinging into the air so roughly that it landed a few feet behind us. His hands were shaking, hopefully in fear.
"Disgusting bastard filth," I heard him hiss under his breath, speaking as if Azriel was more creature than man. Feyre obviously was too stuck on Tamlin to even hear his words, or maybe she just loved lying to herself that much. My smile broke and my free hand went to my dagger protectively, no longer thinking.
His eyes fell back to the dark rings though, with a mix between desperation and shock. My hand slackened, remembering Feyre again.
"Now, you can either let us into your cozy home and have a nice meal with us," I said, no longer capable of smiling. "Or you can try killing us again, but I do warn you that it will not end in your favor."
~disicidium~
My eyes followed Feyre as Tamlin brought us into the castle. Her eyes analyzed every detail of the home – the furniture, the chandeliers, the rich walls. She was emotionless, unfeeling and extremely quiet. I knew that feeling, the feeling of trying to find the essence of home again. Of coming back after twenty years in Illyarian training camps, and trying to search for that feeling of safety that I had felt as a child. I had that look on my face when I faced my father for the first time since I was eight, and the moment I stepped back into the Night Court after I had proven that I was too powerful to be "lounging" around in Illyarian territories.
If only she realized that home wasn't a physical place.
"Looks gorgeous," I purred, eyeing the destruction. Nearly every room had the walls clawed, furniture tipped over, reeked of pain and sorrow. Tamlin shot me a look, a look that gave me a subtle feeling of victory.
"Don't test me," he hissed. I shrugged, pulling Feyre's chained wrist with me. As he turned back around in front of him, his talons dug into his palms, and I took a short look behind me. Tamlin hadn't noticed that Azriel and Mor were scouting the house – memorizing every entrance, every staircase, eyeing every servant intimidatingly. Mor was in plain sight, too powerful to ever dare try hiding herself. She thought it made her more intimidating, being in plain sight of her enemies, and she wasn't entirely wrong. An aura of dominance and daringness always hovered around her when she was suspecting battle, and that bravery, that arrogance that she held when she walked proudly, made people fear her.
Azriel, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was hard to track since he melted into the shadows so easily, being everywhere and nowhere all at once. I saw a flicker of a body here and there, but even I couldn't predict where he was. His power made him nearly invisible.
Nesta, who was standing closer to Tamlin than I was, was breathing down his neck. Her eyes darted around her whenever she saw someone's head, unfortunately realizing that none of the heads belonged to her sister, but were simply servants wandering around us. It made me curious how trained the servants really were – did Tamlin even bother having body guards? Or did he really think nobody could ever break into his picturesque estate? Though I was the most powerful High Lord, I still persisted on training my servants, at least to an extent. More for their safety than mine.
"Where is your lapdog Lucien?" My voice rang, making him skip a step. "If you hadn't forgotten, I did come here to fetch for the sister you nearly killed. I'm assuming, Lucien being her hero and all, that he insisted on staying with her." To protect her from you.
I heard him snarl.
"He'll be here later, when Elain is ready to leave her room." And then it started before I could stop it. Nesta swerved in front of Tamlin, her teeth bared.
"Are you trying to be cute?" She sneered. Tamlin's upper lip curled back, clearly insulted.
"I am a High Lord," he reminded her, and I scuffed. "You dare-"
"Oh fuck you," she interrupted, and Feyre's eyes shot to her coolly. "I didn't come here to play damsel in distress, I want my sister back. Now." Tamlin's face loosened when he caught Feyre's eye and he held a calm, but fake, demeanor.
"You'll have to see her after dinner," Tamlin told not only her, but Feyre too, who was obviously curious of Elain's whereabouts. Even Feyre had a worrisome look on her face, as if she finally realized that she had no idea what Tamlin was thinking. She had never seen the political side of Tamlin.
"She won't be joining us?" Feyre asked. Tamlin merely shook his head at her, striding towards the dining room again. I had been here enough times to know where the room was, as a friend and a foe. Tamlin knew how I worked, and I knew how he worked. We would start with a calm, tense dinner as we always did when we needed to talk things out instead of trying to murder each other, and then one of us would threaten to wipe the other off the map halfway in, and then I would walk out victoriously.
When we reached it, I took the chair nearest to the head of the table, Feyre sitting in the one next to me. Tamlin's nostrils flared, but grudgingly sat exactly across from me, just to keep hard eye contact. Nesta took the head of the table, and Tamlin's anger worsened because that was his chair, but he remained silent about it.
Mor took the one on the other side of Feyre, growing as close to her as she possibly could, and Azriel didn't even bother to sit down. Instead, he leaned against the dining room wall, his hands clasped in front of him calmly and was alarmingly still.
"Too good to sit down, Shadowsinger?" Tamlin asked, looking at him up and down. Azriel's single expression didn't even twitch. His eyes look down at Tamlin with no care at all.
"I don't want your food," Azriel said, and while there was no insulting tone, I could feel the hatred that Azriel had towards Tamlin, due to the many years Tamlin had shot inhumane comments at him during our so-called friendly get-togethers. Azriel was always a part of my family – even once I began working with my father directly, partially because he was my best friend, and partially because he was the best spy my father could ask for at parties and balls. Even when Tamlin and I were moderately friends, Tamlin was intimidated by him. Maybe it was because of Azriel's unnerving silence, or maybe because Azriel could kill him with only two fingers, but Tamlin had never treated Azriel like he was a human being.
I have never seen Azriel yell, but he was terrifying when he wanted to be. Tamlin flinched, just a little bit. Enough to show that he too was afraid of my shadowsinger.
"Bastard," I heard Mor mutter, but Tamlin didn't even look angry, as if he had no reason to. While Feyre didn't see it, Tamlin never believed females should hold power nor took them seriously.
"I see you still have a position in Rhysand's court," Tamlin responded, as if generally interested. But we all knew, excluding Feyre, that he was only saying it to demean her.
"Morrigan is one of my most lethal and promising inner-circle members," I responded, before she could make the tension worse. Tamlin didn't even bother responding. Instead, he acted as if I hadn't even brought up her worthiness at all. He might treat Feyre like she is the sun, but he would never see the strengths females possess that men, frankly, don't.
"Wine. Now," I demanded, motioning to a servant, simply to break the silence. The servant jumped nervously, her eyes turning towards Tamlin. Tamlin nodded and she scurried away. I sighed.
I opened my mouth again but then Tamlin blurted, as if he couldn't hold it in anymore, as if it was the only thought in his mind, "Have you touched her?" Internally, fury pulsed in my veins and I couldn't even breathe for a moment, digesting his accusation. Hurt Feyre? Take away the one thing that Amarantha took away from me? And not only that, but was that really the first thing he thought of? Rather than being worried that I'm hosting her in the Court of Nightmares or terrified that Feyre was ruined psychologically for life, he was terrified that I had seduced his delicate pet. That she was tainted.
"Do explain, Tamlin," I heard myself say, forcing myself not to show my weakness and, for Feyre to realize that Tamlin is, simply and foremost, a dick. A second later, wine started to be brought out, along with food. A large roast, vegetables, potatoes, the normal foods that would be served at a royalty party. While Feyre began to scoop various foods, I merely plucked a green grape off one of the garnishes.
"Touch her," Tamlin repeated, in disgust. "Did you touch my beautiful-"
"Does it matter?" I asked, impatience running on my tongue. "What are you going to do, hurt me? While she's chained to me?" I rolled my eyes. "You really have forgotten how to approach politics. Don't let your weaknesses drive you, Tam." He squeezed the utensil in his hand so powerfully that it began to bend. Feyre gawked at me.
"Tamlin, he didn't touch me," she said, almost defensive. "I would never let him-"
"Don't bother, Feyre-darling," I chortled. "He won't believe you anyways." And I was right. No matter what she said, he would never believe her.
"Whatever," he muttered. "I'm done with this dinner nonsense already, it's a waste of my time. Just give her back!" I blinked at him multiple times.
"Jeeze, Tam, aren't you hungry?" I asked, mocking him now. "You should always eat before a temper tantrum." He huffed once or twice, then, though it was no surprise, he let out a animalist roar that rang throughout the dining room. While I stayed still as stone, many of the chairs got knocked over, food flew from a few of our plates, even windows cracked.
"Tamlin!" Feyre shouted. Tamlin's eyes hooked onto hers, and he let go of the destroyed utensil and sat deeper into his chair. He looked tired. Exhausted. Death-hungry.
"If you think I'm just giving her back in the middle of dinner, you're a moron," I said, plucking off a second green grape. His face flooded with redness.
"You wrote me and told me if I gave you Elain-"
"And do I see Elain?" I said, peering around. "No, I only see your servants shaking in fear." Mor let out a low laugh, and Feyre looked torn between sides. On one hand, she thought I was a total jerk. On the other, I was right, and she knew it.
"What do you mean?" Nesta interrupted. My head jerked towards her, swallowing. She had been so silent through our dining charade that I had forgotten she was here. There wasn't anything on her plate.
"I wanted to see what Rhysand had to offer," Tamlin said, clipping his words sharply. Nesta stood up suddenly, causing her plate to knock over and crack.
"You have three seconds," Nesta said, her words strained, "to get my sister down here before I make you regret that you let me in here." His eyes narrowed at her.
"One," she said, looking down at him. He swallowed.
"Two," she said, louder. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Thr-" And then, as if the universe had come to life, a petit, elegant girl had ran into the room. Like a cue at a theater. Or a stage call. By the look on Tamlin's face, he obviously didn't like it.
"Elain," I heard Feyre whisper, relief in her tone.
"Lucien!" Tamlin growled, as soon as the beckoning redhead came running after her. He was wide-eyed and panting. "Do you not know how to follow orders?" Elain was already in Nesta's arms, hugging her tightly. I couldn't help but notice that Elain didn't have a scratch on her – and looked at the very least pampered, especially as a so-called prisoner. My eyebrows lifted up, my eyes on Lucien. He tried his best to meet Tamlin's furious eyes, but he kept glancing at Elain as if she was the only one who truly mattered.
"We're getting you out of here," Nesta said, gripping her sister's cheeks. "N-"
"Oh, no," Tamlin argued, his eyes on Nesta. "Sit down, Elain. And Lucien. We're having a diplomatic discussion and I think it's a good time to witness it now that you're here." Nesta looked like she was about to argue, but Elain sat quickly – and not only sat, but sat with Lucien.
"Oh, what is this," I said, under my breath. Feyre had heard me, swinging her head around in confusion. She saw the pattern as well, obviously.
"See, even if you say no, Rhysand," Tamlin said, clasping his shaking hands in front of him. "I will not let Feyre be your captive, not before I give away everything I have." The corner of my mouth twitched up.
"Be his captive?" Nesta spat, looking straight at Lucien. "Look at what you did to my sister!" We all, everyone at the table, looked at Elain and Lucien. Even though neither of them were touching each other and were at reasonable distance, there was some invisible thread that was obviously there. Some connection that mortals had issues understanding, but fae weren't strangers to the issue.
She was his mate.
But I didn't want to say it out loud. Not when there was already so much tension, not when there was so much to lose.
"We are not your enemies, Nesta," Tamlin tried to say but she rolled her eyes at him, then turned back towards Elain and Lucien.
"This isn't who we are," Nesta said to her, stingingly. "We aren't like them." I saw pain flicker across Feyre's face, realizing that she meant her as well. Tamlin looked like he was about to blow up again, but then Lucien took Elain's hand comfortably.
"It's…" Elain looked at Lucien deeply, making me want to gag. "It's different now, Nesta." Nesta banged her hands on the table.
"It's my fault," Lucien said apologetically, before Nesta could lash out again. "We've…gotten close here. If anything, blame me." Nesta looked at Elain, and then Lucien again.
"Oh, it is certainly your fault, don't let that escape you," Nesta growled. "You left me to die." This time, Elain flinched. There were tears in her eyes, and it had finally occurred to me that she actually probably felt bad about the charade. Maybe she wasn't just some foolish girl in love. Maybe she loved Nesta just as much.
"What if they are the bad ones?" Elain said, her eyes flickering to me. "Tamlin and Lucien have both apologized for their actions, but what about them?" What about us? I wanted to ask. We didn't do anything wrong, aside from taunting Tamlin a bit.
I tried not to seem mad, "Elain, these men have brainwashed you. If you had any sense of what you were doing, you would've ran away a long time ago. They're evil." And while Nesta certainly didn't like me that much, she seemed appreciative of my interruption.
"Oh please," Lucien snorted. "You are the biggest ass on the planet." My head swung to Tamlin.
"Here is what's going to happen," I said, my eyes cold on Tamlin. "You will release Elain to her sister, and give them the choice on where they want to stay. They deserve free will." Tamlin touched the rim of his goblet.
"And what about Feyre?" He asked.
"Feyre has agreed to assist me on a mission," I said quickly. "But after that, I-"
"Assist you? On what?! Feyre, what is he talking about?" Tamlin bursted, and she shrunk into her seat. "You've been through enough with Amarantha." Both me and Feyre sucked in a breath just by hearing her name. "You don't have to do anything." Lucien nodded in agreement, but half-heartedly.
"Oh, she does," I said crossly. "We have agreed that her powers will be worth serving." Lucien leaned so far forward that his wine spilled all over the table and Tamlin was on his feet.
"Powers?" Lucien asked.
"She will not be using any powers!" Tamlin bellowed. At that moment, I realized that he knew too. Whether through a high priestess or he finally gained some wits, he wasn't new to this idea.
"I have to," Feyre said, finally. "He has a point." Tamlin laughed at that, a dark chuckle. Lucien put it into consideration.
"King Hypbern wants to take down the wall," Feyre continued. "Please, Tamlin, understand." Elain began whispering to Lucien, and Lucien tried to reassure her but even he looked like he was about to get sick. Nesta had again gone milky-white.
"Even if that's true, it isn't any of your business," Tamlin said shortly. Feyre's mouth gaped a bit.
"Tamlin, that's my home-"
"NO! This is your home, Feyre!" He roared, making the table tremble again.
"She has a right to fight and she made me a deal," I said, my voice low but cool. "You can't do anything about it, Tamlin, so how about you make this easy and at least let Feyre be happy?" He shook his head.
"It won't happen," he said. Lucien looked horribly uncomfortable.
"Tamlin, maybe-"
"Did I ask for your opinion, Lucien?" Tamlin snarled. "This is my court and I say no."
"It's my choice!" Feyre said, angry as well now. "Tamlin, I won't be gone forever. It'll be brief." He looked at her darkly, but then he gave me a smile.
"It's too late anyways," he said, to me specifically. I stood up straighter.
"What do you mean?" I said, looking at him deeper now. He was hiding something.
"You ate the food, Feyre?" Tamlin asked, his voice unnervingly calm. Feyre looked shaky, incapable of following his soothing words as she had realized how angry he truly was.
"Of course, but-"
"It's final," Tamlin said. "You're safe. No more of this fighting – she is bound to me!" I didn't understand at first, because there was so much fact in his voice, so much certainty, that I felt like it wasn't a demand – it was a fact. Within half a second, I realized he actually had done something. This wasn't just a diplomatic meal. And then there was silence, horrible silence. I looked at the garnish of grapes, and then at the rest of the colorful, delicious food. I then stared at Tamlin and his empty plate.
"You didn't eat anything," I whispered. It was a trick. I turned my head entirely to look at Feyre, who looked at him like she was going to puke. She was eyeing her half eaten plate like it was poisonous, her face filled with repulsion. She was gripping the table harshly.
I had a certain satisfaction, short but still satisfaction, when Feyre blinked at him stupidly. "What," she said, slowly, even a little bit betrayed, "Did you do, Tamlin?" Tamlin's expression didn't even falter, despite Feyre's disapproved tone. He crossed his arms tightly, trying to look down at me though I was a few inches taller.
"In your drink, Feyre," Tamlin said, his eyes still on me. "I put magic in it, so you'll never have to leave again. So you'll be safe from him." My eyes went back to the wine again, now understanding what he had done. What he had committed.
"You put something in the drink and the food," I unraveled. "You have cursed her." It was like he slapped the smug look off my face within two seconds. My whole body felt like jello, thinking about what he had just done. He looked victorious, smirking a bit as if he had won a battle, but all I could see was a maniac.
"This is where she needs to be," Tamlin said crossly. "She'll never have to bear your corruption again." I opened my mouth, but then a choking sound came out of Feyre beside me. Immediately, my eyes shot in her direction, already leaning towards her, but her face merely paled and was staring at Tamlin in horror. Like she finally realized he was the villain.
"You…you are making it impossible for me to leave the grounds?" She asked, not even blinking as she spoke. "I can't ever leave. I can't ever go into the woods. I'll…I'll die here." Even Lucien was looking at Tamlin like he had gone mad. Completely utterly mad.
"It's for your own good," Tamlin told her, but not as if she was an equal. Like she was a pet. An escort. A child. I snarled at him, my un-chained hand on the table harshly, making black wisps rise into the air.
"How dare you," I growled, anger slowly growing in me as I realized what he had done – what he had said. "You imbecile. You coward. You treacherous fool." He squinted at me.
"She is mine," he argued. "And now you can never take her away." And then I suddenly realized where he got this marvelous idea from. Mortals believed in it – that fae could trap them just by eating their food. And that they would be trapped forever. He saw Feyre no better than a mortal – he didn't know how strong she was and I could tell he really didn't care.
I laughed darkly, peering into the goblet in humor as I swirled the liquid around. "Nicely done, Tamlin. Using mortal fairytales to trap me. I had forgotten how mediocre your ideas are. Shame that you couldn't foresee the consequences of being an utter moron." Feyre looked back at me, as if she were about to argue, but she still in awe of Tamlin's actions. His lips curled back.
"Tricked you," he shot back. I gave him a cold smile, yanking up my chained wrist, causing Feyre to yank up hers with a painful yelp.
"Didn't accomplish much," I pointed out, eyeing that she, despite his actions, was still mine. "I think you fucked up, my friend. As long as she's here, so am I."
Thank you reading! I appreciate it greatly! Reviews motivate me so whether or not its one word or fifteen, please review! If I don't get reviews, I can't write ))): Also, sorry for the errors