I awoke when the sun was high, after tossing and turning all night, empty and aching.

The servants were sleeping in after their night of celebrating, so I made myself a bath and took a good, long soak. Try as I might to forget Tamlin pinning me to the wall last night, there was still a little ring of a bruise around one of my wrists. I took a deep breath and remembered my plan. Rhysand wouldn't be able to leave Amarantha's side again. This was all up to me. After bathing, I dressed and sat at the vanity to braid my hair. I swore I could see my pulse through the bruise on my neck.

Rhysand hadn't been thrilled at the idea, but he'd done it and I couldn't get the feeling of his lips on my skin out of my mind.

Tamlin had acted like a brute and a savage, and hopefully he'd come to his senses by this morning so he'd really be able to see what he'd done to me. Or at least what he thought he did to me.

Sniffing, I opened the collar of my blue tunic farther and tucked stray strands of my golden-brown hair behind my ears so there would be no concealing it. I was beyond cowering.

Humming to myself and swinging my hands, I strode downstairs and followed my nose to the dining room, where I knew lunch was usually served for Tamlin and Lucien. When I flung open the doors, I found them both sprawled in their chairs. I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.

"Good afternoon," I said cheerfully, with and especially saccharine smile for the High Lord. He blinked at me, both of the faerie men murmured their greetings as I took a seat across from Lucien, not my usual place facing Tamlin.

I drank deeply from my goblet of water before piling food on my plate. I savored the tense silence as I consumed the meal before me.

"You look… refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?"

"Like a babe." I smiled at him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck.

"What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded.

I pointed with my fork to Tamlin. Time to see how well Rhysand's magic really worked. "Ask him. He did it."

Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

"I bit her," Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. "We ran into each other in the hall after the Rite."
I straightened in my chair.

"She seems to have a death wish," he went on, and for the first time all day the bond groaned awake like a slow growl within me. Tamlin was cutting his meat, his claws stayed retracted but pushed against the skin of his knuckles. My throat closed up. Oh, he was mad - furious at my foolishness for leaving my room - but he somehow managed to keep his anger on a tight, tight leash. I idly wondered if that was Rhysand's doing or Tamlin himself. "So, if Feyre can't be bothered to listen to orders, then I can't be held accountable for the consequences."

I nearly spat my water in his face.

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" I shuddered to think what might have happened had Rhysand not been there.

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

"While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair.

I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

I almost regret the plan I'd laid out with Rhysand. The way Tamlin ate up the lies was startling. Surely he was only so blind because of Rhysand's changes to his memories.

Surely.

I spent the rest of the afternoon painting little portraits of Tamlin and Lucien with pigs' features.

Tamlin apologized at dinner. He even brought me a bouquet of white roses from his parents' cherished garden, and after a grandier thank you, I made certain that Alis took good care of them when I returned to my room. She gave me only a wry nod before promising to set them in my painting room. I fell asleep with a smile still on my lips.

For the first time in a long, long while, I slept peacefully.

"Don't know if I should be pleased or worried," Alis said the next night as she slid the golden underdress over my upraised arms, then tugged it down.

I smiled a bit, marveling at the intricate metallic lace that clung to my arms and torso like a second skin before falling loosely to the rug. "It's just a dress," I said, lifting my arms again as she brought over the gossamer turquoise overgown. It was sheer enough to see the gleaming gold mesh beneath, and light and airy and full of movement, as if it flowed on an invisible current.

Alis just chuckled to herself and guided me over to the vanity to work on my hair. I didn't have the courage to look at the mirror as she fussed over me.

"Does this mean you'll be wearing gowns from now on?" she asked, separating sections of my hair for whatever wonders she was doing to it.

"No," I said quickly. "I mean - I'll be wearing my usual clothes during the day, but I thought it might be nice to try… try it out, at least for tonight."
"I see. Good that you aren't losing your common sense entirely, then."

I twisted my mouth to the side.

When she finished my hair, I dared a glimpse at my reflection.

I hurried from the room before I could lose my nerve.

On my way downstairs I thought of Rhysand. I hoped he wasn't going through anything too terrible wherever he was. I wondered if he remembered the vague details of my plan - if he even believed I could do it. If I could free Tamlin and Rhysand in one fell swoop. Probably not, the more I thought about it. He had to be centuries old while I hadn't even lived for two decades yet. He was fae and full of magic and still couldn't save himself or his people, what would some mortal girl be able to do?

A warmth budded in my chest and three gentle tugs came to me through the bond. What power this must be, this bond. It was obviously more than I could even begin to comprehend at this point. With just a tug, this immortal man placed his faith in me.

What power.

I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. I mean, I didn't have to specifically wear a dress for my plan to succeed did I? But I knew they'd already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my new seat across from Lucien, at Tamlin's side.

"Well, I'm late for something incredibly important," Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

I could feel the weight of Tamlin's undivided attention on me - on every breath and movement I took. I studied the candelabras atop the mantel beside the table. The only thing I could think of to say would open a floodgate of all the details of what I knew about him and his curse. I would confess my bond with Rhysand and the lies I'd cooperated with in the last two days. Not even cooperated - orchestrated. This was for him, I told myself. I had to keep these things from him to save him from Amarantha and to free him.

I needed him to love me.

"You look beautiful," he finally said quietly. "I mean it," he added when my mouth twisted to the side. "Didn't you look in the mirror?"

Though Rhysand's bruise still marred my neck, I had looked pretty. Feminine. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a beauty, but… I hadn't cringed. A few months here had done wonders for the awkward sharpness and angles of my face. And I dared say that after Fire Night, some kind of light had crept into my eyes - my eyes, not my mother's eyes or Nesta's eyes. Mine.

"Thank you," I said, and was grateful to avoid saying anything else as he served me and then himself. When my stomach was full to bursting, I dared to look at him - really look at him - again.

Tamlin leaned back in his chair, yet his shoulders were tight, his mouth a thin line. He hadn't been called to the border in a few days - hadn't come back weary and covered in blood like he had before Fire Night. And yet… He'd grieved that nameless Summer Court faerie he'd found dying with its hacked off wings. What grief and burdens did he bear for whoever else had been lost in this conflict - lost to what he'd been calling a blight on these lands, I now knew was Amarantha's rule. High Lord was a position he'd said he hadn't wanted or expected, yet he'd been forced to bear its weight as best he could.

"Come," I said, rising from my chair and tugging on his hand. The calluses scraped against mine, but his fingers tightened as he looked up at me. "I have something for you."

I led him eagerly to my painting room. When I'd moved to drop his hand, he held mine all the way into my small, locked room. I hadn't ever dared to paint Rhysand or his shadows so I didn't have to fear when Tamlin wandered through each of my paintings, finally choosing a melancholy piece I'd poured the loneliness of my life in the woods outside my mortal home, back when I had to hunt to survive.

I'd never yearned for anything more than to remove his mask in that moment - to see the face beneath, to find out whether it matched how I dreamed he looked.

"Tell me there's some way to help you," I breathed, aware of our nearness in the small quarters. "With the masks, with -" I stopped myself from saying Amarantha's name. "With whatever threat has taken so much of your power. Tell me - just tell me what I can do to help you." Let me in - let me in so I can tell you of my plan, so you can join Rhysand and I on the path to freedom.

"A human wishes to help a faerie?"

The picture of Rhysand's memory flashed through my mind: Amarantha stating the mortal girl must hate faeries with all her heart before falling in love with him. Was I that girl? Had I held such hate in my heart? Was I so different now?

"Don't - please," I said. "Please just… tell me."

"There's nothing I want you to do, nothing you can do - or anyone. It's my burden to bear."

"You don't have to -"

"I do. What I have to face, what I have to endure, Feyre… you would not survive."

I shoved down my opposing feelings. "So you expect me to just live here forever in ignorance, completely unknowing to the true scope of what's happening? Would you rather me just find somewhere else to live? Am I a burden to you?" I snapped, hoping he wouldn't agree with that. I needed more time here in the Spring Court.

"Didn't Calanmai teach you anything?"

"Only that magic makes you an asshole."

He laughed, though not entirely with amusement. When I remained silent, he sighed. "No, I don't want you to live somewhere else. I want you here, where I can look after you - where I can come home and know you're here, painting and safe."

I couldn't look away from him. "I thought about sending you away at first," he murmured. "Part of me still thinks I should have found somewhere else for you to live. But maybe I was selfish. Even when you made it so clear that you were more interested in ignoring the Treaty between humans and fae or finding a way out of it, I couldn't bring myself to let you go - to find someplace else in Prythian where you'd be comfortable enough to not attempt to flee."

Quiet visions of the stars and Rhysand's smallest smile slipped into my thoughts, but I looked at Tamlin. My friend. "Why?"

He picked up the small painting of the frozen forest and examined it again. "I've had many lovers," he admitted. "Females of noble birth, warriors, princesses…" Unexpected rage hit me, low and deep in the gut at the thought of them - rage at their titles, their undoubtedly good looks, at their closeness to him. Friend, I reminded myself. I'd just called him my friend. Right after I'd been thinking of Rhysand. Who was I to be angry of Tamlin's other women. "But they never understood. What it was like, what it is like, for me to care for my people, my lands. What scars are still there, what the bad days feel like." He smiled at my painting. "This reminds me of it."

"Of what?" I breathed.

He lowered the painting, looking right at me, right into me. "That I'm not alone."