Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, it means a lot. I'm going to try and keep my updates regular, but it'll depend on how busy I am. Anyway this chapter is definitely longer than the last one and I promise the rest will also be long. I kept the first chapter short, just as like an introduction, to see if the story was worthwhile continuing. Please review x
Ch.1: Concealed
Three weeks before hand (i.e. before Prologue)
Feyre felt like a caged animal; forced to stay within the confines of the manor walls and contain her magic. On countless occasions she yearned to unleash her fire. Being High Lady only intensified her strength and granted her even easier access to the powers she'd obtained from Rhysand, upon being reborn. To her dismay, she had not yet been granted the privilege to test such a theory.
It astonished her that she had once saw the Spring Court as being her home, where she felt safe, secure and loved. Now it disgusted her. She felt alone, trapped and judged. Many of the servants offered her wary and sympathetic looks, tip-toeing around her and exchanging hushed rumors, not that Feyre particularly cared. They should be afraid of her; she was High Lady.
The only respite she could find, amongst the dreadfully monotonous life she now led, was the beauty of the gardens. The rose bushes, an endless variation of shades, stretched beyond the manor, with a dust trail laced through it. Cherry blossom trees framed the plot of land, while Dahlia bushes were plotted at random across the freshly cut lawn. The interlinked pathways were lined with Hydrangeas, as blue as the sea of the Summer Court. Feyre couldn't help but note the fact that Elain would be in her element there, surrounded by the vast amount of exotic flowers and overgrowth.
Lucien avoided Feyre at the best of times and whenever he decided to accompany her, the red-haired Fae only offered skeptical looks and suggestive comments. Feyre feared he knew more than he was letting on and so avoided him, in the fear that she might expose her true intentions. In truth she missed having him around. She had not noticed his absence when she was surrounded by Mor, Cassian, Azriel and Amren, but now at a loss of any companionship she remembered their easy relationship; the memory hazy considering his calculated demeanour in the months following their return from Under the Mountain.
"Feyre, darling," Tamlin drawled, sitting alongside her on the metal bench.
"Hello dear," she bit out, almost sweetly. He smiled, flashing his teeth and there was a glimmer in his eyes that Feyre couldn't place. Not lust, but not entirely love either?
"I know it's difficult…" he heaved a sigh, taking her hands in his, "but can you tell me, again, everything you know about the Night Court?"
"Tamlin I-" her voice cracked, the home-sickness finally setting in. However, Tamlin interpreted it as fear.
"Love, it's okay. It can wait until you've rested," he offered, resting a hand on my shoulder, moving to stand.
"No! I've rested enough." Feyre protested and continued to explain key elements of the Night Court, not the aspects that could prove advantageous to Tamlin-such as Velaris- instead only providing limited information- like the horrors of the Court of Nightmares.
"What…what of your plans with the King of Hybern?" Feyre asked warily, wanting to discover more while appearing innocent in her intentions.
"His forces are to arrive in three weeks' time and use our court as a stepping stone." Our court: the words made her cringe.
"You're just going to let him invade human territory?" Feyre pressed for more information, astonished at his selfish motives.
"Feyre you're safe now, that's all that matters," he crooned, caressing her face in his hands. She recoiled slightly, trying to go unnoticed.
"But they have no protection! They're defenseless!" She argued, holding his gaze and clenching her fists. For the first time since she arrived she felt a calming glimmer caress her through the bond, bouncing off her indestructible shields. Regardless of how much she yearned to freely communicate with Rhys, or feel his presence, she couldn't risk leaving her mind unguarded, considering that Tamlin could possess any powers now that he was allied with the King of Hybern. Tamlin's claws escaped their confines and his chest rose and fell rapidly while his nostrils flared.
"Feyre…" he growled in a warning tone, glaring at her. She remained un-moving, crossing her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow, questioning. Feyre no longer felt dominated or afraid of him. She was equally, if not more, powerful than the conceited, lying, selfish Lord in front of her. "What I say goes." He gritted out, with a sense of finality.
"Even if it costs the lives of thousands of humans- my father included?" She countered in a deadly calm voice, barely above a whisper.
"Enough! Hybern's forces shall arrive in three weeks' time, whether we like it or not! You are never returning to the Night Court and this is the only way to ensure that." Tamlin was standing now, looming over her, claws peering over his knuckles, breathing in an animalistic way. Before she could argue any more he stalked off. The potential truth behind his words- that she might never return home-terrified her more than the prospect of being so near the King again.
Feyre gathered her skirts and wandered deeper into the overgrowth of the surrounding land, needing to calm her burning need to unleash her magic. She knew that she was playing a dangerous game; needing to maintain the façade that she still truly loved Tamlin, convince them that she had been under Rhysand's influence and that she posed no real threat. All the while trying to mask the scent of the mating bond and keep a glamour on the swirling, black ink tattooed on her right arm, signifying her eternal love for her High Lord, as well as her new title; High Lady of the Night Court. Rhysand once told her that their bargain bond, made Under the Mountain, was a cobweb in comparison to the mating bond, but yet Feyre found herself staring at her left arm, lonesome of the mark she had once loathed.
Tendrils of smoke circled around her, billowing in every direction. She was a whisper of darkness in a golden city. Flames licked their way around her hands and crept up her forearms. Feyre exhaled a long breathe and returned to normal. The smoke retreated and the flames quenched. Longing for the day she would no longer have to live a lie, she returned to the manor.
Soon, Feyre promised herself. Soon.