The nauseatingly sweet scent of lilacs and sunshine hit me as I materialized in what looked like a child's fantasy wedding. There were flowers adorning every possible surface—even the grass was scattered with white and red rose petals making a path to the altar. Hundreds of Spring Court members surrounded the white shrine, where Tamlin—dressed in a tunic of green and gold—stood beckoning for Feyre to join him.

Feyre

I barely registered the guests' collective gasps of horror as I took her in.

"Hello, Feyre darling", I drawled in an attempt to mask my panic.

Her too-thin face shifted from surprise to horror as she turned to face me.

I looked to Tamlin and his emissary. Their sentries were preparing to draw their swords, but a simple mental command stopped them from bothering to try.

"What a pretty little wedding" I said, hiding my clenched fists in my pockets.

I dared to look at her again. She was wearing a ridiculous, fluffy white dress with matching white gloves.

To hide the tattoo I gave her, I realized, clicking my tongue.

"Get the hell out," growled Tamlin, stalking toward us. Claws ripped from his knuckles.

I clicked my tongue again. "Oh, I don't think so. Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre darling."

Not only was Feyre's mind completely unguarded, but she was practically screaming her thoughts at me.

No—no, not now.

"You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen," I went on chuckling a bit at the crowd still falling over themselves to get away from me. I jerked my chin toward my mate. "I gave you three months of freedom. You could at least look happy to see me".

It devastated me that the cruel persona I was forced to adopt to save my people was the reason she would never be happy to see me. Hell, she was literally shaking too badly to even say anything in response.

Struggling to keep my face void my face of emotion, I faced Tamlin once again. "I'll be taking her now".

"Don't you dare," Tamlin snarled.

"Was I interrupting? I thought it was over." I smiled knowingly at Feyre, hoping she could read in my eyes that I knew she was about to refuse him. "At least, Feyre seemed to think so."

Tamlin snarled, "Let us finish the ceremony—"

I noted Ianthe's sudden absence—the cowering witch. "Your High Priestess," I said, "seems to think it's over, too."

Tamlin stiffened as he looked over a shoulder to find the altar empty. When he faced me again, the claws had eased halfway back into his hands. "Rhysand—"

"I'm in no mood to bargain," I said, thoroughly fed up with him, "even though I could work it to my advantage, I'm sure." I put my hand on Feyre's elbow, the contact jarring me more than I let show. "Let's go."

She didn't move.

"Tamlin," she breathed.

Tamlin took a single step toward us. "Name your price."

"Don't bother," I crooned, linking elbows with Feyre.

He'd take me back to the Night Court, the place Amarantha had supposedly modeled Under the Mountain after, full of depravity and torture and death—

"Tamlin, please."

"Such dramatics," I said, responding to what she was thinking more than what she said.

But Tamlin didn't move—and those claws were wholly replaced by smooth skin. He fixed his gaze on me, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "If you hurt her—"

"I know, I know," I drawled. "I'll return her in a week."

I slipped a hand around her too- slim waist, pressing her into my side and whispering, "Hold on."

I could practically taste her hate for me as she clung to my side, but if feeling that hate replaced the panic and anguish she felt before, then I had no problem being the villain now.

Darkness enveloped us, and then vanished, as we materialized in the House of Wind.

"Welcome to the Night Court," was all I could say.