#a court of war and ruin
UPDATE :: The next book reviews are….
- The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkin Gilman
It was on my long list of to be reviewed books, mostly because it’s one of my favorites. The books I’ve already read are actually taking me longer to review since I have to go back and read them, but someone in my inbox told me I should review it so it’s the first on my list now to review.
- The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe
Another short that I absolutely loved, so why not bundle my two favorites to review.
- A Court of Thorns and Roses Series (1-3) by Sarah J. Maas
I read the series last summer and I have to revisit my thoughts of the series, but I did immensely enjoy them. I’m not reviewing the last book, A Court of Silver Flames, because I haven’t read it, yet and I’m sorta hesitating until the next book is released (Mostly because I hear it might be around Azrael, so might as well bundle the two books together).
- Throne of Glass Series (1-7) by Sarah J. Maas
literally just finished the last book yesterday and while I did review the first one and wasn’t all that excited to read the rest of the books, I have to say I was pleasantly surprised. I never doubted Sarah J. Maas (one of the few authors I like off of BookTok), but the first two books were an uphill battle to get through. Though the last books make me emotional unstable…I’ll just save the rest of my comments for the reviews.
Hear me out: Azriel and Cassian starting to sing the intro of “Can you feel the love tonight” like Timon and Pumba when they first met Feyre.
A Court of Fire & Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 8
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
It had been another sleepless night. He did not know how sleep could come easy to anyone after the events of the previous day. He was certain that Feyre would have been awake, fearing over whatever Rhysand wanted from her. He doubted that Lyriel had been able to sleep after he had kissed her, which he knew was the biggest mistake of his life.
Hell, he knew that Lucien and most of his guards had yet to sleep. He’d had them looking for any trace of Feyre all night. They had not come back yet. Not to his knowledge at the very least. They would know better than to come to him with bad news. Or no news at all.
He sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the breakfast that had been laid out before him. He didn’t care about it, about anything beyond the debates roaring in his head. He couldn’t think about Lyriel, about how it felt when she was against him. He couldn’t think of the way she had been on the verge of tears before they’d kissed.
She wanted the best for him. That alone was enough to kill him.
Feyre was the one who mattered to him. He would find a way to get her back. He would get her out of her deal. Then maybe he could explore whatever this was with Lyriel. Or maybe he and Feyre would work out whatever issues they had. He could be done with the Winter Court soldier and focus on who actually made him happy.
She strode into the dining room. Her leather pants were back, hugging the curves that he had briefly thought about running his hands over. Briefly was perhaps the wrong word. It seemed as though the thought of her body pressed against his had been there from the moment she had slipped into his bed.
“Morning,” Lyriel drawled as she took her seat across from him.
Tamlin tried to avoid her gaze. He didn’t know how to act around her. What was he supposed to say in reference to their kiss?
Lyriel didn’t seem to notice his lack of attention. She slathered a piece of toast with butter and jam, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the day before. Why did she have to behave this way? Didn’t she know that he was reeling? That he needed to be told how horrid he was, that he needed to be out hunting for Feyre or for answers. Not sitting at breakfast with the woman who was supposed to be his mate.
A warm sensation began in his stomach, slowly moving to envelop him fully. He knew it was her. She was trying to help him in the ways only she could.
“Lyriel,” he nearly snarled, knowing that he didn’t deserve the gentle feeling of comfort. Not from her at least. Not when he was doing all he could to ruin her.
“Yes, Tam?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. He hated that it made him think of the way she had looked at him yesterday. When her eyes had been concerned, when she had been on the verge of crying over him. His chest ached, the warm feeling being replaced by the pain.
“Whatever you’re trying to do … Knock it off.”
“I’m not doing anything,” Lyriel savagely bit into her toast, flecks of jam finding a home just above her upper lip. Tamlin hated that he wanted to lick it off. “If anything, I’m just making sure you don’t decide the dining table would look better as splinters. I’d prefer to enjoy my breakfast.”
He didn’t know if his temper flared or not. A sound erupted from his lips. A mix of a scoff and a laugh. Something that he had not heard in a very long time. Why did she have to be the one that brought him comfort? Why did he feel as though he needed her by his side? It was the damned bond. He knew that he could reject it. Just three simple words that would leave them severed. He’d never have to see her again. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Life with Lyriel had been hell. She was brash, abrasive, and didn’t know her place. She questioned him at every turn, pushing and shoving against everything he wanted. But Mother above he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He knew that he needed to get his priorities in order. She was not going to be the one he spent his life with. No matter how badly he wanted to.
The fact that he even wanted to was enough to cause him to worry. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. Perhaps he was losing it. Perhaps losing Feyre had meant losing everything he held dear. Including his sanity. He needed to talk to someone about this. But it wasn’t like he could say anything to Lucien, he’d end up telling him to tell Feyre the truth. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to break her heart and crush her spirit. Nor could he tell Ianthe. Not when she was already threatening him.
“I take it you didn’t sleep last night,” Lyriel said as she looked at him.
“I won’t be until Feyre is returned to us."
He could not tell if Lyriel’s expression darkened or if it was a trick of the light. One second she looked nearly murderous and the next she was back to her usual, smug self. It was maddening trying to determine what she was or was not feeling. How was anyone supposed to do this? How was anyone supposed to understand her and what she wanted in her life? Tamlin certainly had no idea how she felt about any of this. Did she want him? Did she want to accept the bond and be with him until the end of time? Or did she wish to return to the home that she had known? He barely knew her. How was he supposed to read her?
"Making yourself ill isn’t going to help Feyre,” she said softly. “All it’s going to do is make you nearly impossible to be around. Besides, we all know there’s no getting out of bargains. Otherwise, you would’ve found it by now.”
“I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“You’ve been looking since you got back to the Spring Court,” Lyriel pointed out. “Lucien told me as much. Honestly, you shouldn’t beat yourself up so much. Rhysand might be a monster but he’s not going to do anything to her. He’s infatuated by her.”
Tamlin’s fingers dug into his palm. What the hell did she mean by that? What did Rhysand have to be infatuated with? Feyre was his soon-to-be bride. There should have been nothing that made Rhysand think twice about her. Unless it was all some sort of horrid punishment for him. He wouldn’t exactly put it past Rhysand to do anything of the sort.
“He might, just to spite me,” he grunted as he glanced over at the white-haired woman.
Lyriel gave him a gentle smile. “If he really wanted to spite you, I think he would figure out the truth about us first. If people were to find out the whole … mate thing,” he cringed as she said it, “they wouldn’t exactly be happy about it.”
“And why is that?"
"Why would the High Lord of the Spring Court be mated to a Winter Court soldier? Truly, Tam, the whole thing is ridiculous. It’s understandable why you’d go for the hero of Prythian instead. No one would fault you for that. But … They might look at this whole thing like the Mother was playing some sort of cruel joke.” Lyriel didn’t look at him as she spoke. It was almost as though she didn’t want to see the truth of her words. Tamlin knew it was ridiculous. But he had been thinking those same things from the moment they had met.
He knew that he needed to get his head out of his ass. After all, Feyre should have been entitled to find her mate as well. It clearly wasn’t going to be him. But that didn’t mean anything.
Mating bonds could be wrong. It had to be. He and Lyriel could barely be in the same room without her managing to get under his skin. The way she spoke made him want to rip a door off its hinges most of the time.
And yet, it felt as though she understood him. More than anyone he’d ever met. Had anyone ever tried to calm him before? Had anyone approached him when he was angry before? Had anyone ever seen him as anything other than a beast? Feyre had never calmed him, had never approached him when he looked like he was going to go mad with rage. Only Lyriel. He hated her for it.
She should’ve run from him. She should have treated him like he was a monster. She shouldn’t have shown him any sort of grace. There were thousands of things that Tamlin wished Lyriel had done. He wished that she had pushed him away instead of trying her damndest to do whatever it took to bring him joy. She had no right to do any of that. No right to think of his happiness.
“I would rather keep talk of the Mother away from the breakfast table.” He didn’t need Ianthe overhearing the truth of the matter. It was bad enough that she thought something was going on between the pair.
If Ianthe discovered that he was abandoning his mate … He didn’t know what she would do. Perhaps hang him from the highest tree by his balls.
A shudder went through his spine at the mere thought.
“We should do something today,” Lyriel stated as she looked at him, a grin on her lips. She had yet to wipe off the jam. “Get your mind off of things.”
“What do you suggest?” One of his brows rose, despite the fact that he knew he could not give in. It wouldn’t do to blow off any steam when Feyre could be being tortured.
“Leave that to me. Just meet me in the gardens in half an hour.” Lyriel wiped her mouth as she stood. He didn’t like the wicked glint in her eyes, nor did he like how his heart seemed to speed up when she looked at him.
He watched as she strode out of the room. Lyriel acted as though she owned the Spring Court. It felt as though she was at home here, more than she had ever been in the Winter Court. He didn’t know the story, he doubted that it was anything interesting. She was a soldier. Nothing more and nothing less.
And yet someone had thought they were each other’s equal. Perfect for the other in every way. It was not the first time Tamlin questioned the validity of the bond, nor would it be the last. Why had a High Lord been paired with a soldier? It made no sense to him.
He knew better than to deny her though. He could deal with a lot but he didn’t want to deal with a pissed off Lyriel. Not when he already had to worry about everything else in the world. He had never thought that it would be quite so tiring to be a High Lord. Or at least dealing with his feelings for two different women.
As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that he had feelings for his mate. The kiss from the night before had remained in his thoughts until he had thought he was going to implode. How he was supposed to handle himself around her was beyond him. She probably knew what he was thinking which only made the whole damned thing worse. Tamlin wasn’t sure what to do about the whole situation nor did he think he wanted to actually deal with it. Not for a very long time at least.
He trudged back up to his room, ignoring the splinters of wood and the ruined portraits. He ignored how he had ruined his room, how he had turned his manor into a wreckage. It was worse in Feyre’s room.
He changed into clothes that had managed to escape the wrath of his claws the night before. The silk shirt fit him well, showcasing his muscular chest and the arms that seemed more beastly every day. What would happen if he just gave up? What if he just lived as the beast that resided underneath him? Would Lyriel still want to be there? Would she still sit with him and try to calm him? Or would she finally see what the rest of the courts did? A monster.
Tamlin swallowed once, allowing the thoughts to linger in his mind as he pulled on breeches made of soft doeskin. He would not think of any of this once he was around Lyriel. She would more than likely stab him if she realized that he was thinking ill of himself. That or she would look at him with disappointment. He had no idea which was worse.
He tried not to think of what her retaliation would look like as he headed down to the gardens. He didn’t know what she planned for him. Nor was he certain he wanted to know. It was certainly going to be something that he didn’t want to deal with. There was no telling with her.
“I didn’t think you’d show,” she stepped out from behind a rosebush that looked as though it were about to grow wildly.
She looked as though she was supposed to be there. The sunlight made her pale skin glow, her hair had been braided with a few roses tucked into the strands, and her eyes twinkled with the hope of adventure.
“I figured you would stab me,” he admitted with a shrug. “What exactly are we doing out here?”
“Despite how long I’ve been here, you’ve never given me a single tour,” Lyriel stated as she looked at him. Her canines showed as she smiled. He wondered briefly what they would feel like against his skin. Mother above, he was a horrible person. His pleasure or his pain shouldn’t have been at the forefront of his mind.
No matter how Lyriel was trying to distract him.
“I don’t see how that’s important,” Tamlin sighed, fighting against the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t need a fight with her so early in the morning.
“I’ve had plenty of time to explore on my own,” Lyriel said, ignoring his interruption. “So, I’ve decided that I’m going to give you one. All the places that you’ve been too busy for. You’re being reintroduced to your Court, My Lord.” The bow she fell into was so mocking that he struggled to not look exasperated.
“Lyriel, I don’t have time for this."
"What else will you do? Mope around the manor for the next two weeks? Worry yourself into ill-health?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. He had never noticed the way they seemed to stand out in the sunlight, each small hair appearing almost silver in the blinding light.
“I’ll research how to end the bargain."
"And you won’t find anything,” she gave him a kind smile as she stepped closer to him. “Tam, you’ve got to let her save herself. I know that probably scares you, but she’s stronger than you know."
He tensed at that. How could she possibly think bringing up Feyre and her captivity was a good idea? The worst part was the fact that he knew she was right. He’d watch Feyre save herself more than once. He knew exactly what kind of woman she was. She was capable, she didn’t need to rely on anybody. She didn’t need him to be her savior. But that was the only thing he was good at.
"Lyriel,” he began. She pressed her index finger to his lips, a grin on her lips that was more feral than was proper. He had to fight the urge to suck the finger into his lips. Mother above, she was killing him.
“You’re not fighting me on this,” she removed her finger. Lyriel took his left hand, her fingers fit perfectly with his. He hated it. Hated how perfect she was for him and how he could not think of how Feyre’s hand had felt in his. “Come now, my lord.”
Tamlin still was unsure if he liked the way she said that or not. Most of the time, it sounded taunting. But sometimes, he was certain that it was just his mind playing tricks on him, it sounded seductive. Lyriel Chaeren was going to be the death of him. She was going to make him more volatile than he had ever been. Or at least, he assumed as much. There was no telling when it came to her, which was perhaps the worst of it.
She didn’t wait for him to say yes or no. She just began to walk. He knew that he could just stand there. It didn’t matter that she was a soldier, he was more muscle than man. He could hold her back if he wanted. But he didn’t. He walked with her, almost nervous. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Lyriel despised him or anything of that nature. All she cared about was making him happy. All she wanted to do was make him feel loved. He couldn’t even hate her for it.
She walked him through the gardens he had played in as a child, making up stories about battles lost or won on the land. He didn’t know why she was trying any of this. She hadn’t grown up there, she had no idea what any of these places had actually meant to him as a child. Nor did he want to explain any of it.
“Lyriel,” it didn’t seem to matter what he did or did not want. His tongue seemed to work before his mind did. “None of that has ever happened.”
“I know,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “But what else was I supposed to think? You haven’t told me anything, Tam.”
He didn’t know if he felt guilty or not. Tamlin had been more focused on finding out about Lyriel than telling her anything about himself. It just so happened that neither of them were open people.
“A truth for a truth then,” he murmured softly, his hand squeezing hers. Her skin felt cold against his. She was ice and death and cold, he was warmth and strength and life. How the Mother had assumed they would be a perfect match … He would never understand it.
“Trust me, Tamlin, you don’t want my truths,” Lyriel flitted away from him, heading deeper into the gardens. His heart nearly stopped beating as she stepped into his mother’s rose garden. They were overgrown, wild, more natural than they had been in years. Lyriel looked at home in the roses.
The sunlight seemed to bounce off her hair, the roses were more vibrant when paired with her pale skin, the smell of the frozen berries mixed with the roses made his knees unnaturally weak. Tamlin didn’t know what in the hell was wrong was him. He didn’t know why he had to be so conflicted about this whole damned mess. She was his mate. He should want her, he should choose her. He knew that.
But no matter what, he knew that he would choose Feyre. She was the one who had broken his curse. She was the one who had taught him how to love and how to feel something.
It wasn’t his fault that Lyriel hadn’t come first. It wasn’t his fault that she had waited too long to find him. None of this was his fault. Was it?
“I want them,” he murmured as he followed her. She disappeared into the maze of roses, her fingers gently caressing each petal. Tamlin wished her fingers would ghost across his skin like that. He hated that he wanted it.
“Do you?” Lyriel looked at him, a defiant gaze in her eyes.
“Yes,” he didn’t know when she had stopped walking. He didn’t know when he had gotten so close to her. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, he worried that he’d lose control. Instead of kissing her, he would kill her. He didn’t know why he had such an issue controlling himself.
Lyriel looked up at him, so small and so fragile. But so damned strong, so damned ready to fight her way out of situations that didn’t include him. She’d been fighting for so long, he could see it in her eyes. In the way she didn’t trust him to see the real her. The sarcasm had to be the only thing keeping her safe.
“Tell me who you are, Lyriel,” he leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers. He could feel her breath against his skin, he could feel the chill of her running through him. Mother Above, she was the one he needed. The one he wanted. But she was the one that he could not have. He was a proud man. A man who would keep his word and his promises. That just meant finding a way to free Feyre from the bargain she had made and marrying her. It didn’t matter that neither of them wanted it anymore.
To be fair, he had no idea how Feyre was feeling anymore. She could very well still want all of this. He’d never know because he was too afraid to ask. Tamlin had lived his life being afraid of the truth. He’d crafted lies to avoid being hurt, but he knew that it was time to change. To grow from this whole damned thing.
“You won’t like it.” Lyriel stepped away from him, a sad smile on her face. “Who could ever love a bastard?”
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
The wedding seemed to come before he had a chance to process anything. He didn’t know what he was doing with Lyriel. Ianthe still wanted him to banish her. Lucien told him how stupid it would be. But they didn’t know. They couldn’t know. Ianthe may have thought she knew something was up, but she could never be sure. Tamlin counted on her not being certain of anything. If she figured him out, everything would be chaos.
Feyre had sunk into herself more and more. He wanted to fight it, wanted to bring her back to life. But he felt as though he couldn’t. He didn’t know the full truth of the horrors she went through. He just knew what he’d had to do. He couldn’t compare either experience. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
Needless to say, the wedding felt as though it was the least important thing happening. He had briefly thought about postponing it. But Feyre had worked so hard on the plans. She deserved a perfect day. One where she did not have to think of anything, where she didn’t have to worry about anything. Tamlin wouldn’t allow his troubles to ruin anything for her. He wouldn’t let any creatures come and interrupt the festivities either.
If only he had known what she was hiding from him.
His suit clung to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He had never felt so stifled before. The beast inside of him wanted to rip free of the clothing, wanted to react to the whole thing in a way that Tamlin would not allow. His emotions were all over the place. He felt as though he could barely breathe.
It was a miracle he hadn’t destroyed something yet.
A gentle knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he called out as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Lyriel slipped silently into the room, her frozen berry scent giving her away. He glanced at her once through the mirror, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.
She wore a dress of silk, as green as his eyes. A slight ran up her left leg, revealing a dagger sheathed at her thigh. The gown hugged the curves that her corsets and pants had never bothered to hide. But it seemed different. This was far more inviting. The beast inside of him wanted to touch her, to feel the soft skin of her thigh, of her arms. Her skin looked just a bit more tan than when she had first come, yet it still held the glow of the winter. Her hair fell in waves down her back, white as snow and so soft that he wanted to run his hands through it.
The scars on her arms were still visible, as were the ones that ran up that delectable thigh. He wondered how many more were hidden underneath her gown. She had been a warrior for a long time. Longer than he ever would have expected.
“You look beautiful,” the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He swallowed once, trying to wet his dry throat. “But, uh, I doubt a dagger is an appropriate accessory.”
Her lips quirked into a smirk, a dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. Had it always been there? Was he just noticing it now? “You’ll have to take it from my dead body.”
Even when they were about to be parted for the rest of their lives, she still found it so easy to be Lyriel. Tamlin knew this wouldn’t hurt her. She would get away from him without ever taking a backward glance at him. The thought killed him. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had no right to expect less of her. She deserved everything that he was getting. She deserved more.
“Don’t say that,” he said as he turned to face her. He didn’t miss the sparkle of amusement in her frozen eyes as she took in the sight of him in his finery.
“You don’t look like yourself,” she stepped towards him slowly. Unsteadily. Tamlin glanced down once, noting the black heeled shoes she wore. She wasn’t used to them, her steps small and uncertain. Or maybe she didn’t want to be close to him. He couldn’t blame her. She was losing a mate that she had never known. He was giving her up without ever actually rejecting her. They weren’t supposed to be doing this. But he couldn’t stop it. Neither could she.
“What do you mean?” His voice was strained as she stopped just inches away from him. He kept his gaze at the wall behind her, trying not to think of the way her scent tickled his nose. He tried not to think of how her body had felt next to his. He tried not to think of how her hair had felt against his cheek.
That night had been a mistake. One that he replayed over and over again in his mind. He would never have another night like that. Not with her.
“You’re not meant for finery,” Lyriel stated, her hand slowly coming up. Her fingertips gently traced the shape of his cheekbone, going to his beard. She dropped her hand just before he had a chance to shudder. He hated what she was doing to him. Hated that she was playing with him. “You’re meant to tear down kingdoms, to end tyranny. You’re a warrior, Tam. Same as me.”
He stilled, hating the truth in her words. He had never wanted any of this. Had never wanted the responsibility. But he didn’t want to be the monster everyone thought he was. He didn’t think he was a warrior. He just didn’t like to see injustice being done. Even if he knew, at this point, that there was very little he could do to stop it.
“Lyriel,” he whispered her name, it felt like the beginnings of a secret song. “You should go. Home.”
A flash of something shone in her eyes as she stepped back from him. It was gone before he could figure out what it had been. “I understand. After the wedding, I’ll depart with the rest of your guests. We wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would we?"
Her voice had hardened. It wasn’t the soft lilt she’d used when speaking to him of who he was. She sounded as though she had just spoken to her general. Maybe the respect should have made him happy, but it just chilled him.
He went to open his mouth, to say something else. Anything to make this moment different. He didn’t want to say goodbye to her, didn’t want to let her go. But Tamlin knew that he would have to. It had donned on him when she had slipped into the room. When her dress had begged him to tear it from her, he had known that they could not do this. She needed to go her own way, find her own happiness. He had to allow her the opportunity. He couldn’t be selfish.
Not when it came to her.
Lyriel slipped from the room before he could find the words to say. Her scent lingered, his body ached with the need to go after her. To comfort her. He didn’t though. He just turned back to the mirror, wiping whatever emotion may have been lingering in his face. He wouldn’t allow any of the guests to see what he was feeling. All anyone would see was a man who was about to marry the woman he loved.
The only woman he loved.
"Tam,” Lucien spoke from outside the room, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. “It’s time.”
Tamlin took a deep breath, looking himself over once more. He nodded at himself before he turned to leave. He stepped out of the room, clasping his best friend on the back. “How’s Feyre?” It felt wrong not to ask, even if he knew it was probably inappropriate to ask about her.
“About as nervous as you are,” Lucien could read him too easily. It came from knowing each other as long as they had. He had never hated it before. “It’s all going to be alright. As soon as you two are married, we can finally settle everything.”
He knew that Lucien was right. They had a long way to go to make damn well certain that the Spring Court would make it through the aftermath of everything. Not to mention preparing for a war that may or may not come. He had to hope that the wedding would at least give his people some faith that things were getting better. He had to hope they believed it. Even if he wasn’t sure if he did.
They made their way to the gardens, Tamlin painting a smile upon his face as they walked. He wanted everyone to see what they should. A man who was finally getting everything that he wanted. He greeted guests, laughing at jokes and making his own when it felt appropriate to do so. His gaze flickered around, not taking in the decor.
The flowers were beautiful, wrapping around columns that had been erected for the wedding. He didn’t care about them, didn’t care about the way the breeze fluttered around them and wrapped them in warmth. His gaze searched for Lyriel.
She was standing with a group of Spring Court lords, a glass of champagne in her hand and soft laughter falling from her lips. His stomach twisted. She looked so at ease. She didn’t look like the woman who had just told him he wasn’t meant for this life. She didn’t look like the soldier that he knew she was.
She looked like a lady of the court. Lyriel may have thought that she was not suited for anything but a blade and a shield, but he knew better. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had wrapped his lords around her finger. She belonged in court life. She would do well in it. Mother above, he wished he hadn’t of thought about it.
He knew that Lyriel would sooner take a sword to the throat than belong to this world.
“Lyriel’s leaving tonight,” he murmured to Lucien. Needing to get the words out before they festered in his chest and became a disease.
“What did you do, Tam?” Lucien’s smile never faltered, the perfect portrait of a man at ease with his lot in life. Even if it had been particularly shitty. “Did you say something to her?”
“No,” he was somewhat affronted that Lucien had even thought that he could do something to Lyriel. “It’s just time for her to go. We’ve got enough on our plates without worrying about the Winter Court and what information they could be gathering.”
“Why haven’t you had Ari check her out?” Lucien questioned, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. Feyre would not show for another half hour. Plenty of time to get drunk on faerie wine. Celebrations often turned into week-long events. That was one of the many reasons why Tamlin had not wanted to postpone the wedding.
“Didn’t think she would have the time,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “She’s been too busy dealing with Rhysand and his moods.”
He did feel bad for sending the girl to the Night Court. But the opportunity had never presented itself before. A mating bond had snapped into place, a bond that they could easily exploit. It was a wonder that he had yet to do the same thing with Lyriel. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted.
Lucien gave him a quick look before he slipped away to speak with others. More people came up to Tamlin, laughing and talking with him about things that did not matter. None of this mattered. At least, he didn’t feel as though it did. He was stupid for thinking it. Stupid for thinking anything bitter on the supposedly happiest day of his life. Tamlin hated to think that he was in a foul mood. He hated to think that anything was going to ruin this day.
Feyre deserved so much better than him. He hated himself for thinking that.
“It’s time,” Lucien murmured to him.
Tamlin’s throat felt dry as he watched Ianthe take her place at the head of the alter. He took his own place to the right of Lucien. The guests took their seats, Lyriel in the very back. He hadn’t noticed the flowers that she had braided into her hair until then. The periwinkle petals were bright in her white hair. She spoke in soft tones to a man who sat by her. Good, she didn’t need to be alone during this.
He tore his eyes from her as the music began to fill the air. Feyre stepped out of the manor, her gown more taffeta and looking as though it was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever worn in her life. He painted a smile on his face for her.
Her own smile did not reach her eyes. She looked anxious, as though she was afraid of everything that was happening. He chalked it up to the last time she had been in front of a crowd of this magnitude. He could imagine how she would have to tell herself that they were okay. She wasn’t being made to compete in trials that would possibly end in her death. She was walking towards him. Towards their future together.
Until she stopped.
His brow furrowed, his feet already beginning to move toward her. Something was wrong. Something was happening that he was unaware of. Had something happened? Had she decided to hide from him again? When would they get to the point where they could actually speak to each other?
A gentle breeze that smelled of spiced wine and the depths of depravity was the only warning. Rhysand appeared in the blink of an eye, a cruel smile on his lips as he looked down at Feyre.
“Feyre, darling,” Tamlin wanted to rip him limb from limb. His claws felt as though they were ready to poke out. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. “I’ve come to make good on our bargain.”
Before Tamlin could say a word, Rhysand had her in his arms.
“She’ll be back in two weeks,” Rhysand winked casually at Tamlin. A snarl tore free from Tamlin’s lips as the scent of spiced wine and depravity filled the air once more.
A dagger embedded itself in the pillar just beside Tamlin’s head. If it had been thrown a second earlier, it would have caught Rhysand straight in the throat. The dagger was unadorned, a simple blade that had been used countless times if the smoothness of the handle was anything to judge by. If anger had not clouded his senses, he would have realized it carried Lyriel’s scent with it. He would have seen the woman standing up, the flower petals falling from her hair and a look of rage painted on her face.
“Find her,” Tamlin shouted, his voice carrying farther than usual with his rage. His entire body was shaking, his claws out and the fangs pushing at his gums. It hurt, it hurt so much. But he couldn’t stop the beast from taking over.
The guests fled, his guards and sentries quickly rushing off in order to figure out the impossible. Tamlin didn’t know how to feel, how to react. He just went into the manor, his rage causing him to go through the home blindly. He ripped doors off of the hinges, tore down paintings, and crushed statues that were in his path. Anything to release some of the tension. Anything to release some of the rage that he felt.
He wound up in his office, the desk becoming splinters as he pounded it over and over again with his fists. He had known Rhysand would take her. He’d done all he could to find out how to break their deal. Yet, nothing had ever come up. He’d never imagined that Rhysand hated him so much that he would go out of the way to ruin his wedding. Despite the hatred that he felt for the High Lord of the Night Court, he had respected him enough to think that Rhysand was better than this. Better than this dramatic bullshit.
But he wasn’t. No one was ever better. No one ever would be.
He didn’t hear her footsteps. He didn’t smell her frozen berry scent. No, he didn’t notice a damn thing until she gently touched his arm. His hand twitched, not knowing if he should shove her away or pull her closer. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing would ever make sense again and he knew it.
“Tamlin,” Lyriel spoke softly, kneeling on the floor beside him. The splinters of the desk tore her dress, ceramic pieces from the lamp tanged in the silk. “Tamlin, look at me.”
She didn’t look afraid of him. He picked up on that before anything else. Her eyes were wide, but with concern. She was willing to put herself in a vulnerable position in order to try and speak with him. Tamlin trembled slightly as he looked at her. He was afraid.
Afraid of himself. Afraid of her. Afraid of what Rhysand was doing to Feyre. What he would do just to fuck with Tamlin. It all left him feeling powerless, unable to change anything or protect anyone that he loved. It was like he was a child again. Watching as his father did things that he wasn’t proud of. The things that still haunted him at night.
“I’m right here,” she spoke softly, as though she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. Perhaps that was all he was. “I’m not leaving. We’ll get her back. I promise. Everything is going to be alright, Tamlin. You’ll find a way to get her out of whatever deal she made. You’ll get married and have multiple children.”
Despite the fact that she could have easily been sarcastic, Lyriel sounded sincere. She sounded as though she believed that he would get those things. That he deserved those things. No one had ever made him feel as though he deserved to be happy. No one had ever made him feel as though he were anything but a monster.
Feyre did her best. She had done better as a human when he had saved her from a life where she would have died before age twenty. She loved him because he had protected her. She had needed a protector. Now, she needed something different. Tamlin just had trouble realizing it. He never would.
“I just need you to breathe, alright?” Lyriel’s eyes were brighter than he thought they had any right to be. He didn’t know how a frozen evergreen could look bright, wide, and … Perfect. His stomach ached at the mere thought of it all. This was too much. All of it was too much.
“Lyriel,” he breathed out, his fists clenching in front of him. He looked away from her, his eyes shut tightly. “You should go.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” it was infuriating how she never did as he asked. How she followed her own desire. He’d never known a soldier who didn’t listen to orders. “You might tear down the manor if I do.”
He knew that she was right. He knew that she was just trying to help. She was trying to be a better person than he deserved. Tamlin felt as though every single thing that Feyre had ever been through was his fault. Everything Rhysand, Lucien, and everyone in the Spring Court fell on his shoulders. He knew that it was nonsensical to think that way. But he did.
He always did.
“Please,” his voice was so small. So much smaller than it had been since the day he had become the High Lord.
Lyriel took his hand in hers. He tried not to note how small her hands were in his. Hers were just as calloused as his own, just as full of scars and of stories that she may never tell him. He shuddered slightly at the chill her skin brought but he did not pull away.
“We’re mates,” she had to bring that up now? When the world felt as though it were coming to an end. “Even though you’re choosing her, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
He opened his eyes then, looking at her. Really looking at her. The periwinkle petals had fallen from her hair, one had been left behind. Her eyes were filled with tears, perhaps due to knowing that he wouldn’t pick her over Feyre. Yet, she clung to his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She held his hand as though he was her one lifeline. Tamlin had always wanted to be someone’s protector, someone’s lifeline.
He didn’t dare believe he could protect Lyriel.
He brought his right hand up, his claws shrinking back into his skin, and gently moved it to her hair. He plucked the periwinkle petal from her hair and let it fall slowly to the floor. His eyes didn’t follow it. Neither did hers. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel from her eyes to the other areas of her face.
With her time in the sun, freckles had begun to bloom across the bridge of her nose. He wanted to trace them with his forefinger but he did not. The bridge was crooked, having been broken a few times. He wanted to know those stories, wanted to share his own with her. His gaze fell to the small scar above her upper lip. It cut into the cupid’s bow and made her lips look much more kissable.
He didn’t think about it. Not for the first time in his life, Tamlin took action without thinking. He leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips against hers.
She tasted of those damned frozen berries. The sweetness of them was addicting and he cursed the Winter Court for it. Her lips were soft, perfect against his own.
He kissed her again, hungrier. Desperate. It felt right. Like some switch in his brain had been flipped. His right hand tangled in the white-blonde hair, pulling her as close as he could. She kissed him back, just as hungrily. They were teeth and tongue and fire and ice.
They were berries and roses and pine and peony. Everything they shouldn’t be and everything they should.
Lyriel pulled away first, a shuddering breath leaving her. She stood, her gown showing more skin now that it had been ripped by splinters of wood and shards of ceramic. She looked at him for a few seconds, he could taste the tension in the air, before she turned on her heel and left.
Leaving Tamlin alone in his broken kingdom.
Elain Acheron doodles.
(I feel like there are also some Persephone vibes here! Does that make lucien/demeter and az /hades? hmmm)
Okay I love the comparison with the Myth of Persephone!
Azriel as Hades
Post link
Azriel: *barely said a word throughout the ACOTAR series so far*
Me:
***Spoiler warning for acotar***
Feyre Archeron • High Lady• Artist’s Soul•Ravenclaw✨
Ready or not, here I come. You can’t hide.
My photographer friend edited this amazing photo of my Manon! The background is real too! We found a cool and creepy-looking rock formation that worked perfectly for Manon!
Cosplay made by me :)
The world:
“YAY!! Summer Solstice!!
ACOMAF fans:
