Chapter Text
The Spring Court Manor was large compared to anything she had seen in the vendor location. Feyre followed Tamlin through the house toward where her gallery would be. As soon as they arrived, he’d sent one of the dozens of people crowding around the manor off to find her “something appropriate to wear”. Feyre rolled her eyes at his back. She hadn’t yet changed into her costume, but the dresses that Nesta made were pretty enough.
The dress they had found still had a price tag on it. “$500!” Feyre gasped. “That’s insane.”
A thin woman in grey frowned at her. “It’s handmade.”
“Not out of gold.” It looked like something out of a Disney movie – or like a pink bird exploded all over it.
She let the thin woman, Alis, help her into the layers and layers of tulle, the corset and the ridiculous tiara before she escaped into the faire grounds. It was after opening and she had to dodge the throngs of patrons, many of them in outfits more elaborate than her feather skirts.
She rounded the last turn to face the mortal realms and found Nesta scowling at her like she had expected her.
“Oh, that’s such a pretty dress,” Elain cooed.
Feyre ignored her, facing Nesta, before she could open her mouth, her older sister stood and planted her hands on the counter.
“Have you been fired already?” she asked.
“What? No. I just came to see if Elain needed help moving her pots around.”
Elain stepped around the counter to pet the feathers of Feyre’s skirts. “There wasn’t much to move, most of my flowers were creeping over to your side already. It’s like they knew they would have more space to grow in.”
Feyre bit her lip so that she wouldn’t reply. Instead she took a deep, steadying breath, and let it out slowly.
Nesta interrupted her thoughts again. “Where’d you get the dress?”
“Tamlin is forcing me to ‘dress the part’,” she sneered.
“How good for you.”
“It’s not charity. He’s no doubt making me pay for this, as well.” Feyre winced at the cost she was racking up. She’d end up in debt to the man before the week was out.
Nesta choked. “We’ll have nothing left at this rate. Why come here at all?”
“It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this,” Feyre insisted.
“It’s the first day, and we’ll already never be able to pay back the damage you’ve caused, let alone save enough for three of us to go to college.”
“Nes, don’t be so harsh. She didn’t mean to spill paint all over that High Lord,” Elain said. “It will all work out, in the end.”
Feyre and Nesta turned to glare at their sister, and the expression was too similar for her taste, so Feyre turned and stalked away. She wove in and out of the patrons, nodding and smiling to them in her best Disney-fake expression.
She was halfway there when she saw the redhead, what’s-his-name running toward her. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said.
“So?”
“Tamlin’s worried about you, where did you go?”
“To visit my sisters.”
“You shouldn’t leave without telling him.”
“He’s not my keeper.” Feyre didn’t look at him, and continued pressing through the crowd.
“He is, now, you work for him.”
“I haven’t signed a contract.”
“That’s why I’ve been looking for you. He had it faxed over by his lawyers this morning.”
Feyre took another deep breath.
“It’s best if you just sign it,” he lowered his voice. “Tamlin has a temper.”
“I noticed,” she stopped and turned to look up at him. He wasn’t as broad as Tamlin was, but he was built well, and filled out the leather armor he wore. He smelled of cinnamon.
“Feyre, I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s really better this way. Work for him a little while, then when he tires of you, he’ll let you go.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Tires of me? Sounds like this isn’t the first blackmailing he’s done.”
His face darkened. “Let’s just get back.”
“Listen –?” she couldn’t remember if she’d learned his name.
“Lucien,” he supplied.
“Listen Lucien, I didn’t sign up for this.”
“He needs you.”
“What?”
“I can’t really say more, but just give him a chance, okay?”
Feyre shook her head, and followed Lucien through the faire. Something about the way he walked, the way he his eyes kept watch on everything around him shook her. He was a tall man, and reasonably well built, but he looked … frightened. It didn’t settle well in her stomach.
###
That evening, Feyre settled into her room gaping at the luxury of it. Outside in the distance she could see a bonfire in the area where the tents were set up. She could faintly hear music.
“You did well on your first day.” Tamlin leered from her open door, his shoulder leaning on the doorframe, his legs crossed at the ankles at a weird angle.
One swift kick would knock him off balance, she mused.
“You should stay in here tonight. The parties get kind of wild.”
She fought to not roll her eyes at him. “There was nothing in your contract saying that you got to tell me what to do. I sell paintings while we’re open, that’s it.”
Tamlin shook his head, blond hair falling over his shoulders. He was dressed like a model for an Abercrombie and Fitch commercial. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”
Turning from him, Feyre faced her bed. “I’ll be fine, I don’t need your concern.”
Making a front of protest, Tamlin left her room.
She stewed for nearly half an hour before quickly dressing in warm clothes and heading in the direction of the music.
It wasn’t long before she reached the party; wasn’t long before someone handed her a red plastic cup filled with amber liquid that tasted like a tree; wasn’t long before she realized she hadn’t seen anyone she knew, that she didn’t know anyone to see, and that she didn’t care. Feyre danced.
She danced and twirled and laughed by herself near the bonfire until she was too dizzy to see straight and wondered what had been in her cup.
Hands touched her and she stumbled when she pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” but the words came out garbled in her slur.
Laughter, and the reek of rotten milk assaulted her. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone?”
“I’m not alone.”
“You look alone.”
Feyre shook her head. “My sisters are waiting for me. They went to get food.”
A figure stepped out of the dark and into the light of the fire, two others following behind him. They were big, maybe six feet tall, wearing jeans and leather jackets and trying impossibly hard to look like a badass from the 1950s. She tried not to laugh, but it bubbled out on its own anyway. The one in front frowned at her. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re trying to be Fonzi.”
“The Muppet?”
She couldn’t help it, she giggled again.
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” a deep velvet voice purred behind her.
The men in front of her stiffened, backing up a step. “What do you want?”
“Go play,” the voice said.
Feyre turned around slowly, frowning at the gorgeous man dressed all in black. He melded in with the night like he was born of it. She heard the three men behind her as they left. “Who are you?”
He smiled at her, his eyes running over her body before settling on her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here alone, you know, it’s not safe.”
“I’m not alone.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, taking a step forward to close the distance between them.
Her body responded to the proximity by speeding up the pace of her heartbeat. His chiseled jaw was even more perfect up close. She frowned. “I should go.”
He smiled. “Good, you should be afraid of me.”
Afraid was possibly not the right word, but she nodded anyway. “Thanks,” she said, before turning and moving through the crowd. Her buzz had disappeared at the sight of him, and Feyre walked slowly through the empty faire to her new home for the next two months, her steps dragging, her thoughts wandering back to the man all in black near the fire.