Chapter Text
He hated snow and ice more than he hated anything. The chill in the air seemed to go straight to his soul, making him feel colder than he had in years.
There was a reason why Tamlin avoided the Winter Court.
The only reason he had decided it was a good idea to come was to see where Kallias' alliances were. He had sent out word to every High Lord, asking if they would speak with him. He would apologize for all that had happened. He would shoulder the weight even if it was not technically his to bear.
After all, he hadn't asked Amarantha to come to Prythian. Nor had he asked her to curse him. It wasn't his fault. Not really. That was what he kept telling himself when he woke in the middle of the night.
It was one of the reasons why he couldn't face Feyre when she did the same. Why he tried to ignore what was slowly happening to her. He wanted to protect her from the world. But he could not protect her from her own mind and the hells unleashed in her sleep. If he could, he would.
He tried not to think of Feyre and how she must feel being left at home with only Ianthe for comfort. Instead, he tried to focus on how unfamiliar the fur-lined coat felt against his broad shoulders and how his feet wanted to break free from the stifling of the fur-lined boots.
His normal pants and shirt would not suit the ice and snow of the Winter Court. Yet another reason for him to hate all of it.
Yet, he had to play by Kallias' rules. It was shocking enough that the High Lord of the Winter Court had allowed him to enter his domain. After Amarantha's attack, he wouldn't have been surprised had the Winter Court kept their borders completely closed. He assumed it was only because he had been responsible for bringing about their freedom that he was allowed free reign.
Soft laughter echoed down the ice-covered chamber he was walking through. His spine stiffened slightly as the scent of blood assaulted his nose. The bright, copper tang of it did not match the laughter that came with it.
"You got one good hit!" A woman called out with a bell-like laugh. His fingers twitched towards the knives that should have been hanging at his waist. His bandolier had been left at home. A sorry mistake that he would not be making in the future.
"Just face it, Lye, you're losing your touch." This time the voice belonged to a man. Gruff, but one could hear the gentle smile that would have been playing at his features.
Tamlin could almost picture the pair in his mind.
He didn't have to picture them for long. Two soldiers stepped into the chamber, rounding the corner. They were still wearing armor that appeared to be made of ice and steel, a welcome shield to swords and other weaponry. The armor was covered in sleet and mud.
The man was not quite as tall as Tamlin, perhaps a few inches shorter, nor was he as broad. His skin was white as paper, with ice brown eyes and lank white hair that was covered the same mess as his armor.
It was the woman that made him take pause.
She was nothing notable. About the same height as Feyre, her complexion just as white as the man's. He could see the blue of her veins and the gentle purple shadows that were just under her eyes. Her hair was the same shade of snowy white that marked those born in the Winter Court. It curled slightly, which he found rather intriguing given that he could tell despite the fact that it had been braided in a crown around her head. Not for fashion's sake but for fighting. Her eyes were a deep shade of green, almost like one of the evergreen trees all over this godsforsaken waste.
The scent of blood came from a cut just above the left eye. It was still bleeding freely. Either it was fresh and she hadn't had the chance to see a healer or she simply had not noticed it yet. Like the man, her hair and face were covered in mud and sleet. As was the sword hanging from her belt.
The pair stopped in front of him, bowing in respect to a High Lord that was not their own.
"My Lord," the woman spoke, nudging the man once in the gut when he began to snicker at her words. "We did not expect to see you until later tonight."
As she straightened, he felt a scream building up in his chest. There was a reason the mating bond had not snapped into place yet with Feyre. It never would.
As he stared into her eyes the mating bond hit him harder than any arrow or any sword ever could. He would kill someone for this slight against him.
Fuck. The word hit him as if a wall had been created in his mind. As if he had never had the chance to back away from the bond.
The voice in his head was not his own. It matched the woman's perfectly. A woman whose name he did not even know. Feyre was going to murder him.
"It's no trouble," Tamlin spoke before he could think about what he was saying. "I've seen my fair share of soldiers." Although he had not seen a woman in the Spring Courts fight. Not one that looked as though she could be a lady of the court.
"My Lord," the man said, taking the woman by the elbow. "We have a meeting with our general. You'll forgive us."
There was an edge to his voice that Tamlin did not know if he enjoyed or hated. He hadn't asked for this High Lord stuff. He hadn't asked to be this way. But he was. He was and he couldn't get rid of it.
"Inform your general that she is going to be detained for a moment," he gestured his head once to the woman who was still within the man's grip.
"It's fine, Los," she mumbled to the man as he looked as though he were going to protest. "I'll be there in a moment."
He tried to ignore the surge of jealousy within him as he watched the two share a look. There was nothing to be jealous over. This was just an oversight. One that they could easily ignore. Well, he hoped they would be able to do so.
The man bowed once again to him, he didn't watch as he soon slipped away, leaving the two to themselves.
She kept one hand on the hilt of her sword, her back was straight and she appeared as though she were heading into battle. Not speaking with a High Lord. It annoyed Tamlin to see her so at ease with him. This wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?
"What is your name?" He figured that would probably help him figure out who in the hell this was and why the mating bond had snapped into place upon one look into her eyes.
"Lyriel Chaeren." He didn't recognize the family name. "Did you need something, My Lord?"
He felt a twinge of annoyance, but he bottled it down. He wasn't her High Lord. He shouldn't expect her to give him as much respect as she would give someone like Kallias. "Come to my rooms this evening, Lyriel. We've much to discuss."
If the word 'fuck' had been any indication, she would understand just what he meant.
Her head nodded once, he watched as the back of her neck became visible for just a moment. He had to swallow for a moment before he remembered that Feyre was home waiting for him.
Feyre. Who wouldn't be happy if she found out about this. Who would wonder what this meant for them and their upcoming wedding. He almost wanted to cry from the sheer frustration of the matter at hand.
Tamlin watched her leave him before he quickly went to his meeting with Kallias. He found himself unable to truly pay attention. Even if he didn't fully get the gist of it, Lucien would. Lucien who had been there for twenty minutes already while Tamlin worked up some energy after the winnow. As emissary, Lucien was almost too used to Tamlin's moods and having to deal with most of the actual politics of the Spring Court.
He did not speak to Lucien about what had happened that afternoon. He didn't know how to tell him. Lucien would certainly understand what was happening. Lucien had always been the one he could rely on. The one who had made him feel as though he was going to be alright. That he could be the High Lord that he wanted to be. Not the failure that everyone assumed he was.
The meeting went by quickly enough that Tamlin did not have enough time to think of what was happening in his mind. He shook Kallias' hand once before he quickly headed back to his room.
He found himself pacing back and forth, his stomach in knots. There was no way this would turn out well. Feyre would be heartbroken when she found out who Lyriel was. Lyriel whose name sounded like music. He scowled at the very thought. She shouldn't have been on his mind. He needed to figure out what to do about this little issue.
He and Feyre had been through too much to just throw it all away. Over some woman that he didn't even know.
It was enough to make anyone crazy.
Tamlin joined the High Lord of Winter, Vivane, and Lucien at dinner. He smiled charmingly, laughed when appropriate, and treated the Lady of the Winter Court with as much respect as he could muster.
He was grateful that the soldiers did not dine in the palace's large dining hall. He almost asked about their whereabouts but quickly stopped himself. He didn't need anyone knowing about his bond with one of them. Unless she was high-ranking. That could be useful.
Tamlin chewed his steak as he lost himself in thought. Her armor had been too much of a mess to really make note of if there was something to declare her as just a normal soldier or someone who had connections. She could have easily been a high-ranking captain or perhaps had taken a general position.
It was another bit of effort to not ask Kallias this. If he told anyone of this recent discovery, it would be Lucien. Lucien wouldn't say a word to anyone. At least he could hope so.
He waited until Lady Vivane excused herself before he did the same. He thanked Kallias for his hospitality and for the dinner with a graceful bow. One that he felt he shouldn't have to give. He straightened his spine, wished Lucien a good night, and turned to leave.
A guard was stationed outside the dining hall.
"Inform Lyriel Chaeren that I require her presence in my room," he said formally. If anyone asked he would claim that she had done him a disservice or that he had wanted to pick who stood outside his room that night.
A bullshit lie that no one would buy.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on his door. He glanced once at the two glasses of brandy he had just poured and prayed that this would go well.
Tamlin set the glasses down on the small drinking table he had been provided before he strode across the large room to the door. Due to his height and girth, he was able to cross within a couple of steps. He took a calming breath as his hand wrapped around the knob. Slowly, he opened the door and peered out. She was standing there, her armor no longer on. Instead, she wore a fur-lined tunic that fell to her knees and a pair of fur-lined leggings that he could see a knife hanging from. Her boots were fur-lined as well. A necessity in this barren waste. Her hair was out of its plait, sheets of white-blonde cascading down her back. Even the cut above her eye was gone. As if it had never happened.
"You wished to see me, My Lord?" Lyriel bowed at the waist for him. The last time she would ever allow herself to show him any type of submission.
"Come in," he opened the door wide enough for her to slip inside.
As she did, he caught her scent. The subtle scent of ice clung to every bit of her, mixed with pine and berries. And just a bit of blood.
Tamlin watched her carefully for a moment, taking in how she moved about the room. Her spine stayed straight as if she held herself in the highest esteem. Her right hand stayed close to the knife. He wondered if she thought he would attack her.
"I take it you know why you're here," he said as he closed the door. They didn't need to have this conversation with it hanging open. The longer he could keep this between them the better.
"Could it have anything to do with the string attached to my rib?" She tilted her head as she looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes twinkled like the lights of the Winter Solstice. He had to swallow to stop thinking about it.
"Yes, it does." He strode forward, trying not to notice as she backed away, and took one of the glasses of brandy. The alcohol warmed him from the moment it touched his tongue. He could feel it sliding down his throat and settling comfortably on his stomach.
"I want to know why the first thing you sent down the bond was 'fuck'," he sounded amused. He felt rather amused by it.
"I didn't realize I was sending it." Her fingers danced along the hilt of the blade. Tamlin noticed that her nails were filed down, no more than small stubs. They could do no damage to him.
"Really?" His eyebrow rose slightly as he forced himself to casually lean against the wall. He had to take this easy. He couldn't rush things nor could he scare her off. Even if he was certain that was one of the things that he was best at.
"I suppose I hadn't thought that the Mother would think I belong with a High Lord," she explained, not bothering to look at him as she spoke. "I apologize for that being the first thing you heard from me."
A slight smirk played on Tamlin's features, despite his annoyance that she would not look at him. "Don't worry about it. Feyre has notably said a lot worse to me. Especially upon our first meeting."
He didn't care that her fingers clenched slightly. He wasn't about to give Feyre up. Not when he loved her more than he loved anyone. Not when she had loved him enough to risk her life for him. He'd die first.
"Of course," she still refused to look at him. That was growing to be a bit of a problem for him. He didn't know what he would do if she refused to look at him. "What exactly do you propose we do about this?" She asked, turning her head to him at that point.
He almost wished she wouldn't have looked at him. There was a fire burning in her eyes. Not fire. Ice. Her eyes had turned into the color of a frozen evergreen. Slightly lighter, mainly colder. The room dropped a few degrees and he noticed that ice was forming beneath her boots.
So she had power. Greater than what he assumed a normal soldier would have. He knew very well that her power either meant that she was someone with connections or she had been blessed with strong magic to keep up with him. He didn't necessarily think that was the case. His parents had not been equal and they were a mated pair. He didn't think that being mates meant that they, necessarily, would be equal either. She would have to bow down before him. Just as every member of his Court. She wasn't special in that regard.
"I want you to come to the Spring Court with me," Tamlin told her, keeping one eye on the ice that was growing underneath her feet. He didn't exactly want her to freeze him for saying the wrong thing. According to Lucien, he had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing at times.
"How will you explain that?" She was smarter than he had thought. Lyriel clearly knew that he would not risk Feyre. It was apparent in the way he spoke, the way he looked at her.
"You're an emissary for the Winter Court. Kallias cannot attend the wedding so I'll have him send you in his place." Tamlin stated as if it were the easiest answer.
"You don't control my High Lord," she pointed out cautiously. "He can very well say no."
"I think Kallias will see the value in having someone at the Spring Court," Tamlin pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders. "He's not dumb enough to think that there isn't a political advantage to having a spy in my court."
She snorted at that. The noise grated his ears. He tried not to think of how irritating it was that she wasn't taking this seriously.
"Kallias is too good to spy." Lyriel's fingers had curled around the handle of the knife. At least he knew what buttons to press.
"Either way, we need to figure this whole thing out. I won't have anyone ruining my wedding," he pointed out, rubbing his temples gently.
"So I have to uproot my life in order for you to decide what to do with me?"
"I'm glad you understand." Tamlin willfully ignored the edge in Lyriel's tone. He would do the same damn thing for the rest of their lives. "We leave in two days. I trust you'll do the right thing."
Lyriel's spine straightened, he didn't know that was possible. She had already stood straight enough to nearly look him in the eye. He was a foot taller than her and yet he felt as though she dwarfed him. He hated that feeling. She did not say another word to him, just strode out the door. The scent of winter berries assaulted his nose once more.
Prick, she sent the word reverberating through his body. He could feel it in the depths of his spine. He hoped she could feel the growl that left his throat.
Tamlin was unsure what to do about this whole mess. He had assumed that the mating bond would fall into place with Feyre. He had assumed it would happen during their wedding night or at some point in the near future. But now ... There was no way that he could tell her. She would be crushed. She had given up so much for him.
Her life being the main thing.
Taking her sacrifices away from her seemed to be a cruel thing. He could protect her from this. He might have to forsake his mate but for Feyre, he would do it.
As Tamlin readied himself for bed, he found himself thinking again of Lyriel. He didn't really know what he was supposed to do about this whole thing. She wasn't what he had expected. Nor what he had wanted. He had always thought that he would find someone within his own court. When Feyre had broken the curse, he had been sure that it would be her. He wished that his father was still alive. He would ask what he should do. He would have someone to talk to who wouldn't let him just ruin everything. Tamlin often worried that he was going to ruin everything. He wasn't meant to be the High Lord. He was meant for a simple life. One of a soldier.
He would have thrived in war camps, where all he was was another face in the crowd. His rage would have been more useful there than it was in ruling over his people. He wouldn't have been nearly as afraid of losing control. He didn't question what his mate being a soldier said about this either. He was worried that it would just prove his theory right.
That was one thing that Tamlin didn't want to be proven right about.
At night, he could still hear his brother's taunts. He wasn't fit to be High Lord. He would never be High Lord. He could forget ever being necessary to their father. He was just a burden.
Tamlin closed his eyes tightly as the memories overtook him. They were gone and yet, they still haunted him. They still informed his every decision. He would never find peace. Perhaps that was why he craved the life he could see himself having with Feyre. The one that he would have with Feyre. He didn't care if he would have to kill to get it.
They had both been through hell and back. This whole mate thing was just another wrench in the plans. But it would be fixed. Sooner or later they would work something out. Bonds were rejected all the time. No matter if it had the chance to drive him to madness, he could still reject it. He could rely on Feyre to keep him sane.
Good night, My Lord, Lyriel's voice haunted him the rest of the night. He wondered if she had sent it through the bond to punish him.