Chapter Text
Feyre smiled as Tamlin brought her back to Rosehall. She was a fox in a chicken coop, a wolf among sheep. High Lady of the Night Court. And she would get revenge on him. Revenge for herself. Revenge for Rhysand, and his family. Revenge for everyone Tamlin had hurt in his court. But she had to smile and play nice, for now.
Tamlin cleared his throat, and Feyre turned to him, prepared to plaster on a fake smile. She’d enjoy manipulating him. Breaking him. Slowly turning his court against him.
Tamlin looked her up and down, something like sadness and, if Feyre looked closer, devastation in his gaze, but it disappeared almost as fast as it’d come when he looked at her face. Then he exchanged a glance with Lucien, who looked similarly… sad, almost, and who reached out a hand to touch Tamlin’s shoulder, as though trying to support him. With a shuddering sigh, Tamlin met Feyre’s gaze again. “Are you alright, Feyre?”
Smiling, she nodded. While he’d looked her over, she’d already rehearsed what she was going to say to him, and she was just about to respond when the doors to Rosehall opened and two people came running down the stairs towards them.
“Feyre!”
Turning around, Feyre saw Nesta and Elain running towards her. A very human Nesta and Elain.
What? They’re supposed to be back in Velaris with the Inner Circle, and… I just saw them get turned into fae by the King of Hybern.
Feyre had no time to voice her concerns, though, as her older sisters quickly pulled her into a hug. Both Elain and Nesta.
Then Elain was cupping her face and fussing over her, and Nesta pulled back, examining Feyre, almost, before sharing a glance with Tamlin, who had that devastated look on his face again.
What the Hell is happening?
Feyre indulged Elain a little longer, before she calmed down, and then Elain was looking her up and down, and frowning. Then her sister turned to Nesta, confused. “Where’s—”
Nesta shook her head, cutting Elain off, before stepping forward. “Feyre—” Nesta began, before she looked aside, as though she was gathering her thoughts. Sighing, Nesta met Feyre’s gaze again. “What do you remember?”
What did I remember? Feyre frowned, not wanting to get caught before she’d even begun to fulfill her plans. “Is there anything I should remember?”
Nesta looked down, and not even Elain could meet Feyre’s gaze. Something was wrong, here. Feyre was certain of it. “What’s wrong?” Feyre asked, and Elain winced, looking between Nesta, Lucien and Tamlin.
The three were locked in some kind of glare with each other, before Nesta turned back to Feyre and spoke. “Nothing, Feyre. Let’s just… let’s go in. You’ll probably need… rest. You should lie down.”
Feyre nodded. She didn’t want to be treated like some porcelain doll, but now that Nesta mentioned it, she did feel tired. She walked after her sister, surprised at the ease with which Nesta navigated Rosehall, and again Feyre wondered how long they had been here. And how they’d gotten here, in the first place, because Feyre knew she’d seen them get thrown into the Cauldron and…
A wave of dizziness overcame Feyre and she swayed on her feet, before Tamlin caught her. She still had to keep her cover, but she really didn’t want Tamlin, of all fae, to carry her, so she pulled herself out of his arms. Leaning against the wall, Feyre plastered on another fake smile. “I’m ok. I really don’t want to be touched right now. It’s bringing back… memories.” Feyre purposely left what ‘memories’ it brought up, hoping that would be sufficient enough. She shouldn’t have to remind Tamlin about what he’d done to her in the study.
And he seemingly got the message, awkwardly pulling away from her. “I’m sorry, Feyre. For… everything.”
I’m sure you are. But that was long overdue. Instead of speaking that aloud, Feyre bit her tongue and nodded, then used the wall to steady herself as she walked along after her sisters.
Behind her, she heard Tamlin sigh, and his footsteps—and another person’s, Lucien’s maybe?—go elsewhere in the manor. Good. She didn’t want to be around him.
Focusing ahead of her again, Feyre was relieved to find that they were at her bedroom, which was exactly as she’d left it.
At least it’ll be good to plot from, Feyre mused.
She was about to walk in when Elain cleared her throat. “Get some rest, alright Feyre?”
Somewhat suspicious, Feyre nodded. The amount of fussing over her was annoying, but it played perfectly into her plans. She’d still need to figure out what had happened at the cauldron, and get back in touch with her mate and with the rest of the Inner Circle.
Sighing, Feyre let herself fall onto the bed, slowly tracing over where she knew the glamour hid her tattoo on her left hand.
What happened at the cauldron… it was probably some kind of illusion, then. Perhaps a glamour made by Hybern to fool and distract her— yes, that had to be it.
Satisfied, Feyre rolled over in bed, letting her exhaustion claim her.
Tomorrow she could contact Rhysand via their mating bond. Tomorrow she’d refine her plan. And after that… she’d sow the seeds of chaos across the Spring Court, and take her sisters with her when everything fell apart.
She’d be back home, with Rhysand and the rest of her new family, very, very soon.