i answer, "from sad, cold love and
Talking with Feyre. Fighting with Feyre.
When has his life ever gotten so exhausting?
In some way, he could sympathise with Feyre. She had no idea of fae traditions, yet she was expected to uphold them.
Lucien was getting her a manual on the updated traditions soon, and fast.
Did Ianthe not give her one? Did Tamlin not tell her what to do, to say?
The lack of etiquette lessons were understandable. But at least a basis of knowledge, what that too hard to grant?
Lucien had already pushed Tamlin once today. He would wait for tomorrow to do it again.
He saw the possessiveness and adoration between Tamlin and Feyre.
He knew how far they would go for each other. It was natural, they were waiting for the mating bond to snap into place.
It would be devastating for Tamlin if Feyre died, again. He had seen the light leave Feyre’s eyes, had seen as the High Lords carried out the Rite of Rebirth. For the human turned fae, for the saviour of them all.
For the Cauldron blessed one.
He doubted the High Lords would do it again.
“But you’re deliberately not telling me things.”
“He is my High Lord. His word is law. We have this one chance, Feyre, to rebuild and make the world as it should be. I will not begin that new world by breaking his trust. Even if you …”
“Even if I what?”
Oh Feyre. Wild, untameable, as always.
“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch,” Lucien ground out.
Feyre paled spectacularly.
“There was no magic spell, no miracle to bring her back. There were no gathered High Lords to resurrect her. I watched, and she died, and I will never forget that moment when I heard her heart stop beating,” Lucien confesses.
Jesminda, who had brought his world to life.
“Tamlin got what I didn’t,” Lucien breathes out, “We all heard your neck break. But you got to come back. And I doubt that he will ever forget that sound, either. And he will do everything in his power to protect you from that danger again, even if it means keeping secrets, even if it means sticking to rules you don’t like. In this, he will not bend. So don’t ask him to—not yet.”
And in some ways, Lucien felt terrible for manipulating Feyre like that. She wouldn’t understand, and he hoped she would never understand what it felt like to love so deeply and whole-heartedly that even the thought of losing the other brought pain and sorrow that felt so real, because it would be devastating, and Lucien wasn’t sure if he could pick up the pieces of Feyre after that if that happens.
“Okay,” Feyre replies.
“Okay,” Lucien repeats, refraining from offering a hand to her to guide her to her room.
Tamlin would have slaughtered him.
Lucien watches Feyre leave, like a shadow of her former self, light and yet heavy, all skin and bones and guilt.
Lucien does nothing but watch, as his Lord ordered it, so mote it be.
-
The wedding was atrocious. It felt wrong. White everywhere. Gold twinkling. Green for Spring.
And Feyre came.
She was dressed like a doll, looking so nervous.
And they showered red petals on the carpet.
Lucien fixes his metal eye on Feyre as she freezes at the sight of them.
Cauldron, he should have known, should have realised.
The bond of protection between he and Feyre flares up as Feyre’s begging fills his mind.
He knows, he knows he should help, should guide Feyre back to the dressing room and calm her down before bringing her back for the wedding but-
It would send a message. That Feyre was more comfortable with Lucien. That Feyre wasn’t ready. Tamlin would undoubtedly never forgive him.
Stand down.
Lucien cursed the heavens as he put all of his will into ignoring the pleas, only shooting Tamlin a furtive look to get him to act, to please act-
Sometimes, Lucien agreed with Rhysand about Tamlin’s inaction.
And speak of the Crone, Rhysand appears in a storm of darkness and wind.
-
Lucien sees Ianthe look on with pure fear. Sees Tamlin’s possessiveness, sees the rage.
Think, Lucien. Think.
He could grab Feyre and winnow her out. But it would take too long, Rhysand would grab him and her if he could, the prick.
If Rhysand was here, getting Feyre would be seen more of defence against an intruder, which was why he was considering it.
But somehow, Lucien knew that Rhysand would not do anything to Feyre.
Feyre looked at Rhysand in pure desperation, looked at Tamlin, begged Tamlin.
Begged, for what? What Rhysand wanted, not even Tamlin would be able to stop.
They leave, and the whole room goes into chaos as Lucien stares, stares at the spot they were on.
Lucien hoped Feyre was free.