Chapter 22
I awoke when the sun was high, after tossing and turning all night, empty and
aching.
The servants were sleeping in after their night of celebrating, so I made
myself a bath and took a good, long soak. Try as I might to forget the feel of
Tamlin’s lips on my neck, I had an enormous bruise where he’d bitten me. After
bathing, I dressed and sat at the vanity to braid my hair.
I opened the drawers of the vanity, searching for a scarf or something to cover
the bruise peeking over the collar of my blue tunic, but then paused and glared at
myself in the mirror. He’d acted like a brute and a savage, and if he’d come to
his senses by this morning, then seeing what he’d done would be minimal
punishment.
Sniffing, I opened the collar of my tunic farther and tucked stray strands of
my golden-brown hair behind my ears so there would be no concealing it. I was
beyond cowering.
Humming to myself and swinging my hands, I strode downstairs and
followed my nose to the dining room, where I knew lunch was usually served for
Tamlin and Lucien. When I flung open the doors, I found them both sprawled in
their chairs. I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.
“Good afternoon,” I said cheerfully, with an especially saccharine smile for
the High Lord. He blinked at me, and both of the faerie men murmured their
greetings as I took a seat across from Lucien, not my usual place facing Tamlin.
I drank deeply from my goblet of water before piling food on my plate. I
savored the tense silence as I consumed the meal before me.
“You look … refreshed,” Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I
shrugged. “Sleep well?”
“Like a babe.” I smiled at him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien’s
eyes travel inexorably to my neck.
“What is that bruise?” Lucien demanded.
I pointed with my fork to Tamlin. “Ask him. He did it.”
Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. “Why does Feyre
have a bruise on her neck from you?” he asked with no small amount of
amusement.
“I bit her,” Tamlin said, not pausing as he cut his steak. “We ran into each
other in the hall after the Rite.”
I straightened in my chair.
“She seems to have a death wish,” he went on, cutting his meat. The claws
stayed retracted but pushed against the skin above his knuckles. My throat
closed up. Oh, he was mad—furious at my foolishness for leaving my room—
but somehow managed to keep his anger on a tight, tight leash. “So, if Feyre
can’t be bothered to listen to orders, then I can’t be held accountable for the
consequences.”
“Accountable?” I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. “You
cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!”
Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his
russet eye bright.
“While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in
your room,” Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair.
I couldn’t help it. Didn’t even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my
senses. “Faerie pig!” I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his
chair. At the sight of Tamlin’s growing smile, I left.
It took me a couple of hours to stop painting little portraits of Tamlin and
Lucien with pigs’ features. But as I finished the last one—Two faerie pigs
wallowing in their own filth, I would call it—I smiled into the clear, bright light
of my private painting room. The Tamlin I knew had returned.
And it made me … happy.
We apologized at dinner. He even brought me a bouquet of white roses from his
parents’ garden, and while I dismissed them as nothing, I made certain that Alis
took good care of them when I returned to my room. She gave me only a wry
nod before promising to set them in my painting room. I fell asleep with a smile
still on my lips.
For the first time in a long, long while, I slept peacefully.
“Don’t know if I should be pleased or worried,” Alis said the next night as she
slid the golden underdress over my upraised arms, then tugged it down.
