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He angled his head, his blue-black hair shifting with the movement. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, now stood beside me, darkness leaking from him like ink in water. And found pissing off Tamlin to be an art form. Not when Rhysand liked to make a spectacle of everything. I whirled, and through the night drifting away like smoke on a wind, I found Rhysand straightening the lapels of his black jacket. People screamed, falling back, a few vanishing outright as darkness erupted.
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Thunder cracked behind me, as if two boulders had been hurled against each other. I tried to get my traitorous lungs to draw air so I could voice the word.
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I was nothing, and my soul, my eternal soul, was damned. Come, Bride, and let good triumph at last.” Ianthe said smoothly, “Come, Bride, and be joined with your true love. Silk streamers laden with globes of gold faelight twinkled into life above and around us. Tamlin took a step toward me-concern shading those eyes. Begged Ianthe, face serene and patient and lovely within that hood. Begged Lucien, standing in the front row, his metal eye fixed on me. Help me, help me, help me, I begged someone, anyone. I was going to fall apart, right there, right then-and they’d see precisely how ruined I was. If I turned away, they’d start talking, but I couldn’t make the last few steps, couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. The sun sank past the lip of the western garden wall shadows pooled, chilling the air. “Feyre,” Tamlin said, his hand steady as he continued to reach for mine.
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The thing inside me was roiling now, my body shaking with the building force of it as it hunted for a way out-įorever-I would never get better, never get free of myself, of that dungeon where I’d spent three months. As inescapable as the vow I was about to make, binding me to him forever, shackling him to my broken and weary soul. The fading sun was too hot, the garden too hedged in. I don’t know why I’d even bothered to wear gloves, why I’d let Ianthe convince me. So many eyes, too many eyes, pressed on me, witnesses to every crime I’d committed, every humiliation.
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Right over those rose petals right over the grass and ribbons trailing into the aisle from the chairs flanking it.Īnd between my skin and bones, something thrummed and pounded, rising and pushing, lashing through my blood. Tamlin extended a broad hand, brows narrowing slightly. Ten steps from the dais, at the edge of that splatter of red, I slowed.Įveryone was watching, exactly as they had when I’d nearly died, spectators to my torment. And toward Ianthe, clothed in dark blue robes tonight, beaming beneath that hood and silver crown.Īs if I were good-as if I hadn’t murdered two of their kind.Ī cluster of red petals loomed ahead-just like that Fae youth’s blood had pooled at my feet. They had to be.Įvery step was too fast, propelling me toward the dais and Tamlin. How unfit I was to be clothed in white when my hands were so filthy.Įveryone else was thinking it. So unaware of the true extent of how broken and dark I was inside. I forced my gaze up, to Tamlin, his shoulders back, head high. Like drops of blood amongst the white, red petals had been sprayed across the path ahead. My vision narrowed on him, on my High Lord, his wide eyes glistening as I stepped onto the soft grass, white rose petals scattered down it. He’d loosened the grip on his glamour, letting that immortal light and beauty shine through-for me.
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He was resplendent in a tunic of green and gold, a crown of burnished laurel leaves gleaming on his head. The breath knocked from me, and it was an effort to keep going down the stairs, to keep my knees from buckling. Their faces blurred, melded.Īlis coughed from the shadows of the house, and I remembered to start walking, to look toward the dais. All in finery so similar to what they’d worn Under the Mountain.
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Not since my last trial had so many gathered to watch me, judge me. Three hundred people rose to their feet and pivoted toward me. “It’ll be over faster than you can blink,” she promised, and gently pushed me into the last of the sunlight. But she nudged me toward the doors as they opened on some immortal wind, lilting music streaming in. “And you sound like you’re going to your funeral.”