Chapter Text
Lucien urged the horse onward, faster, as if he could outrun all his worries and forebodings. Another day on border patrol, the fifth one in a row since he’d returned to the Spring Court, but he was glad to be away from the manor. Seeing Tamlin gazing lovingly into Feyre’s eyes and grasping her hand made him physically ill, as did having to lie continually, right to Tamlin’s face.
Of course Tamlin suspected nothing. He was the least cunning, least insightful of the High Lords, relying on brute strength and intimidation to rule. Lucien had always provided the finesse, the foresight, the strategic thinking. Now that thinking would be put to good use - Lucien had an invasion to prevent, and a friend to protect.
He steered the horse toward the Wall, intending to inspect the breach closest to the estate. It was where Andras had crossed into the forest, where Tamlin had dragged Feyre through the magical barrier when he first kidnapped her into Prythian. Lucien’s heart stuttered when he thought of Feyre as a half-starved, angry human, living in that hovel with her sisters - with Elain.
He longed to feel Elain’s presence again, if only through their mating bond. He slowed the horse to a slow canter, closed his eyes, and concentrated on sending as much warmth and comfort to Elain as he could. I’m here. I miss you.
But the answer he received was not from Elain, but a warning clanging in his mind from far closer - Lucien! Where are you? Come find me!
Heart in his throat, Lucien turned the horse around and galloped like mad for the manor.
* * * *
“Please, Tamlin, no!”
Feyre’s voice was shrill and plaintive, carrying easily to his ears through the open door to her painting studio. Lucien raced around the corridor and peered into the room, blood running cold as he took in the scene.
Tamlin was towering over Feyre, who was pressed back against the table in her painting room, paints spilling everywhere around her. Lucien hissed when he saw that Tamlin had his talons wrapped around Feyre’s wrists, pinning her. “Why not?” Tamlin was asking plaintively.
Feyre answered, with a trembling voice, “I-I’m not ready, it feels awful after what Rhysand made me do.” Lucien’s blood ran cold. He’s pressuring her to be intimate? Then he suddenly realized that if he could hear and see this, others in the manor could too. The door had been left wide open. Had Feyre planned this?
“It won’t be the same,” Tamlin said, leaning further towards Feyre, holding her as she tried to squirm away. “I’ll make you feel good, take away the feeling of that male on your body.” Feyre’s wrist yanked free from his grasp, and Lucien flinched as he watched Tamlin snatch it again, dragging her closer to him —
Lucien hurtled into the room, aware that he was likely to bring Tamlin’s wrath down upon him, but unable to stand the sight of him manhandling Feyre, and blurted, “Tamlin! There’s reports of naga attacking a village near the - oh. Sorry, I’m interrupting — ”
Tamlin released Feyre and stood up, attention snapping to the reported threat. “Where.”
Lucien thought quickly and picked a village on the northern end of Spring’s territory, near the Summer Court border. “The report was a bit garbled, maybe it’s not naga at all, but if they are roaming our lands again…”
Tamlin sighed. “This timing is unfortunate, as I cannot leave the manor for a few days. Send a small contingent of sentries to check it out.”
Lucien nodded solemnly, then carefully asked, “Your business here at the manor, is it anything I could assist with?”
Tamlin cocked his head to the side, considering. His talons, which had been long and menacing while he was discussing the naga, retracted into his fingers again. “I am not certain.”
He doesn’t trust me.
Lucien swallowed hard. “Is there any particular reason why not?”
Tamlin ground out, “You’ve made your objections against Hybern well known, and… their delegation is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. I could use your diplomacy with them, but I do not wish there to be any conflict.”
“I’ll be a good boy,” Lucien said, drawing on his sarcastic tone that he often wielded like a defensive weapon.
Tamlin almost cracked a smile. “That would be a first.”
Feyre spoke up in a timid voice that simply had to be an act. “My love, I want to be useful here. No more secrets, no more shutting me out. Perhaps I could help too.” She sidled up to Tamlin, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I can host your guests.”
Lucien didn’t understand how Feyre could stand to be affectionate with Tamlin. It should be so obvious that she hates him. But Tamlin didn’t question it, saying, “Darling, it could be upsetting to you. You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I want to,” Feyre whispered, running one hand through Tamlin’s hair and the other down his jaw. Lucien inwardly withered, but Tamlin leaned into the touch.
“All right,” Tamlin said, almost gallantly. He encircled Feyre’s wrists in his hands, far more gently now that Lucien was in the room, and pulled her up against him so that he could press a kiss to her neck. “I must see to a few things before dinner.” With that, he withdrew.
Lucien waited until the High Lord had turned the corner, then shut the door - not slamming it, though he desperately wanted to - and rushed back to Feyre. “Are you all right? I came as quickly as I could.”
“Fine,” she said, shuddering slightly and brushing herself off. “He startled me when the talons came out, that’s all.” She picked up paint jars and brushes that had been scattered when Tamlin shoved her against the table. “You don’t know what a strain it is not to blast him with my powers when he pulls shit like that.”
Lucien shook his head emphatically. “I almost punched him just now, consequences be damned. Treating a female like that…” He blanched, then steadied himself. “And this is the male I spent so much of my life calling my friend.”
Feyre patted his shoulder in sympathy. “Tamlin is a clod, but he is not sadistically cruel like your father or brothers. Your standards were low. Besides,” she sighed, wiping paint splatters from her forearm, “I’m the one who fell in love with him.”
“And saved all Prythian because of it,” Lucien reminded her. Feyre brushed that off with a wave of her hand, but he could see a slight blush on her face. “I know, it’s a lot of pressure for anyone’s love life,” he teased.
“Speaking of saving Prythian, and not my love life,” Feyre said pointedly, “we should have a plan for this Hybern delegation that’s on the way.” She picked up a paintbrush, inviting Lucien to sit down on an empty stool near her easel. “Sit still. I’m going to paint your portrait.”
Lucien looked at her quizzically. “Me? Why?”
Feyre gave him a wicked grin, then dipped her brush into a reddish-orange jar and swirled the paint around. “So I have a reason to keep you in here for long hours without anyone wondering why we’re spending so much time together.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “You could just come on a hunt with me and never shoot anything,” adding for old times’ sake, “Foolish human.”
“Faerie prick,” Feyre shot back, and they both laughed.