A Court of Curse and Roses; acotar

𝕸𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖈

The sun is high in the sky. It burns down upon me as I shoulder my way through the thick, overgrown bushes and make my way towards Tamlin.

Thorns dig into my skin. I scold myself for choosing such thin clothing - a strap of a shirt and tight, thigh-hugging tights. But, as soon as I step into the wide meadow, I'm relieved for my lack of clothing.

Because in front of me stands Tamlin. He is in nothing but loose pants, pivoting a sword in his hands with expert skill. Sweat drips off his muscular frame.

I can't help the gasp that falls out of my lips.

He is nothing but raw power.

His frame is assertive - knees bent, shoulders back, eyes focused. He manoeuvres skilfully on his feet, swinging a sword in sharp and quick motions. He thrusts it, grunting as he moves. The sunlight radiates his body, making every drop of sweat on his chest sparkle. It manages to make his blonde hair more luminous and his green eyes more piercing.

The broken fae I dined with last night is gone. In front of me is the mighty, exquisite High Lord of the Spring Court.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Tamlin turns to me. His sword drops to his side.

I suspect I'm blushing because Tamlin quickly looks away. He points to a rack of weapons placed to the right of the meadow.

"Grab a sword," he grunts and wipes a hand across his brow.

I walk over to the rack and survey the killing tools in front of me. I pick a sword up off the rack and weigh it in my hand. It is heavier than I thought a sword would be. How does Tamlin use one so effortlessly? Turning around, I meet Tamlin in the middle of the clearing.

He swings his sword with a simple flick off his wrist. Show off. He smirks as if he can, once again, read my mind. His smile is lovely.

"How does it feel?" he asks.

I try to lift the sword but my arm aches pathetically. "It's heavier than I thought it would be," I whine.

Tamlin rolls his eyes but his lips still remain up.

"Have you used a sword before Persephone?" he asks.

I shake my head, "No, but I have used a fire iron before. They're similar in shape and size."

I raise the sword as high as I can. Tamlin watches with a smirk. I try to twist my wrist in the manoeuvre Tamlin did but pain shoots up my arm. I lower the sword with a yelp.

Tamlin takes two steps toward me and plucks the sword out of my hands. He throws it to one side of the meadow, along with his own sword. He turns back to me.

"You mentioned you were a maid at one of Rhysand's homes," Tamlin says and I nod. He continues, "You're arms are muscular so I'm assuming your work was physical. Let's start with something simpler, using what you know,"

He rolls back his shoulder. His strong muscles ripple as he does. Tamlin looks down at me.

We have never been this close before. As I look up at him, a sliver of the mating bond beats between us. It is faint, but I sense it. If I were not as heartbroken as he is, I wouldn't be able to control the feelings that have me pulsating.

As he looks down at me, I can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Tamlin flicks me on the nose. "You need to focus if you're going to hurt an Illyrian," he raises his arms, "Now put your fists up and hit me,"

Hit a High Lord? I shake my head in shock, "I cannot," I huff.

Tamlin rolls his eyes. He reaches down and grasps my arms, pushing my fingers down into two tiny, feeble fists.

"There you go," he sniggers as he takes a step back and opens his arms. He points toward his chest, "Hit me, right here. I already know you can't use a sword, I need to see if you can punch a man, at least,"

"Of course, I can punch a man," I lie.

Tamlin bends down at the waist, a mocking grin on his handsome face, "Then hit me," he taunts.

Letting out my greatest imitation of a war cry, I tighten my tiny, feeble fists. I throw my arm forward, using all my might. My fist connects with his bare chest with a thud. Pain immediately shoots up my arm and I cry, clutching my fist to my chest. Tamlin tips back his head and guffaws - not pained in the slightest.

I glare at him, "Bastard," I snap and clutch my fist tighter.

Tamlin looks back down at me, his grin devious.

"Hit me again," he whispers.

I frown, "Why? It's obvious that I lack any sort of battle talent,"

Tamlin stalks toward me, his grin replaced by anger. "Hit me Persephone, hit me as though you hate me. Hit me like I'm the one who broke your heart,"

I shut my eyes. I imagine Cassian is in front of me. I imagine him looking at me as he always did, with disdain. I imagine him grabbing my head and pushing me onto him - all I was to him was an open pair of lips. Anger courses through my veins and the overwhelming urge to let it out - let it all out.

Screaming, I pull back my fist. I punch Tamlin.

There is utter stillness.

I open my eyes. I am shocked to silence.

Tamlin is on his knees at the other side of the clearing. His eyes are wide in excitement. His grin is devious and pleased - as if he has figured something out. I clutch my fist back to my chest, but, I felt no pain this time. Only pure anger.

Tamlin gets to his feet. He stalks toward me. His expression is indecipherable.

"I have a theory on why you the Cauldron has made you my mate," he says, his tone cold. I frown.

"How does one decent punch explain anything?"

Tamlin shakes his head, "You reduced a High Lord to his knees. I'm not sure what you are Persephone, but you are no lesser fae. You are something nefarious, something powerful,"

He runs a finger up my jaw, "You are something wicked and beautiful. I suspect you are my exact equal."

At his words, my body goes still. His finger is joined by his hand, which wraps itself around the back of my neck. He lifts my head up towards him. His gaze burns and his green eyes are alight as his pink lips part.

He leans down toward me.

Part of me wants to shove him away. I hardly know him, this High Lord who stares for too long and makes my heart flutter. But part of me wants to give everything to him. My mind, my thoughts and my body. He is my mate.

But then, Tamlin stills.

He straightens. Anger masks his face. He looks at me, fire in his eyes, as he says, "The King of Hybern is here."