A Court of Light and Melody

Fever Ahead

** Set sometime after the last chapter of ACOLAM_**

Bonus Chapter 4/12

Fever Ahead

"A wise man changes his mind, a fool never will."

— Icelandic Proverb

Song: Fourth of July - Sufjan Stevens

There had been a time in Tamlin's life when he was not accustomed to failure. When he was not the friend of solitude. When he was not the adversary of amiability. There had been a time when he had been the handsome High Lord of a flourishing court with the most clever and cunning emissary in all of Prythian.

But that age had passed. And in its wake, all that was left was a rundown manor, fleeting friendships, and now – a near empty assembly.

The some sixteen attendees from his village began to exit the town square and Tamlin descended the dais, making a conscious attempt to keep his footsteps even. To not let his anger be betrayed by the way he carried himself. For he so desired to storm away. To unleash his claws, and release that growl that was rumbling in his chest.

Honestly, he knew that they hated him, but he'd thought after the Summer Solstice party he might have gained back some of his public appeal. And he had the endorsement of the Night Court now. And he'd recently won a battle on his lands with the odds stacked against him. He'd hosted armies from different courts, faced enemies armed to the teeth with faebane and a seer, and his people had emerged unscathed.

And how was he rewarded?

Tamlin regarded the now vacant townsquare behind him with a barely concealed sneer.

He was rewarded with their apathy.

Truly, he might have preferred more of a crowd even if it was accompanied with some "booing" from his citizens. At least that would've been feedback. At least then he would have a reason to unleash the beast within him and–

No.

No, he would not indulge his temper. He would not do it. It had never brought him any good. Only harm. And it had taken that little ginger lightsinger screaming in his face for him to realize it.

"You are the reason your defenses are depleted. You are the reason we could not trust you. And it is you who will be responsible if the human's take the Spring Court because you were too proud to know when to hold your tongue. So we can speak with our High Lord and High Lady about providing you with reinforcements, but if they deny your request then you have no one to blame but yourself."

No one to blame but himself. No one to blame but himself.

As anger inducing as the words had been when the priestess had spat them at him, he found them almost soothing now. It had become something of a mantra. Tamlin found it morbidly reassuring that the world was not in fact against him, and that it had been him all along that caused his troubles.

It was following his father that had cost him his friendship with Rhys.

It was his temper that had brought the curse upon him.

It was his fear that had chased away Feyre.

It was his jealousy that had driven off Lucien.

It was his anger that had earned him Prythian's ire.

Tamlin ascended the grassy hill, starting the long trek back to his manor. It was not a new adjustment, traveling on foot to and fro about his court, but it was not what you would have caught him doing all those years ago. Before Feyre. Before Amarantha. Before everything.