A Court of Champions

Chapter 2 : The Queen's Bait

Three Hours Earlier

Despite the cold, dank chill of the throne room, Tamlin felt a bead of sweat trail down the back of his neck and disappear beneath the stiff collar of his emerald and gold doublet. He kept his eyes glued forward, fixed on a point in space somewhere just to the left of Amarantha's gloating sneer. He flexed his fingers at his sides, pressing the pads of his fingers into the flesh of his palms in a rhythm similar to that of ocean waves, and let the queen's empty words float in and out of his head without a second thought.

Just get through it, he willed himself. Just until tonight. Just a few hours.

"My Lord?" Amarantha's suspicious tone snapped him back to the moment. Her cold eyes narrowed and flickered over his features as if trying to pry into his head and see the thoughts beneath his impassive face.

Unable to will himself to speak to her, Tamlin simply raised a questioning eyebrow at her. It took every ounce of restraint in him to meet her gaze and keep an iron grip on the rage that threatened to turn his vision to a red mist.

"You seem distracted," the queen remarked idly and with a hint of bitterness. She stood up from the throne, handing her half-full wine goblet to a terrified looking Fae servant cowering at the base of the dais. The servant took the goblet with shaking hands, and Tamlin could see red welt marks on the faery's wrists. Tamlin had little doubt of what was responsible for those marks: handcuffs. Swallowing thickly, Tamlin let his eyes sink to the smooth white marble floor as he counted Amarantha's footfalls.

One. Two. Three.

She approached him languidly, an exaggerated hitch in the movement of her hips, and she gently ran her fingers through the red waves of her hair as she tried to catch his eye. Tamlin could smell her arousal even from ten paces away. His gut clenched at the scent as he focused on the floor in front of him.

Just a few hours. Then it'll be over. It'll all be over.

His performance needed to be impenetrable in order for the plan to work. If Amarantha didn't believe that he had completely surrendered to his fate - if he wasn't able to keep her sufficiently distracted - then Lucien and Feyre would be dead before the sun came up. Gritting his teeth against every instinct in his body telling him to rip her arms from her sockets, Tamlin gave Amarantha a sly smile as he let his voice rake over his words like loose gravel.

"I'm wondering how long you intend to keep me in this throne room instead of retiring to our bedroom." He made sure to emphasize the word our, letting his tongue flicker over his lips as he said it. He saw the queen's eyes flash and could see the muscles in her jaw tense at his words as she closed the space between them. She pressed herself against the front of his body as she peered up at him through her lashes. Tamlin felt himself stiffen and saw the edges of his vision go red to be so close to her, but he forced himself to let an arm come to rest at the small of her waist, pressing his palm flat against her lower back and guiding her in closer. Amarantha's lips parted as she stared up at him. The faint flush on her neck and the smell of her desire was all the proof Tamlin needed that she was susceptible to his charm, even as he saw her struggle to remain in control.

"I don't remember you being so eager in our last few meetings, Lord Tamlin." Amarantha's voice was barely a purr as one of her hands snaked up the front of Tamlin's doublet. Tamlin swallowed thickly, hoping she mistook the enraged and erratic heartbeat in his chest for lust. He steeled himself as he chose his next words carefully, knowing that this was the moment the success of his plan – and the fate of him, Feyre, Lucien, and everyone trapped under Amarantha's reign – rested on.

"I suppose I've come to realize that, if this is to be my fate... if you are to be my fate, I need to embrace the future with open arms." Tamlin knew that if Amarantha sensed a trap, it would be now, in that patently false statement he'd just tried to sell her on. He tried not to hold his breath as he watched her eyes – cold and cunning – bore into his. He had the unsettling feeling that she was sniffing him, as if she would be able to smell the lie on his breath or in his sweat.