A Court of Dreams and Promise

Chapter Fifty-Six

Velaria

"I never had one," she said, straightening her posture.

Azriel stepped closer, grabbing her wrist gently. "And what if you did?" he murmured.

Velaria lifted an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"I'm going to miss holding your hand," Azriel said, louder than his murmurs a second before. So Tamlin's sentries could hear him, she realized as cold steel was pressed into her palm.

Velaria risked a glance down, trying not to gasp at what she saw lying there. Truth-Teller.

"I will, too," Velaria said, cupping his face one more time. Under her breath she added, "It won't work if Rhysand is on Tamlin's side. I can't – I don't know if I'd be able to do it."

Azriel knew what she was talking about, just as she knew exactly what he was suggesting that she do. And she knew that, if she didn't go through with it and returned Truth-Teller after the ceremony, he wouldn't bat an eye and would walk away if she wished.

"I'll miss you, Velaria," Azriel said. He then said quietly, "Feyre managed to heal him. It's just the sentries left."

Hope lifted within Velaria as Azriel took a step back. As if in perfect timing, a sentry stepped up and they both played their parts.

The words were disgusting, the fury she felt only growing during Tamlin's vows. What she planned to say, however, was much more gratifying.

She had been fidgeting with Truth-Teller, which she had hidden in a pocket she had sewn into her dress herself, the entire ceremony.

The priestess turned to her following the silence that followed Tamlin's dreadful, meaningless vows. "My lady?" The priestess's very tone disgusted her.

Tamlin smiled at her, the smile wide and happy. "I have only one thing to say to you, Tamlin," Velaria said. She glanced at Azriel for support, only to find her mate grinning in anticipation, at whatever he saw in her eyes.

Tamlin caught the movement, tracking Velaria's gaze the entire way. He frowned, just as she turned back to him.

She made sure that, for once, he saw all of her. He saw the hatred, the pain, the anger within her eyes, within that pretty, forced smile. He saw exactly what she planned to do with him once this whole ordeal was over. He saw five centuries worth of pain shining bright and true on her face right before she spoke her final vows.

"Rot in fucking hell," she spat, pulling Truth-Teller and stabbing her old friend, the traitor, the bastard, right above his heart.

Tamlin collapsed, a blast of power surrounding him and the entire altar. Those in the front row threw their arms up as tendrils of dark power shot out in all directions, shielding him on the altar with Velaria enclosed within from the demonstration of power that would soon begin, if the High Lords reacted the way she thought they would.

All sound was drowned out by the shield, but Velaria could see the High Lords get to their feet, glancing frantically at each other, as if they were trying to communicate with just their minds as Rhysand could.

Feyre was clutching on Helion, whose gaze was still stuck on Marigold. Azriel was no longer smiling, his eyes lethally cold.

Tamlin was still on his knees, one hand over his abdomen. Both his hand and the golden rings adorning it were stained with ruby red blood. His golden hair had fallen out of its intricate hairstyle and was now covering his face as he panted.

Velaria held the knife carefully in her hand as she undid her train, leaving the outrageous mass of fabric on the ground. She walked forward until she was standing in front of Tamlin, knife outstretched. She felt the audience's eyes on her, glad they were all here to see this.