Acotar retelling

Bitchlord Sends Me Home

I lay in bed, watching the pools of moonlight shift on the floor. It was an effort not to dwell on Tamlin's face as he ordered me and Lucien to leave and shut the door to the dining room. Had I not been so stressed about talking to Tamlim I might have stayed, but I didn't want to be confronted about my fear of him. So, like the coward I was, I bolted to my room, where Alis was waiting with a cup of molten chocolate. It was even more of an effort not to recall the roaring that rattled the chandelier or the cracking of shattering furniture that echoed through the house.

I didn't go to dinner. I didn't want to know if there was a dining room to eat in. And I couldn't bring myself to paint.

The house had been quiet for some time now, but the ripples of Tamlin's rage echoed through it, reverberating in the wood and stone and glass.

I didn't want to think about all that Rhysand had said—didn't want to think about Under the Mountain—whatever it was called—and why I was forced to go there. And Amarantha–I shuddered each time I considered how deadly she is

The door creaked, and I jerked upright. Moonlight glimmered on gold, but my heart didn't ease as Tamlin shut the door and approached my bed. His steps were slow and heavy—and he didn't speak until he'd taken a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was hoarse and empty.

"It's fine," I lied, clenching the sheets in my hands and backing up to my headboard, as far as I could go from him.

"It's not fine," he growled, and I flinched back, hitting my head. "It's ..." He hung his head, sighing deeply as his hand tightened on mine. "Feyre ... I wish ..." He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm sending you home, Feyre."

"What about the terms of the Treaty—"

"I have taken on your life-debt. Should someone come inquiring after the broken laws, I'll take responsibility for Andras's death."

"But you once said that there was no other loophole. The Suriel said there was no—"
A snarl. "If they have a problem with it, they can tell me." And wind up in ribbons.
My chest caved in. Leaving. "Did I do something wrong—"
He lifted my hand to press it to his lower cheek. "You did nothing wrong. You were perfect," he murmured.

"Then why do I have to go?"

"Because there are ... there are people who would hurt you, Feyre. Hurt you because of what you are to me. I thought I would be able to handle them, to shield you from it, but after today ... I can't. So you need to go home—far from here. You'll be safe there."
"I can hold my own, and—"
"You can't," he said, and his voice wobbled. "Because I can't. I can't even protect myself against them, against what's happening in Prythian." I felt every word as it passed from his mouth and onto my lips, a rush of hot, frantic air. "Even if we stood against the blight ... they would hunt you down—she would find a way to kill you."

"Amarantha." He bristled at the name but nodded. "When you get home, don't tell anyone the truth about where you were; let them believe the glamour. Don't tell them who I am; don't tell them where you stayed. Her spies will be looking for you."

"...Okay."

He sighed in relief and left my room, gently closing the door on his way out.

~~~~~

There wasn't much to my packing and farewells. I was somewhat surprised when Alis clothed me in an outfit very unlike my usual garb—frilly and confining and binding in all the wrong places. Some mortal fashion among the wealthy, no doubt. The dress was made up of layers of pale pink silk, accented with white and blue lace. Alis placed a short, lightweight jacket of white linen on me, and atop my head she angled an absurd little ivory hat, clearly for decoration. I half expected a parasol to go with it.