A Court of Dawn and Midnight

The Eye

"Feyre." Tamlin whispered as he stroked her bare shoulder. She was laying in his bed with her head on his chest and until a moment ago, she had thought he was asleep.

She shifted herself so she could look up at him, he smiled down at her. "I thought you were sleeping," she whispered back to him.

He closed his green eyes and ran a hand from her shoulder down to her elbow and finally to her slim wrist, catching it in his hand and kissing her fingers. She leaned her head back down to his chest, savoring the moment of his lips on her skin, savoring the moments with him until she had travel to the Night Court. Rhysand would come soon and Feyre still didn't know what he wanted, why bring her to his court? He didn't need servants, he had enough of them. She shuddered at the memory of Rhysand's shadow servants Under the Mountain, painting her body and forcing her into those wispy dresses.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat as Tamlin opened his eyes and they rested on the twisting black eye curling on her palm.

He recoiled from her as his gaze took in the entirety of the black ink circling her arm. Tamlin's beautiful face contorted into a a fierce, disturbed expression that made Feyre shake. He still was not used to Rhysand's marking on her, it still disgusted him. Tamlin looked at her like she was something he never wanted to see or touch again.

Feyre brought her inked arm up to her chest, cradling it like it was injured. She inched away from him, knowing that the hurt on her face was unmistakable. He shouldn't be angry with her, she had allowed Rhysand to heal her for Tamlin. She would have let the infection and fever take her, but Tamlin, Tamlin wanted her to live. So she did.

"I'm sorry." Her voice cracked and she was unable to look at the High Lord that now lay away from her.

"No, no this isn't your fault. It's his," Tamlin spat. Feyre knew he hated the High Lord of the Night Court.

"One day," he closed his eyes again, "I'm going to kill him."

"He saved me." She sighed and to Feyre's surprise, Tamlin glared at her.

"He forced you to make that deal with him." Tamlin growled. "He forced you Feyre, how can you say he saved you?" The betrayal on Tamlin's face twisted her heart. She looked away from him.

"I don't want to talk about him. I don't want to give our time together to him." She turned back to Tamlin, reaching out for his shoulders and pulling him into her.

"I want this," she breathed. "I want us." Tamlin gripped her waist, pressing his forehead to hers gently.

"I know." He replied quietly. "I know."

Tamlin kissed her, sliding his smooth hand over her palm, covering the inked eye, as if he didn't want the eye to see them.

And possibly, the eye was watching them.

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