A Court of Curse and Roses; acotar

𝕷𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖇𝖞

I dream of Cassian.

His dagger is at my throat. His soft lips press against mine, sending me spiralling into blissful oblivion. His hands replace the dagger at my throat and squeeze.

Through the pain, he kisses me deeper. He has no use for words, his tongue in my mouth does all the talking. He loves me but he hates me. He wants me but he hurts me. And through it all, I know I will let him kill me. I want to die with this love. I was born to let it consume me.

As the pain becomes gentle and as I grow faint, a voice in the distance calls out to me. The voice grows louder, whispering over and over, "Persephone Wraith, destroyer of men. Persephone Wraith, you were born to destroy."

I wrench my lips away. I try to scream.

And Cassian is no longer the sharp-eyed, tan-skinned, handsome Illyrian soldier I am used to. He has deformed. His features contort into a monster so disgusting bile rises in my throat. His skin is gangly and green, spikes protrude across his body. His wings are nothing but stark white bone, bent in odd directions.

The monster, Cassian, snarls and swoops toward me. Sharp claws outstretch toward my throat. This time, I scream. I scream and scream and scream until two hands shaking me force me out of the nightmare.

Frantic, I look around. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. I smell the sweet roses, the clean air, and the faint scent of woods. I smell the Spring Court.

Tamlin.

Opening my eyes, I immediately blush and look away. Tamlin kneels atop of me, his chest bare and huffing. His golden hair is tied back out of his face, allowing the full sharpness of his jawline to show.

His jaw clenches as he grasps my reaction. "You were screaming, " Tamlin explains, somewhat sheepishly, and climbs off me.

I stiffen and pull the sheets closer to my shaking body.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. My throat aches as I talk. I must have been screaming for some time. I shut my eyes, "I'm sorry I woke you,"

"Feyre used to have nightmares," Tamlin murmurs to himself. He stands by my bed, glimmering in the early morning light. "She would have them so bad she would make herself sick. I never held her," he shakes his head and scrunches up his face in disgust - at himself, "I never helped her,"

I look up at the High Lord before me. His face is pulled into a frown. His agony makes him look decades older than he is.

"You were suffering your torment Tamlin. You both went through hell under the mountain," I clutch the blanket around my body as I stand from the bed.

Gently, I hold his face and force him to meet my eyes, "Who held you after it? Who shook you out of the nightmares?"

He straightens his shoulders and steps out of my grip.

"I do not need anyone's help," he growls, his voice all beast and no man, "I never have,"

The High Lord turns and stalks across the room, long claws protruding from his clenched fists. His body shakes in anger.

"I'm sorry Tamlin," I call out before he can leave. He pauses, his hand on the door handle.

"For what?" he growls.

"That nobody helped you."

Tamlin doesn't answer. He leaves without a glance.

The door slams behind him.

I fall back onto the pillows, exhausted from my nightmare and trying to console Tamlin. It is my duty, as his mate, to console him. Yet, I have a hunch that once the Night Court has crumbled - we will be nothing but two fae, heartbroken and bloodied.

Last night, at dinner, Tamlin told me of the war that's brewing. He confessed to his deal with the King of Hybern. How it had failed because Feyre and Rhysand were still mated. He described how Hybern had invaded the Spring Court, tearing down the wall not long after.

He told me that Feyre had shredded his court to pieces. The majority of his subjects and sentries fled days after she did, leaving behind a ghost Court. A barren land ready for Hybern's army to lay siege to. And they did.

They took every home, set up war camps in every meadow, and forced any hiding fae to do their bidding. The only haven was Rosehall - Tamlin's residence, where even then, he was frequently visited by the King of Hybern.

He had nothing left, Tamlin had told me as he looked into his wine glass, nothing but hatred, and a want for revenge.

I had tried not to cry as Tamlin spoke of the horror he had endured.  All that horror in the name of love. But I didn't bother to hide the tear that had escaped my eye and dropped into my lap.

Tamlin noticed, looking up at me and meeting my sad eyes from across the dinner table.

"You weep, why?" The High Lord had demanded to know, his cold, velvet voice laced with anger.

"Because love has done nothing but make us suffer," I had said, meeting his burning gaze with something just as heavy.

I had clenched my jaw tight and had not broken our eye contact as I  added, "They have no idea what they've created in us, have they?"

Tamlin had leaned back in his chair, swirled his wine, and said, "This is who we are, products of heartbreak. Nothing is deadlier, bloodier, than those who have nothing left to live for."

There was a deep silence before Tamlin continued, "We will make them lose as much as we have lost. I promise you that Persephone."

I hadn't said much after that, and once he had finished his wine, Tamlin had placed his goblet on the table and stalked out.

And now, in my fortress of pillows, the High Lord's cold words repeat across my mind. They incite something in my bones - something excited and eager. My heart is broken but my mind is racing. I am angry, as Tamlin is angry, and I want nothing but revenge. I clamber out of bed and get to my feet. Today, we train.