A Court of Curse and Roses; acotar

𝕵𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓

For three days, Tamlin trains me.

He trains me until I forget how to breathe.

He makes me lift my wings up and down until the feeling is as simple as lifting my arms. Once I've mastered this, he makes me run with them until every muscle in my body aches in pain.

As he trains me, he tells me the history of the seraphim. He tells me of Drakon, the fae prince who commands the seraphim. How the seraphim's whereabouts have been unknown for decades.

He tells me, as I run until the soles of my feet scream, that my parents are not who I thought they were. Because of the trauma I have suffered, I must have suppressed my own power. And that it is a phenomenon known to happen - to fae with power they cannot mentally manage.

He tells me that my real parents may still be alive - waiting for me to find them. That they must be powerful fae. Royal.

It is only when I collapse to my knees on the third day, the sun setting behind the woods, that he says we can stop.

My body and my mind swirl with pain and information. My parents may be alive? And they might be royal? I did not know there were royal seraphim.

As each day passes, I am surprised by how much I don't know about this world.

The High Lord smirks as I glare up at him through the tatted locks of my dark hair. He has the nerve to wink as I slink past him toward Rosehall, my stomach rumbling.

I let my wings drag behind. Tamlin tuts, "Don't get them dirty."

I resist the urge to lunge at him, unsure if my body has the effort, and settle instead for raising my middle finger. Tamlin laughs and follows me into Rosehall.

I follow the smell of warm food into the dining room and nearly fall into my chair, wiggling until my wings tuck in.

The High Lord sits in his usual spot across from me. He peers at me as I pop a piece of chicken in my mouth and swallow it back with a gulp of wine.

I chew and raise my eyebrows.

He shakes his head and lifts his goblet to his lips, eyebrows drawn together in thought. After a moment, he places the goblet back onto the table, sighs, and looks up at me.

"Hybern's army will arrive tomorrow," Tamlin says. He pauses before speaking again, "Would you be willing to join me in leading them to the Summer Court?"

I lower my fork, "I will not fight for Hybern,"

His face is serious as he meets my eyes. "I need to present a strong facade, one of control," the High Lord explains. "Hybern's armies are savages that will rape and kill any fae they come across," Tamlin looks down with a scowl. His claws slide out from his clenched fists.

"I need an assertive force so that they fight the battle and leave what remains of my lands untouched. I was hoping you would assist me in this,"

I frown. "And what makes you think those beasts would listen to me?"

Tamlin looks up at me, "You are seraphim and that alone will earn you respect. Very few faes have seen seraphim in the flesh, they have only heard tales of the power your kind have. The stories of how the seraphim do not lose when they battle. The fae of Hybern's army will respect you, out of awe alone,"

I look down at my plate as my cheeks redden. The only power I have is weak and untrained. I will look pathetic standing next to a High Lord.

"I can hardly lift my wings Tamlin, they will see how weak I am," I mutter.

He slams a fist down onto the table. Cutlery jumps and clatters to the ground. Tamlin's power whooshes out of his body like a harsh draft. It extinguishes the lit candles and plunges the room into darkness.