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╰┈˚ · ° . ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ꜱᴜɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱ, the air was warm and smelled of flowers. Eternal spring. Maiven hated it. No snow covered mountains, no moonstone built structures, no mouthy Illyrian or shadows dancing around a hazel eyed male. No violet eyes or blonde hair. This was not her home.
The Spring Court was not her home, but she had to endure it for now. For Feyre.
Now, posted with her back on one of the stable walls, Maiven watched her sister arguing with her fiance, her face showing no emotion. She just stood there, listening. Already atop his dapple-gray horse, along with three other Fae lord-sentries, Lucien watched the interaction, his metal eye narrowing. Don't push him, he seemed to say.
"I want to go." Feyre argued
"No." The High Lord said
Feyre crossed her arms, tucking her tattooed hand under her right bicep, and spread her feet slightly further apart on the dirt floor of the stables. "It's been three months. Nothing's happened, and the village isn't even five miles—"
"No." Tamlin repeated.
He finished buckling the bandolier of daggers across his chest and then strode toward where his black stallion had already been saddled.
Feyre gritted her teeth and stormed after him. "The village needs all the help it can get."
"And we're still hunting down Amarantha's beasts," He said, mounting his horse in one fluid motion. "I don't have the sentries to spare to escort you."
Well he had the senteries to spare to watch me— Maiven thought.
With the corner of her eyes, she could spot the guard now standing in the garden, trying to look as if he wasn't actually watching her.
Ridiculous—
Feyre lunged for the bridle. "I don't need an escort." Her grip tightened on the leather as she tugged the horse to a stop. "And Mai will be with me anyway" She added, looking towards her sister.
