A Court of Scars and Steel (Completed)

Chapter 20 - Aelin

Aelin sat on the couch, yawning. She was sharpening the blade she had threatened Tamlin with as she could swear his skin had dulled it.

Despite being relaxed, she had almost a dozen blades on her - a personal low. She even had a sword strapped to her back, though she hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

Aelin was wearing a dark blue tunic and black leggings. The outfit was the perfect mix between war leathers and casual clothing. She could still fight in it, and carry weapons, but it wasn't intended for war.

The Night Court sat in a large semicircle, some of them on the ground, some of them on the couches. Rhys and Feyre were snuggled together, Cassian and Azriel talking in hushed tones about some war thing, and Amren and Mor chatting about jewelry, a conversation Aelin would usually have been joining if not for the growing sense of dread in her gut.

Tamlin had left too easily. The man was a bastard, but he was very stubbornly blind. Aelin's gut told her he was up to something, probably with the help of Lucien and Ianthe.

Lucien seemed like a nice enough male, slightly misguided, but still good at heart.

Ianthe, however, was a total b*tch. The Fae was manipulative, cruel, self-absorbed, and, worst of all, entitled to everything. And everyone.

Aelin finally decided this was too much of a worry to ignore. "Feyre, Rhys, guys, I think...."

The door burst open, the six other High Lords storming in, Tamlin in the lead.

Aelin and the others jumped up, Aelin quickly grabbing the dagger she had been sharpening, holding it loosely in one hand, her other positioned so that if she needed to shift she could summon flames in a moment.

"She held a dagger to my throat!" Tamlin snarled, advancing on Aelin. Beron eagerly joined him, but the rest of the High Lords looked wary.

Aelin just regarded Tamlin with cool amusement, content with knowing that she could shift and burn him up, and maybe even beat him without shifting. "You were going to drag my friend with you against her will," Aelin said, nodding her head towards Feyre. "I don't know what the rules are here, but in my world that would be considered kidnapping and maybe even sexual assault, given you wanted her to become your wife."

Tamlin snarled. "Rhysand is messing with her head. And probably yours too. I am just saving her."

All the High Lords were sitting back, content on watching Tamlin and maybe Beron fight this battle.

Aelin picked up her whetstone and went back to sharpening her dagger, not even glancing at them.

Feyre drawled from across the room, "Save me from my mate, Tamlin? That's a bit excessive, even for you, don't you think?"

He swung his head in her direction. "Stay out of this Feyre. It doesn't concern you."

Feyre glared. "If anything, I should say that about you, given I have made my choice perfectly clear. But in case you need a witness, I will say it again." She made a show of clearing her throat. "I, Feyre Archeron, choose Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, as my mate and husband."

She glanced at Tamlin. "Better now?"

He glowered at her. "Stop controlling her, Rhysand," he snarled, each word laced with the promise of pain. Aelin nearly laughed. What an over possessive idiot.

Rhys only glanced at his mate. "Feyre darling, I think you forgot the best part."

Her eyes brighten. "Oh! I did! I'm the High Lady of the Night Court."