Chapter Text
The sentries were riding their horses, speeding up as they monitored the constructions along the borders, outlining the frontiers of the territory. Tamlin stood far behind, almost into the forest, overseeing the work. If all went according to plan, it would all be done by Nynsar—the hedges that delimited and separated the Spring Court from the human lands.
In his animal form, his senses were heightened, so he was used to the enhanced sounds, smells and instincts. But it still had been a surprise to him when he heard a shriek coming from the forest behind him—followed by the sound of cracking branches and a loud thump.
Tamlin quickly ran over to find the source and reason for the commotion. A few minutes running was all it took for him to come across the creature that had emitted such high-pitched screams.
A teenager. If her size was any indication.
He quickly shapeshifted back into his fae form so as to not alarm her. The girl, who was lying on the ground facing the other direction, was entangled in leaf branches and breathed heavily. Only when he came closer he noticed it—the wings. Those brown, uncanny, nearing terrifying wings he recognized so well.
An illyrian.
Tamlin straightened up his spine, but did not turn back into the wolf.
The girl panted, almost whimpering, fighting to get rid of the arrows pinned to the soft membranes of her wings. But it was clear to see that she was getting weaker by the second. When she finally turned around, sensing his presence, there was nothing in the world that could've prepared him for the sight.
His heart stopped.
It was Feyre. Only—only it wasn't. It might've been her, could've been her if it wasn't... if it wasn't for the unmistakably distinguishable eyes. Violet, they were. And widened. Scared even, as she realized who he was.
Her resemblance to her mother was so striking and disquieting that he was left paralyzed for a second. He had never met her. Heard of her, of course. Of her birth, over a decade ago. And that was it.
The Night Court had been extremely discreet about their heirs. And justifiably so, seeing how so many enemies and assassins lurked around them, looking to hunt them down.
The High Lord and High Lady announced to the other courts the birth of their firstborn, a little over two decades ago. And then the birth of their second child, a girl—Nisha, if he wasn't mistaken. Daughter of Night.
That was all the information shared.
The children were expected to be unearthly powerful, and it always remained a mystery as to why they hadn't yet been formally introduced—or flaunted—to all of Prythian.
However, looking at that girl... the face so similar to the one he used to love, he understood. The faebane in her system masked her magic, but even so, her presence alone was overwhelming. Her power—dark and dense and ancient—filled his lungs with each breath.
She would’ve been a target ever since her cradle days.
However, her face was tender, fresh; her eyes—terrified and fierce and remarkably determined for someone who was injured and cornered—were young.
The vulnerability in them as they flickered faintly affected Tamlin somehow. Like watching a mighty lion draw its last breath after getting shot by an ordinary hunter.
He took one step closer to reach out to her, but something caught his attention, and he instinctively turned his head to the woods. Whoever had shot her down was still there—and probably on the run now that they noticed who exactly had arrived first to claim their valuable prey.
Tamlin shot one last glance at her, bringing his index finger to his mouth to warn her to be quiet, and sprinted away into the woods.
———
Nisha tried.
She tried really hard to fight the faebane, but it was too much. Too heavy inside her veins.
When she saw that first arrow, she'd tried to winnow. But she was half a second late, and as soon as that concentrated dose of poison entered her, she could feel her magic being drained—or better, being trapped, chained to her physical body as an anchor pulling her down, pinning her spine down towards the center of the earth.
She fell, hitting the top of the trees and finally crashing on the grass. The pain in her wings was overwhelming, and the twinges were spreading out to her whole body, becoming almost unbearable.
And when Nisha found the High Lord of the Spring Court standing in front of her, her blood froze in her veins, and she could feel it being drained from her face.
She’d never seen him, but his posture was courtly and his appearance was unique enough for her to instantly know that it was, indeed, Tamlin.
And the stories she’d heard—how he’d mistreated her mother, how he was to blame for her aunts’ immortality, how he and his family had butchered her father’s mother and sister. How he absolutely hated the Night Court.
And so Nisha knew she was doomed.
But the way he’d looked at her—surprised. Perplexed. Confused, even. She could tell he knew who she was, but still had played no part in the attack.
And so she was left even more startled when he motioned for her to keep quiet and ran into the woods.
Despite the adrenaline and her efforts to stay alert, the screams were the last thing she heard before tumbling into unconsciousness.
Then strong arms slid under her, taking her somewhere inside, where the walls and floor left the atmosphere cool and chilly and the slightest sounds produced echo.
And so Tamlin wittingly carried the Daughter of Night into the heart of his home.