Never Faked My "I Miss You" And "I Love You", Only Thing I Faked Is "I'm Okay".

Never faked my "I miss you" and "I love you", Only thing I faked is "I'm Okay".

The Wild of Spring @lockinspo

Tamlin still wasn’t used to seeing Feyre walking the grounds of the Spring Court and his heart not jumping within his chest. Only weeks ago, he’d watched her die in his arms. Her blood stained her cheeks and his tears washed it away. Despite the time that had passed, it still felt like he was there — frozen in that moment, never to see her again. Now, he watched from a distance as she walked along the gravel paths. Although she wore a smile, often, he couldn’t help but feel that there was something so much deeper.

There was for him. Neither one had managed to find the words to speak of it yet. He held his hands back, watching the ground moved as he walked. All he wanted was to know the thoughts that swirled beyond her placid visage. He bit his lip, swallowing hard. They would make it through this, wouldn’t they?

They would. They’d made it through so much worse.

Tamlin quickened his pace and made his way to the kitchen, where he found Alis bossing around the new, poor chef. Bless her soul — training an entire household in only weeks. She must be tired. He politely waited until the conversation ended and then requested a picnic basket from the chef.

“Alis?” He asked. “Can you ask Feyre to meet me in the glade? For lunch?”

Alis gave him a knowing smile. “Yes, my lord. I’m assuming you don’t mind the pants and tunic?”

His eyebrows wrinkled. What was she talking about? “Never…why?”

“People have been talking.” The housemistress sighed. “Say she’s still a bit wild for a High Lady.”

Tamlin pressed his lips into a frown. “Feyre may wear whatever brings her the most comfort. If the rumors don’t stop, send the culprits to my office tonight.”

Alis nodded quickly as he headed to the door. “Koda?” She asked.

“Yes?” Tamlin’s attention was recaptured at the use of his nickname.

“Might you run a brush through your hair. You look a bit wild yourself.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Wild is always welcome in Spring.”

Dorset by Sarah Vickers

🚪

Patrolling the border was safer than it used to be. This was the only reason that Tamlin felt comfortable occasionally staying behind and burying himself in library research — still trying to find a magical solution to the blight. On those instances, he always left Lucien in charge. His second in command had proven himself a capable leader more than once.

He kept a cool head, and used his wits both in battle and out. The advantages were tenfold. The disadvantages were minimal, but…obvious. Of all his men, Lucien had the most difficult time forming a relationship with his horse. It was ironic. He was silver tongued with people, but his steed knew snakes weren’t to be trusted. Tamlin had the opposite problem. He had a much easier time talking to animals than people. He understood animals.

Taming Lucien’s horse had not been simple, but after nearly a year of waking up before dawn and working together — Tamlin had structured a treaty between the two of them. Even if it was tenuous.

His morning was spent in books written in the language of the old fae. Translating it was no easy task. By mid afternoon he had a headache. That headache transformed into a cat nap.

Only the loud commotion in the hallway woke him. Clamor, clash, and clang — Tamlin jolted awake from his feline slumber. He accidentally morphed back into his own body, and began falling down a very high shelf — which was no proper resting place for a fae of six foot two.

More crashing.

Tamlin frowned, grumbling to himself about cats and their tendency for misadventure.

The commotion in the other room had not ceased. He rubbed his head, exiting the library, and walking towards the source of the noise. Indeed, his company had returned; but unexpectedly they were all circled around two chairs in the middle, which held Lucien with his leg propped up.

Alis was tending to it.

“By the cauldron!” Tamlin rubbed his eyes, hoping that he was dreaming. “What happened to you?”

Lucien scowled and pointed out the open door to the dappled gray, grinning horse. “Why not you ask her? It’s her fault!”

“Really —“ Tamlin started. Blame the horse? Was Lucien serious?

“It’s broken.” Alis confirmed.

Tamlin’s mouth fell open. Fae rarely broke bones.

“Shut your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” Lucien grumbled.

“You’re serious?” Tamlin tilted his head, looking from Lucien to the horse. “Explain.”

“Bucked me off the saddle.” Lucien said plainly.

“Stupid horse.” Tamlin mumbled, glaring out the door at the beast.

He’d have a serious conversation with him later. Equine to equine. No one hurt his best friend and got away with it.

The Fairy Glen photographed by Filippa Edghill (2022) Location: Isle of Skye, Scotland