She had never felt so cold. Laying here, naked – next to him. Only a year ago she would've relished this moment, tucking herself closer to him and trying to melt into his warmth until he had the energy to go again. She had thought, despite her love towards Rhys, it would be easy to pretend to love him. All she had to do was smile, hold onto him whenever he grew close to her, and please him at least once or twice a week, right? She did it once, it couldn't be too hard to do it again.

But it was. Maybe it was because she already had a mate so she felt a traitor to her own body, or maybe it was the hate that vibrated out of her whenever she felt his touch. She had told herself that pretending to love him were just physical actions, but it felt like she was sticking a knife into herself over and over again.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Feyre whirled around quickly, locking eyes with Tamlin. He was propped up with his elbow now on his pillow, looking down at her as he ran his fingers up and down her arm. His words, despite leaking with concern, came out as an accusation rather than curiousity. "Surely, the nightmares…"

"I told you," she said, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice but failing, "I don't have them anymore." He frowned.

"Feyre, it's been three months," Tamlin whispered, pain aching in his voice. "Please, talk to me. Tell me your pain." You didn't care about my pain the last time I was here, she wanted to shout. But she took a deep breath.

"I just…"

"Are you starting to remember?" Tamlin continued, more anxiously now. "Are you starting to remember what that wretched coward did to you? I hear you talk about it in your sleep, Feyre. You can't lie to me forever." She bit her lip.

"I do remember some of it," she admitted. "But I'd rather not talk about it." His fingers, which had stopped caressing her and now began coiling around her tightly, were starting to cut off her circulation.

"I'm bringing a High Priestess to my court tomorrow," he blurted half-heartedly. She ripped away from his instinctively, flipping herself to face him fully. He exhaled.

"What? Why?" On her arm, though invisible, the High Lady of the Night Court tattoo burned painfully, reminding her of the secrets she was still forced to hide. "Do you…do you not trust me?" He eased up from his pillow, daring to look at her fully, but the darkness in the room concealed her facial expression.

"I don't want to, Feyre, I really don't, but Lucien made a good point. You can't heal until you release all the memories that are buried in your unconscious. Those memories are still there, eating you alive, you just don't know it," Tamlin said, shrugging, "He thinks it may help you reach some closure, and I think he's right." She gritted her teeth angrily. Lucien.

To be fair, it wasn't Lucien's first victory against her. Ever since she came back he hadn't stopped being suspicious of her. She had tried winning him over as well, but he was too clever to see through her lies. He was the one that made Tamlin press her for answers. What was the Night Court like? How did Rhysand manipulate you so well? How could you, the fiancée of the High Lord of Spring, ever mate with such a dark liar? Thankfully, Tamlin hadn't yet put his full energy into learning the truth, but a part of her wondered if Tamlin would've taken her back anyways, even if he knew that she hadn't been manipulated by Rhysand and had proved to be in love with him. So, really, the truth was irrelevant to him. He was only pursuing this to help her mental stability.

"It won't take too long," Tamlin soothed. "Only about twenty minutes." She hesitated, trying to keep calm. Because what choice did she have? If she continued to lash out, Tamlin would grow suspicious.

"If you want me to," she heard herself say, "I'll do it." She could nearly feel Tamlin's smile as he began to rub against her arm again, kissing her forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I love you."

~discidium~

"Let me guess, she's sick again," Lucien's voice drawled, his eyes not even meeting the figure in his doorway. Instead, his eyes ran across the book in his hands, lounging on his bed as the sun shone through his window, hitting his red hair so brightly that it almost looked blonde. He was hoping – no, determined – to read it by lunch time. It would probably happen, if only people left him alone this early in the morning. It was only a few months ago that he would be hunting this early in the morning, but that seemed to be the least of his priorities lately and yet people still didn't catch on. "Don't you think it's a bit coincidental that whenever she doesn't want to do something she then claims that she is sick?"

"What book is it this time?" He heard his High Lord ask in retort, though he knew that he wouldn't care anyways.

"It's just another one of those old mortal books," Lucien said, still not looking up. "I'm trying to read all of it – trying to understand these mortals. I'll need to if-when I find my mate again. If I understand the mortals in these books, I will definitely be able to understand her." He could feel his High Lord's disapproval immediately, almost making him feel ashamed. But they both knew that reading these mortal books every morning was the only thing that was keeping Lucien sane. All he ever did was think of his mate, wondering if she was safe, dying to know if he'd ever even lay eyes on her again.

"Who says you won't be able to understand her anyways?" Tamlin countered. "Mortals aren't too different than us, you know. You don't need to read books day after day to-"

"I thought we were here to talk about Feyre," Lucien snapped coolly. Tamlin frowned but refrained from scolding him because he, out of everyone in the house, knew exactly how it felt. All those months without Feyre nearly drove him mad.

"Actually, she isn't sick this morning," Tamlin countered. "She's downstairs, waiting for the High Priestess." Without hesitating, Lucien dropped the book in his lap and bolted up right, surprise flickering in his eyes.

"She's downstairs? Talking to the high priestess?" Lucien asked. Tamlin nodded.

"I told you that she isn't hiding anything," Tamlin said, coolness running in his tone now. "She's willing for us to look into her memories. She is on our side, Lucien." Lucien opened his mouth to contradict, but then he was interrupted by a loud, but very sharp, popping noise. Like a bursting bubble, except a million times louder.

Tamlin met Lucien's eyes.

"I guess the High Priestess is here," Lucien sighed and he closed the book lazily.

~discidium~

She still didn't have a plan. They had seated her in a wooden chair in the middle of the sitting room and all three circled her like a prey about to be devoured by a group of wolves. It didn't scare her, though, just made her angrier. How was she supposed to get out of this? How could she say no?

She didn't bother putting on anything else other than her pajamas with a robe layered on top, in hope that it would shoot a message to Tamlin, but he didn't seem to care. He, unlike her, was wearing all his hunting gear, as if his weapons were needed to get out her inner most demons.

Lucien, on the other hand, was dressed more like her – casual, less anxious. But she saw the lines that now etched across his face from the countless weeks of stress and the cold glare that mocked her bitterly as she sat on the wooden chair like a helpless animal. I know your secrets, his eyes said. And I will make you burn.

The High Priestess was far different than either of them, though. She had an extremely tiny frame, almost as if she'd break to pieces if she took a wrong step, and had long glassy hair that flowed down her back. Her irises, going from blue and fading to green, stared at Feyre in wonder. She wore a long, velvet red cloak, but under it was casual wear.

She had appeared out of nowhere, having some unusual power of winnowed that Feyre had never witnessed a High Priestess have.

"How did you-" Feyre had started to say, but the High Priestess ignored her.

"My High Lord," The High Priestess said, bowing her head towards Tamlin. Feyre had to stop herself from scuffing. "Hello, Lucien. It's been a while. And you." Her blue-green eyes twinkled down at Feyre, looking at her as if her mere existence intrigued her.

"The cursebreaker," The High Priestess said under her breath. Tamlin tensed instantly, his hands in fists.

"She is not the cursebreaker. She is Feyre and she…she…" Tamlin's eyes dimmed as he looked at Feyre. "She needs your help." The High Priestess looked up at him mildly, little emotion on her face.

"How can I assist you, My Lord?" She asked, but Feyre heard the strain in her tone – like a hidden annoyance, or maybe a hint of despise. And by the look in Lucien's eyes, so had he.

"You have heard of the rumors, I assume? Of Rhysand's actions?" Tamlin said, quite awkwardly, as if he was embarrassed by it. By her. "My comrade, Lucien, believes that if we can uncover some of the memories of her horrible abduction, then maybe she can have some closure." The High Priestess's lips tightened, as if she were thinking.

"I don't need it!" Feyre interrupted. "Tamlin, my love, please don't put me through this. I love you, I want to be here with you, I-"

"I know, beautiful," Tamlin said, rushing towards her and cupping her chin with his hands. "But I love you too, which is why I think we need to do this." Feyre's eyes latched onto the High Priestess's, begging her with one look, but the High Priestess didn't reflect a single emotion. Completely unreadable.

"I can do it," The High Priestess responded, her eyes not tearing away from her. "But I'll have to have a separate room." Tamlin took a step towards her.

"No, we do it here!" Tamlin said immediately, and Feyre noticed how Lucien's eyebrows knitted together curiously. "I don't want her to be alone while you-"

"Relax, My Lord. I can promise you that she will not be hurt during the procedure," The High Priestess said softly. "I just need her in an isolated environment so that I can concentrate on her mind and her mind only. And after I get all the information I need from her mind, I'll tell you what I saw. Is that okay?" Tamlin was quiet for a moment, but then he nodded.

"Please, go outside," The High Priestess continued, her voice as sweet as honey sickles, "It'll be better that way. No distractions." Tamlin nodded in agreement and with great dislike, grabbed Lucien. Lucien tried tugging away from his grip as they walked towards the doors that went to the backyard.

"Tamlin, are you crazy? Are you nuts? What the h-" But then the door shut behind them, silencing their voices as they walked away from the door. There was a moment of silence, but when Feyre turned towards the High Priestess again, she was snarling.

"If you get near me, I'll kill you," Feyre promised. "I have a knife-" But when she went to her robe pocket, she realized it had, mysteriously, vanished. Her eyes widened, looking back at the High Priestess and watching her reflect a smug smile.

"You will not be hurting me, Feyre Cursebreaker, or should I say the High Lady of the Court of Dreams?" The High Priestess hissed. Feyre's eyes widened. Without a second to spare, she tried jumping from her seat, but then invisible reigns pulled her back into the chair harshly.

"Let me out!" She bellowed, kicking her legs. "Let me out right now! You will not go into my mind! If you do this, I will kill you!" The High Priestess shook her head.

"Relax, would you? Do you want your beloved fiancé to come back in here?" The High Priestess pointed out, glancing at the door worriedly. Feyre stopped for a moment, seething.

"How do you know who I am?" Feyre said in a low voice. "My tattoo is invisible."

"Because I serve the Court of Dreams," the High Priestess responded impatiently. "I was sent here by an anonymous source."

"Who? What anonymous source?" Feyre asked. "I demand you tell me!"

"An anonymous source," the High Priestess said, emphasizing anonymous. "To warn you." Feyre's eyebrows pushed down, her nose flaring in defense.

"Warn me? Warn me of what?"

"That your beloved mate is getting courted," The High Priestess said. "By four different women to be exact." Feyre blinked at her stupidly.

"I hate to break it to you, but I'm-"

"Not his wife," The High Priestess said. "Not his consort. Simply a second person who rules next to him, who, coincidentally, hasn't been in his court for three months." Feyre, not knowing what to do, spat at her, nailing her straight in the face. The High Priestess gasped in disgust and stumbled back.

"How dare you come to my prison and tell me my mate would ever be disloyal to me? He…" But then her voice vanished. It was a fear that had recently spurred in her in the last few days. It had been three months and she still couldn't find a way to communicate with him, no way to love him. What if he was tired of waiting? What if he was lonely and found someone else? She was right. They weren't married.

"And what? You think he's going to marry one of them? You think he's going to choose another girl over his mate? He loves me. He wouldn't do that. It's unheard of to pick someone else over their mate," Feyre said. The High Priestess pursed her lips.

"Not when they're desperate," The High Priestess hissed. Feyre glared at her.

"He's been at war for two and a half months," The High Priestess continued. "He has exhausted his resources." Feyre huffed.

"You don't think I already know that? Tamlin talks about it every day, but he still fears him! No matter how many resources he's exhausted, he always finds more!" But then a sad shadow reflected in the High Priestess's eyes.

"He's exhausted all of them, My Lady," The High Priestess said. "And he has no allies. He has opened himself to potential courters, simply to drive this war and win you back. If he marries, he will have infinite resources, and will therefore free you." The salive in her mouth had vanished, and all she could feel was her heart beating fast. Rhys. With another woman.

"Tell me what I need to do."

Please review! I'm sorry for any grammatical/awkward errors. Review, tell me if you like it and if I get reviews I'll add more!