Chapter no 7 – 8

Chapter no 7

The interaction between Feyre and the High Fae continued to unravel layers of tension, mystery, and uneasy coexistence. When Alis escorted Feyre back to the dining room, she found Tamlin, now named, and Lucien still seated, sipping from goblets of real gold, the embodiment of wealth and elegance that sharply contrasted with her own life of poverty. The chasm between them felt insurmountable, and Feyre’s unease grew with every interaction.

Tamlin’s attempts at civility—offering her food and a begrudging compliment about her appearance—were awkward and tinged with the imbalance of power between them. Lucien’s sharp tongue only added to Feyre’s discomfort, mocking her situation and humanity while revealing the lingering anger over Andras’s death. Tamlin, though more reserved, still exuded the lethal power of a predator, a constant reminder of how easily her life could end in this strange place.

The conversation revealed much about their world and the rules Feyre would now have to navigate. Tamlin’s terse explanations confirmed that Feyre was not to be a slave, nor was she expected to work. Instead, she was free to spend her time as she pleased—so long as she stayed out of trouble. Yet, this so-called freedom was a double-edged sword. Tamlin made it clear that if Feyre tried to escape or return home, her family would no longer be cared for. The weight of that threat crushed any lingering thoughts of rebellion, tying her fate to theirs and forcing her to remain in this gilded cage.

Dinner was an exercise in tension and survival. Feyre, starving and distrustful, hesitated to eat, remembering the old warnings about faerie food. Yet, Tamlin’s assurances and her overwhelming hunger led her to cautiously consume the meal. Even this small act was laced with an unspoken power dynamic—his ability to manipulate her circumstances, her vulnerability in their world. Lucien’s sardonic remarks about her humanity and appearance tested her patience, but Feyre’s biting responses revealed her simmering defiance.

Later, Tamlin shared more about Prythian, reluctantly revealing that their lands were afflicted by a magical blight, a slow-moving sickness that had destabilized magic for decades. The masks they wore were the result of this curse, and their power had been diminished. Andras’s presence in the mortal world, Feyre learned, was part of a search for a cure. The revelation that this blight might one day affect humans unsettled Feyre, though she doubted the High Fae would ever care enough to warn her kind.

Despite the ominous circumstances, Feyre remained cautious and observant. Her mistrust of Tamlin and Lucien, combined with her determination to survive, fueled her resolve. She began to see cracks in the Fae’s seemingly impenetrable facade—weaknesses she might one day exploit. However, for now, she had no choice but to stay, to endure, and to learn the rules of this dangerous world where power, magic, and danger intertwined.

Feyre’s defiance, her questions, and her attempts to assert control over her fate hinted at a growing strength within her, even as she grappled with the hopelessness of her situation. Trapped in a land of beauty and danger, surrounded by beings far beyond her comprehension, she realized that survival would require more than just cunning—it would demand courage, wit, and perhaps even trust in those she least expected. But as she turned over Tamlin’s warnings and Lucien’s barbed words in her mind, one thought lingered: this was only the beginning.

Chapter no 8

Feyre navigated her first days at the manor with calculated caution and quiet resistance. The luxurious surroundings, the tension between her and her captors, and the ever-present undercurrent of danger kept her on edge. Yet, beneath her fear, she methodically planned for contingencies—mapping escape routes, marking hiding spots, and keeping an eye out for weapons, despite knowing she was trapped for now.

Her hunter’s instincts told her not to trust the peace of the estate. The sighting of two shimmering figures in the garden confirmed that Prythian’s beauty hid dangers she couldn’t yet comprehend. The playful, disembodied giggles, the faint sniffing, and the sudden vanishing act left her rattled. Alis’s call brought her back to the safety of the house, but Feyre couldn’t shake the sense of being watched.

That night, she made her first act of rebellion: stealing a knife from the dining table. Though it was a small piece of cutlery, it symbolized her refusal to remain helpless. Tamlin and Lucien’s ease at the dinner table, their casual displays of power and wealth, only fueled her determination to survive on her own terms. Despite Lucien’s sharp comments and Tamlin’s measured but penetrating observations, Feyre kept her focus on gaining their favor—or, at least, their dismissal.

Lucien’s mocking question about admiring his sword and Tamlin’s keen observation of her calloused hands reminded her that these were not oblivious foes. Tamlin’s quiet acknowledgment of her life as a hunter, despite his disdain for human “legends,” showed he was paying attention. Yet his pity for her family’s struggles and his polite condolences about her mother’s death only irritated her. Feyre didn’t want pity from a predator who held her fate in his hands.

Still, Feyre knew she couldn’t openly oppose them. Her plan was simple: be civil, gather information, and find an ally. Alis’s suggestion about snapping at Lucien played in her mind. Perhaps the fiery courtier could be persuaded to intercede on her behalf—if not out of kindness, then out of his clear distaste for her presence.

Feyre’s cautious preparations continued as she packed a small satchel with spare clothes and the stolen knife. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her tethered to the hope of escape. She didn’t trust the peace of the manor, nor did she believe Tamlin’s assurances of safety. Every step she took, every word she exchanged, was part of her strategy to regain her freedom.

Tomorrow, she decided, would bring the next step in her plan: testing Lucien. She’d try to navigate his sharp tongue and brutal honesty, searching for an opportunity to turn him into an unwitting ally. Feyre knew she couldn’t rely on kindness or charity to escape Prythian. She’d have to fight for her survival—quietly, cleverly, and with all the resolve that had kept her family alive through the hardest of times.