“Feyre,” Tamlin breathed from behind us. I halted, aware of every eye that watched. “I’m fine,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.” I wiped at the blood dribbling down my cheek. “I’m fine,” I told him again. No one, not even Tamlin, looked convinced. And if I could have painted that moment, I would have named it A Portrait in Snares and Baiting.”
