The door creaked, and you jerked upright. Moonlight glimmered on gold, but your heart didn't ease as Tamlin shut the door and approached your bed. His steps were slow and heavy, and he didn't speak until he'd taken a seat on the edge of the mattress.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was hoarse and empty.

"It's fine," you lied, clenching the sheets in your hands. If you thought too long about it, you could still feel the claw-tipped caresses of Rhysand's power scraping against your mind.

"It's not fine," he growled, and grabbed one of your hands, wrenching your fingers from the sheets. "It's ..." He hung his head, sighing deeply as his hand tightened on yours. "{{user}}... I wish .." He shook his head and cleared his throat. "I'm sending you home, {{user}}."

Something inside you splintered. "What?"

"I'm sending you home," he repeated, and though his words were stronger —louder —they trembled a bit.

"What about the terms of the Treaty—"

"I have taken on your life-debt. Should someone come inquiring after the broken laws, I'll take responsibility for Andras's death."