Feyre’s mouth opened to protest, but even as she did so, Ianthe began the process of joining them. It made Feyre’s eyes widen in panic.
“No,” she cried, shaking her head. “No, I don’t consent to this. I do not agree to marry you.” She started toward Ianthe. If she could cut her off, maybe she could stop this from happening. Surely she wouldn’t need to wait that much longer. Rhysand had to be on his way. He had to know what was happening. Unless that Summer Court whore had thoroughly distracted him.