Slowly, Tamlin’s head lifted, his unbound golden hair dull and matted. “Do you think she will forgive me?” The question was a rasp. As if he’d been screaming. I knew whom he meant. And I didn’t know. I didn’t know if her wishing him happiness was the same as forgiveness. If Feyre would ever want to offer that to him. Forgiveness could be a gift to both, but what he’d done … “Do you want her to?” His green eyes were empty. “Do I deserve it?” No. Never. He must have read it on my face, because he asked, “Do you forgive me—for your mother and sister?” “I don’t recall ever hearing an apology.” As
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