“Tamlin won't allow it.'

'Tamlin isn't your keeper, and you know it.'

'I'm his subject, and he is my High Lord...'

'You are no one's subject.'

I went rigid at the flash of teeth, the smoke-like wings that flared out.

'I will say this once- and only once,' Rhysand purred, stalking to the map on the wall. 'You can be a pawn, be someone's reward, and spend the rest of your immortal life bowing and scraping and pretending you're less than him, than Ianthe, than any of us. If you want to pick that road, then fine. A shame, but it's your choice.' The shadow of wings rippled again. 'But I know you- more than you realise, I think- and I don't believe for one damn minute that you're remotely fine with being a pretty trophy for someone who sat on his ass for nearly fifty years, then set on his ass while you were shredded apart-'

'Stop it-'

'Or,' he plowed ahead, 'you've got another choice. You can master whatever powers we gave you, and make it count. You can play a role in this war. Because war is coming one way or another.'
...
'Think it over. Take the week. Ask Tamlin, if it'll make you sleep better. See what charming Ianthe says about it. But it's your choice to make- no one else's.”