After a strained dinner where Tamlin barely speaks, Feyre lights candles and paints a terrifying vision of the Attor, then flees her room to avoid the garden. As Calanmai approaches, the estate empties, drums throb from distant hills, and magic scents the air. Tamlin appears, armed and shirtless, and bluntly orders Feyre to lock herself in for the Great Rite.

He explains only that, as High Lord, he must partake, then departs as his canines lengthen, urging Feyre to stay inside until morning. Feyre obeys at first, but hunger, restlessness, and the drums’ pull erode her resolve.

By night she rides bareback toward the bonfires. Among hundreds of glamoured High Fae, she cannot clearly see faces. She follows the crowd to a hill-hollow focused on a flower-adorned cave—the apparent heart of the Rite—then lingers near a bonfire at the treeline.

Three unmasked faeries seize her, promising “Fire Night fun” and trying to drag her toward the forest while nearby revelers ignore her struggle. A deep-voiced male intervenes, slips an arm around her, and coolly warns the assailants to enjoy the Rite; they retreat at once. Feyre turns to thank her rescuer and is stunned by his devastating beauty.