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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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I’ve had this Elucien fic rolling around my brain for a while and decided to put it out there. No warnings with this one. Just angst and bits of hope for possible futures (I swear I write things other than angst all the time - haha).

Happy Sunday everyone!

Word count: 2,807

Themes: Angst/Hope

Choices

Lucien couldn’t believe it. He could not believe that another Winter Solstice ended in utter ruins because of his mate. Because of his godsdamned mate and he’d had enough. He would end it, and end it now.

“Elain!” He shouted at her retreating figure.

But she pulled the ruby red cloak tighter around her shoulders and quickened her steps. Fresh snow remained mostly untouched on small front lawns and sidewalks of Velaris as he ran from the front door of the Riverside Estate after Elain. Most families and friends likely hunkered down in their homes enjoying fires and brandies and gifts and laughter with no cause to go out walking as the last hours of Solstice crept by entering the darkest hours of night before the dawn.

The longest night of the year. The longest three years of his life. Three years of being both rejected and not rejected by his mate. And he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Would you stop,” he growled as they reached the gate, “You owe me one conversation.”

Elain stopped. Her spine snapped straight. She turned and glared at him, her eyes molten with pure hatred.

Lucien had chosen his words carefully. Tempers he could handle, he’d had enough practice over the centuries with a hot headed High Lord. He could handle master manipulators and sweet talkers. He could handle battle worn generals and courtiers of the most delicate constitution. He could handle gossipers and those genuinely interested in friendship.

But what he could not handle was nothing. He could not handle the looks that went right through him. The unanswered questions. The blank stares. The Solstice presents delicately placed to the side and left alone as if they didn’t exist at all.

“I owe you nothing. Leave me alone.”

“I won’t. You are my mate -“

“I don’t want to be your mate!”

“Then reject me and reject he bond!” Lucien yelled, his voice echoing through the silent night.

The stars glittered in the black sky, now completely clear after the fast moving snow clouds from earlier in the evening had dissipated. It brought just enough snow to coat the city white before moving on. As if the Mother heard every prayer from the younglings of Night Court for a white Solstice, and then granted their wish.

Elain’s nostrils flared and for a moment, the briefest moment, her eyes flashed an emotion he couldn’t quite place but had seen before. And it hit him. She’d possessed the same look of bewilderment when she’d still been sopping wet from the Cauldron’s waters, Nesta clawing at her sobbing. The look of knowing but not knowing.

“Reject it,” he rasped, the fight and fire receding slightly, “Reject it so that I can move on. You think I enjoy this? You think that any of this has made me feel good over the last three years?”

“I didn’t choose you. I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t want any of this,” she cried.

Lucien took a breath. It was rare he lost control like this. He’d spent centuries honing his reactions and temperament to be the Fox and mold his features and behaviors into whatever he’d needed in order to ferret out information, or to keep his own secrets safe. But he couldn’t do that around her, his mate.

“I didn’t choose you either,” Lucien said.

She flinched, and looked away down the street. She crossed her arms and shivered. Her cheeks flushed a pink as if kissed by two rose petals and once again her beauty struck him like a slap across the face.

“I know you were in love with another male -“

“Stop it -“

“I know you hate being Fae. I know what you did to try and turn yourself human again -“

“I said stop it,” Elain growled through clenched teeth, “Stop it. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien stated, willing himself to be calm, to stop shouting.

He needed this conversation. They both did.

“You wouldn’t know this because you refuse to ever speak to me but I was in love once too,” Lucien said and took a step closer to her, “I was in love with a female and planned to marry her. And my - And the High Lord of Autumn had her killed in front of me and I couldn’t save her.”

Elain’s lips parted in a silent gasp. Her brow furrowed. For a moment he thought she might ask a question, but instead she closed her lips and looked down at he ground.

“I didn’t choose to live without her. I didn’t choose to run away to another Court and make a home there. I didn’t choose a life of intelligence work, books, sparring, warring, and everything in between. But we don’t always get a choice, Elain. What we can choose is what we do with the things that happen to us.”

Lucien paused but she remained silent. Because of course she would stay silent. Fine. Maybe it would be easier this way.

“I chose to deepen my friendship with Tamlin and to truly be a part of his Court and I made the best of it. I chose to continue my education of Courts and history and everything in between so that I could help keep the peace as much as possible. I chose to become trained as a warrior so that I could be as strong and prepared as possible for any situation. I chose those things to make the best of my life. I chose not to wallow in the what-could-have-beens for centuries because no one can survive that way.”

Lucien took another step towards her so that they were only a few inches apart. He could see Elain’s breathing had increased slightly. Her arms tightened across her chest. But she did not move away.

“I did not choose to be your mate, no one gets that choice,” Lucien whispered, “But we can choose, together, whether we want to reject this mating bond to try to lessen its effects as much as possible. It will never go away completely, but if we officially reject it then we can at least bury it and move on separately and away from each other.”

“Is that what you want?” Elain whispered, and she glanced up at him, her eyes somehow still sparkling as if the sun reflected in them.

Lucien’s heart ached. It was the first question she’d asked him since asking if he could hear her beat those years ago. And she’d been so broken then, he could barely breathe around the memory of seeing her in such a state. So he told her the truth.

“What I want is for you to talk with me and be honest with me,” he began carefully, “I want to know why the Cauldron and Mother saw fit to pair us together. Do you know that mates are equally matched and often so is their magic, their power?”

Elain glanced away and nodded. She shifted on her feet slightly.

“I’ve done some research on it.”

Lucien leaned closer to her and clasped his hands behind his back. He didn’t need her or those obnoxious bats, whom he knew lurked in the shadows, to think he would touch her. Overbearing babysitters the lot of them, even if their hearts were in the right place.

“No one knows what I’m about to tell you Elain. You could use the information against me and spread it to the Inner Circle, or anyone who might wish me harm, or you could tuck it away for private reflection. But I have much more magic and power than anyone thinks. I only let a very little bit show in the company of others. And since we are mates, I have a theory that you are the same. You only show a small bit of what you are actually capable of and have hidden the rest away. Your sisters are powerful, Elain, and I find it very hard to believe that you would be different. I also think that one of the reasons you are so unhappy is because it scares you. I could help you discover what you’re capable of - learn about it, grow with it, strengthen it, control it, and use it. You were not given a choice to become Fae and I am sorry that neither Tamlin nor I realized what was happening until it was too late. You have no idea how sorry I am. And I am sorry that you lost the love of your life in the process. I’m sorry.”

Elain stared at him. Stared and stared.

Lucien could scarcely breathe. His heart lurched forward in his chest, begging him to tug on the bond, to bring her nearer. To touch her. Kiss her. Love her.

But he forced the instinct down. Even though every beat of his heart echoed, my mate, he shut all of it down.

“There are options other than rejection,” he began slowly, “If you would like, Elain, we could discuss it, but it can’t only be me talking. And if I’m being honest, it kills me that I don’t know you. Feyre used to talk about you all the time at Spring Court when she lived there. And over the past three years I’ve gotten bits from her and Nesta, on the rare occasion I speak with her. But those are their perspectives. I would like to know first hand, about you.”

Elain looked away and cleared her throat, “What is it you want to know?”

Hope sparked in Lucien’s chest. He tightened his hands behind his back. Carefully. He had to tread so, so carefully.

“Well, for starters, I’ve always wondered if there is anything other than gardening you enjoy? What do you like? What are your passions? Your dreams? What makes you happy? Upset? Do you have any religious or spiritual beliefs? Do you enjoy sports? Do you have a favorite season? Hobbies? Preferred genre of music? Books? I want to know about you, Elain, and not from anyone else. I want to experience you. I want to know why the godsdamned universe decided why you and I should be together.”

Elain let out a breath that could have been a laugh or a huff of annoyance. He wasn’t sure which, and it killed him that he didn’t know his mate well enough to know which it was.

“I hate winter,” she whispered and looked up at the sky, “I hate the cold. I never want to be cold again. I’ve had enough of it after living in that godforsaken hovel all those years. Spring has always been my favorite season. Is … how is it there?”

Lucien frowned slightly, “Improving at a glacial pace.”

“I remember the night Azriel and Feyre came to rescue me at Hybern’s camp,” she whispered, her arms tightening around her, “And I remember Azriel holding on to me as I held on to that poor girl and watching in horror as those beast things closed in on my sister. I thought she was dead. And then Tamlin came out of no where and saved her. Saved us. I think of that quite a bit actually.”

Lucien stared at her. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“If he needs assistance with his gardens, I could help. I’m bored to tears in winter here and I don’t think the High Lord of Spring should have flagging gardens, do you?” Elain asked and met his eyes then.

Strength shone in them. Her chin tipped up slightly and Lucien lost his breath. A shiver ran along his spine as he realized his assumption on her untapped and hidden power had likely been correct. He did not stare into the eyes of a doe but a Wolf. Of course a godsdamned Wolf would would lurk under her skin. She was an Archeron sister after all.

“No, I don’t think so either. It might help Tam, to have his estate restored a bit,” Lucien suggested carefully, “If you ever wanted to get away from the cold of Velaris during winter, I could arrange it.”

Elain looked away again and whispered, “I’ve been so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”

Lucien frowned as pain wrapped around his heart, and realized with utter horror, it was not his pain but hers. Gods, had she been living with this?

“Elain,” Lucien murmured, “All I’m asking for is to share one meal. One conversation. I’m not suggesting we get mated or married or any of it. Hell, I’m not even asking for a date. I’m only asking for one conversation so that we can both maybe decide if rejecting the bond really is the best thing or if maybe, maybe, there might be something here worth exploring, growing, tending like one of your gardens. No expectations. Just …”

“Just time to decide what kind of choice we want to make with what the Cauldron gave us?” Elain offered quietly.

A breath he didn’t know he’d been holding rasped through his lips. His gold eye whirred. He blinked and golden light swirled around Elain hedged with blush pink and warm vermillion. She looked like a goddess inside the sun, and gods did he want to worship her. But was she worth worshiping? He desperately wanted to find out.

He blinked and his eye showed her as any one would see her once again. Lucien nodded his agreement.

Elain cleared her throat and looked down the street, “I didn’t eat. Did you?”

“Not much, those fools love their drink on holidays,” Lucien offered with a small laugh, “They’re a happy lot though aren’t they?”

Elain shrugged, “I suppose. Are you hungry?”

Warmth spread through his chest. Lucien allowed a smile to touch his lips.

“I could eat.”

“Do you think any of the restaurants are open?” Elain asked.

“You want to have this conversation now?” Lucien asked incredulously.

A smile bloomed across her face. Her rosy cheeks pinked further and he’d never wanted to kiss anyone so badly in his life before.

Elain released her arms and crooked an elbow to him. He stared at the offered arm. Was he dreaming?

“Well, Fox?” Elain asked, “Shall we?”

Lucien’s heart leapt in his chest. He closed the last few inches between them and looped his arm through hers. Suddenly, the weight of a thousand stones of grief and dejection lifted from his shoulders. His heart felt so light he could have wept.

“I know of one restaurant that will be open. It’s not the best, but it’s decent and within walking distance,” Lucien began, “And after this conversation, if you would like to have another - if we would both like to have another - then I can take you to my favorite restaurant. It is in the middle of the largest botanical gardens in all of Prythian.”

Elain raised an eyebrow, “In the middle of winter?”

Lucien grinned at her and winked, “It’s in Summer Court.”

She nodded, “I would like that, if,” and softly cleared her throat, “If we both decide we would like another conversation after tonight that is.”

Lucien nodded, “Very well, Lady Light. Are you cold?”

A small smile. An even smaller snicker.

“A little.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucien offered his free hand to her, palm up.

Elain stared at his open palm. Lucien felt a small lick of pride at how still she became, like a true Immortal creature, she’d mastered the art of preternatural stillness.

Then, she lightly rested her hand against his. Lucien maintained eye contact with her as he closed his fingers around her hand and touched the spark of fire within him. Elain gasped and her eyes widened.

“How did you do that?” She murmured, and a small laugh escaped her, “I’m positively toasty.”

Lucien’s heart fluttered but kept his tone airy, almost bored, “A small bit of magic for me. It’s a gift not everyone possesses. Not many know I can do it. Shall we eat? I’m rather hungry myself.”

Elain nodded, “I would like that, thank you.”

Lucien nodded and let go of her hand but tightened his arm still hooked around hers slightly. He didn’t bother to hide the widening of his smile as she gently squeezed back.

He sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as they walked arm in arm down the street, their tracks the only pair as they made their way away from the High Lord and Lady’s Riverside estate and into Velaris.

Lucien didn’t know what choice she would make in the end. He didn’t know what choice he would make in the end. But at least, for now, there was a sun dawning to end the longest night of the year. And he’d never been happier to see its light.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

#elucien #elucien fic

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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Elucien Spring Court Headcanon

I honestly think that the Spring Court has been foreshadowed so much for both of them that I really do believe they’re going to end up there at some point and help put the Spring Court back on track

Just imagine both Lucien and Elain in the Spring Court, the awkwardness, how they don’t know how to act around one another but they can find common ground in wanting to help the Spring Court

One of my headcanons is that both of them are so awkward at the beginning, Lucien wants to help Tamlin and the Spring Court but doesn’t really want her there and Elain is there because she wants to help and she knows that by being there (talking and aiding the people, reconstructing the gardens) is much more than she would be doing at the Night Court (she needs PURPOSE, needs to feel useful)

So anyways everything is weird, Tamlin doesn’t want them there either and he’s just not listening to Lucien or his proposals or anything really and so one night the three of them are having dinner and it just sucks, everyone is uncomfortable, tamlin is snapping at Lucien, disregarding all of his ideas for helping the Spring Court and Elain is fucking tired of his bullshit so she just fucking snaps at Tamlin like

“Well if you don’t like any of Lucien’s ideas, why don’t you tell him yours? Or are you going to let your court wither away even more than it already has?”

“And who is responsible for that? Your sister, Rhysand, your fucking court-”

“I’m not going to stand here and justify their actions or the consequences of what they did to your court, but i don’t believe for a second, High Lord, that you are so oblivious as to not realize the part you played in your court’s demise. What matters now is what you do in order to help them.”

“And why would I need your help or this traitor’s? The Night Court must have send you both to spy and gloat over what they did to me-”

“This traitor as you so eloquently called him is the only person standing between you and the total destruction of your court. Lucien is here to help not because he was commanded to, but because Spring was his home and you were his family for years until he was forced to help my sister escape after you betrayed your court and disregarded everything and everyone in order to get what you wanted. Your selfishness, High Lord, is at fault for the current state of this court. If you don’t wish my help or Lucien’s, it’s fine but remember that we’re trying to help because of your people. They deserve better, or do you think they haven’t suffered enough in all these years?”

Lucien and Tamlin are both shocked. Elain leaves dinner.

Lucien can’t stop thinking about Elain, how she stood up for the Spring Court and him. He doesn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, Tamlin tells them that he wants the best for his people and he agrees to their help.

Elain is ecstatic and the look on Lucien’s face - the pride - when he looked at her last night and this morning warmed her all the way to her bones.

#elucien #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #elucien fic #honestly I think Elain would be able to sympathize with Tamlin’s trauma even though she doesn’t like him #like I can imagine her trying to spur him into action by appealing to his people and kinda like politely telling him to fuck off

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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A DRINK TO END THIRST. / a neris one shot!

@a-court-of-valkyries sent me this: “Have a drink with me” for neris!

rated: teen

plot summary: (3 + 1) Three times Eris asks Nesta to have a drink with him–she says no, and one time she says yes.

*~*~*

“Have a drink with me”

It’s late, they’d both been up past midnight attending to the fall out with Nesta and Elain leaving the Night Court and coming to stay with Eris and Lucien. Vassa and Jurian are already asleep, and so is half the court with the other half just starting to rise. Nesta sweeps around his court, making his advisors speak in hushed tones.

“Its’ late, have a drink with me?” Eris repeats, his hair is still perfect, his crown perched jauntily on his head.

She takes him in, now no longer the prince of Autumn but the fucking King.

“It’s almost morning, Eris.” She hums.

“So?” He needles her.

“So, I’m trying to lay off the drink.” She grins, and turns on her heel, calling over her shoulder, “Have a good night, my Lord.”

Seguir leyendo

#neris #loved this

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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YES YES YES I honestly think that the Spring Court has been foreshadowed so much for both of them that I really do believe they’re going to end up there at some point and help put the Spring Court back on track

Just imagine both Lucien and Elain in the Spring Court, the awkwardness, how they don’t know how to act around one another but they can find common ground in wanting to help the Spring Court

“Well if you don’t like any of Lucien’s ideas, why don’t you tell him yours? Or are you going to let your court wither away even more than it already has?”

“And who is responsible for that? Your sister, Rhysand, your fucking court-”

“And why would I need your help or this traitor’s? The Night Court must have send you both to spy and gloat over what they did to me-”

“This traitor as you so eloquently called him is the only person standing between you and the demise of your court. Lucien is here to help not because he was commanded to, but because Spring was his home and you were his family for years until he was forced to help my sister escape after you betrayed your court and disregarded everything and everyone in order to get what you wanted. Your selfishness, High Lord, is at fault for the current state of this court. If you don’t wish my help or Lucien’s, it’s fine but the only reason we’re trying is because of your people. They deserve more, or do you think they haven’t suffered enough in all these years?”

Lucien and Tamlin are both shocked. Elain leaves dinner.

Lucien can’t stop thinking about Elain, how she stood up for the Spring Court and him, he doesn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, Tamlin tells them that he wants the best for his people and he agrees to their help.

Elain is ecstatic and the look on Lucien’s face - the pride - when he looked at her last night and this morning warmed her all the way to her bones.

“Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.”

Lucien:

[...] Cassian after sundown directly to the manor that had become home and headquarters to Jurian, Vassa, and—apparently—Lucien.

“We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

Lucien is the odd one out. The language used made it seem that Lucien is out of place. The word apparently is not flattering to his current living situation. He also has to deal with Graysen on the regular. Yikes.

Despite of everything, Lucien was happy in Spring once upon a time. The problem is his strained relationship with Tamlin. Not the court itself. We know the court is suffering.

Azriel wants Lucien stationed in Spring. We haven't gotten more information on this. An Azriel book would probably tells us what's going on with Lucien and Spring Court.

We know Lucien will eventually have to deal with Tamlin. Tamlin is going to be a part of Lucien's journey one way, or the other.

Elain:

Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court … It sucked the life from her.

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber.

Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. [...] Elain … The Spring Court had been made for someone like her.

Night Court sucks the life out of Elain.

Her scent itself is like a promise of spring.

Nesta reflects on how Spring Court was made for someone like Elain. We never got to know if Nesta ever told Elain to visit it. Maybe the idea has been planted in Elain's head for something that will occur in the future.

We know Elain is likely to soak up the sun, the life, and the court's beauty. She has a strong sense of justice, and has untested seer powers as a cauldron blessed individual. It would be interesting to see what she observes, and what she would do if she were to go to Spring Court.

Elucien:

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

Lucien keeps coming back, because he sees something worth fighting for. He longs for Elain.

We don't know what Elain exactly feels, but she's at a stage where she is pushing Lucien away. But not enough to scream from the rooftops that she plans on rejecting Lucien. There is some political pressure, but her sisters would ultimately respect her decision.

Her feelings for Lucien are probably incredibly messy and complicated. She went from having a spark in her eyes to slightly approaching him to pushing him away suddenly. There's defintely some inner turmoil going on.

Lucien and Elain haven't figured out the who and what of their lives. They need time and space like Mor mentioned back in ACOFAS.

We lack both of their povs. When we get that, we will be able to see more clearly where their story is going.

For now, it seems SJM plans on having them address their bond. It can't continue to be unaddressed.

Their story may be pushed to the Spring Court. If even for a portion of Elain's book. There's a lot of wink wink nudge nudges on SJM's end in that regard.

Things are subject to change with a new book, but it'll be interesting to see where these little nuggets of information lead Elain and Lucien's stories.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #god please give this to me #elucien fic

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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La Vie En Rose: Chapter 2

Chapter Title: The Gentle Grower of Things

Fic Summary: After everyone is freed from Under the Mountain, Elain is given the opportunity to stay in the Spring Court as a human so she can get to know her soulmate. Set in the timeline from A Court of Faded Dreams.

Read on A03 ❀ Masterlist

In the morning, Alis flooded into Elain’s room with a tray of tea and a gaggle of servants behind her. She nearly spilt the tray over when she found that Elain was already awake, sitting near the window watching the final remnants of dawn. Just below, fae milled about the manor’s grounds bearing various tasks, and Elain had been studying them since the first break of light. Some were carrying armfuls of lumber, others baskets full of laundry, or freshly lain eggs. It was not entirely unlike the morning bustle of her mortal village. No matter fae or human, it seemed the common folk were always busy trying to make ends meet.

“Did you sleep well, Lady Elain?” Alis asked, placing the tray on her breakfast table to brush at her dress in a manner of recomposing herself that reminded Elain of a hen rustling its feathers.

Elain stood, smiling placatingly as she accepted the tea tray. “Good morning, Alis. Thank you for the tea. Sometimes I struggle to sleep in a new bed.”

Indeed, Elain had struggled similarly when their family had first moved from the cottage to the manor. Her new bed in one of many countless bedrooms had felt empty and cold without the company of her two sisters, and she’d struggled to adjust in the first week. Elain also knew that her restlessness on this occasion had nothing to do with the new bed, which was softer than any luxury silk her family could procure in the mortal lands.

It had much more to do with the faeries she was conversing with as though it were a normal, everyday thing. As it would be, for she now lived in Prythian, and that thought had struck her so violently in the middle of the night that she’d hardly been able to shut her eyes without thinking of the horrid tales she’d been told as a child. She knew they weren’t true, or at the very least, she knew they didn’t apply to this manor.

The male across the hall from her had been kind. A bit sarcastic, but still welcoming. Yet she couldn’t help watching the door warily, unsure what manner of creature might barge in and threaten to devour her—or worse.

She couldn’t exactly divulge these unfounded fears to Alis, however, who would likely be offended by her prejudices. So she busied herself with laying the tea out on the breakfast table. She noticed Alis had curiously brought two additional teacups.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” Elain offered, setting out a place for her.

Alis blink at the offer, and Elain could guess the servants of this manor had rarely been invited for tea. “Thank you, but I’ve too much to get done this morning. Feyre told me she wished to join you.”

She didn’t offer an explanation for the third teacup, but none was needed. Elain would bet every piece of jewlery she’d brought with her that it was intended for Lucien, though she was uncertain if that prospect filled her with dread or excitement—they both rampaged her nerves in such similar fashion. All she knew was that the thought of him left her with an unfamiliar tightness in her chest.

There was a knock at the door moments later, and Elain swallowed that rising tension within her, slipping a silken robe over her nightgown. She held her breath as she opened the door, only to release a heavy exhale when she found it was Feyre on the other side. It was relief, she told herself, not disappointment that slumped her shoulders.

Alis quietly slipped out to give the sisters privacy while Feyre joined Elain at her breakfast table. Her sister waited patiently as Elain poured them each a cup, a content silence settling in the space between them as they sipped their warm brew, allowing the steam from their mugs to greet the crisp morning air. It was more fragrant than any she’d had in the mortal lands—and she was beginning to expect that everything in Prythian was simply more. More lavish, more rich, more exotic. No wonder they found humans so uncultured.

Eventually Elain’s attention wandered away from the warm cup in her hands, and towards the sister who sat straight-backed in her chair, hands tight around her teacup. She was so different, in so many ways, from the Feyre who had left their cottage on that cold winter morning and returned with a wolf’s skin. The energy she commanded was perhaps the most changed, the gentle authority she possessed even while sipping tea in silence, even looking as though she were contemplating the best way to bring up whatever she’d come to say.

Elain could guess well enough what Feyre wished to tell her. The conversation she’d had with Tamlin had looked unpleasant, and given what she knew of the relationship between them in the previous timeline… she could guess it was difficult for her sister to be there. And yet she was, without complaint. For Elain’s sake. Despite the war that was coming, despite the husband who missed her, and despite only just returning home with him.

Though Elain wished she would stay, desperate to cling to something familiar among so much change, she feared it would be pathetic and selfish to ask Feyre to stay. And she knew Feyre would stay, if she asked. Just like she’d gone into the forest every morning as a child to keep them alive, just as she’d given herself to the faerie beast who came to claim her, and just as she’d gone Under the Mountain twice for the men she loved. Feyre was always giving pieces of herself away, and Elain had been complicit in allowing her youngest sister to think that’s what love was.

But Elain was the older sister here. She couldn’t keep leaning on Feyre, especially when Feyre had already done so much for her. So much Elain could never repay.

Elain set down her tea, plastering a content smile over her face. “Thank you,” she said, referring to so much in those two little words. “I’m so grateful for what you’ve done to help get me here, but I’m sure the Night Court has a need for their High Lady. You don’t need to coddle me, Feyre. I’m in good hands here, I’ll be fine.”

Feyre studied her carefully, brows furrowed. “Are you sure? You seemed so nervous at lunch yesterday.”

“I was,” Elain admitted. “And I still am. This place is… very different than what I’m used to. I’m sure you relate well to that, having been in my shoes yourself. But it’s something I’ll need to come to terms with on my own, and I trust Lucien. I think.”

That managed a laugh from her sister. “You can trust Lucien,” she assured. “And if you need anything, he’s the best person to ask. You’re being really brave, Elain.” There was something about the conviction in Feyre’s expression that caused Elain to find the patterns on her teacup far more manageable to look at. “I was planning on leaving after lunch—but I’ll be back in a week to check on you. And if you need to contact me in the meantime, Lucien or Tamlin—or even Alis—can help you get in touch. And Elain?”

She glanced up from the tea she’d been absentmindedly swirling, watching the herbal specks spiral in the cup. Feyre was staring at her, blue eyes steady.

“Yes?”

Her younger sister smiled fondly. “What you’re doing—it’s incredible. Even if someone had told me about Rhys, about what he would mean to me, I don’t know if I could have overcome what we knew about fae. You have. The kindness in you, the strength it requires… I’m awed by it.”

Elain was taken aback. Between the two of them, Feyre was clearly the more impressive, for all that she’d accomplished in only 19 years of life. For all the countless lives she’d already saved, Elain’s own included. To hear that Feyre admired her… she suddenly felt very determined to be worthy of that admiration.

“Thank you, Feyre,” Elain said softly, emotion catching in her voice. “Not just for the compliment. But truly, for everything. From when you were a little girl going out into the forest to keep us alive, to everything you’ve done since. I’m the one who’s awed by you.”

Elain watched as Feyre blinked back tears, then suddenly she stood from her seat and came around to barrel Elain into a hug. It struck Elain, then, as they hugged each other, how little they’d done it their whole lives. Aside from the cold nights in the cottage when huddling for body heat had been a necessity, physical affection between the Archerons had been sparse.

At the revelation, she held her sister tighter, offered her a kiss on the crown of her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” she whispered. “I’m sorry we didn’t protect you the same way you protected us.”

“We were all protecting ourselves, in our own way,” Feyre whispered. Elain sniffed, because though it was true, it was unfair that they’d expected Feyre to bear so much of that burden. “Things can be different now.”

Elain nodded her agreement. Things could be different now, this time they could choose each other. “Never again, Feyre,” she promised, holding her close. “Never again.”

❀❀❀

Saying goodbye to Feyre was more difficult than Elain was willing to admit. Standing on the steps of the manor, hair carefully styled by Elain’s hand, she thought the smile on Feyre’s face spoke of relief more than a sorrow for parting. Elain hugged her sister stiffly, resisting the part of herself that wanted to change its mind and beg her to stay. Feyre pulled away quickly enough to subdue that temptation.

Feyre offered Lucien an equally affectionate hug, before Feyre turned to Tamlin, that fondness falling away until her face was a mask of cool indifference. It was another thing that struck Elain, who remembered the hot-faced child that would get into screaming matches with Nesta. All that fiery spirit was still there, contained in her smoldering blue eyes, but it was better honed. It was not just Feyre’s body that had become more powerful. She could see that her mind, even her willpower, had been sharpened.

“I’ll be back in a week’s time,” she said with a curt nod.

The tension bubbling between her sister and the High Lord left Elain uncertain if those words were made to be reassurance or a threat. Tamlin clenched his jaw, and Elain pretended not to notice the way he watched her sister bound down the manor steps, immediately into the waiting arms of Rhysand, who stood just outside the gate.

Lucien informed Tamlin that he’d be taking Elain on patrol with him, and he offered a small nod of approval before he wandered off to his study, shoulders drawn a bit too tightly to appear casual. Lucien, on the other hand, could have been casual personified as he led Elain to the stables.

“Is Tamlin in love with Feyre?” she found herself asking before she had time to think it through.

With his much longer gait, he’d been a full step ahead of her when he stopped in his tracks, turning to her with wide eyes. “Pardon?”

“Tamlin. The way he was looking at her earlier…” With that russet eye burning into her, she suddenly felt foolish for saying anything at all, but he arched a brow as though begging her to continue. “It just seems as though he has feelings for her.”

That smile broke across his face. Not the warm and lovely one that sent her heart fluttering, but the one that made her feel as though a thorn had poked through her gardening gloves.

“You’re a cunning little thing, aren’t you?” he mused. “Always watching people, silently observing everything.” He laughed as though he’d just put something together. “A few well placed smiles on your end, and I’m sure no one ever questions what they give away in front of you.”

Though he’d more or less just called her two-faced, it sounded oddly like a compliment.

“I’d hardly say it’s fair to call me cunning for asking a simple question” she said innocently. “It’s especially rich coming from that of a courtier. By the way you’re deflecting, I wonder if I’m close to the truth.”

“It’s no deflection, lady. I’d never presume to know Tamlin’s heart.” He was still studying her, the corner of his lips pulling down. “And believe me when I tell you it’s better to stay out of it.”

There was a warning to his voice that convinced her not to pry any further. She stepped towards him, thinking it would encourage him to continue onward, but he made no retreat. It occurred to her when she had to look up to meet his eyes just how much she’d invaded his space, and how forward it must have looked from his perspective. If she took a step away now, would it be offensive? He held her gaze for a long moment, and from the close distance she could better see the details of his face, could hear the soft and subtle click of the mechanical eye as it stared right back at her.

Then before she could think of something else to say, he’d turned and began walking once more, hardly paying attention to the way she scrambled to keep up with his long legs. There were two horses already saddled and waiting for them when they came to the stables. It was when Elain raised her hand to greet the chestnut mare that Lucien paused, glancing over at her skirts.

“I can find riding clothes for you,” he offered.

She glanced at her pale pink gown, trying not to blush at the prospect of wearing the tight-fitting riding leathers she’d seen other women wear. “I’ve been taught to ride sidesaddle.”

Lucien snorted as he turned back to the horses, mumbling something about mortal women and modesty that certainly didn’t sound complimentary. Elain felt her temper rear in defensiveness, but she bit her tongue, watching as Lucien sought the stableboy and requested a two-pommel saddle for the lady.

Still, Lucien resaddled Elain’s mare without complaint. That was, up until she was about to mount. He offered his hand, a patronizing gleam in his russet eye as he said, “one sister who refuses to wear anything but trousers, and the other who refuses to wear anything but skirts. You Archerons love to cause a fuss.”

She huffed, ignoring his hand altogether as she slid into the saddle with a practiced grace. “And you men certainly don’t know when to keep your comments to yourself.”

“Males,” he corrected, dropping his hand with that same amused smile that was too much a mirror of a cat toying with a mouse. Though it was rare for her to lose her temper, it seemed to dig under her skin much more effectively than anything else she’d encountered.

Lucien hopped onto his black gelding with a thoughtless ease, immediately leading in front of her mare. “Come, I promised Feyre I’d show you every damn flower in Prythian and I intend to make good on my word.”

Elain jutted her chin stubbornly, disliking that he made it sound like a chore. “Who says I wish to see every flower in Prythian?”

Lucien turned, brows raised as he fixed her with that strange mechanical eye. “According to Feyre, you did.”

She had said that she wanted to see the flowers of Prythian, and perhaps she shouldn’t be so difficult, but after his comment about Archerons being fussy she suddenly wanted to be anything but compliant. “It seems there’s much more to Prythian than just its flowers,” she said noncommittally.

“Indeed. Don’t worry, Elain, I don’t intend to bore you. We’ll see the flowers, and all the other wonders of the Spring Court.” The smirk that accompanied his promise certainly didn’t set her heart at ease, and suddenly Elain regretted her attempts to wind him up.

Wishing to redirect the conversation to something more friendly, she asked, “will you tell me a bit about the fae? Your customs and traditions? I know so little about any of it.”

Lucien slowed his horse as they entered the western wood, allowing them to walk side by side so that Elain could view the contemplation on his face. She was grateful for the proximity, if only because she still felt apprehensive about what manner of creature lurked within the shadows of the canopy, their prowling likely masked in the rustle of leaves and the clop of hooves. She kept a wary eye out, just in case.

In her peripheral vision, she thought she might have seen Lucien glance towards her and frown. Again she wondered if he could read her anxieties with that curious eye.

“We fae love our revelries,” he said, as though he hadn’t noticed anything at all. “Half the time, I think we invent holidays just for a reason to throw one. There’s an equinox festival coming up soon—the biggest celebration in the Autumn Court, where I’m from. In Spring there’s one as well, one much more friendly towards your human sensibilities.”

That earned her full attention. “What happens in the Autumn Court festival, that would make it so offensive?”

Lucien frowned, assessing Elain carefully. “It’s not the festival itself that would offend you. I don’t think you’d take kindly to the Autumn Court’s ways, Elain. Nor should you. But it’s only your second day here, I think we should avoid discussing the aspects of Prythian that would upset you.”

“You think me so easily discouraged?” she challenged, fixing him with a steady look.

Lucien searched her eyes. The mocking smile on his lips didn’t quite meet either of the russet or golden orbs that sparkled as they swept over her. “You were practically trembling at lunch from the children’s rhymes alone, and they don’t even hold any truth.”

“I was overwhelmed by the idea of being enslaved,” Elain corrected. “Because I wasn’t reassured that the rhymes weren’t true until after you’d mocked me with them.

“If you think Tamlin and I are capable of enslaving you, fine. I’m a stranger to you, I suppose I shouldn’t find it so insulting. But you truly believe Feyre would have let you eat our food if that was even remotely possible?”

She hadn’t thoroughly considered it at the time, too swept up in her own fears. And now that she realized the implications of those fears, Elain had to look away, because for a moment she could see that all mockery aside, Lucien’s feelings had clearly been hurt. “Forgive me for being rude. I’m still trying to… unlearn the things I’ve been taught about the fae.”

He sighed. “I suppose it would be useful for you to maintain a healthy dose of caution, even if it is at my expense. The Spring and Night Courts may be welcoming to you, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Prythian is a safe place for a human.”

She tried not to agonize too much over the implications of that.

“In the same breath,” she added, surprising herself, “it’s also unfair of you to taunt me for my ignorance while choosing not to be transparent with me. I’m trying to keep an open mind, Lucien. I’m the vulnerable one here, in more ways than one. I ask that you be more respectful of that.”

He was quiet for a moment, seeming to genuinely contemplate her words. “You’re right,” he said at last. “I apologize for making jokes at the expense of your ignorance.” Elain smiled, gratitude at the tip of her tongue when he added, “I’ll simply find other things to mock you for.”

“Why do you feel the need to mock me at all?” she demanded. “I thought you wished to get to know me.”

He was grinning. “You’re right, Elain. I wish to get to know you. Not this carefully practiced version of yourself. I suspect those walls will start to crack when that wicked little temper of yours rears its ugly head.”

Elain shook her head in disbelief. “I think you’ve spent too much time in the courts, Lucien. By the way you speak, it sounds as if I’ve thrown tantrums since coming here. When has my temper shown its, as you say, ugly head?”

“It hasn’t come out to play yet,” Lucien said with that irritating smirk never once leaving his face. “But I see glimpses of it from the fire in your eyes.”

She’d only ever heard her eyes described as something soft and lovely—doe-eyed Elain. Not something that burned, like Nesta’s, or something wild and untamable, like Feyre’s. But a warm, friendly brown color, like a fawn’s.

To hear she had fire in her eyes, it was nearly laughable how greatly it stood in contradiction to what she’d been told her whole life. She didn’t believe him, but she marked an earnesty on his face that was unflappable. And it stirred something in her.

“Perhaps you’re reading too much into things,” she said, testing him one last time.

Lucien shrugged good-naturedly. “Perhaps I’m enjoying reading too much into you.”

The look on his face—it reminded Elain of the gambling nights her father used to host when she was still a child. She and her sisters were always locked away from the gentleman’s affairs, but that hardly mattered when Elain could tell precisely who had walked away victorious from the looks on their faces as they departed. And Lucien, he looked like a man who only ever placed his bets correctly.

Elain had never had a seat at the table before, but if Lucien wanted to play, then so could she.

“You know, in a mortal courtship, speaking to me so freely as you do would be enough to brand you as a rake.”

Lucien looked intrigued. “And you’ve done a decent job at pretending you’re scandalized by it, yet you haven’t asked me to stop.”

“Yes, I have,” she protested.

He smirked. “You’ve found roundabout ways of insulting me, like just now. But that’s not the same thing as asking me to stop.”

Elain scoffed. “I’ve never once insulted you.”

“Yes, you have,” he insisted. “In that underhanded way you’ve perfected so that you can still stand on a moral high ground. You forget I’m a courtier, Elain, and I’m well versed in the act of verbal sparring. You ladies are practically groomed for it. You can’t say anything forthright so you bury it under posed language. I see right through you, little dove.”

“Please don’t call me that,” she said. “And I apologize for any offense I’ve caused.”

“No you don’t,” he said with a barking laugh. “Look at you. You’re thrilled by it. Most people don’t see past the well placed smiles to think too carefully about your words. You’re finally on a level playing field and you love it.”

He was right. Elain was surprised by it, because she’d never been called out before. But the last thing she would ever do was admit it, so instead she batted her eyelashes exactly the way he was accusing her of doing. “I wasn’t aware there were any politics at play, Lucien. Pray tell what game I might be playing? Or do you think I’m just posturing for posturing’s sake?”

“Who said you need politics to make a game worth playing?” he challenged. “You said it yourself, in a mortal courtship my behavior would be appalling. But I wasn’t aware this was a courtship, unless you view it otherwise, lady?”

Elain felt her face heat at the implication.

“My,” he crooned. “That blush is very telling. You must work on your expressions, Elain. You give far too much away. And if we were playing a game, I dare say I might have just won this match.” He led his horse closer, so that his leg brushed against her own, and he could lean forward so that his mouth was at her ear. “Do I win anything?”

She scoffed, pushing him away by the shoulder. If he were a human man, it might have been enough to topple him off his horse. But instead he came away laughing, allowing space between their horses once more.

“You’re unbelievable,” she accused, wishing she didn’t sound so flustered. But there was joy and excitement sparking in her chest, as well as something else. Something she couldn’t place, but that glowed low and lovely like the softest ember.

“I’ve been called far worse things. You’ll have to be more inventive than that to get under my skin.” She so desperately wished she could wipe the satisfaction off his face. “Unfortunately for you, it seems the reverse isn’t true. Just like every other modest lady, your skin is remarkably easy to get under. Whether the same is true about your skirts remains to be seen.”

Elain gasped in outrage. No one had ever said something so crude to her.

“There’s that temper,” he outright purred.

“You want to see my temper?” she snapped, gritting her teeth. “Come back over here and I’ll show you my temper.”

Lucien practically cackled as he tossed her a wink. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

And then he was off, racing his gelding into a gallop. Elain gave a shriek that was somewhere between surprise and frustration, encouraging her horse to give chase. But riding sidesaddle, it was difficult to keep up with the pace that Lucien had set.

Elain was so thoroughly enraged by his comment that she hiked up her skirts, bunching them around her hips so that she could ride her mare astride. They billowed behind as she raced after him, blinded enough by her anger to not be embarrassed by the sight of her bare thighs.

They broke out of the woods at a near dizzying pace, darting into a rolling meadow that was so beautiful it would have taken her breath away if she didn’t have her eyes locked on Lucien’s back, determined to catch up to him. The wind tore her thick, carefully styled hair from its pins, causing it to flow behind Elain just like her dress. She was only half paying attention to the mess she’d become in a matter of seconds—it was the most unhinged, the most wild she’d ever allowed herself to be.

Somewhere along the endless chase her anger escaped her entirely, and instead she was swept up in the freedom she’d unknowingly stumbled across. Her unbound hair whipping in the fresh spring breeze, carrying the scent of blossoming flowers. The sun crested high above, and now that they were away from the dense thicket of trees she could feel it warming her skin, caressing her like a blanket. And there was no one here to judge or comment on the way she’d come unbound, untamed—no one besides Lucien, who she was certain would mock her regardless.

Her mother was probably watching over somewhere, absolutely horrified. But this… this was the taste of freedom she’d always longed for. The kind of thing she’d read about but had never felt bold enough to reach for.

At some point she slowed, wanting to savor the breeze and the sun and the kiss of Spring. Wanting to lounge and dally and embrace some of the childhood spontaneity she’d never been granted.

Lucien slowed, too, as though he’d been keeping an eye on her all along. He rejoined her, none of the expected ridicule on his face. Instead, his russet eye was sparkling, expression warring between relief and delight.

He smiled, this one devoid of smugness. No, it was as radiant and beaconing as the sun above. She knew she should be mad at him—what he’d said to her was truly disgraceful. But she felt too liberated to dwell on it, and as he slid off his horse and came to help her, his bashful smile was convincing enough.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked, extending his hand to help her down. His loosely braided hair glimmered in the daylight, and the streaks of crimson and burnt orange reminded Elain of the red sunflowers she’d managed to cultivate one summer.

This time, Elain accepted his hand, sparing only the smallest moment to blush over the amount of leg she’d exposed to him before she quickly fixed her skirts.

“I don’t remember you apologizing,” she said lightly.

Lucien didn’t let go of her hand even after he’d set her down. Instead he drew it to his lips, offering a gentle kiss along her knuckles. It was nothing like a gentleman’s kiss, far too tender and lingering.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding as if he meant it genuinely. “Allow me to make it up to you by weaving a crown made from every flower in this meadow.”

Elain laughed, half startled by this version of Lucien, who seemed much more gentle. “I thought you were supposed to be on border patrol.”

He spared a cursory glance around the meadow, then offered her a conspiring grin. “This seems close enough to the border. Don’t you think?”

Elain couldn’t help the smile that escaped her. “It better be an extraordinary crown, Lord.”

He hardly bristled at the title as he sunk down on the plush grass, already plucking and weaving flowers with an ease she found endearing—as familiar with the motions as though it were a craft he’d dedicated his life to.

“I think you’ll find my woven crowns are to an expert standard,” he said, glancing up at her through those long lashes.

It was then Elain registered that she was still standing. She quickly joined him, choosing a space a comfortable distance away, so that she was facing him without being so confronted by his presence. She took to assembling a crown of her own, though the process was much slower with how frequently her eyes wandered back to Lucien.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re practiced at this. Do you often weave crowns for ladies?”

Those eyes dragged upwards, away from the task at hand, and Elain held her breath as those simmering pools of russet and gold met her curious stare. There was humor stirring within them, but it was accompanied by a guarded expression that made her wonder if she’d unknowingly struck a nerve.

“Only for the rare special few,” he answered, the corner of his lip tugging just slightly.

“Rare and special, am I?” she teased. “Oh how honey pours from your lips, Lord.”

“And I might die of surprise, for I believe that’s sarcasm pouring from yours.” The slant of his lips was becoming more noticeable, the makings of that toothy grin that had set her heart aflame in the garden. “How quickly your tongue sharpens when your sister isn’t around.”

“I believe my present company has more to do with that correlation,” she said, fixing him with her best impression of Nesta’s frosty glare. “Your regard for propriety certainly leaves much to be desired.”

She was playing right into his hand again. The beastly grin on his face said as much.

“Says the lady who had her thighs out only moments ago. So terribly indecent—and I fear it’s compromised my virtue.”

Elain shook her head. “Says the man who made such a ghastly comment about my skirts.”

“Male,” he corrected again. As if Elain needed the reminder.

“Is this your idea of an apology?” she demanded instead. “It certainly doesn’t seem as though you’re sorry.”

“I am,” he said, leaning forward into that precious space between them. She could see the details of his eyes, the sunlight that danced within them as he placed the crown upon her head with a gentleness that thoroughly surprised her.

Lucien watched her long enough that she felt the need to shift under his scrutiny, trying her best not to imagine what he was seeing as his mechanical eye clicked. He tucked a stray lock of her hair away from her face, and it was all she could do not to lean into his warm touch as his thumb intentionally brushed along the curve of her ear. “If not for these, I’d almost mistake you for the fae.”

Elain didn’t know what that meant—if perhaps it was another subtle communication that he wished she weren’t human.

“I don’t think I could ever mistake you for a human,” she blurted, not knowing how else to respond.

That made him laugh, like the gentle clang of wind chimes, as he pulled away and took to weaving more flowers. “A fortunate thing, for I don’t think mortal attire would suit me nearly so well as the fae attire suits you.”

She tried to imagine him now, in the frilly and constrictive clothing that human lords loved to dress themselves in. She grinned at the thought.

“I think the cravats and tailcoats would suit you perfectly well.”

That seemed to pique his interest. “And if I’d shown up to one of your human social seasons, would you have accosted me like one of your coveted Lords’ sons?”

Elain wrinkled her nose. “With your rakish nature, not likely. I’d have found myself in a scandal.”

His brows shot up suggestively, and he leaned forward just the slightest bit, enough to offset her heart a couple beats. “And what scandalous things might you have done with me?”

She felt her cheeks flame at the question. Had that been what she’d implied?

“Questions like that, Lord, are exactly why I would have kept myself far away.”

“Ah, but for a moment there you were considering it.” His eyes were sparkling with that mischief once more. “Which makes me wonder if you have a propensity for scandal after all, my lady.”

With the way her stomach was tumbling, she feared he might be right—a private thought she would never dare to admit to him.

“I have half a mind to give this flower crown to someone else,” she threatened, brandishing the woven flowers as though it were something more menacing. “Perhaps to someone in your court who knows how to speak properly to a lady.”

“You may gift your crown to whomever you see fit,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. She felt the weight of his stare as he studied her from that new angle. “Although I maintain that you aren’t nearly as offended as you pretend to be, I do apologize. The fae court in a way that is much less… delicate.”

Elain couldn’t help her grin. “Are you admitting to courting me, Lucien? I thought you said this wasn’t a courtship.”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he said, sounding so serious Elain didn’t know how else to respond.

Swallowing against her nerves, Elain slowly leaned forward, feeling her pulse jump wildly as that distance between them narrowed. She leaned over where he rested on his elbows, watching her with a surprised curiosity as she placed that crown onto his head. The way her fingers brushed against the loose strands of his hair was not wholly accidental—she’d been wondering what it might feel like since the moment she saw its length in Feyre’s visions.

“I suppose I can overlook the way you’ve spoken to me, since you admit to being so uneducated in the art of courtship,” she said, the words hardly a whisper but somehow too loud in the space between them.

Lucien hardly paid any attention to the jibe, his eyes focused on the hair that spilled over her shoulders, near golden in the sunlight and admittedly wind-torn. He didn’t seem to mind, with the way he raised a hand to absently catch at a lock of her hair, thumbing it as though it were velvet.

“You look lovely with your hair unbound.”

How was it that such a simple compliment, paid with a great deal of earnesty, could erase an entire day’s worth of roguish behavior? Why was it that she found it thrilling, that he spoke to her in such a manner and could still act like a gentleman a heartbeat later?

“Thank you,” she breathed, putting space between them before their proximity well and truly went to her head.

Lucien sat up, too, as though following the pull of her.

Trying to dismiss the strange feelings that simmered in her chest, and lower, she quickly tried to think of something to change the subject. “Tell me something about yourself,” she said, realizing she knew exceedingly little about him.

He seemed to frown at the direction of conversation. “What would you like to know?”

She thought for a long moment. Lucien didn’t seem the type to open up readily. “How old are you?”

He merely laughed and said, “old.”

“You don’t look old,” she challenged.

“How old do you think I am?”

Elain thought carefully. “200?”

“If you think I’m going to give anything away with your guesses, you’re going to be disappointed,” he said, smiling as though he found her very amusing.

And it was the very amusement that turned Elain shy.

“Regardless of how old you are, you must consider me a child by comparison.”

Lucien frowned, his expression turning thoughtful. “I consider you young, sure. Untested, in many ways. But I don’t think that’s necessarily for the worse. I think it’s immortality that can make the fae so cruel. There are many things you suffer when you live countless lifetimes. It calluses our hearts. But Feyre told me you value kindness. There’s strength and wisdom in that. And you’ve left everything you’ve known to come here. I know exactly how difficult that must have been. So no, I don’t consider you a child.”

Elain wasn’t sure how to respond—truthfully she’d never considered the effect that immortality could have on a person. And Lucien spoke of suffering as though he knew it intimately. The scar on his eye should have been indication enough, she supposed, feeling suddenly inundated with sorrow for him.

Lucien seemed unaffected by her lack of response, turning the conversation over to her as though he were relieved to take the focus off of his own life. She was certain he already knew much about her life from Feyre, but he seemed interested in hearing it from Elain directly, so she spoke to him of her comfortable childhood, where love was scarce and competitive, and her family’s eventual fall from fortune. Though she attempted to return every question he asked, Lucien spoke little about himself or his own past.

They talked for hours, until the sun had nearly kissed the horizon, at which point Lucien had glanced at the sky considerately and said, “we should probably head back.”

He was gentle helping her back onto the horse, and made no further comment about the sidesaddle or her skirts. It shocked her, how vastly different their ride back to the manor was. The conversation between them was almost content, almost… familiar. As though she had known him far longer than a day, and as though he were not fae and she were not human, and they’d managed to find some bridge in between. Friends, she supposed. Mates, though that word did not mean as much to her. Not yet.

But she considered his question in the moments where conversation lulled. Would she have sought him if they’d met as humans, without the knowledge of being predestined for one another? Yes, she thought quietly. She would have watched him from across the room and held her breath, hoping he would come to fill out her dance card.

But then, if he’d been a human lord they wouldn’t have done any of the things they’d done today. No galloping horses and meadows and flower crowns, no indecent repartee, and certainly no going anywhere with him without a chaperone. And she thought as terrifying as Prythian was, she was grateful for those freedoms, and grateful to know Lucien in this very peculiar way.

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

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A Court of Faded Dreams: Chapter 34

Chapter title: Dreaming In Light

Fic summary: In her grief after Rhys sacrifices himself to restore the Cauldron, Feyre accidentally sends herself back in time. Back in her human body, in her early days in the Spring Court, Feyre must be careful how she alters the timeline as she tries to save Rhys and Prythian from Under the Mountain.

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Rhysand’s side of the bed was cold the next morning. Feyre was hardly surprised, though it still made her stomach sink. He’d said nothing more of what happened in the clearing, had slipped easily enough into his mask of nonchalance that she might have thought he’d shaken it off. But his restless night had said otherwise. Despite the potions and tonics, or how she’d sat up half the night stroking her fingers through his hair, sleep had not readily sought either of them.

“Finally,” said a low voice from the corner of the room. Rhys stood perched against the doorway, already dressed in his form-fitting leathers. “I was starting to worry we’d be training under the moonlight.”

She pushed back the covers, watching as he strode to their armoire. “You want to train again today?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her as though it were an odd question. “Of course,” he said. “You’re not too sore, are you? I told you yesterday I wouldn’t go easy on you.”

She was sore. She felt stiff even just sitting up, the muscles of her back screaming in protest where they’d carried her heavy wings. But she sensed an ambition in him that was unexpected. Though she wasn’t certain of its origin, she’d do whatever it took to continue fanning whatever had sparked in him. Regardless of what her body had to say about it.

Rhys came over to the bed, clothes slung over his arm. “Well, Feyre darling? Afraid I’ll work you too hard?”

“I’d like to see you try,” she challenged, knowing it’s what he’d respond best to. Even if she would regret it later.

“Careful,” he crooned. “You might encourage me to train you so hard you won’t be able to get out of bed tomorrow.”

She stood and grabbed the clothes in his arms, meeting his stare with raised brows. “You’ve made promises like that before. Maybe one of these days you’ll actually keep to your word.”

Rhys leaned towards her so that his nose traced the hollow of her throat. She could feel that devilish smile against her skin as he paused to nip at her pulsepoint. When he spoke, his voice was low and breathy, like the crackling embers of a fire. “You certainly paint a tempting image, darling. Maybe I’ll follow through just for the excuse to keep you in bed all day. I’d ensure you’re well looked after.”

Those starkissed eyes had a familiar gleam as he pulled away. All at once she was standing in her wedding dress, having just thrown her shoe at his head. Outside the Weaver’s cottage, telling him to invite Cassian into her bed. Walking towards the trenches of her first trial while he spouted ridiculous poetry. The playing had never just been for her sake. Maybe she’d been too focused on what had gone wrong yesterday. Maybe, despite the hiccup, Rhys had fun playing with her again. Maybe, for her, he was trying.

The image of how exactly he planned to look after her flitted down the bond, and when he spied her flushed face, his laughter chased her towards the bathing room. Yet she was smiling when she shut the door, because he was still laughing. And she promise herself that she would do everything in her power today, and every day after, to make him smile and laugh as much as possible. To remind him that there was life outside of the Mountain, outside of the war. And he was capable of enjoying it.

So when she emerged from the bathing room, warm from both the fur-lined leathers and his heated stare, she let some of that life shine in her smile. “Ready to get your ass handed to you, mate?”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre stretched out atop the roof of the House of Wind, watching the quiet city beyond. It was only just waking up, the sun not yet peeking on the horizon, and from this high up she couldn’t help noting how everything seemed so still, so…peaceful. She felt Rhy watching her—not the city, or the silent hours before dawn. Sometimes she wondered if he openly avoided looking towards Velaris. He hadn’t brought himself to go into the city yet.

She didn’t know how long it had taken him to visit his people the first time he’d left the Mountain. Perhaps he’d gone sooner, in the Inner Circle’s attempts to cheer him up with drinks at Rita’s. She knew he was nervous how his people would react to seeing their High Lord again. Despite escaping Amarantha’s influence, word would have still managed to spread to the people of Velaris of what role Rhys played Under the Mountain. As much as she assured him that not a single resident in the previous timeline had judged him for what he’d done, Rhys was terrified at seeing hatred in the eyes of the people he had given up everything to protect. He would stomach their hatred a thousand times over if it meant saving them, she knew, but it wouldn’t make it any easier to bear.

Violet eyes tracked her movements as Feyre stood up from her low stretch, flinching at the pull of her tight muscles. Rhys had wanted to do some running in the week and her calves and hamstrings were still burning from it.

Warm, strong hands found her hips. Immediately the pad of his thumb began rubbing circles into the junction between her thigh and hip bone. “Still sore?”

She looked up to see concern etched into the furrow of his brow. For all his teasing, he was still a mother hen at heart. As he’d promised almost a week ago, Feyre had hardly been able to get out of bed the next morning, and the morning after. But she still forced herself out to the training ring each morning, because it was worth it for the spark in his eyes.

And, of course, it helped that her mate did such a wonderful job soothing her pain away. He’d already spent hours massaging her aching muscles, pressing kisses over the bruises she’d earned from sparring and flying alike. Yesterday she’d taken a turn too fast and had earned herself a mouth full of pine needles, as well as a tender welt along her side. Now careful fingers traced over where that welt had been, where his lips had followed only hours ago.

“Was I not thorough enough this morning?” he asked, the words mostly a purr. “I could take you back to our bed and give it a little more attention.”

Her laugh was a breathless rasp. She always struggled to get enough air into his lungs when he was so close. “Were you this attentive to your brothers when you trained with them?”

“I wouldn’t answer that.” They both turned at the voice like darkness given sound. Azriel stood on the other side of the ring, arms crossed and face cold. But his hazel eyes were sparkling with something like humor. His gaze darted to Feyre, and he offered her a half smile. “You wouldn’t want to make our High Lady jealous.”

Rhys straightened at the arrival of the shadowsinger but something in him softened, too. “How are things in Itica?”

“We’re ready for Hybern, but things have been quiet. My sources haven’t turned up anything to suggest an attack is imminent. Whatever the King is planning, he’s being exceptionally careful.”

Her mate smirked. “Good. Let the bastard think he has the upperhand.” Rhys surveyed his brother, who was equipped head-to-toe in weapons and light armor. “Do you have the time to go a round with me?”

Feyre tried her best not to react as though it were something extraordinary, but internally she wanted to start weeping. Being comfortable enough to train with Azriel again was such a big step from where he’d been at the start of the week. Her heart sung with pride for her mate, at both his progress and the way he was letting himself be vulnerable with that question.

And if Azriel was surprised by the invitation, he would not allow himself to show it. No, keen, discerning Azriel, who Feyre had often caught glancing at Rhys with an unnamed darkness, almost like guilt, in his eyes, would never say a thing. He only offered the ghost of a smile—which Feyre suspected was closer to relief than she or Rhys would ever know—and shrugged indifferently as he threw Rhys one of the swords strapped to his back.

They took to the ring in twin flashes of shadow and metal. Even with Rhys so out of practice, it was a wonder to watch him spar with another Illyrian. Their swift, thunderous movements were so quick they might not have been discernable to a human eye. The clash of their blades sung through the otherwise quiet mountain range, and she might have wondered if the sound of thunder that used to startle her as a child had just been the sound of Illyrians sparring across the wall.

And Rhys—Rhys looked exhausted trying to keep up with Azriel but his eyes were shining with something like clarity. Like liberation.

That light in her mate’s eyes lingered even after he walked away, bruised and limping and grinning like a feral child. It lasted even after he took his eyes away from her. His hands weren’t shaking when they changed out of their leathers for lunch, and they stayed steady as he stood behind her at the vanity to help unbraid her hair.

She was so encouraged by his mood that it gave her enough courage to finally ask him.

“Let’s go out tonight.” She snuck a weary glance at him through the reflective surface.

Rhys looked considerate where she found his eyes in the mirror, but she could read the hesitance on his lips before any words came.

“I’ll put on a pretty dress and we can go dancing,” she cajoled, sending a mental image down the bond of exactly which dress she intended to wear. A flowing, knee-length gown threaded from the softest midnight. “You can show off your pretty wife to everyone.”

He laughed in a way that said he already knew he would give in. “I do love showing the world how beautiful my High Lady is.”

“We’ll get dinner,” she murmured, angling her head back so she could press a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw. “We can go to Sevenda’s, or anywhere else you want. You can show me all your favorite places in the city.”

“You’ve already been to all of them,” he said.

“Not as your wife.” He looked to her, seemingly surprised. “Not as your High Lady—the first time you showed me the city, I wasn’t even certain I liked you.”

“I see very little has changed then,” he said, eyes crinkling with laughter as he caught the hand Feyre playfully threw at him, entwining their fingers. “Yes. Let’s go out tonight. I’ll dance you off those pretty little feet showing the world how lucky I am.”

⟡⟡⟡

Velaris was a sight to behold in the vibrant Autumn, painting the city in warm tones of orange and red, bright and colorful even in the moonlight. The air had enough bite that Feyre had shivered as it touched her bare arms, but before she could conjure even a drop of magic to warm herself, or consider going back to the townhouse for a coat, Rhys had slung his black jacket over her shoulders.

She looked at him in bemusement. “I have fire magic, you know.”

Though, Feyre’s complaints fell silent when she caught sight of the fine shirt that he wore, black and trimmed with the same silver flecks that danced in his eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms and just the slightest hint of his tattoos beneath the fabric.

“But you look so good in my clothes,” he cooed, eyes trailing over her with affection and something else, something more primal, like the male satisfaction of seeing his mate in his clothes, surrounded by his scent. She could admit, it sent that same ancient sense of rightness, of belonging, through her own veins.

Feyre felt heated under his stare, even as the rest of the Inner Circle—Cassian and Mor, in particular—began making gagging noises. They’d decided to join them on their night out, even Cassian taking a break from his station in the mortal realms. Fetched, she was certain, by Azriel. She was curious to ask after Nesta, to see how she and the general were getting on after their time together. But Cassian had slung his arm around Rhys and had looked so excited that his brother was willing to have a night out that Feyre decided tonight wasn’t the time for matchmaking.

Feyre fell into step with Mor, the two of them sharing a look of understanding as the three Illyrians pushed and prodded one another, finding any number of excuses to affectionately touch their High Lord. Cassian eventually gave up on pretense all together and simply threw his arm around Rhysand’s shoulders as they walked. She was certain that after being separated for 50 years, they’d be reluctant to ever turn away the opportunity to have a night out with Rhysand. Especially with war looming on the horizon, a war that he could potentially die in if they didn’t find a way around it.

No one dared speak of such things, however. It was a night of celebration, for their High Lord returned, for their city safe, for the world they could start anew. And, above all, it was a night to remind Rhysand what he had to hold onto. That what he’d sacrificed all those years was worth something, and that no one in Velaris thought him a villain for it.

They were enveloped in the thrumming life of the streets. Every shop was open, musicians played in the squares, the Palaces were packed with shoppers and performers, High Fae and lesser faeries blended in the crowd as though they were no different than each other, no different than the High Rulers that walked among them. Not a single person stopped to gawk, or stare, though any that met Rhysand or Feyre’s eyes directly offered a smile, a respectful bow of the head.

Their group was unhurried, soaking in the moonlight as they walked along the Sidra, the water so smooth that it reflected the stars that shone above them, so that they lived and walked and breathed between the light of the night sky. Her mate observed it all with wide eyes and deep breaths, as though he’d forgotten what it was like. As though he were winded by the beauty and majesty of the city he’d so long been parted from.

His lifeblood flowed in the river they walked over as they crossed the wide marble bridge. For a moment, he stopped, looked towards the still water. Feyre paused with him, following his empty eyes over the water’s surface, unsure where his mind had gone, yet not willing to stroke against his mind to ask him. Perhaps this moment was something he needed to himself.

“I never thought I’d see it again,” he admitted, voice rough. “I dreamt about it almost every night.”

It seemed as if he had more to say, but when his mouth opened, no words came out. Feyre could never begin to imagine what it was like, to long for something for so many years, to find it before him unchanged when inside him so much had. Up ahead, their friends stopped walking, noticing that Rhys and Feyre had fallen behind.

Rhysand took a heavy breath, as though taking in the scent of the freshwater below, or the hint of jasmine where it grew along the banks. Carried on the breeze was the smell of roasted meats and spices from the restaurants they were approaching. He turned to Feyre, eyes brimmed with silver as he looked at her, then over her shoulder to the friends who waited patiently, speaking loudly over each other about which shops and clubs they should go to first. Pretending, they both knew, that they weren't secretly paying attention to Rhysand’s anguish.

“This is all here because of you,” Feyre whispered, uncertain if it was the right thing to say. Uncertain what he needed to hear at that moment. “You kept everyone here safe.”

That earned a slow nod as he blinked back his tears, then a half smile of gratitude as he rejoined her side and slipped his fingers into hers, raising their joined hands to his lips so that he could press kisses to her fingers. His eyes were still red-rimmed as they fell into step with the rest of the Inner Circle, but they said nothing of it.

The other side of the city was even more crowded, the passing patrons donned in finery that could only be fit for the theaters they passed. Music spilled from the cafes and shops, blending with the clamor of silverware and plates, the scrapes of chairs, the shouts of vendors. Everywhere Feyre looked, the liveliness of the city answered. Could Rhys feel it, too? The magic of life that surrounded them? That he’d singlehandedly preserved?

Some people came up to greet them. Not as many as before. There was a lingering wariness that had not been there the first time Feyre had been shown the city. Not fear, she thought, but hesitance, uncertainty towards how 49 years of enslavement might have affected the High Lord they’d once known.

But every brave soul who came to greet them, to welcome Rhysand back, was received with warmth and kindness. Rhys was eager to introduce them to their new High Lady, which was always met with a measure of awe that rendered Feyre bashful.

Eventually they found themselves at Sevenda’s, who had no reservations about drawing Rhysand in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She had tears in her eyes when she pulled away. “I am so grateful to have you back, High Lord.” The emotion in her voice caused Feyre to fight back her own share of tears. “And it’s a pleasure to have the High Lady here as well,” she added, bowing her head respectfully towards Feyre.

Rhys squeezed her hand tightly, though she was not sure if it was to comfort or to borrow strength. She let her love flow towards him down the bond. Paired with the teary smiles of their family, the loving clasps of his brothers’ hands against his shoulders, Feyre was confident Rhys knew he was not facing this moment on his own.

“Thank you, Sevenda,” he said, voice thick.

That seemed to kick in her maternal instincts, for Sevenda leaned over and pinched his cheek affectionately. “I’ll cook anything you want, Rhys. On the house.”

With a bashful smile and red-rimmed eyes, Rhys answered, “I haven’t had food as nice as yours in half a century. I’ll gladly eat anything you see fit to make me.”

Feyre’s heart squeezed at that. She didn’t know how well Rhys ate Under the Mountain. If the hot meals that arrived in her cell, courtesy of him, were anything to go by, the food at least hadn’t been rancid. But he’d clearly lost weight in his time there—something she could see that their friends were also noting, eyes gone dark as they swept over their High Lord. Even Amren’s unnerving eyes were filled with something like remorse.

He pretended not to notice—though she knew he did. Sevenda ushered them towards a large table and hurried into the kitchen. No sooner had Mor poured them each a glass of wine than trays upon trays of food were brought to their table.

The smell hit her first—rich and savory and spicy. The food in Velaris was special, the kind that filled the soul as much as it did the stomach.

And as Rhys ate, Feyre thought his expression belonged almost to someone just waking up. Seeing the world again for the first time, what it had to offer. Indulging in a meal, cooked with love and passion, wine and conversation and laughter flowing readily between friends. Cassian saying something outlandish enough to cause Mor to chuck a dinner roll at him. Azriel catching it in the air before it could knock over a wine glass. Amren shaking her head and muttering under her breath about how poorly behaved they were all being while she sipped her spiced blood.

All so simple, so normal, and yet it was a miracle that it was even happening.

Sevenda came around once more. “Is the food to your liking?”

Rhysand’s eyes were soft and contemplative. “It’s even better than I remembered,” he answered wistfully. “I’d never forgotten for a moment how much I enjoy your cooking, and even with how often I thought about it in my years away, it defied all expectations. Thank you, sincerely, Sevenda.”

She looked for a moment as though she wasn’t certain how to react to his praise, before she beamed and bowed her head low to him. That happiness, that pride and satisfaction in her hard work, practically glowed on her face and Rhys looked so awed that Feyre worried he might start crying right there.

But he didn’t. He merely paid Sevenda generously, though she insisted otherwise, and walked quietly with their friends to Rita’s. Feyre put her hand on his wrist right before they went inside, waving the others ahead.

“Do you think it will be too much?” she asked, gently. “The crowds of people? It will be loud and crammed in there.”

It was the kind of thing Feyre felt she needed to avoid for months after coming out from Under the Mountain. So soon after their entrapment, the thought of going into the club made even her skin itch with discomfort.

“I promised to dance your feet off,” Rhys said wryly.

Not a direct answer to her question, but answer enough.

She smiled. “Come with me,” she said. And then she dragged him through the streets, searching the squares until she found a group of musicians playing string instruments with such passion that it bordered on benediction. Rhys watched her curiously as Feyre stretched her hand towards his.

“Well? Are you going to dance me off my feet?”

His laugh was soft, stuck somewhere between melancholy and wonder. “In that dress, how could I resist?”

Those violet eyes shone with an affection that humans could waste their whole lives in pursuit of. When Rhys looked at her like that, it always struck her just how deeply she was loved. She only hoped he saw the same in her eyes as he took her hand and spun her into his arms. At the very least, she knew he could feel it through the bond, which glowed between them as lovely as the stars above

I’ve wanted to dance with you like this from the very first moment I laid eyes on you, he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers as they swayed together, slowly, to the soft and honeyed music. I’m grateful to finally have the opportunity.

Patrons still roamed to and fro over the streets, passing by their High Lord and Lady as though the sight of them dancing was a common occurrence. Feyre was too caught up in Rhysand’s expression to pay them much notice, and Rhys looked as though he was hardly aware of anything outside of his wife.

“Feyre,” he whispered.

The music swelled, layered with a beauty and joy that reminded Feyre of a lonely girl in a cell, and the gift that had kept her from shattering completely.

“Thank you.”

She blinked, looking at her mate curiously. “For what?”

“For reminding me that… for all that she tried, she wasn’t able to take a single damn thing away from me. Not my family. Not my people. Not this city. And not my mate.”

Feyre could have wept at that. She cupped his face in her hands as they swayed. “And it was you, Rhys, who kept all of us safe. You didn’t let her take us from you. That bitch lost. We beat her, and she can never touch us ever again.”

Not for the first time that night, Rhys looked choked up. But when they returned home hours later, she thought the tension in his shoulders was just a little bit looser, his smile just a little more sincere. And when they went to bed, Rhys slept through the night and did not wake once.

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#a court of faded dreams

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swagbookmaster · 2 years

Text

Sorry for the tremendous delay :(

I gave it a shot!!! Thank you for sending this prompt, I hope you really like it :)

G rated, ≈ 1.6k words

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Lucien was not pacing.

Pacing meant nervousness, anxiety, and the stress-induced sort of nail-biting reserved for faelings who still needed tutors. Pacing meant eagerness and impatience.

No, he most definitely was not pacing.

Lucien was a High Lord’s son. Composed, he thought to his image in the mirror. Centered and understanding. An Emissary, a successful Treaty maker. The pacing was for brutish, unfeeling males who coerced faes into mating bonds they had no obligation to accept and did not respect the needs of the most stunningly important females in his life.

He knew how valorous Elain’s seer studies were. In fact, Lucien could most definitely appreciate her favors for academia, her hard work, and her intelligence. How much she had improved in the past years regarding controlling and eventually using her powers was a prime example of the type of female she was: hard-working, smart, kind, and gifted with the sort of resilience one encounters very rarely. The type of resilience one cultivates while planting flower seeds in window boxes during winters, keeping the buds alive even against the harshest of winds. Resilience to overcome the direst of pains and still be compassionate and sweet to others, to not let the bitterness bite through. Her drive to try again even when peace and comfort were always proven to fade away.

That said, he could barely wait another second to see her.

So, his rigorous walks around his room at Sidra’s House were merely a way for him to... keep himself warm. Yes, the coming of Solstice weather was nearly reaching freezing temperatures, and moving to increase his body heat is most understandable and feasible.

The deep red oak door of his rooms opened and Feyre popped her head inside just short of looking like a floating face (and, with how inventive she’d gotten while investigating her powers, he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t the case).

“Elain’s arriving in five,” she told him, her (whole-bodied) frame coming close to rest her hand on his shoulder “You don’t need to look so constipated about it,”

“Ha,” he tried to laugh.

It won’t be as awkward as their previous encounters, he knew. Actually, part of him expected it to be… Well, he is not sure of what to expect, and yet he felt like he is about to start singing his fingers with unpremeditated fires as if he was as old as Nyx. We are friends now, he reminded himself. She can be comfortable around me now, she might even trust me, if she needed.

There’s been sometime now since Elain seemed to have gotten used to his presence. Obviously, feeling as though you are comparable to a fixture, or just another Court’s representative by your mate is as painful as it sounds, but it was one step up from complete numbness, and it paved the way for the discreet fondness he felt creeping up in every one of their interactions. Cordial and still distanced fondness, but affection-filled in its beginning.

The letters they’ve used to correspond have burned quietly in his mind, an earnest feeling which grew with every observation she gave him about Summer Court’s palace, her rooms, her exploratory boat trips into the sea. It became more and more obvious how much she wanted to share with him, and how much that amount grew every day. Through her letters, Lucien got to know a whole new Elain. Perhaps it was the distance between them, the lack of family members watching around them like birds of prey looking into the slightest of interactions to pick apart. Perhaps it’s the safety one encounters in being made to words and phrases. Whatever it was, he was most grateful for it.

It was Elain’s second trip to Adriata, and it feels impossibly different this time.

⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ ⠀ ོ

“In the living room!” he heard a voice call as soon as his foot touched the foyer floor, and his whole body stood in attention to it, the sound tuned out to control his body and if it owned it.

Lucien stepped towards the room, his hands clammy, and felt all the breath be released from his lungs in relief.

“Oh, it is really you,” Elain breathed out, brows raised as if surprised by his presence at the arched door. “I mean,- I felt it, but it’s all so new, and I- I didn’t know how accurate it is.” Her hands are pressed down on her chest as he slowly walked closer.

“How accurate is it?” he asked, still a few feet away.

“Very,” she squeaked out, flushed red.

Lucien thought to stand closer, the remainder of the brief excited hug she gave him after her first trip back from Summer Court impulsing him forward.

He forced his feet to stay where they were, his instincts roaring and screaming at him to watch her closely, hold her protectively in his arms.

Just because she hugged you once, doesn’t mean she wants to do it again.

Lucien looked at her and saw… longing, yes, but also the sort of happiness that comes from getting something you’ve been wanting for a long time.

He recognized it because it’s the same feeling mirrored in his eyes.

Hope, as much as his life tried to squash it, is as resilient as the woman he loves.

“Where’s Feyre?” Lucien heard himself ask through a fog, still winded to see her.

“Rhysand mind spoke to her. An official emergency,” she told him in a tone inflected perfectly to call her sister’s bullshit.

“When will they be back?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say,”

There’s a crack in the air, both realizing more forcefully they are truly alone in the house, with no time limit to have company again.

Lucien cleared his throat, lips suddenly parched.

“How has it been here while I was away?” She asked.

Elain looked so alive, in front of him. Her skin was just a tad darker than her customary pale complexion, her cheeks rosier from the sun. The golden hues in her hair more pronounced, as if carefully crafted by the Sun itself.

A line creased in her forehead, followed by a smirk tugging the side of her lips. He still hadn’t responded her, mind working a mile a minute. Overwhelmed by her simply standing in his vicinity.

Only when it matters, then I can’t be smooth to save a life.

“Just fine,” he managed to get out.

There’s so much more he has to say, of course.

“Just fine,” she repeated back, still smirking at him.

“Nyx learned his first curse word,” I missed you “Feyre was appropriately appalled,” Did you miss me? “Cassian made some progress with the Illyrians, I can show you some treaties I started to draft to ease their relations, if you wish” I realized so many things this past month, about us, have you?

Elain laughed, something shifted pleasantly in his ribs.

It’d be easy, even if reductive, to explain to her the obviously beautiful things about her - the slope of her waist, the sunshine in her hair, the beams of her smile, the inviting plumpness of her lips, the briefness of her eyebrows, the delicate slope of her neck and hands and all her magnificent details - made his breathing hitch in his throat because sometimes his body could do nothing more than stand witness to her beauty. But, how to make himself clear whilst not turning himself into a fool and say what tipped him over the edge, what made his side of the bond shimmer and wrap itself tightly around his heart had always been the subtle things he couldn’t help but notice, no matter how many times he convinced himself his eyes weren’t welcome on her vicinity.

How to explain that he’d fallen in love with her for the way her knees bend the fabric of her dress when she crosses her legs once she sits? Or, the rare sound of her laugh, or, even rarer, the sharp look in her eyes which shows she was aware of much more she let on. Almost a crack in the beautiful porcelain costume she had all over her body, a fragile armor, made from feeble yet insistent instincts to protect, to smooth out any bothersome wrinkles.

Lucien fell in love with the nearly imperceptible crookedness of her canines, her form while spreading bread dough at the kitchen table, the way she wipes sweat off her brows with the back of her wrists while she gardens.

Lucien fell in love with her penmanship, the dots in her i’s.

Lucien fell in love with her tender endurance, the innate stubbornness of her kindness. The nurturing nature her body seemed to thrive off.

The grandfather clock chimes three times, and Lucien felt the hopes of this reunion being amicable and not awkward puffing away, all because he couldn’t control his mind to have a conversation with her without stalling over his words.

When he blinked again, Elain was close enough to touch.

“Lucien,” she said with her eyes set in his, “Your end of the bond is open,”

There was very little time for him to burn in embarrassment and close the wide-open gates of his mind because, in the very next second, Elain wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh, Gods,” she whispers shakily against him, hands shyly grasping the fabric of his shirt.

He kept his hands below her shoulder blades when all he wanted was to weave them in her hair and feel their lightness caressing his hands, watching the stark contrast of his tan hands and the sunny quality of the strands.

(Wanted to cradle her scalp and tug ever so slightly, see if she’d shiver and sigh. If she’d flush down her dress as well).

“I didn’t know,” he whispered back, voice choppy, feeling stupid and unfit “I’m sorry for-“

Elain’s smile seemed to warm everything within a mile radius of them.

“I like it,” she admitted, “Just a bit surprised, 's all”

The beast inside him purred, pride in pleasing his female.

“There’s a lot I want to tell you too”.

“Good,” he held her a bit tighter, felt her tighten her hold on him in response.

"That's good."

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

Thank you for reading 💘💘💘

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