#A Blaze in the Dark | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-lonelybarricade · 14 days

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A Blaze in the Dark - (11/13)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

Buckle up because this chapter gets spicy 🌶

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

The ceramic vase shattering against the marble floor was a distant, far-away sound.

Elain found it reminiscent of submerging her head in a bathtub, the way she was enveloped in warmth while the details of the outside world became muted. Blurry. If she tried to focus away from the heat blooming on her skin, she could pick out an awareness of some things. Like the water spilling over the console table, seeping into her skirts and dripping over the edge, where it collected into a puddle atop the fragments of the vase below.

Her damp skirts may have been of greater concern to her, where they not presently bunched over her hips, thrown across the table as haphazardly as the bouquet of scarlet geraniums that had once occupied the space she was sitting in.

She’d handpicked those flowers with Vassa yesterday morning. They still had plenty of life in them, and she would need to scold Lucien for acting with such haste in discarding them.

Another time. Currently, she—

“Lucien!”

The gasp was involuntary, as was the arch of her spine, her body taken over by some ravenous creature that demanded to be closer, to be touching him, especially when his teeth grazed over her collarbone.

“I told you what would happen if you misbehaved,” he said, flicking his eyes to her face only briefly, just long enough to let the authority of his words linger, pressing against her as firmly as his strong body.

“I have never—” she sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth closed over her breast. Her nipples hardened beneath his lashing tongue, sending ripples of heated pleasure coursing through her. “Never— ah, misbehaved… in my life.”

That used to be the case, at least. Her governess had always asserted that Elain was the most perfect of her sisters. And by that she’d meant the most quiet, the most restrained, the most obedient.

At this, Lucien lifted his head, releasing her from his torment however briefly. Elain couldn’t help but shiver at his expression, the dark hunger within it. She held herself still, like she was standing in the line of a predator’s gaze, as he drew his lips to her ear and said in a rich, low voice, “I thought you’d know better than to lie to me, sweet wife. If you’ve never misbehaved, then tell me what you’re doing at this very second?”

He paused, waiting for her to answer. The sound of her panting filled the silence, and she wondered how he was so perfectly composed. How she didn’t hear a sound from him, despite how his mouth hovered just beside her ear.

“I’m sitting atop a table,” she said, tugging pointedly at the arm he’d looped beneath her knee, keeping her spread open before him. “Because my husband—”

“There you go again,” he chided.

She cried out, knowing what was coming even before his teeth sunk into her neck as retribution, followed by the slow drag of his tongue to soothe away the hurt. She squirmed in his hold and he made a deep, rumbling sound in the back of his throat, something similar to laughter but lazier, more taunting.

“You can be so petulant when you want to be. Where’s my good girl?”

This was a side of her husband she hadn’t been anticipating. He’d been so sweet, so gentle the first time they’d made love that she hadn’t known there could be this other side of him. The Lucien who was firmer, more demanding, but underneath always, always, loving. And when he discovered how much she enjoyed his firmer touch, well…

Lucien’s hand—the one that wasn’t holding her leg captive—raised from where he had been stroking her inner thigh, his fingers perpetually creeping just close enough to where she wanted him, but never any further.

Now, they wrapped around her throat.

“Remind me what I told you, wife.”

His lips returned to her neck as he waited, covering her skin in small nips and licks that made it extraordinarily difficult to focus on his question. Particularly when he ground his hips forward, using his clothed erection to offer her the barest amount of friction. Only to retreat when Elain pushed forward, desperate to chase the small fraction of pleasure.

Ducked against her neck, she could feel his lips pull into a smile, insufferably pleased at every twitch and huff he elicited from her. Initially she tried to restrain them, if only so he couldn’t have the satisfaction, but all that seemed to achieve was making the game more interesting to Lucien.

And now, with his fingers tightening at her throat, she knew he was growing impatient.

“We have to be quiet,” she said, repeating his earlier instruction. There was a strange thrill in the sensation of her words straining against his palm. “Otherwise someone will come down this hall and catch us.”

Lucien hummed in approval. “And wouldn’t you be mortified if someone were to catch you like this? So indecent, so eager to let your husband fuck you over a table.” He clicked his tongue, but she knew he loved seeing her like this. Knew because of the stark affection in his voice as he added, “Then everyone would know that sweet Elain Vanserra isn’t as prim and proper as she pretends.”

The shaky breath that parted her lips was one of relief. She relished knowing she could be like this with him. Bold and reckless and willing to take what she wanted, even if that risked being seen for who she was.

“I’ll be good,” she said, tilting her head back to expose more of her throat to him. Pliant, but only because she wanted to be. Docile, but only because she was in full control of who she did and did not obey. “I’ll be quiet.”

As a reward, Lucien kissed her temple and murmured against her skin, sweet as melted sugar, “Good girl.”

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut. His praise lit something deep and warm inside her. It was more than a craving. It was an addiction.

He knew its effect on her, knew how to drip each dose of it to keep her wound and wanting, willing to do anything he asked just so she might hear him whisper it again. For now, he chucked and offered her one more sweet kiss against her brow before instructing, “Stay still for me.”

That was one direction that she was never very good at following. Even as a little girl, when her governess would make each of them stand with proper posture and recite poetry, she would always be reprimanded for fidgeting with her skirts. Feyre used to accuse their governess of creating rules with the purpose of setting them up for failure.

Now, Elain wondered if her husband was just as cruel.

His hand returned between her legs, broad fingers curving in until they brushed over the arousal coating her inner thigh. Elain took a deep breath, recalling how they’d ended up here.

I have a secret, she’d said, giggling and a little bit drunk on the wine they’d shared at dinner.

Oh? One that you might trust on your husband’s ears?

She’d stopped and pulled him down an unlit hall that she knew was scarcely used, even by servants. There wasn’t a single candle lit in this direction, and the thick drapes over most of the windows were drawn, meaning that they had to fumble their way through the darkness until Elain was satisfied that no one would find them. Lucien had been patient with her, humouring it all with his soft, bemused laughter. That was until she corralled him against the wall and whispered her condemning secret into his ear.

I’m not wearing anything under my skirts.

Then all of his charming humour faded, like paint scraped from a portrait. And Elain had barely any time to prepare herself before her husband had erupted on her in a fervor of kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes that had amounted to this—

To Lucien swearing under his breath, continuing his exploration until his fingers finally, finally, sought the small bump at the apex of her thighs. He circled his thumb lazily around her clit, still not touching it as he smirked at the wetness he found, at how easily his fingers slid against her.

She whimpered, and that small noise was enough for him to withdraw. Her frustration was beginning to take on a sharper edge, the ache more persistent. More consuming. He’d been teasing her like this for what felt like hours.

“Please.”

Lucien cooed with false sympathy. “Poor thing. I’ve given you so many chances. Now you’ll have to earn it.”

“How?”

“Open your mouth.”

Familiarity tugged at the corner of her memory, but like the shattered vase and the trampled flowers, it was a far-away detail. There was only Lucien, his teasing touch and heated voice, which made her feel as though she’d swallowed something warm. That she was melting from the inside out.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, overwrought and breathless and still daring to be bold with him.

She parted her lips, holding her mouth open. She didn’t realize she was expecting his arousal-coated fingers until he leaned over and spit onto her waiting tongue.

It took her a moment to process what he’d just done. In the dim light, his eyes were the only bright thing, like the smouldering pits of a bottomless forge, glowing molten gold and copper. Elain’s heart was hammering, keeping herself perfectly still beneath his appraisal. Her mouth was still open, still presenting his spit to the open air, not quite certain what would please him.

“Hold that on your tongue until I tell you to swallow.”

She couldn’t answer him, not without disobeying his order. So she nodded instead, keeping her tongue cradled in position, trying to ignore the saliva already welling in the back of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Lucien unlaced himself from his trousers. At this point in their marriage, Elain might very well have seen her husband naked more often than she’d seen him clothed. She would have thought that their weeks of rabid love-making would have cured some of the shock of seeing him undressed. Yet, as her eyes welcomed his impressive length for the second time that day, she was immediately seized with a sharp, aching need to feel him inside her again.

Lucien closed a fist around his cock, offering her a slow, leisurely pump that was all for show. Her attention narrowed to the arousal beading at the tip of his flushed head, and there was something about staring at his cock while holding her tongue on display that made her long to taste it.

Maybe he could see the filthy imaginings behind her eyes, because Lucien looked at her and smirked. “You’re going to be good for me aren’t you, sweetheart? Going to do what I say?”

He notched himself at her entrance without waiting for a response.

She tried to restrain herself. She did. But as he pushed in, stretching her so full, she couldn’t help the small whimper that built in the back of her throat. Her head started to fall back, her eyes fluttering shut, when Lucien caught her at the chin, pulling her gaze to meet his as he thrust the rest of the way in, forcing their hips flush.

This time, there was an ounce of derision as he asked her, “You’re not going to swallow are you, Elain?”

She shook her head, panting through her nose. Drool was collecting beneath her tongue and she could feel Lucien throbbing inside her. Not moving, not giving her the friction she was desperate for.

“Show me.”

Elain stuck out her tongue, tilting her head back to prevent excess saliva from spilling over her lips. Lucien brushed his thumb to wipe away the small amount that trickled out of the corner of her mouth.

“Look at you,” he praised. “Desperate and drooling for me. You can be such a good girl when you want to be.”

He withdrew slightly, and she could feel him drag against every sensitive nerve. She anchored her nails into his shoulders, but nothing prepared her for his next thrust and the way she practically choked to keep herself from gasping, from swallowing.

Lucien grunted, “Fuck, Elain.”

There it was. The first crack in Lucien’s facade. It was only a matter of time before her husband became equally as desperate, as undone, as she was. One of her hands slipped into his hair, knowing precisely how to expedite his unravelling.

Weaving his scarlet hair between her fingers, Elain tugged with a measure of aggression equal to his own. He let out a startled noise before snapping his hips forward in response.

“My wife wants to play rough?” He asked, driving his hips forward harder, faster. The console table was beginning to wobble beneath the momentum, knocking into the wall in what would be a rather transparent announcement of what this corridor was being used for if anyone were to walk within earshot.

Elain was beyond caring, as was Lucien, who pulled her leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle of his thrusts so that his cock pierced impossibly further, demanding space in her body she wasn’t certain existed.

She screamed, thought it was gurgled by saliva, and she worried if she didn’t swallow she might very well choke. Lucien grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her neck back as he demanded again, “Open.”

She obeyed, allowing her husband to spit in her mouth a second time, the act punctuated by his brutal thrusts and his bruising grip.

“Swallow,” he said, taking mercy.

The reprieve was short lived, because the minute she opened her lips to suck in a greedy breath, Lucien’s was there, tongue pushing past her teeth to claim her mouth. He had her practically folded in half, perfectly moulded to take every inch of him. Flushed and drooling and covered in love bites, there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t marked as his.

But it was just as well, when his unkempt clothes and tousled hair and damp skin marked him as hers. The Prince and the rake and the gentle, tender husband all uniquely combined into this man who was unleashing his full self upon her, giving her everything she wanted, everything she craved.

Her whines, smothered by his mouth, rose into a fever pitch, and that was when his fingers in her hair loosened, then fell away altogether. Their lips parted, a string of saliva still connecting them, as he murmured so sweetly to her, “Come for me, Elain. My beautiful wife.”

At last, his fingers returned between her legs, rubbing at that spot she’d been desperate for from the very start. Her head fell back against the wall and he chased her, laying kisses anywhere he could find as he babbled a string of sweet, gooey nonsense. I know. I know, honey. You’re doing so well. Taking me so well. You’re so beautiful.

My love.

My Elain.

My wife.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

It always ended this way, no matter how roughly they fucked. Whenever the rhythm of his hips fractured and light burst behind her eyes, it was always to a string of I love yous. She murmured it back, between her gasping and shuddering, until his hips slowed and stopped entirely.

And then they were folded atop the console table in the corridor of their palace, mostly undressed, and kissing each other like there wasn’t a single thing else that mattered in the world.

Her head was spinning when Lucien, with what seemed a great deal of reluctance, finally pulled away. They were both panting, still gripping onto each other as they anchored back into reality. The awareness that a world existed outside of her husband came back in slow, trickling pieces.

The first thing she noticed was Lucien’s dishevelled hair. He’d worn it so nicely at dinner, with pieces braided back from his face and tied in a knot, the rest spilling over his shoulders like red ink. Now those braids were torn loose, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to smooth some of them back into place.

It was as she reached for him that she noticed candlelight gleaming off the scarlet strands—a startling revelation, when before, the corridor had been smothered in darkness. Elain’s eyes flickered to the far wall, trailing from one golden sconce to the next. She marked with awe that they were all lit. Every single candle, spitting and flickering light down the entire stretch of the hall.

She giggled at the revelation, drawing her attention to the likely culprit.

“What can I say?” Lucien offered her a roguish grin as he tucked himself back into his trousers. “My love for you is a burning flame.”

It wasn’t the first time it happened, though it’d never occurred at such a large scale. Lucien tilted his head down the length of the corridor, assessing his handiwork with what she could only amount to pride.

Elain couldn’t hide her own smile. She happened to enjoy the phenomenon—so much, in fact, that she kept a candle at their bedside that she’d barred anyone from lighting through conventional means. Her goal was to see the entire stick of wax melted by her birthday.

Her joy at the display of candlelight was fleeting, however, once she caught sight of the mess it illuminated. Beneath the table, the vase they’d knocked over was completely shattered and had sent pieces of painted pottery flying in all directions over the marble floor. She hoped the vase hadn’t been expensive and further, that it’d held no sentimental value.

Even so, most of her grief was directed towards the limp geraniums, whose once vivid petals were now crushed and wilted.

She couldn’t keep the despair from her voice. “We ruined the flowers.”

Lucien spared a glance toward the collateral of their love-making and frowned. He took her hand, raising it to his lips in apology. “I’ll set off tomorrow and get you a new bouquet,” he promised. “What’s your favourite flower?”

It was such an innocent, off-handed question.

At first, Elain’s lips curled into a smile, prepared to tease him for not remembering, before she recalled with shackling clarity that Lucien hadn’t been the last person to ask her that question. It had been her True Love, in a dream that felt like centuries ago.

In my leisure, I like to plant flowers.

Do you have a favourite?

Sweet alyssum.

Lucien, oblivious to the riptide of memory tugging her under, began the patient task of fixing her dress into a somewhat decent state.

“Is it another secret?” he teased.

The recollection was disorienting. Some part of her mind insisted on inserting her husband in the memory, when she knew it’d been someone different. She could picture his smug lips, inches from her ear and whispering so softly, And why’s that one your favourite? She could see the flash of scarlet hair, though there’d been no light. No features at all to distinguish one gentleman of her heart from another.

“I have many favourite flowers,” she said, fighting against the confusing images. She didn’t want to be remembering the dream at all; she wanted to cast her True Love and all thoughts about him permanently in the past. “It depends on which quality I’m using to assess them.”

Lucien smiled as if endeared by her answer. “What are the qualities?” He asked, pressing at her shoulder to urge her to swivel on the table, just enough so he might slip her dress back up her torso and begin lacing it.

“If I were to choose a flower for its appearance, it would be gaillardia.”

“Why’s that?”

“They remind me of you,” she said, growing shy at the admission. “Red and copper and gold. They’re one of the most vibrant flowers I’ve ever seen.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “And what about before you met me?”

“Even then.”

Elain marvelled a bit at that. As if subconsciously, she’d always felt some sort of draw to him, even before she’d known his name or his face or the colour of his eyes. That admission must have warmed him, because he paused his task to drop his head and press a lingering kiss to her shoulder.

“And your other favourites?”

“Sunflowers,” she hummed, “because they’re easy to grow, in addition to being beautiful.”

Lucien used his nose to trace the path of her shoulder, gliding up and along the crook of her neck, where he nuzzled himself closer and mused, “A bright, beautiful thing that thrives in adverse conditions? That sounds like you, sweet wife.”

A warm, wonderful feeling bubbled inside her. She leaned into his touch, wondering if this was what complete and utter happiness felt like.

“Are there any others?” He asked, offering one last, departing kiss so that he could return to his task.

“Just one,” she said, feeling less wary about it. She could reclaim the flower, make it something special to them. “Sweet alyssum. I like it for its meaning, worth beyond beauty.”

Lucien halted, the ties of her dress still lifted in his hands. “Is… is that a common flower in Carterhaugh?”

“I suppose,” she said, having never considered its abundance. “It used to grow very generously on the grounds of our manor. I used to collect the blossoms and dry them for tea. Allegedly, it’s meant to have soothing properties, though it never seemed to have much effect on my sisters’ tempers.”

He wasn’t saying anything. She waited for his response, allowing the silence to stretch beyond considerate thought, until the icy hands of anxiety began to stake their grip. Had she said something wrong? Elain glanced over her shoulder to find him staring at her, not moving an inch.

It was an effort to keep her apprehension from showing. “Is everything alright?”

Lucien shook his head as if he could physically dispel his thoughts. “Everything’s fine,” he said, though his eyes were still wide. “You reminded me of a story I’d once heard before, that’s all.”

“Oh?” She tried to turn further to face him, but he gently placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place, insistent on finishing. “Will you share it with me?”

“Another time,” he said, with an apologetic kiss along her spine. “I think right now, we should focus on making ourselves presentable and cleaning up this mess.”

His voice held a tightness that told her he was hiding something. That whatever he’d recalled had set him off balance. Curiosity burned at her. Enough that she almost pressed, prepared to accuse him of still keeping secrets. But she thought of his scars, recalling the weight of the memories that plagued him, and decided to hold her tongue.

She knew her husband loved her, and she trusted him enough to offer him the freedom to process his thoughts. He would reveal the truth to her in his own time. When he was ready for it.

Elain went to sleep that night in the large circular room in the corner tower of the East Wing. Lucien’s bedroom, or so it used to be. Now it was hers, too, and she cherished the intimacy of sharing a bedroom with her husband.

Whatever bothered Lucien had disappeared by the time they made it to their bedroom, and hadn’t prevented him from continuing his nightly tradition of laying her out on the bed, kissing his way down her stomach, and burying his face between her legs.

Beneath his slow tongue, her body became the strangest combination of weightless and heavy. Taught and loose. Lapping back and forth between the shores of pleasure and slumber until she settled somewhere in the middle, capable of only soft, contented sighs and drifting thoughts.

You’re so sweet like this, she heard him murmur to her, his voice just slightly louder than the fire popping and crackling in their hearth. My sweet Elain. My sweet wife.

My sweet soul.

That one couldn’t have been right. Must have been a figment of her dozing mind, blending reality with memory until she was delivered into the depths of a warm, caressing darkness.

When she next opened her eyes, she was startled to find that the space beside her was empty. Where she’d fallen asleep in the arms of her husband, she now sat up in her bed alone, his side vacant and cold, as if he’d never been there to begin with. Elain was prepared to light a candle and search for him when a voice drifted through the dark.

“Hello?”

Lucien? She thought. She nearly called to him, his name shaping her tongue before other oddities crept into her awareness.

The bed. The bedding wasn’t right. Lucien liked to sleep with the window open, inviting the biting autumn into their chamber, and when she’d complained about the cold, he compromised by piling their bed with fur-lined coverlets and thick blankets. They were nowhere to be found on this bed, nor were they necessary given the breeze circulating the room that was too light, too warm, to belong to the Eastern Kingdom.

She was not in the bed she’d fallen asleep in. She was not awake at all.

“Is that you?” Elain called. After all this time, she still didn’t have a name for him. “My True Love?”

A floorboard creaked beneath his weight.

“It’s me,” he said.

It was a relief, perhaps, that Lucien hadn’t abandoned her in the middle of the night. But one that was short-lived, given that she was alone with another man. In a dark, intimate space. Naked, just as she’d been when she’d fallen asleep in her husband’s arms. The room was completely dark, devoid even of moonlight, and still she scrambled for a sheet to cover herself.

It felt like a betrayal of Lucien to be here, but she wasn’t certain how to leave. This was the first time her True Love had been the one to summon her to their dreamland. She was wary of why he would choose to do so now, when they hadn’t communicated since the day they were to meet in Carterhaugh Gardens. Nesta’s note said he hadn’t shown up, and Elain was so preoccupied by her relationship with Lucien that she hadn’t properly considered why.

Why insist on meeting, why send her the coin to do so, if he wasn’t going to be there? Did he know that she hadn’t been there either? Given his absence, she’d assumed that they’d parted ways mutually, though she supposed there hadn’t been any proper closure. No heartfelt goodbyes, no explanations for what had gone wrong.

“You didn’t meet me in Carterhaugh,” he said. There was no accusation, only simple curiosity as he asked, “Why?”

His question surprised her. How would he know if he hadn’t been there either? It was a test, perhaps.

“I was there,” she protested, recalling Nesta’s letter. “I waited at the labyrinth’s center as long as I could. I did not see any man with a rose behind his ear.”

Her assertion was met with a moment of stunned silence.

Then he said, “Impossible. I was there from the moment the sun rose and a good while after it set.”

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Nesta would have seen him. Would have assessed every man in the center of the maze, and would have told her the truth if he’d been there. Wouldn’t she? Elain wasn’t certain who to believe. She’d never known her sister to lie, not about something like this.

“You must have had your head turned,” she rationalized. “And the flower escaped my notice.”

Had Nesta not looked properly? Had she gone at all? Elain couldn’t make sense of it, though she told herself that regardless, it didn’t matter. She didn’t need to know who her True Love was. She was happily, blissfully married.

“My mistake, then, to rely on your scrutiny. Were there too many men in the labyrinth’s center to pay each a thorough assessment?”

He couldn’t see it, but Elain crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t care for your tone.”

“Answer me truthfully, then. Did you come to meet me that day in Carterhaugh?”

Elain didn’t see a reason to keep the truth from him. “I sent someone on my behalf. And they told me that no man suited your description.”

“I see.”

Without being able to gauge his expression, she couldn’t determine if he was angry with her. His voice revealed no emotion at all, though she imagined that she would be frustrated in his place. From his perspective, he believed that she was in a loveless marriage. That she was miserable and was too much of a coward to pursue their life together.

Though it was all built on a lie, she began to feel defensive. Of Lucien, of her life with him, of her reasons for staying. “It is easy for you to cast judgment when there was no risk for you. You demanded an impossible task—it would have been a two day journey to meet you, an absence my husband would certainly have noticed.”

“And tell me of your husband.”

“What of him?”

“I was going to help you flee him,” he reminded her. There was an edge to his voice. “I didn’t consider it an impossible task because I believed his notice of your absence would be inevitable once we ran away together. Unless you were planning to go back? Has your desire to escape your marriage changed?”

This was it. This was the moment to tell him, to end things between them for good. She swallowed back her guilt, knowing that any resulting heartbreak would be her burden to carry. She’d been the one to place the first butterfly under tongue, despite knowing that they would always end up here. Saying their goodbyes.

Her True Love deserved a happy ending, and she wished she could give that to him. But her heart belonged to Lucien. She suspected it always would.

“My husband is not the man I thought him to be,” she said. “He is good—kind.”

“There are plenty of good and kind men that do not treat their wives as well as they deserve.”

Even in her dreams, even from someone who did not know Lucien, she would not tolerate such accusations. “He treats me better than anyone I know.”

Her True Love paused, like he was inclined to argue, but instead asked, “Are you happy with him?”

Elain didn’t waver, didn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Yes.”

It was the honest, simple truth.

She was met with further silence as her True Love processed this answer, what it meant for him. For them.

“Then consider this our last meeting,” he said cordially. “I will not disrupt your marriage any further. I truly wish you happiness, lady.”

To his credit, he sounded sincere. And she thought he must be a very decent man. One who could perhaps learn to find happiness in his circumstances the same way she had.

“Wait,” she called to him.

He paused. Curious. “Yes?”

“Your wife… Do you think you could find happiness with her? I feel a kinship to her,” she admitted, pressing her hand to her chest. “I hope she can find happiness in her marriage as well.”

Her True Love laughed, and there was a warmth to it, an affection, that swelled her heart. “My wife is extraordinary. I promise I will endeavour to make her happy.”

That brought her more peace than she could have hoped for.

“Then perhaps we were not meant to find each other in this lifetime,” she said. “Perhaps the Mother willed our lives to walk in parallel. I hope we can each find fulfillment on our separate paths.”

There was an ounce of whimsy in his response, his tone a touch too knowing as he said, “Perhaps one day our paths will converge outside our dreams. I’ll be looking forward to it until then, my sweet soul.”

When Elain next opened her eyes, it was to one eye of russet and another of metal. Lucien was watching her sleep, a soft smile parting his lips. The kind that was rare to see from him. Not sarcastic or smug or self-satisfied, just… happy.

A low humming noise rumbled in his throat. “Good morning, wife.”

He leaned down to kiss her, slow and unhurried, like the steady creep of fog drifting just outside their open window. The air was fresh with dew, but too chilly to coax her from the warmth of her husband’s body and the pile of blankets.

He asked between a trail of kisses along her neck, “Did you have a nice dream?”

For a moment, she panicked. Did she tell him? Would he understand? The last thing Elain wanted was for her husband to lock himself in his study to try and track down her True Love. It was over. There was no need to plague his mind with it.

“I… I don’t remember it.” She said, shuffling closer to press her face into his chest, hoping to distract him from the lie by dragging her lips across his throat. “Did you? Have a nice dream?”

“I did.” His fingers lovingly traced the shape of her spine, and he was still wearing that beautiful, unrestrained smile. “I dreamt of you.”

If only Elain could have been so lucky.

“Couldn’t have been so nice, then,” she teased, nipping at his neck.

He made another of those rich, throaty noises that she only seemed capable of eliciting in the mornings.

“You’re mistaken. There is no dream lovelier. Though I doubt any could compare to this.”

“To what?”

Lucien placed both hands on her hips and heaved her up so that she was practically lying atop him. His eyes were so rich with affection she almost couldn’t stand to be the sole focus of it, could feel her face heating as though she were standing directly in the sun’s path.

“Waking up to the sight of you.”

He pushed one of her curls behind her ear, studying her face like he was memorizing every detail. Elain was beginning to suspect an ulterior motive.

“You’re being rather complimentary, husband.” She trailed her fingers suggestively over the planes of his chest. “Is there something you’re after?”

“A good many things, Elain.”

Lucien kissed her, and she could feel him harden against her stomach. It was a pattern she’d noticed before, and this time she couldn’t contain her curiosity. She retreated from their kiss in favour of pulling up the blankets to glance down their bodies, admiring the thick appendage that was already swelling to attention.

“Does it always do that in the morning?”

He chuckled. “It will do that so long as you are naked in bed with me.”

Elain continued to stare, feeling her mouth grow dry as she realized she had a great many curiosities when it came to her husband and his body. “That thing you do with your mouth,” she said, recalling the way he’d licked her just before they’d fallen asleep. “Does the equivalent feel nice for you?”

From the way his cock twitched in response to her question, she thought Lucien might have found the idea appealing. Even as he said, “It’s not necessary for child making.”

She glanced at him flatly. “That’s not what I asked.”

When he didn’t say anything further, Elain elected to take matters into her own hand. She shuffled down his body, reaching until her palm wrapped around his length.

“Fuck,” he bit out as she pumped her fist experimentally, the same way she’d seen him do it. “Yes, Elain. It feels nice for me, too.”

“Then show me—”

“You don’t have to.”

Elain ignored his protest and shuffled the rest of the way down his body, until she was crouched between his legs. “I want to be a good wife.”

“You are already a good wife.” His voice was becoming strained, particularly as she leaned over his cock and tentatively swiped her tongue over his head. “You’re—fuck. The best wife.”

“Then I don’t want you to ever forget it,” she crooned, repeating the small licking motion over the bead of moisture gathered at his tip. It was saltier and slightly more bitter than she expected, but the way Lucien shuddered warmed her blood. She kept the rest of him in her fist, continuing to move her hand up and down the length of his shaft. “Like this?”

“Elain—”

She giggled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His cock was pleasantly warm to the touch. Softer than she’d expect—not so different from silk, the way she could slide her palm against him with so little resistance. She wanted to know what it would feel like to take him in her mouth. What he would taste like.

“Cauldron,” he groaned.

Elain flicked her eyes up to see Lucien was watching, his eyes half-lidded and still utterly fixed on what she was doing as she slowly opened her mouth and slid his head between her lips. She swirled her tongue around him, marvelling at the taste, the sounds she was coaxing from him, how his hand speared into her hair and tugged.

“Stop—Stop, sweetheart, please. You’re going to make me come.”

Elain pulled her head up, but didn’t stop working him with her hand as she asked, “And that’s a bad thing?”

“If you want a child, it’d be a waste for it to go in your mouth,” he said candidly. His eyes were glazed, and he seemed to hesitate before adding, “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing myself all over your lips.”

Oh? Elain grinned, then lowered her mouth back down, taking in as much of him as she could manage. He was enormous, and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to fit all of him in her mouth, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind. His head had fallen back into the pillows, his lips parted open in pleasure. She hummed, delighted to see he was enjoying himself, and nearly gagged when his hips bucked in response.

“Fuck. Sorry.”

Lucien’s voice was ordinarily decadent. Rich and low and a little bit raspy. In the mornings that raspiness became thicker, more raw. And when he was like this, still half asleep and drunk with desire, it became the most exquisite sound she’d ever heard.

She hummed again to see if she could elicit the same response. It was exhilarating to be able to drive him senseless for a change, to watch the way he came apart as she hallowed her cheeks and continued bobbing her head. He was able to manage only a few more passes before his fingers tightened in her hair. His hips jerked forward, and a low guttural noise was all the warning she was given before he spilled into her mouth.

Elain waited until his body stopped shuddering before she swallowed and gently pulled away. She met his eyes as she sat up, swiping his spend from her bottom lip and sucking it from her thumb with a flourish. He made an odd sound in the back of his throat.

She sang, “Looks like you’ll have to make it up to me another time.”

Lucien shook his head. “Now,” he said, reaching for her. Elain yelped as she was dropped back atop his chest, and he was pulling her down to kiss her again and again, paying no mind to the taste of himself. He grunted, “I’ll make it up to you now.”

She believed that he would have made good on that promise if there hadn’t been a knock on the door.

“We’ll take our breakfast later,” he called.

The knock came again, more insistent. This time, followed by Vassa’s voice.

“Your Highness, I’ve received an urgent notice from the guards at the gatehouse. They say that King Beron is on his way. He’ll be arriving in a matter of minutes.”

#A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #ABITD

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the-lonelybarricade · 5 months

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A Blaze in the Dark - (10/12)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

All my love to @itsthedoodle for beta-ing this when my anxieties were running amuck, I appreciate you! And also shout out to the angst eding anon for being so nice, I hope you enjoy!!

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

An open doorway stood between Elain and Lucien.

One glimpse at her husband’s expression and Elain’s memory was cast somewhere far away. Her mother had once warned that a doorway should always be approached with great caution. She spoke of curses upon thresholds—woven nets of magic that could trap the thoughts and memories of anyone who walked through, if not careful.

But at the Archeron manor, magic was not a concern. When Lady Archeron advised her daughters to always brace themselves before passing through a doorway, it was not because she believed their memories would become trapped. But rather because she wanted her daughters to learn to use the concept as a tool. To act as if a curse had been enacted in every doorway, they crossed and to use that small, ingrained warning to remind themselves that any unladylike behavior should be stripped away before crossing the unseen barrier.

A doorway, she said, was always an opportunity for transition.

Elain recalled sitting on a plush stool in the powder room of the Archeron manor, quiet as she observed her mother pressing a cold spoon to her puffy eyes. She must have swiped it from the dining room after she had excused herself. Elain hadn’t heard what was said over the chatter and clinking silverware, but the unusual tightness in her mother’s expression had compelled Elain to follow.

It was the first time she’d seen her mother cry.

She met Elain’s curious gaze in the vanity and sighed. “Now remember, Elain. We came into this room because we were feeling overwhelmed—and ladies mustn’t look overwhelmed where others can see us.”

Elain nodded because her mother had put on the voice she used when she was imparting wisdom. The spoon clattered against the table as her mother set it down and practiced a smile in the mirror. Elain practiced one, too, despite the odd tightness in her chest.

“When we go back through that door, Elain, we leave our overwhelmed feelings in this room, understood? We let it take the unpleasant memory. And we pretend we’re thespians, putting on our masks to play our part.”

This was a trick Elain had already discovered. She nodded, showing her mother her best impression of a lady’s mask—chin tilted, shoulder blades pinched, smile primed. Her mother strained a hum of approval before returning to fixing her own mask. It was perhaps the first time Elain fully grasped that what stepped out of a doorway was not always the same as what initially stepped inside.

Now, Lucien was staring at Elain from the doorway to the bathing room. And she had the sense that something had changed. Been left behind and filtered through that invisible net.

He offered her a lazy smile, wet cloth in his hand as he’d promised.

And yet she found herself sitting up. Asking, “What’s wrong?”

Lucien crossed the room in long, casual strides. “Nothing at all,” he said.

He pressed the cloth into her palm before turning his back politely. As if it wasn’t his own release she was wiping from her thighs.

“If you don’t want to stay the night…”

Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

What reason did he have to stay, anyhow? She had asked for help in making a child, and he had done just that. She had been the one to hint that he should stay, and like the gentleman he was, he’d spared her the embarrassment of rejection.

They had separate bedrooms for a reason. They’d agreed to a platonic marriage for a reason.

Once again, Lucien was making his feelings and intentions perfectly clear and she was choosing to complicate the matter with affections he did not ask for. And if she thought there had been something more to his tender touches and gentle words, that could only be blamed on her own hopeful misinterpretations. He was a kind man. Of course he would ensure the experience had been pleasurable, exactly as Vassa had said. Any further examination would be a disservice to them both.

This had been strictly a matter of child-making, she reminded herself.

“I will stay the night,” he said. Ever dutiful.

Elain should have left it at that for her own well-being. But she could recognize his heavy swallow, how the bob in his throat took the familiar form of unspoken words. And she risked cutting herself on their jagged edges as she pilfered the debris of his silence, guessing at what he was too kind to say to her.

But I do not want to.

But do not let this be an expectation.

But I will be gone before you wake up.

She set the cloth on the bedside table with too much force. Lucien’s shoulders jerked at the wet slap, and she suppressed an apology for startling him. It would not be what she was truly saying sorry for.

“Lucien,” she started—

“Elain.”

He turned to look at her. She could see him fighting to hide it, but there was a hollowness to him that hadn’t been present before. The flame in his russet eye was guttered. The golden one was spinning as though recalibrating. Lucien touched her thigh, much shyer than the bruising grip he’d kept when his head was buried between her legs. Had all that passion, all those honeyed words, been driven solely by lust?

His voice was quiet. “I’m staying because, just this once, I’d like to know how it feels to fall asleep holding my wife. I’ll do better by you in the morning.”

Just this once. Like he was doing it as a favor.

An indignant part of Elain wanted to tell him not to bother at all, but it was outweighed by her longing. She wanted to know how it felt to fall asleep in Lucien’s arms, too. Even if it was just this once. Even if it would break her heart in the morning.

Elain leaned over to snuff the gaslamp before her expression could slip into dismay, and Lucien took that as his cue to sink down beside her and pull the blankets over their bodies. It took a moment for their weight to settle, where the snaps and pops of the hearth filled the spaces between their breaths. She was afraid of what her voice would reveal, and Lucien clearly had no words to offer that would spare her unrequited feelings. Had she made herself too obvious? Too eager?

After a moment, as though he had been waging some internal battle with himself, Lucien shuffled closer to Elain and slipped an arm around her waist. All it took was a slight tug for her back to find his warm, solid chest. He curled around her, knees pressed behind her own, face against her neck, hips flush.

“Cauldron, you’re cold,” he murmured, rubbing his palms over her arms like he could banish the chill. She supposed, with the magic heating his skin, he was doing precisely that.

“You were in the bathroom for a while,” she said.

A subtle question, which was met with crackling silence.

She could sense him calculating his response, and perhaps she was vastly overthinking things. Maybe nothing had changed at all, and the time he’d taken in the bathing room had simply left space for reality to creep back in.

“Apologies for my neglect, then.” He kissed her on the shoulder. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

His heated palm slid from her arms to her stomach, moving in slow circles. Up her abdomen, along her hips, up and around her breasts. She arched into the touch, feeling her eyelids grow heavy as she focused on the soothing sensation. How infuriating—that he could be so doting and reserved at the same time. She wanted to scream at him, but all of her temper was being quelled beneath the movement of his hand.

“Allow me to call on you during my next cycle,” she said, only mildly joking.

“Please do.”

The ease with which he offered, the sincerity in his voice… Elain could not understand him. There was amity between friends, there was fulfilling their marital obligations, and then there were the fingertips dragging against her skin with a reverence that spoke of more than simple duty.

Elain summoned the courage to speak his name, prepared to ask him for the truth of his feelings, but it clashed with the sound of her own name on his lips.

His idle strokes paused.

“You go first,” she said.

“Do you remember what you said in the carriage, that secrets are a currency?”

And like currency, they can be exchanged, traded, lended. Or stolen.

She had said it to wound him because she’d been irritated by his secret-keeping and had wanted to remind him that he was not the only one capable of seeing beyond what a person wished to reveal of themselves.

“Yes,” Elain said, wary of its relevance here, now.

“I was going to propose a trade. In the interest of knowing more about my wife. One secret from you and one secret from me.”

A very dangerous game if she did not play it correctly.

“A secret of our own choosing?”

“No,” he said carefully. “It would be too easy to choose something irrelevant. I get to ask you a question met with honesty, and you receive the same.”

Elain fought to keep her body from tensing up, knowing that with Lucien’s body pressed against hers in every way possible, he would be able to feel it. And she would betray her guilt before he could ask anything condemning.

“You can go first,” Lucien offered.

Was it better to go first? She would be able to measure the vulnerability of his answer to gauge how much she should reciprocate. But he had clearly started this game with a question in mind, one that she would not be able to return by going first. And one she could not hope to guess at.

Then there was the matter of what she should ask him. There were too many things she wanted to know. And far too many of them would give away the hope turning on a spit in her chest. Lucien began moving his palm again, unaware each touch was another laceration. She shut her eyes, ignoring what she truly wanted to ask because she couldn’t bear the truth of it.

“How did you lose your eye?”

Lucien stiffened.

Elain was instantly flooded with guilt. “I’m sorry. It is surely a painful memory—let me ask something else.”

“No, it’s okay.” His voice had taken on a solemn quality that chilled her bones, even as Lucien’s arms tightened around her. “As you can imagine, it’s not a happy story.” He cleared his throat. “Before I reached maturity, one of my brothers had an illegitimate child with a commoner woman. As a result, my father forbade us from having any relationships outside of the matches he explicitly approved. All of my brothers broke the rules—quite frequently, I might add—but I was the only one who got caught. And my father decided to make an example of me. He took my eye and left half of my face scarred so that I would be… less desirable. I can’t say if it had that effect, but it kept me in line and coaxed me down the aisle, so he got what he wanted in the end.”

Elain’s stomach knotted. Not only had Lucien been given no choice in their betrothal, but he had been punished, severely, for seeking any other match for himself. No wonder he resented her, this marriage. She winced, recalling the accusations she’d hurled at him on their wedding day.

“Lucien—”

He was quick to press his lips to her neck like he might temper her horror with gentle touches. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel any guilt. This happened well before I was betrothed to Elain Archeron. Though I hope you might forgive me that I was too stubborn to court you properly before our wedding. And that I acted in haste trying to separate our lives.”

There were no words to fully express the deep, abysmal horror caving open inside her. She only managed a weak, “When did this happen?”

“Over a year ago now. My father gifted me this palace shortly after as an apology, though I think he simply grew tired of witnessing everyone’s sympathy. It might be the closest he’s ever come to remorse.”

Elain had guessed that King Beron was cruel, but she hadn’t known the depths. She thought of the Queen’s sunken eyes and the way Lucien’s hand trembled standing before him. How Vassa kept her voice low, always cautious of listening ears. For a man whom she had never seen step foot in this home, he haunted every corner.

“He’s a monster,” she whispered.

“He is.”

And this was their King. Her father-in-law, the man who would grandfather any of their future children. Elain pressed a hand to her stomach, contemplating if her desire to be a mother was worth one day exposing their child to Beron Vanserra. The thought of him holding their baby, knowing what cruelties he’d exacted on his own son…

Lucien’s hand fell over Elain’s, intertwining their fingers. “I am doing what I can to keep him away from you. Once tensions settle in the North, he’ll fix his interest elsewhere.”

“And if they don’t?” She struggled to stay her rising panic. “If Rhodes and the Eastern Kingdom go to war?”

“Then I pray my father will see no further use for you and Nesta as pawns. And that he’ll leave you in peace while I go off to fight.”

Then, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t become his hostage. Especially with Lucien gone, sent away to lead some war camp on the other side of the Kingdom. Would she ever see him again if that happened?

Lucien added soothingly, “Eris is convinced this conflict will resolve without war.”

She thought of his eldest brother’s cutting gaze, so similar in nature to Nesta’s icy stare. But where Nesta was all cold temper, borne from feeling too much, there was an underlying ruthlessness to Eris that caused Elain to suspect he felt very little for very few.

“And you trust Eris?”

Lucien huffed, not quite a laugh. “I trust that Eris will act in his own best interest. This war will serve nothing but Beron’s pride.”

“I hope you’re right.”

His voice was little more than a whisper. “I hope I’m right, too. And if I’m wrong, I’ll find a way to get you out. Maybe back to Carterhaugh or—somewhere else.”

Fleeing the Kingdom while Lucien stayed behind to fight a war? As the Lady of the estate, it would be disgraceful, even if she risked becoming a hostage in the dispute. But the way Lucien’s voice wavered gave her pause.

“Where else were you thinking?”

Lucien was quiet for a long minute. Then he said, “Before I left on my trip, you asked me what I would do if your True Love demanded I give you to him. I asked if you would want to go, and you didn’t give me an answer.”

“I-Is that—” Elain, tripping over her tongue, stopped for a moment to compose herself. She forced her voice not to wobble despite how the thundering in her chest tried to shake her. “Is that the secret you want in exchange?”

“No,” Lucien said, too quickly. Like he couldn’t bear the answer. “No, it’s just—It occurred to me that there is a true love somewhere, searching for you. And if everything here went to shit, I could take you to him and trust that he would look after you. He could give my wife a chance at happiness where I have failed.”

She twisted to face him. It was dim in the bedroom, but the hearth cast enough light to see his face. His cheeks, smooth and scarred and dusted with dark freckles. She raised her hands, drawing the backs of her fingers along both cheekbones. Those beautiful eyes watched her beneath pinched, wary brows. Her fingers curled beneath his strong jaw, and she rose to kiss each side of his face.

A pleased, startled noise kindled in the back of Lucien’s throat.

Elain held his gaze, saying with every ounce of her conviction, “You have not failed, Lucien.”

She could see him fighting the urge to add yet. He had not failed her yet. Elain didn’t want to press him on what he feared this conflict would bring, why he felt it would be necessary to smuggle her out of the Kingdom if war truly did break on the horizon.

Forcing lightness into her voice, Elain teased, “And how do you know that you aren’t my True Love? You could be delivering me to yourself, for all you know.”

But she knew. And she was a wretch for pretending she didn’t, but it was a nice thought. Lucien and her True Love, the same person. It would spare her the guilt of betraying her husband before their wedding while painting him as some callous monster.

Elain brushed her thumb over the pulse in Lucien’s neck, faint with a rhythm so familiar she could have sworn she’d listened to it all her life. As if all along, they’d been tied together by a thread that spanned the ever-changing distance between them. And their hearts were the expert musicians, plucking a song that could only be heard on the other end, through Autumn and Spring and the vast stone walls of the Archeron manor. She’d heard his song even before she’d had any awareness of him. She could hear it now.

And she knew what her heart, swelling in answer, was telling her, even if magic—if fate—said differently. Her heart beat more surely than a butterfly’s wing, anyway.

Lucien’s voice was strained. “I doubt the Mother would look upon me so favorably. I’ve done nothing to deserve a wife as lovely as you.”

“Nor I a husband so insufferable,” she said, hoping to draw out his smile.

His lips twitched. The world’s smallest victory. He leaned forward to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. “Sleep, wife, and I’ll endeavor to be less insufferable tomorrow.”

“But you didn’t ask me for a secret in exchange.”

“Another time,” he said, shutting his eyes decidedly. But he didn’t withdraw.

His lips were still pressed to her forehead when his breathing leveled out. And Elain, content in knowing he wouldn’t be sneaking away once she was asleep, allowed the warm darkness to slowly overtake her.

Falling asleep in Lucien’s arms was a perilous thing.

Elain knew just this once would be an excruciating promise the next time she tried to fall asleep and there would be no warm, sturdy arms to wrap herself in. She’d expected that by morning, she would wake to cold sheets and a deserted bed, her husband long retreated back to his own side of the palace as they had agreed upon the day they were married.

She wasn’t expecting the slow waking of lips against her neck. A nose, dragging behind her ear and burying in her hair like he was trying to memorize its scent. Elain made a soft, sleep-contended noise and turned her head to bury deeper in that warmth. His laugh rumbled against her cheek. She felt his arms tighten, readjusting to curve his body around her. The hearth had died in the night, but the morning chill was somewhere far away, a concern only for the maidens who weren’t presently cocooned by their husbands.

Elain hummed, her sleep-addled brain taunting her as she thought, this is how it feels to wake in the arms of someone you love.

Lucien kissed her again, this time on the crown of her head. He must have thought he could get away with more while she was asleep because those were his fingers lovingly tracing the shape of her spine. Warm, like all of the rest of him was.

She wanted to luxuriate in this moment for eternity.

A knock on the door reminded Elain that the Mother and her Cauldron would never be so generous. With a noise that sounded decidedly like a grumble, Lucien pulled away from Elain. Cold air invaded the space he left, persistent against the protest that rose in her throat. Even as she pulled the blankets back around her, the cold stayed, an unwelcome reminder that their evening of bliss had finally ended.

And Lucien was again the husband who wanted nothing to do with his wife.

At least he was a naked husband who wanted nothing to do with his wife.

Elain peeled her eyes into the bleary morning and found that the sight of his firm, rounded backside eased some of her disappointment. Lucien had nothing to cover himself, which was ever so fortunate for her, though less fortunate for the poor servant on the other side of the door.

Lucien cracked the door just enough to peer through the slim opening, shielding the worst of his indecency.

“Clothes for you, Your Highness,” came Vassa’s response. The dry humor to her voice caused Elain to duck her face into the blankets, hiding her laughter from Lucien lest he think it was at his expense.

If he heard, he didn’t glance over his shoulder to see what had tickled Elain. He merely extended a hand to accept the clothes and nodded to the lady. “Thank you, Vassa.”

He began to shut the door, but she hovered.

“Shall I have the cooks prepare a breakfast to be served in Her Highness’s room?”

There was a question behind the question, one which carried more weight than perhaps Lucien understood: will you be staying to dine with your wife?

At this, Lucien paused. Paused as if he did understand the significance. That here, now, he’d be setting a precedent for what came after these attempts to produce an heir. He could stay, could allow them to connect their hearts just as much as their bodies.

Or he could leave. And with something so simple as passing through a doorway, the memory of all those fervent touches would be caught and tangled in that infernal net, and the evening prior, which had meant so much to Elain, would be reduced to little more than a fulfilled obligation.

The floorboards creaked beneath her weight. Elain hadn’t meant to get out of bed. In truth, she’d wanted to preserve what precious warmth remained of their night together before the phantom heat of his body became only a memory. But her body acted of its own accord, and the old wood groaned loud enough to turn Lucien’s head.

Elain had not drawn anything to cover herself. Her skin prickled in protest at the sudden exposure to cold air. She felt her nipples harden and resisted the urge to cover them up, particularly as Lucien’s gaze dipped, shameless in raking his eyes over the sight of her body in the full light of day. Was it less alluring without the flickering candlelight, the golden fire?

It didn’t appear that way.

Indeed, there was nothing covering Lucien either, and she was able to witness precisely how her naked body impacted him. And maybe, in a fair bit of turnabout, Elain let her eyes wander, too. To the swelling arousal between his legs.

No wonder she felt sore.

“Your Highness?” Vassa asked, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the door.

Elain tried not to squeak at the thought that only a plank of wood separated her friend and her fully erect husband. Lucien didn’t seem to mind or care. He was simply staring at her, not trying to hide the longing in his expression.

“Sorry,” Lucien answered distractedly, still not taking his eyes off Elain. “What did you… Was there a question, Vassa?”

“Would you like me to bring your breakfast to Her Highness’s quarters?”

From the look on his face, if he stayed, Elain had a feeling that she would be the breakfast.

After a long moment of consideration, Lucien’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said. “Bring it to my study. I’ve much to catch up on in my absence.”

There was a small pause in which Elain imagined Vassa bowing her acknowledgment. Her tone was more frigid than usual as she said, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Vassa’s footsteps retreated down the hall. Lucien shut the door.

He hovered there, forehead pressed against the wood. Like he wasn’t prepared to face the fallout of his decision, the devastation she knew was plain on her face. She wouldn’t let him. By the time he turned around, Elain had slipped on the perfect mask of a lady. She was halfway to the armoire as if all that preoccupied her mind was what clothes she might wear today. It likely wouldn’t wound him to think she was indifferent to his answer, but at least she’d be spared the embarrassment of mistaking his desire for affection.

Neither of them made an effort to chase away the silence as they dressed on their respective sides of the room.

She thought he might even leave without saying goodbye, but Lucien paused with his fingers curled around the ornate door handle. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and turned to stride across the room. Towards her. Elain froze midway through buttoning her bodice, worried now that she’d upset him in her refusal to speak. Even as he stopped in front of her, she said nothing, hesitant to guess at his motives.

He lifted his hand, and Elain stood perfectly still as it glided over her cheek, so warm in contrast to the air pressing around them that she couldn’t suppress her shiver. He stopped with his fingers captive in her hair. Even Elain’s pride couldn’t keep her chin from tilting up when he leaned down.

Nothing—not silk, or flower petals, or the whisper of a butterfly’s wings—was softer than the press of Lucien’s lips against her forehead. He lingered there, allowing her to carve the sensation into her memory. The heat of his breath brushed over the crown of her head, the fingers curling into her neck. As if his body and mind were at war, half wanting to stay and the other half desperate to go.

She imagined it must be awful to desire someone he didn’t love. How conflicted his heart must be. One eye of russet that saw her for who she was—his wife, a woman with no greater control than he, who was struggling to make the most of their situation. And one eye of gold that must surely gaze upon her and see his injustices made flesh—a woman who caused him misery, who served as a lifelong reminder that he served the will of a tyrant.

Though it was painful to love and not be loved in return, Elain thought she preferred it this way. Love had always been something she expressed outward. First, with her sisters, with what ways she could find to bring a smile to their faces. Then, with her plants, where she learned to nurture the soil until the flowerbeds bloomed. She would not know what to do if the warmth in her chest went hollow and there was none left to extend to the world around her.

And she pitied her husband. Because she sensed he had never been treated with very much love and perhaps had never truly learned how to extend or accept it. He’d believed, possibly all his life, that even his marriage was to be loveless. They were so different in that regard. Even as he pulled away without meeting her eyes, Elain let herself hope that a day would come when he wouldn’t need to leave her bedroom on such a somber note.

For now, it brought her peace to know that their marriage would not be loveless, so long as she loved him. A small part of her delighted in proving him wrong that way.

Elain stared blankly down the long dining room table.

It was longer than any table her family possessed at the Archeron manor, equipped to fit as many as two dozen guests. She tried to imagine the clinking glasses and laughter that bubbled as readily as flowing wine, but all she could see were the countless empty chairs. Had such a thing ever existed in this palace? It was clear that the ballrooms and banquet tables had been constructed with lavish parties in mind. This was a place that was designed to be filled with music and dancing. Life.

That seemed a laughable concept to Elain, who’d spent the better part of the week with only herself for company. Vassa checked in regularly with tea and cakes and idle conversation, but this was Elain’s honeymoon, and it was improper for Vassa to take up much of the time that should be spent with her husband.

Should.

“His Highness will be taking lunch in his study,” Vassa said. She did not try to hide her irritation.

Nor did Elain restrain her sigh. She had not expected differently. Lucien had taken every meal in his study for the last week. He claimed it was a consequence of being away for so long, but Elain suspected he was trying to reestablish the separate lives they’d promised to uphold. They’d started off on the wrong foot, with her fever and the exchanging letters. The lovemaking. She’d become too accustomed to their proximity.

Once your fever has passed and I have returned from my journey, I’ll see to it that this palace feels far from empty.

He’d promised that before she’d asked him for a baby. Before they’d made love. Elain thrummed her fingers against the wooden table, staring at the vacant seat her husband had occupied on the one and only occasion they’d dined together. Maybe she’d asked for too much.

“Do you know what he’s doing in there?”

Vassa shrugged. “Paperwork from the looks of it, Your Highness. And lots of reading.”

“He’s been in his study all this while?”

“I think he’s slept in there a few nights, if he’s even slept at all.”

What was he doing? Surely, his governing duties had not accumulated so significantly that they required his attention day and night.

Elain rose from her seat. “Tell the cooks not to fuss. My appetite is fragile this morning, and I’d much prefer to garden.”

The servants had been bemused to discover her love of gardening, but she had not met the resistance she’d encountered at the Archeron manor. Vassa merely insisted she wear a fur cape to ward off the Autumn chill, and the gardeners had been happy to supply her with the tools and seeds she needed.

The grounds of the estate were well cultivated with short grass and perfectly trimmed conical shrubs, but aside from the yellow and gold leaves decorating the forests in the distance, there was no color. Elain was determined to change that, and she’d been using this week of silence to dedicate her attention to the flowerbeds on the east side of the building.

Maybe she was hoping that Lucien would open his window and see her crouched below. And maybe within the flowerbeds, she was trying to quietly grow the courage to storm into his room and demand justification for his neglect.

An hour into gardening, Vassa appeared with a tray of tea and small finger sandwiches.

“You’re too doting,” Elain said, brushing the dirt from her hands before reaching for one of the steaming cups.

“Well, someone ought to dote on you.”

She said it loud enough that Elain glanced towards the open windows above, nervous that the words might have carried. She was certain Vassa had raised her voice intentionally.

“Thank you,” Elain said, meeting Vassa’s eyes so she could see the sincerity of her words. These days, it felt like Vassa was the only one keeping her sane. Nodding to the second cup of tea, Elain asked, “Will you be joining me for a moment?”

Vassa shook her head. “Oh, no, Lady. I thought you might be tired of my company, so I’ve brought an extra cup of tea, hoping to lure someone to join you. If not your husband, perhaps one of the handsome guards stationed by the door? I imagine one of them would be grateful for the warm tea and warmer company.”

At this, Elain laughed. “Do you think so? I found the one with auburn hair rather charming.”

“The guards have a job, you know,” came a voice from above. Both Vassa and Elain glanced up to see Lucien, forearms propped against the windowsill of his study. His hair was tied loosely off his face in a braid, exposing the full cut of his jaw. Elain was grateful for the distance between them so that he couldn’t hear her breath catch, though she still earned a raised brow from Vassa.

“And you, husband?” Elain called. “Do you not also have a job? I’ve heard it’s so demanding you have little time for anyone else these days. Yet here you are, idle at the window.”

Vassa pressed her lips together. “Speaking of jobs,” she said, “I must return to mine.”

With an apologetic—or perhaps encouraging—squeeze on the shoulder, Vassa fled back into the palace.

“My curiosity drew me away from my work,” Lucien said. “I wanted to know what my wife was up to while she spoke so discourteously about her own husband.”

Elain drew herself up and crossed her arms. “If you were listening as closely as you’re pretending, you would know I didn’t say a word against you.”

“Nor did you speak in my defense.”

“Well, a lady mustn’t lie,” she said primly. “And, in fact, it has been so long since I’ve engaged with my husband that I’ve forgotten his true nature.”

Ignoring the jab, Lucien nodded at the plants and the dirt on her hands. “What are you growing? You mustn’t forget this land rests in eternal Autumn. No spring will come to reward your efforts.”

Elain huffed. “You underestimate their tenacity. There are plenty of flowers that can bloom in Autumn.”

“Even with the chill?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Do you anticipate that beauty thrives only where it meets no resistance?”

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Having met you, sweet wife, I’ve learned that beauty may thrive under any condition.”

“Even solitude,” she said.

That dealt the killing blow to his smile. His voice took on an edge as he said, “While these flowers may survive the Autumn, surely they do so in spite of the conditions. Would they not be happier in a more fertile land, one blessed with warmth and sunshine?”

Elain looked at the flowerbeds she’d spent a week tending. She shook her head at the arrogance. “No plant is the same, husband. Which is why you must learn about them to understand what they need.” She gestured to one section of the soil, which appeared to be little more than dirt at the moment but, in time, would be bright, blooming flowers. “It’s true that flowers like these asters and dahlias prefer warm weather, and they’ll bloom here despite the conditions. But here—” she pointed— “These violas will flower because of the cooler temperatures. Put them in a warmer climate, and you will be hindering their growth.”

There was a moment’s silence in which Lucien seemed to mull over this description, weighing how much of her words held a larger meaning. “How strange that a flower would require adverse conditions in order to grow.”

“It’s not strange at all,” Elain countered. “Steel tempers in flame, doesn’t it? And humans grow wiser with each new encounter, particularly the unpleasant ones. Nature is no different—it’s likely where we learned it from.”

“You have a curious mind, Elain,” he said, his voice softer now. More like the curling steam from her tea. “I’d like to know all your thoughts one day.”

Elain took a sip before she responded. “That would require spending time with me, Your Highness.”

He looked pained. She thought he might turn back into his window entirely, but he burst out— “Tomorrow?” She only raised her brows. He added, “You asked me once if we could look at the autumn leaves. We could go on a ride through the woods together.”

She was surprised he remembered. And though she wished he had sought her without Vassa’s taunting, it was progress.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

The next afternoon, Elain waited patiently for her husband to appear in the dining room. He hadn’t said he would join her for lunch, but she reasoned they would need to eat before setting off on their afternoon ride. The slightest sound from the hallway made her glance towards the doors, and though she coached herself not to seem too eager, she couldn’t help fiddling with the tablecloth while watching the entrance.

Finally, the dark mahogany wood swung open, and Elain was graced with company at last. Her smile faded once she saw that the arrival did not take the form of her husband but rather a scowling Vassa and a handwritten note which read,

My dear wife,

I’m afraid I am still held up in estate affairs and must postpone our ride.

I beg your patience for another tomorrow.

Your husband,

Lucien

Another tomorrow. She could see it now, their life made up of thousands of stagnant tomorrows, perpetually waiting for the one where Lucien would pity her enough to emerge from the eastern wing. She would not wait for another tomorrow.

“Pardon me, Vassa. I need to speak with my husband.”

Vassa flinched as Elain’s chair scraped back against the floor, but Elain marked approval in her fierce blue eyes. She bowed her head, stepping aside to allow Elain straight passage to the large double doors. From there, it was a matter of winding the halls back into the entryway, where the double-helix staircase stood proudly in the center.

Climbing the grand marble steps, she could admit that the staircase was an impressive feat of architecture, even as she fantasized about burning it to the ground. Besides being a tangible barrier in her relationship with her husband, she could not understand the practicality of a staircase that only connected to one side of the palace. It must have been a horrendous experience for the servants who had to climb to the bottom and back up any time they needed to move from one end of the palace to the other. But then, the architect likely hadn’t cared about the extra burden on the servants—the impracticality of the design was boastful in itself.

It did serve one purpose, however, and that was the slow kindling of Elain’s temper as she circled around and around, replaying all of her husband’s empty promises. That they would be friends, that the palace would feel less lonely on his return, that he would be present whenever she needed him. Up, up, up, she could feel her rage rising with every step, carrying her forward until she was before the door to his study.

Elain didn’t bother with knocking. She suspected he was up to something other than estate work, and she didn’t want to give him an opportunity to cover it up. Thankfully, a prince didn’t bother to lock the door. He expected that the respect of his servants was absolute and that his wife would accept his flimsy excuses with a meek smile and swallowed protests. Not any longer.

“Elain,” Lucien started, standing immediately from his chair. His russet eye was bloodshot. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, fighting the instinct to raise her voice lest he dismiss her as hysteric. Her eyes flickered to his desk to see that it was littered with books upon books upon books. Many of them open, words scribbled in the margins and pages of notes scattered about.

What was he up to?

“What’s wrong,” she said through gritted teeth, “is that we have not spoken for a week, Lucien. And you dismissed me today with some meager note as though this is not supposed to be our honeymoon.”

Lucien opened his mouth, but before he could slip in some silver-tongued excuse, she pushed past him and surged for one of the books on the desk. The small black and white rendering of a butterfly made her heart sink, but what was worse were the words written beside it: How to contact your true love.

She looked towards him, not trying to contain her hurt. “I see.”

“You don’t,” he said stiffly, reaching for the book.

Elain reared back, holding it over her shoulder, though she knew he towered her in height and could take it from her with enough force. Lucien let his arm drop, saying nothing as she hopelessly glanced toward the other tomes on his desk. Spellbooks, all open to similar pages.

How to reveal a true love’s identity.

Locating a true love.

Magic and true love.

Her anger drained as quickly as it swelled, retreating like the tide from the shore.

“At last, the silence makes sense,” she said. Hardly more than a whisper. She shut her eyes. “If you are going to be taking a mistress—”

“I’m not,” Lucien said quickly. He stepped toward her, arms out like he didn’t trust she wouldn’t launch the heavy tome at his head. “Elain, I promise you—”

“I have had enough of your promises, Lucien!” Her voice cracked, and she dropped her head so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. She set the book back on his desk. “This has all made it plenty clear to me. My apologies for interrupting. I will return to my side of the palace, and you can keep to yours. Precisely the way you wished.”

Elain attempted to dodge around him, but Lucien stepped into her path. “I have not wished for any of this,” he said. She took a sharp breath, his words a knife in her chest. Lucien reached for her as if to offer comfort but stopped himself when she flinched. His eyes darkened, and his hand fell back to his side, fingers curling. “Elain, this is laughably far from what I wanted.”

“I know,” she said, more like an accusation than anything else. “You never wanted a wife and now you are shackled—”

“You are the one who is shackled.” He said it quietly, his voice so raw that her words dried on her tongue. Lucien ran a hand through his hair. “There are things about this universe that I will never fathom, Elain, and winding up married to you is one of them. This was supposed to be a punishment, a misery, and somehow, I’ve been gifted with the best of wives. And the only curse I can think of is that I’m to have this taste of happiness, and it will not be permanent. That you might be taken from me or worse.” He expelled the air from his chest in a dry, brittle laugh. “Or perhaps the torture of it is that I will be helpless in love while knowing that you loathe me, that I will forever stand in the way of your happiness.”

“I…” Elain blinked, looking again at the books on the desk. “Lucien, I don’t understand.”

“I think this is precisely what my father wanted,” he said, like that explained it all. He threw his hand out again, gesturing vaguely at her person. “He must have known that you would be lovely beyond comprehension. That you would bewitch me so thoroughly I would seek nothing more than your happiness. And that by trapping you in this marriage, that aim would be forever unattainable. Perhaps he wanted me to see myself in him. To understand how it feels to bear the resentment of a wife and watch her wither, knowing she would rather be anywhere else.” He followed her eyes to the desk, shaking his head. “I am not my father, Elain. I will not be my father.”

Love. He’d used the word love to describe his feelings for her, this marriage. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she couldn’t let herself hope, not yet. “You want to know what has been making me unhappy, Lucien?” She ventured a step toward him. “That you have been in here. All I have wanted this last week was to see you, talk to you. You promised me that the palace would feel less lonely when you returned. So what happened? Did I—”

Don’t say it, she could hear Nesta warn. Don’t let him know how much his absence has wounded you. It will give him too much power.

Elain’s lip wobbled, and she decided she didn’t care if it exposed too much of her heart. She wanted him to understand it, understand her. Voice broken, she choked, “Did I do something wrong?”

She watched his throat bob, working past whatever truth clogged his throat. Then he said, “I saw the butterfly wings, Elain.”

Feeling as if he’d struck her, Elain stumbled back. She laid a hand on her chest like that might keep the pieces of her heart from shattering. “W-what?”

“Beneath your sink,” he said. “I found them the night we made love, and I knew immediately what they meant.”

It was dreadful to think of what Lucien might have concluded. He didn’t sound angry, at least. She sensed there was no threat of him raiding the lands for whichever man was having clandestine meetings with his wife. At least not imminently. But did he think she’d been seeing her True Love in her sleep all this time? Did he believe her claim of loneliness was a farce, that she was trying to make a fool of him?

Elain shook her head, trying to quell the anxious thoughts swelling around her. “Lucien, please, you must understand—”

“You don’t need to explain it to me.” Rolling up his sleeves, Lucien returned to his desk. “Given your circumstances, why wouldn’t you seek him out? You deserve that happiness, and I won’t stand in the way of it any longer.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached for one of the spell books, skimming through the pages. “I’ve been trying to find a way to contact him. Perhaps you and Nesta can flee with him to the North. I’m sure your sister will provide the three of you refuge.”

“Lucien—”

He continued speaking, mostly to himself. “My father will lose his bargaining chip, and our Kingdoms will likely go to war, but the majority of it will be fought on our lands. You should be safe in Rhysand’s kingdom.”

“Lucien.”

At last, he looked up. It was midday, but with the curtains drawn, it was dark enough in the room that he’d lit the golden sconces on the wall. Elain maneuvered herself between Lucien and the desk, intentionally blocking the books from his sight so that he was forced to focus solely on her. Candlelight flickered in his red-rimmed eyes as they met hers.

Elain set her shoulders the way she was taught a lady should. Despite her shaking hands, she managed to keep her speaking voice level and deliberately slow, so that the full weight of each word had a chance to settle on him. She said, “I will forgive you for making so many assumptions about what I want without once consulting me. But I need you to understand three things, Lucien Vanserra.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before continuing, waiting for him to nod his agreement that he would listen without interruption.

Once he did, she plucked one of the books from his desk and chucked it to the floor. “Firstly, I have no intention of fleeing these lands or this marriage. I’m insulted that you so greatly overestimate my cowardice. Did you think you married a woman who runs away when things get difficult?”

Lucien, wisely, shook his head.

“Secondly.” The next book, which was thicker and heavier, hit the ground with a satisfyingly large thud. Lucien spared the leather-bound tome a brief, mournful look before he snapped his attention back to Elain. “I’ll admit that I sought my true love before our wedding. I was anguished that we had not had a proper courtship, and in truth, I did it largely out of spite. But I have not contacted him since I arrived at this palace, nor do I have any intention to. Burn the wings for all I care. True Love alone is not enough to earn my affection.”

Those full, perfect lips parted like he intended to say something. She cut him off by sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, “Finally—”

“Elain.”

She threw another of the books to the floor.

“You will listen!” She snapped in the wake of its silencing echo. He shut his mouth. “Finally, Lucien, I need you to understand that it does not matter that you are not my True Love. You will never be your father. Because I do not resent you, I do not loathe you. In truth, I love you so desperately that even fate cannot shake my conviction. I love you despite all of your foolishness and all of my own. You are my husband, and you are the man I choose to walk alongside, even if that may only ever be in parallel.”

Lucien said nothing once she finished, but she could sense him tracking her every breath like he was waiting for her to add something that would take it all back. His mechanical eye clicked as his gaze roamed from her eyes to her mouth, to her chest heaving out of her tightly laced corset. And finally, to the carnage she’d wrought on his study. The ancient—and likely valuable—books were tossed carelessly about, some of the spines likely now damaged, the pages folded over.

He offered her a sly smile. “Am I permitted to speak now, Your Highness?”

Just like that, all of the tension eased out of her. A small, astonished laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Only if you say nothing foolish.”

“In that case, it’s advisable I remain silent.”

Words weren’t required, anyhow. The way he reached for her hand and drew it carefully to his lips said enough. That soft kiss against her knuckles was a silent apology. The second, an admission that unfurled something warm in her chest.

“I have been a fool,” he conceded, bowing his forehead to the back of her knuckles. “I have been a fool helplessly in love with his wife. And you have been so patient with me.”

Elain winced. “I did wreck your study.”

“It was in need of redecorating,” he said, tugging gently on her arm now, trying to guide her into his lap. She obliged, perching herself delicately across his knees. One of his hands moved to brace her hip while the other raised to her chin, drawing her face down towards his. “You love me?” he said like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I love you.” She leaned down to kiss him, stroking a hand through his hair. His body was shaking. “But no more silence, please. I cannot bear it.”

“Consider it done,” he said.

“And the agreement we made on our wedding day, that we should live our lives separately?”

Lucien pressed his forehead into her chest, inhaling deeply before saying, “I am happy to cast it out of my memory for eternity. You can move into my bedroom in the east wing, or I can move to yours in the west. Or we can maintain separate bedrooms if you please, but I’d like us to at least be on the same side of the staircase.”

“And our meals,” Elain said. “We take them together from now on.”

“Happily. Our baths, too, if you’d oblige me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he laughed.

“You’ll forgive me for trying my luck.” He kissed her shoulder. “There is one agreement, though, I’d like to keep if you’re willing.”

Elain felt wary at the suggestion. “Which agreement is that?”

She could feel the wicked grin spreading across his lips. His voice dipped low. “I’d like to continue our attempts to conceive if that still sounds agreeable to you.”

Oh. Elain felt something heat in her gut. She lowered her voice, too, to remind him, “It’s been over a week since our last attempt.”

He hummed against her skin. “Something I think we should rectify.”

With a grin, Lucien withdrew far enough to reach an arm around her body and swipe the remaining books off his desk. Then he lifted her so that she was sitting atop the wooden surface, his body wedged between her legs.

“I believe the study will do nicely,” he said. “What do you think, wife?”

Elain reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, the top button already loosened by the time she said, “I think it’s a good thing someone relocated all of your books.”

#A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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