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daevastanner · 9 months

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Say the Word

“Say the Word”

By Daevastanner

An Elucien one-shot inspired by the Elucien comic art by @artcraawl commissioned by @amandapearls for @elucienweekofficial

Read it on Ao3

Elain’s fingers gingerly brushed the leaves of her poppies, assessing their current state - soft, supple, and smooth around the edges.

Not entirely satisfied with what her touch could decipher, she ducked her head and narrowed her eyes at their color. Not a hint of brown or curling around the edges, the stems were full and firm. This greenhouse had done a world of good for those flowers she would’ve had to otherwise sacrifice to the winter elements. To think that she had once told Lucien she didn’t need anything so grand, to think she’d almost rejected this most recent gift from her mate.

Straightening and admiring the flowers, she smiled. She should know better by now. Lucien’s gifts were always perfect.

Long arms wound around her waist, full lips brushed her ear. Elain smiled but continued to fiddle with the poppies before her.

Hot breath tickled the shell of her ear, nearly sending a shiver down her spine. “Hello, beautiful.” A warm chest molded against her back. “I don’t mean to disturb you because you look so content tending to your plants, but…” Slowly a nose was buried in her hair, inhaling her scent as though attempting to memorize it, “...I’ve missed you.”

Elain let her hands fall from the flowers, coming to rest over the long fingers crossed over her abdomen. As usual, Lucien’s hands were uncommonly warm. Uncommonly, but pleasantly.

Her head tilted back against his shoulder and she shut her eyes, letting the golden evening light from outside warm her face. “I’ve missed you too. I hardly ever get to see you anymore. I feel like you’re always gone.”

Lucien pulled her closer, inclining his head and pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I’ll always come running if you ever need me.” Another kiss that was so burning, Elain’s lips parted in a gasp. “Just say the word.”

🌸

Elain’s eyes flew open, cool night air filling her lungs as she was met with the sight of her bedroom here in the river house. The expanse of bed beside her was vacant, an observation that made something in her cleave. She covered her face with her hands, still laying on her side.

“Shit.”

Looking at the window, Elain judged that it was well after midnight but nowhere near dawn. If she tried very, very hard, she could squeeze in a few more hours of rest and hopefully eliminate the odds of having purple smudges under her eyes for Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony.

Her hot skin and ever-tightening chest said otherwise.

Elain sat upright, threw off the duvet and swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the cool wooden floor in hopes of grounding herself. Her fingers dug into the mattress, squeezing the fabric as she attempted to steady her breathing, but to no avail.

She needed air. Fresh air. The scent of begonias and daffodils.

Mouth set in a grim slash, Elain stood and crossed to her vanity, retrieving her long, silk dressing gown from her stool and drawing it on. She fastened the tie around her waist, preserving her modesty should she run into another restless resident of the river house, and exited her bedroom, stepping out into the moonlit hallway.

The river house was silent, save for the sound of her own feet padding across the carpet, then down the stairs and towards the kitchens. She didn’t encounter a single soul, as she maneuvered around the various boxes containing decor and supplies for Nesta’s ceremony. Even Feyre and Rhysand seemed to be getting a decent night’s sleep for once.

Arriving at the glass paned-doors leading out to the garden patio, Elain loosed a sigh of relief as she stepped outdoors and let the cool night mist bathe her cheeks. She closed her eyes as she shut the door noiselessly behind her, inhaling the chilled night air and letting it fill her lungs. The tightness in her chest loosened, her burning skin cooled, the fragrant scent of flowers permeated her senses.

Flowers and… cinnamon. Crackling embers.

Elain opened her eyes, suddenly wide awake. She peered across the garden, silvery in the light of the moon, scanning between the meticulously groomed bushes and hedges for any sign of him. Absently, her feet moved her forward and around the towering column of laurel.

She found him sitting on the marble bench facing a bed of roses, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He wore baggy sleeping trousers and a loose tunic open widely at the neck as though he hadn’t bothered with the laces after throwing it on. His long, red hair was pushed behind his shoulders, cascading in lush ripples down his back. Her mate truly was a breathtaking sight. There was no disputing that.

At that moment, Lucien’s head lifted at some unheard sound, turning in her direction. Brows raised, his metal eye whirred as it fixed on her.

Elain dipped her head, mastering herself. “I apologize for the intrusion. I– I needed some air.”

“It’s no intrusion,” Lucien replied, rising to his feet. “This is your garden. It is I who is the intruder, lady.”

Perhaps it was the easy measure of his voice. Maybe it was the apprehensive smile tugging at the corner of his full lips. It could have been the gentle glimmer in his russet eye that reminded her so much of the dream that had brought her out here in the first place. Whatever ‘it’ was, Elain felt entirely at ease… and a little bit bold.

She gestured to the marble bench with a manicured hand, then slowly approached. “Neither of us is intruding.” She lowered herself to sit, crossing her ankles and folding her fingers in her lap. “You are our guest and this is my garden.”

Lucien stared down at her, his expression blank, arms hanging at his sides. Elain offered him a timid smile and nodded at the vacant spot beside her. “Sit,” she said simply.

Lucien’s eye swept the garden, but with some caution, he sat next to Elain. It didn’t escape her notice the fair amount of space he put between them, not that it bothered her.

For a moment they sat in companionable silence, nothing but the night breeze whispering through the garden leaves to fill the air around them.

It was Lucien, whose gaze remained fixed on the flower-bed, who broke the quiet. “What brings you out here so late?”

I dreamt of you. Of us. Of what we could be.

But instead, she only said, “I couldn’t sleep.”

He made a sympathetic sound beside her and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him rub his jaw with a long fingered hand. “Nerves about the ceremony tomorrow?”

Truthfully, Elain had no ‘nerves’ about the ceremony. The only negative emotion she felt in regards to Nesta’s big day was the niggling reminder that at one point, Elain had been the first of her sisters promised to be married and as of tomorrow, she would be the last one left alone. Not that she’d ever admit her quiet resentment for her relationship status aloud. She was enjoying her freedom, her independence, that was true.

Still, a part of her felt the longing for companionship that was only natural of living beings – whether they be mortal or fae.

She would give Lucien a fragment of the truth. “I’ll admit… I was nervous to see you.”

He finally met her gaze, amusement tipping up the corner of his mouth. “What cause have you to have nerves around me?”

A blush heated her cheeks and she lowered her voice. “Do you remember last Winter Solstice?”

Lucien nodded, bidding her to continue as he matched her conspiratorial posture and leaned in closer.

“I kissed Azriel,” she grimaced.

It may come as a surprise to others, but not to Elain, that Lucien’s lips turned down at the corners in approval, almost as though he were impressed. “When you said you wanted to explore your options you certainly aimed high…”

Elain laughed softly. “Nothing came of it, of course, but it was… nice.”

Lucien’s expression softened, his voice turning somber. “Well, there is no call for nerves. We’re past this, lady. We set our terms long ago. We’re both free to explore whatever we wish.”

Elain noted that he left out the latter half of their deal. That they were free to pursue whatever they wished until she said otherwise. When Elain said the word, they would begin to pursue what she had seen in her vision. The one she had told him about when he’d visited Velaris after the war with Hybern. It was all up to her.

He had been so gracious. So patient. The ego she saw in other males was not present in Lucien. He didn’t need to boast that Elain had seen her choose him. He didn’t need to proclaim that it was only a matter of time until she accepted the bond. Instead, he quietly allowed her to pursue the life she’d never had a chance to live, and waited for his turn.

“You never told me, by the way,” Lucien murmured, “what exactly you saw in your vision of us.”

Elain fidgeted, giving him a coy smile. “I told you what you need to know.”

“Well, what if I said I wished for specifics?” he pried, and the flicker of mischief in his eyes made Elain’s stomach clench pleasurably.

She played his courtier’s game and found that she enjoyed it, looking up at him through her lashes with a come-hither-smile, “Then I’d remind you that you are a patient male and can wait a while longer.”

He laughed, a breathless sound that made him look so very handsome. It was amazing how much he looked like sunshine in the dead of night with his hair and his eyes and his warm laughter.

So briefly that if she’d have blinked, she would’ve missed it, Lucien’s gaze darted to her lips then back up again. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she observed their posture. The both of them leaning forward, head’s inclined and voices lowered – a prime position for kissing if there ever was one. And in private too.

But to her surprise, Lucien straightened, pulling away, that glimmer of amusement didn’t leave his eye. “You know the conditions, lady. Not before you say so.”

Elain mirrored him, drawing in a deep breath through her nose to calm her racing pulse.

Then, with that same smile that warmed her chest and sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Lucien said, “Just say the word.”

Elain’s mouth went dry. She heard the echo of her dream ringing in her ears. The echo of that happily-ever-after just out of reach.

Swallowing hard, Elain gave her mate a grateful smile. Sometimes she wondered if he could read her mind, like Feyre or Rhysand. Sometimes she wondered if the Cauldron was truly so clinical in its pairings, because for whatever reason, Lucien seemed to know her body and soul. Never, however, did she wonder about him. Not since they’d met when she’d tumbled out of the Cauldron and first heard his heart. No matter what anyone thought they perceived, no matter what anyone assumed, she’d always been certain about Lucien. Even when she hadn’t known it. Even when it had scared her.

Exhaling, Elain rose, smoothing the silk of her dressing robe and drawing it tighter around her. “I’ll try to sleep again I think,” she murmured.

“I think I’ll remain a bit longer,” Lucien sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees once more. “I’ll be careful not to disturb Nyx when I return. I’d hate to ruin one of Feyre’s few uninterrupted nights.”

Elain winced. “On the topic of my sister… It’s best you don’t mention that I was out here. I don’t want anyone worrying about me on Nesta’s day.”

He looked up at her, smirking. “You know better than to ask a favor of a faerie without offering something in return, lady.”

For whatever reason, the first ‘offering’ that came to mind was a picture of her on her knees… She quickly squashed the image, and straightened her shoulders, assuming the stance of a haughty courtier. “Very well. What is it you require in exchange for your silence?”

He tilted his head, his mane of red hair shifting on his back. With equal arrogance, he replied, “One dance tomorrow night.”

“Hm,” Elain hummed, eyeing him with exaggerated suspicion. “I must consider this.”

“A dance is not so grand a price,” the emissary grinned.

“True, were you a man, I would agree,” Elain began. “However you are a faerie, so I must clarify: Am I to dance until my feet bleed?”

“And ruin whatever delicate slippers you intend to wear?” he asked, arching a brow. “Never.”

“Until I lose my senses?”

“And deprive myself of your pleasant conversation? Of course not.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then I’m to dance until I die?”

Lucien blanched. “That would spoil the whole party. No, no, no. I ask for one dance, to one song.”

Elain held his gaze, extending the silence as long as she dared. Only when the edge of his lip twitched did she answer. “One dance. One song,” she mused feigning thoughtfulness. Then, a few of his heartbeats later, “Very well.”

Only when her back was turned to him did Elain permit herself a smile.

Returning to her room, Elain cracked the window, hopeful that the night breeze may allow some of Lucien’s scent to permeate the room. When the endeavor proved unsuccessful, she locked her bedroom door then crossed to her dresser.

Kneeling, she opened the bottom drawer, and retrieved the old, pine green coat. She rose then, shutting the drawer with her foot. Then Elain brought the fabric to her nose and inhaled the scent of cinnamon and embers. The muscles in her shoulders relaxed, a sense of calm falling over her, heavy as velvet.

Shrugging out of her silk robe, Elain drew on the male coat, as she often did on sleepless nights.

Sure enough, the moment she crawled back into the bed, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. Lucien’s coat wrapping her in a comforting embrace.

🌸

L U C I E N

This plan was already proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. Elain was a vision tonight.

She donned a dusty pink gown that highlighted the curve of her waist and the newfound swells of her breasts and hips. He hadn’t noticed these new, glorious curves she was suddenly in possession of last Solstice or even last night in the garden.

Oh, how easily she’d believed him when he’d feigned surprise that she had kissed Azriel on Solstice. He’d known. Not because the shadowsinger’s scent lingered on her and not because he’d witnessed it, but because the High Lord of Night had thoroughly admonished his Spymaster for doing so. So loudly Lucien’s fae hearing had picked up on it from the guest wing. To his eternal amusement, Rhysand had seemed convinced that Lucien intended to challenge Azriel to a Blood Duel for Elain’s hand.

He hadn’t corrected the High Lord when he’d seen him the next morning. After all, Lucien firmly believed there was no such thing as a bad rumor if it increased the intrigue of your character. Not to mention, he wasn’t supposed to have heard that heated conversation between the two Illyrian males.

But how could he not have? He had been restless with Elain’s presence just down the hall (not unlike yesterday evening) with nothing to do but eavesdrop on the random noises around the river house. Including Elain’s hurried footsteps up and down the stairs not once, not twice, but four times that Solstice night.

From across the reception hall, Elain met Lucien’s gaze. A sea of dancing bodies separated them, moving in time to the beautiful ballad of the string quartet.

A perfect hostess, Elain had spent most of the after-party conversing with various guests while Nesta and Cassian made their rounds, accepting congratulations on their mating.

Elain blinked at Lucien now, brown eyes sparkling in the fae-light that hung in strings overhead, bathing the guests of the temple in a golden glow. Lucien blinked back at her, then let his gaze wander lazily all over the temple.

To the wide open doors that led to the patio where tables were set for those who wished to dine and mingle, then to the eastern side of the temple where those who wished to drink congregated around the enchanted tower of champagne flutes that would never run empty.

Finally, he dragged his attention back to her, keeping his expression bored.

Her brows drew together in question, as she studied him. He fought the urge to preen as her large eyes drank in his form. He’d worn his deep green suit with golden embroidery, well aware of the way it lengthened his legs and broadened his shoulders. He’d fastened his hair back at the sides, very cognizant of how it put the elegant features of his face on full display, making him appear hewn from bronze rather than flesh and blood.

She was a fine match for him. More than enticing.

But he was not blind to the fact that he was equally as desirable to her. Not as her eyes snagged on his mouth and not as he scented her arousal all the way across the room.

Shaking herself from her daze, Elain nodded subtly towards the dance floor.

Lucien only canted his head in response.

Her pretty pink lips parted as the realization donned on her. Lucien would not approach. He would not ask her to dance. She must ask him. In front of everyone.

Color bloomed in her cheeks and Lucien fought the tugging at the corner of his lip. Instead he leveled her with a look that reminded her just who she had struck a bargain with. A faerie.

He’d decided on this approach, not solely for his amusement, but also to ensure their boundaries remained the same as ever. Elain must always make the first move. Must always take the first step. He would not initiate until she told him he could do so.

Elain lifted the skirt of her dress and maneuvered her way through the crowd, across the room. He nearly laughed when she broke through the bodies and closed the distance between them with her chin raised in haughty indignance.

“Elain,” he said, dipping his head. “What a pleasure running into you here.”

“At my sister’s mating ceremony?” Elain asked flatly.

“Ah, I forget the relation,” shrugged Lucien innocently. “You’re far more fetching than she is.”

“Don’t compliment me by insulting my sister, it’s rude.”

“I would never dare insult Nesta Archeron,” he winked, and Elain cracked a smile, seemingly in spite of herself. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, lady?”

Elain cut him with a knowing look. “I owe you a dance, remember?”

Satisfaction bloomed in his chest. “Ah, so you do.” As the string quartet wound down their current song, Lucien offered Elain his arm. “Well, I’m happy to oblige.”

He didn’t so much as glance her way as they glided towards the dance floor, but he did hear her snort softly beside him. The gruff irritation from someone as delicate as Elain was equal parts endearing and amusing.

As the string quartet slowly began to strike up the next song, the dancing bodies converged, seeking out their partners once more. In one fluid movement, Lucien spun Elain to face him, lacing their fingers on one side and laying a broad palm on the small of her back. Elain wasted no time in placing her free hand on his other shoulder, meeting his measured gaze with an equally unruffled look. Where Feyre and Rhysand physically sparred, he did not envy them. He more enjoyed the battle of courtier wits between himself and Elain.

The violin played a gentle, lilting melody and together, they swayed to the rhythm with the other dancing couples. He wondered if she could hear his heart hammering, if she could scent his anticipation. He had waited ages for this moment. The moment where Elain would come to him. Where they would converse, not as two fated mates who were bound by divine intervention, but as two individuals with a tender interest in one another. Flirting.

He lowered his voice, casting a quick glance to the champagne table. “Have you noticed the shadowsinger tonight? He’s been giving that priestess some particularly longing looks.”

Elain scoffed. “I’m not surprised.” She inclined her head, then added softly, “I believe he was particularly nervous about tonight. You see the necklace she’s wearing?”

Lucien spared a subtle look over at the ginger priestess, his metal eye whirring and focusing in on the rose pendant that dangled from her neck. “I do.”

“Mm, what if I told you that that necklace was first gifted by Azriel,” Elain began, then her eyes glinted wickedly, “to me.”

Lucien’s brows shot into his hairline, his gaze snapped back to his mate. “You can’t be serious.”

Elain nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line in a clear effort to suppress laughter. “He gave it to me at Solstice when we kissed. Rhys called him away, so I went up to bed and…” she lowered her voice to a whisper again, “and had a vision of some unknown female in a teal gown wearing the very same necklace.”

Lucien stole another surreptitious glance at the priestess, who sure enough, wore a teal gown. When he looked back at Elain her expression was somber. A pang of sympathy turned his stomach. “I… I offer my sympathies that the shadowsinger did not return your affections.”

To his surprise, Elain arched a brow, pink lips in a caustic smile. “You mistake me. I don’t mourn the shadowsinger’s affections. I mourn that he would assume I would cause a scene tonight at seeing another female, one who I understand has had a remarkably difficult life, wearing a gift I returned to him in the first place.”

The words tumbled from Lucien’s lips before he could stop himself. “He does not know you. Not truly.”

Something in Elain’s gaze softened, her sad smile growing more sincere. The sudden shift made Lucien feel nervous as a prospective bridegroom. He cleared his throat, willing his palms not to sweat.

Elain’s eyes sparkling with mirth. “What about you? We’ve talked a fair bit about my pursuits. I’d like to discuss yours. I’m sure they are sordid and far more scandalous than a stolen kiss six months ago.”

Lucien laughed at that, a full bodied sound that surprised him. “If you’re certain it won’t offend your delicate sensibilities, Jurian and Vassa have invited me to their bed. Several times.”

Elain’s eyes flashed, her cheeks going crimson once more. The slender column of her throat bobbed as she processed his question, then replied hesitantly, “Well? Did you… accept?”

Eyes locked, Lucien dipped his head, his lips just inches from hers. “A gentleman never tells, lady,” he whispered.

Elain held his stare, “I see.” She tilted her head up, her mouth now dangerously close to his, “Where is this gentleman you speak of?”

He laughed quietly. “You wound me.”

She was so near he could taste her on his tongue. Jasmine and honey. When her eyes fell to his lips, he felt the air stolen from his lungs.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

It was her move.

Slowly, Elain’s eyelids began to droop, and in answer, Lucien’s heart threatened to break through his ribs. His grip on her waist tightened possessively, tugging her closer…

Then the song ended.

The one song for his one dance was over.

And like the perfect courtiers they were, Elain and Lucien parted on instinct, abandoning all notions of their almost kiss. Both parties averted their eyes as they attempted to gather themselves. Lucien bowed. Elain curtsied. It was over.

He suddenly felt entirely too warm, disappointment coursing through him and hollowing out his chest.

She can’t see. Don’t let her see.

He would not have her initiate their relationship out of pity – out of sympathy.

Mustering all his resolve, he gave Elain the most charming smile he could manage, and left the dance floor, heading straight for the patio doors.

Stepping out of the temple and into the balmy, summer night, Lucien maneuvered around the various tables occupied by the remaining guests and onto the vacant river house lawn. He wrung his hands subtly at his sides, trying to forget the intoxicating feeling of her skin against his, of the curve of her waist beneath his palm. He had been a fool to indulge in his attraction to her. It would only make the wait all the more difficult.

A fool.

He was such a fool–

“Lucien.”

Halting in his tracks as he neared the river house, Lucien slowly turned towards the voice that called his name.

Elain Archeron stood several paces away on the river house lawn, apparently having followed him. She closed the remaining distance between them, her skirts in her hands as she apparently had made an effort not only to find him, but to… to join him.

“Were you retiring?” she asked, letting her skirts fall to drag over the dewy, dark grass.

At a loss for words, Lucien shook his head in response, shoving his hands in his pockets.

A smile that looked somewhat relieved, lit her face. “Oh, good. I was going to ask if you’d like a tour of my garden.”

“O-oh,” was all he could manage around the spark of hope in his chest.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression now somewhat bashful, “And maybe… maybe answer a few of those questions you had. About the specifics of what I’ve seen.”

Sometimes Lucien wondered if she could read his mind, just like Rhys and Feyre. Sometimes he wondered if the Cauldron paired souls, not just bodies. How else could Elain be re-enacting the very dream that had sent him into her garden last night? The dream where they stood among rose bushes and she recalled to him what their mating ceremony would look like, where they would lay their roots, the cadence of their children’s voices.

But that was far too much information to place on her shoulders. Perhaps one day, he would tell her of the dream he had that night. The one that had brought them together in this garden and had given him the excuse to ask her for a dance. The dance that led them right back here.

“Well? Would that agree with you?” Elain asked, tilting her head.

Lucien nodded emphatically, offering her his arm. “Yes, I should think so.”

Her voice was bright. “Good.” She accepted his arm and started to guide him towards the moonlit garden. “You may ask your first question.”

Unwilling to miss a good opportunity for banter, Lucien asked, “Have you seen how much of our future funds are spent on your gardening? I’d like a figure in mind so I can conserve my spending.”

Elain’s laughter was a song he knew he’d play in his mind for days to come. Over and over again until she said the word.

Then…

Then he’d come running.

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