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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Read on AO3

Smoothing things over with Killian was surprisingly simple. Elain brought him directly to her bedchamber, sat him on an elegant couch, and offered him her widest, brightest smile. Ordinarily, Killian was no fool. He was hard to manipulate, cunning and suspicious even under the best of circumstances. Elain understood that granting him access to where she slept softened those instincts. Killian was on alert, but for wholly different reasons. His leg bounced up and down beside her, green eyes darting toward the archway where her bed lay, clearly wondering if she might let him in there, too.

If she slept with him, he’d claim her so thoroughly she’d never escape him. Fae males were territorial and Killian was certainly no exception. This would be delicate—practice for Summer.

“What ah…” he cleared his throat, clearly rethinking whatever he’d been about to ask. “You and the Day Court prince—”

“Lucien?” she asked, unable to keep the derision from her voice. Killain’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

“He seems—”

“Arrogant?” she supplied, thinking of how he’d shook her. “Spoiled?”

“Possessive,” Killian said, twisting just enough to look at her. “When you fell, he snarled at me.”

“Well, I assure you it has nothing to do with hidden affection,” Elain told him honestly. “His mother has made him swear to start being nice.”

A muscle worked itself in Killian’s jaw. “Elain, if you wish to learn more of Prythians politics…I could instruct you.”

“I need to be away,” Elain told him gently, placing her hand on his knee. “Both of my sisters have been instructed in other courts.”

Killian shook his head back and forth. “Nesta and Feyre aren’t you.”

“I’ve made a bargain with the Lady of Day,” Elain told him, if only to end this argument before it ever truly began. His expression flattened, shoulders slumping with defeat.

“Oh?”

“A year of my service,” she murmured, wondering how she’d get out of the obvious affection shining on his face when that year ended. If Killian suspected that Elain had made that bargain specifically to avoid him or he thought that was a normal thing not worth questioning, he didn’t say.

“So I am to share you with Day Court?” he all but whispered instead as he scooted closer. Elain felt too tight and out of her depth. His eyes were fixated on her mouth as his hand came to caress her cheek. Elain knew what was coming and knew pulling back would be a mistake. More than anything, Killian had to believe nothing was amiss. That she had fainted from the heat and over exerting herself.

But as he came closer, dragging the scent of dew coated grass and a lilac wind, all Elain could think was don’t–not like this.

Not with you.

But it was Killian’s mouth pressed against her own a mere moment later. The kiss was soft—polite and sweet and, if she was honest, not terrible, either. As far as first kisses went, it could have been far worse.

And still, much, much better.

It pacified him, if nothing else. When Killian pulled back, triumph blazed in his pine colored eyes. “I’ll wait,” he whispered, thumb sweeping across her cheek. Dread pooled low in her gut because Elain believed he would. He’d wait, like he’d been doing her entire life. What was a year in the scheme of immortality?

She was beginning to believe she’d never escape the fate barrelling down—that she could delay it a few years before Killian swept in like the golden prince he was and finally, finally made her his wife.

Elain nodded, hoping she looked appropriately shy.

Killian swallowed, and then kissed her again. There was just the faintest amount of urgency to his mouth, to how his lips were moving against her own. He tasted warm and bright and when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, Elain couldn’t stop the gasp of air from rising from her throat.

Killian pressed his advantage, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with the softest groan of pleasure.

Elain couldn’t pretend the shock of his tongue on hers, stroking gently, wasn’t doing something to her, too. Her eyes fluttered close as she gave way to instinct and allowed herself to enjoy the heat coiling in her chest. Kissing was nice, pleasant even. Elain was warm, and when Killian pressed closer, she didn’t care to stop him.

No one had ever touched her like this and despite it being Killian, she found she wanted him to keep going. She liked when he pressed his knee between her legs or when he began to push her backward into the couch. His kisses had become deeper, almost frantic in their urgency. Like he needed to do this before something shifted.

Elain’s mind was pleasantly blank, wholly focused on being kissed. Maybe, she reasoned with herself, marriage wouldn’t be so terrible. If they could do this, at least, maybe—

A loud thudding on the door pulled Elain from her traitorous thoughts. A growl slipped from Killian’s teeth, but he pulled back all the same. She could see the outlining bulge straining in his pants. It was enough to turn her cold. One kiss and she became mindless with lust? Ready to let him claim her and ruin all her careful plans? Elain hated that she could scent not just his arousal, but her own, and hated all the more that Killian was smelling it, too. His eyes were dark with want even as he adjusted himself, the picture of a courtly gentleman while Elain quickly stood. Her head was throbbing again, reminding her that she needed to lay down and shake off the vision of bloodied, feral Lucien.

She went to the door to find Arina on the other end. “Are you—” Arina’s nostrils flared. Her eyes widened as she looked over Elain’s shoulder to find Killian sitting cross-legged on the couch. Elain didn’t dare look back.

“Am I…?” she prodded.

“Busy?” Arina asked. “I—something has happened with the Autumn princes and I could use some respite.”

A heavy sigh sounded behind her. Elain closed her eyes as Killian’s boots clipped over the marble. His fingers ghosted over her bare shoulders as he said, “Go. I should meet with Helion while I’m here.”

Arina’s eyes flashed, as if to say, she doesn’t need your permission.

Elain twisted, tilting her face so when Killian’s lips came back to her face, they only touched her cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, squeezing her slightly. Elain offered him an easy smile and then was gone, freed of his touch and her traitorous body’s response. Arina, a female Elain just barely knew, and hardly knew well, reached for Elain’s wrist to propel her faster.

Arina was pale, and when Elain jogged closer, swore she smelled the familiar, metallic tang of fear. Fear and something else—something warm and comforting like the smoke of a bonfire curling toward a crisp, star freckled sky. Coated in amber, like whiskey, and wrapped around Arina’s own vanilla and lime scent Elain was already familiar with. Perhaps she’d been with a male just before the day began and his presence still clung to her skin.

It unsettled Elain, though. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as though some ancient, primordial part of her recognized that scent and balked—wanting to get far, far away. Elain was breathless, wondering what Arina could possibly want with her even if she was grateful for the interruption.

“Wait,” Elain said, digging her heels into the smooth marble beneath her for all the good it did—which was none. “Where are we going?”

“I—” Arina took a gulping breath. A host of emotions flickered across Arina’s face before she smoothed it out. Elain waited, gauging her carefully. “Do you want to get a drink with me? In the city, I mean? I have an apartment down there, we could spend the whole evening away from the palace and the drama of Lucien and his brothers.”

Now that was promising. She could avoid Killian the rest of the evening and join in the festivities in the city instead. He could hardly be angry with her over it. After all, he said he had things he needed to accomplish, too. Why should Elain rearrange her schedule?

She didn’t want to be caught alone with him again. He was too clever and Elain too unpracticed. She suspected Killian knew it, too. That he knew exactly how to touch her, exactly where to put his mouth, his fingers, his body, until he’d overridden all her objections. Elain took a breath. She’d agreed to nothing.

“Yes,” Elain replied, offering Arina another bright smile. She’d power through the throbbing in her skull and her aching bones for the time being.

“Perfect. Now?” There was nothing keeping Elain given she’d failed in her task of greeting Eris Vanserra. She’d see him another day, ideally with a clear head. Elain felt as though she was messing everything up—bringing Killian to her bedroom was supposed to be Summer Court practice and yet she’d nearly found herself pressed beneath him.

Touching Lucien was supposed to calm him down and instead she’d only made him angrier, had made him hate her more. Maybe the life of an emissary wasn’t for her. Maybe this whole thing was a waste of her time.

“Come on,” Arina said, lacing her fingers with Elain’s. The warm jolt of Arina’s palm pressed against her own was comforting. Elain let Arina tug her forward, clasping hands like the best of friends. A strange yearning punctuated Elain’s thoughts–she’d never had an actual friend. Feyre had Morrigan up in the Night Court and Nesta didn’t seem to care for companionship but Elain did. Elain craved it, and still it eluded her. The ladies in Spring didn’t care to be actual friends, where gossip was always at a premium. If you weren’t careful, you’d find all your secrets used as currency for any number of things.

Elain couldn’t prove Arina wasn’t that sort of lady, too. It didn’t stop hope from blooming in Elain’s chest when they exploded into the oppressive mid-day heat. Arina looked over her slim, golden shoulder and offered Elain a dazzling smile.

Elain compared the hope welling in her chest to how she’d felt when Killian had been kissing her.

There was no comparison.

LUCIEN:

“What would it take to make Arina my wife?” Lucien asked his father without preamble. His mother looked up sharply from her place in front of the vanity while his father pinched the bridge of his nose.

“An act of the Mother goddess herself, Lucien.” “Since when do you have feelings for Arina?” his mother questioned, setting her hairbrush aside so she could turn fully to look at him.

Never, he thought despondently. Marriage to Arina was a shackle for them both. They’d have to give up their fun at court, would have to sell their marriage as a love so great it trumped a mating bond. Centuries of pretending, even. A life wasted and the chance for what his parents had gone—and Lucien was willing to risk it, all the same.

“She’s not fit to be a Day Court princess?” Lucien demanded instead, crossing his arms over his chest. Helion looked as if he might explode, having entertained all four of Beron’s terrible sons all day. It was clear he had no patience reserved for his own.

“No, Lucien, she sure as fuck isn’t given Eris reeks of her scent.”

His mother’s brows shot toward her hairline.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His father pressed, twisting at the golden cuff along his bicep. “I’m not starting a war over this. Not again.”“So Eris just gets to claim her?” Lucien demanded.

His fathers eyes flashed gold. “She’s still my subject. She can reject the bond—but have you considered, in all your infinite wisdom, that she may very well decide to accept it?”

“No.” Lucien said it flatly, ignoring how his mother’s eyes were so bright and glassy.

“Eris has a mate?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling. Not with fear or disgust, but happiness.

It burned Lucien how much his mother still loved the Vanserra’s. They didn’t deserve her affection, her hopes—her anything.

His fathers expression sharpened dangerously. Do not ruin this for your mother.

Lucien couldn’t stand it. Turning on his heel, he left his parents to hash out what would happen with Arina, knowing full well he’d drag her to the temple and marry her in secret if he had to. Lucien blew out a breath, slamming the chamber doors behind him loud enough his fathers echoing snarl warned him to act grown and not like a child. It didn’t help that Killian was just around the corner reeking of Elain. Lucien didn’t know why her scent coating his skin bothered him so much.

Perhaps he was just spoiling for a fight. He glanced toward the Spring Court prince, stalking away in the direction of Elain’s bedroom. Fine. What did he care, anyway? To involve himself was to imply something might be happening between them and the last thing Lucien needed was doe-eyed Elain clinging to him.

Lucien prowled out into the night, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to feel a little normalcy. The humid air clung to him while a warm sea breeze ruffled his hair.

Hello prince, it seemed to say.

Lucien’s life was quickly falling apart around him. He was angry—moody and on edge which was unlike him. Rash, and impulsive like an untested male. More than that, though, was a restlessness that had crept through him, rumbling through his too hot blood until he wanted to scratch at his skin.

Disappointing his parents felt like the ultimate failure. Even Eris managed to stay in his mothers good graces—but his father was so clearly at the end of his rope with Lucien. How long before they sent him away, like so many other High Lords did with their sons? Some test to humble Lucien, to make him appreciate all he’d been given? He’d heard what the High Lord of Night had done to his heir and was certain he didn’t want to be involved in anything half so grueling.

Lucien took a breath of air and began making his way down the path cutting toward the sprawling city of Rhodes. Lights illuminated the dark, making it seem as though the sun had never truly set—which it would stop doing in a couple months during the longest parts of the summer. Music overtook his senses, drowning out even his angry, self-loathing thoughts. Instead, his heart began jumping in time with the beat. The smell of sweat and liquor hung in the air, exciting him more than he was willing to admit.

Down here, Lucien was no one important. He began weaving through throngs of people mingling and dancing and kissing for the city square where the majority of the people and festivities were being held. Lucien wanted to be in the thick of things. He wanted to lose himself to wine and music until he was little more than a fanged creature—until he could convince himself to slink back home and apologize to his parents.

Again.

Tables lined the sidewalk, squashed between shops and restaurants still open for business. Brightly colored awnings fluttered beneath strung up fae lights, illuminating the sandstone stress beneath. Musicians played while people danced and drank or sat around eating and talking—all celebrating his mother, who they loved. Lucien snatched up a cup from a grinning woman selling them for a coin and had been about to prowl about for suitable company when a flash of gold caught his attention.

Arina, right in the thick of things, was dancing. Not with a male and certainly not his brother—but Elain, who lacked all of Arina’s easy, swaying rhythm. Judging from the flush on Elain’s face and Arina’s open mouthed laughter, the pair were drunk. Lucien smiled before turning for a decanter of cold water and a lot of food. He managed to snag one of the last tables, spreading out his offerings before darting for the crowd. If he was gone too long a crime of opportunity would occur, and he’d only brought so many coins with him.

It was easy enough to drag Arina off the ground, hauling her up onto his shoulder before she could stop him. He ignored Elain entirely, still grinning when Arina’s fists collided with his bare back.

“Lucien!” she barked, for all the good it did her. He plunked Arina down in a chair, feeling slightly guilty when he caught sight of Elain hovering at the edge of the crowd. Sighing, he gestured for her to come sit, certain he’d regret letting her tag along. He didn’t want to be too close to her. Not when her very presence set the hair on his arm standing on edge.

“You’re an ass, Lucien,” Arina breathed, pulling Elain’s chair closer to her own. “I’m trying to avoid Vanserras.” Elain’s expression lifted, eyes bouncing between the pair of them.

“I’m not a Vanserra,” he reminded her.

“Oh, but you look like one,” Arina said drunkenly, unaware of what a blade her words were. Elain’s eyes snapped to his face, her lips parted as she recognized what a blow that was. Arina didn’t notice, chugging a glass of the water Lucien had brought. It was humiliating to be subjected to Elain’s pity and worse to know that Arina was avoiding him because he looked like Eris after Lucien had just asked his father to marry her.

Was he stupid?

He started to rise, for all Arina cared. Turning, he didn’t know where he planned to go or even what he wanted to do. Only that he needed to get away before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“Hey—wait!”

Elain caught up with him despite her short stature. She looked as if she might grab him before she thought better of it. Lucien reached for her bare arm, curling his fingers around her skin. It wasn’t like before—her eyes widened, but there was no gasp of fear, no immediate collapse to the floor. So much for the theory that he’d brought on her vision.

It was just bad luck. Lucien withdrew his hand, uncomfortable and taut with her sweat soaked skin beneath his palm.

“What do you want?” he asked, staring down at her. Elain was—well, she was stunning in the moonlight. Bright and alive in a way he didn’t think he’d ever seen, and the scent of salt combined with the flush over her tan skin was making Lucien too aware of how close she was to him.

He still remembered how he’d come to the image of the curious eyes peering up at him. “What was that all about?” she asked him breathlessly.

He sneered. “Did she not tell you? I suppose you’re not as good of friends as you thought.”

“Jealousy is ugly on you,” Elain snapped. “It was just a question.”

“What’s going on with you and Killian?” he demanded, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. Fuck, what was wrong with him?

Elain shrugged, a tightness stealing over her expression. Killian smelled like her, but Elain smelled like honey and jasmine, like the salt from the ocean and bright sunlight. Hackles raised, Lucien asked, “Do you need me to get rid of him?”

Elain brightened. Taking a small step toward him, Elain replied, “Could you?”

Gods, with pleasure, he thought. Finally, something he could do that might make him feel useful again. “Easily.”

“Yes,” Elain told him, looking—well, looking as if she didn’t completely hate him. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

He offered her a tight nod, unsure why he felt such pleasure at the thought of doing something nice for her. Amid the revelry and the noise, Lucien felt strangely settled. The anxiety that had been coursing through him calmed, making him rational again. He ought to have thanked her for whatever spell she’d cast, for giving him something to do that made him feel important again.

He turned, intending to walk away wordlessly. This time, it was Elain who reached for him, catching his wrist in a feathersoft touch.

“I don’t think you look like a Vanserra,” she told him earnestly.

He was tempted to ask what she did think he looked like. That was madness—was a fool's errand. He didn’t care, besides.

At least, that was what Lucien told himself when he made the journey back up to the palace alone. When he didn’t seek out his usual company.

When he fell into bed, still thinking about her eyes.

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfic #dont hate me for this #they need to grow okay #and that requires a little dumbassery at the beginning #by the time we get to chapter 11 they are full blown pining #and so SO stupid god wait until you see elain and lucien in summer court youre gonna die #just like lucien

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