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acourtofswiftiesandshadowdaddies · 3 months

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Listen- I had an idea. I was thinking about a Lucien Vanserra and the reader feeking the bond snap? But Lucien feeling like he's not worthy of her but she tells him how pretty his eyes are? Even with the scar? I was thinking of adding the prompt 32 angst and 12 fluff maybe.

Scars and All

Lucien x Archeron!reader, Helion x reader (father, daughter dynamic)

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

Prompts: Fluff- “I wish you could see the way I see you,” Angst- “You… why did it have to be you?”

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister has always been ignored and rejected by everyone. When she finally finds her mate in the Day Court who thought her heart could’ve broken more at the rejection of someone who was made to love her?

a/n i legit could not find any good headers for this so i downloaded 6 billion of them from pinterest, my sister had made this dress for herself and i had direct access to it thats why the description is so long 😭 im trying a new thing with describing facial features and stuff like that more lmk if u like it or not. ✨ not edited ✨

There was a ball in Day Court, almost all high fae were invited, and as the sister in law to the High Lord of Night Court it was compulsory for all of us to be there.

The dress I'm wearing is a masterpiece of intricacy and elegance, designed to captivate and command attention. Crafted from the finest materials, it combines delicate silk and ethereal lace, creating a harmonious blend of softness and sensuality. The color chosen is a rich midnight blue, reminiscent of the starry night sky that blankets the Night Court.

The bodice of the dress is a work of art, adorned with intricate silver and sapphire beadwork that accentuates the curves of the wearer. It plunges low, revealing a hint of the wearer's décolletage, while thin, delicate straps grace the shoulders, adding a touch of allure. The back of the dress dips in a graceful V, teasing a glimpse of smooth, exposed skin.

From the waist, the dress cascades into a flowing skirt, made of layers of diaphanous silk that sways with every step. The fabric is sheer and airy, allowing a tantalizing view of the wearer's legs as she moves, creating an alluring dance between modesty and seduction. The hemline is asymmetrical, with delicate lace trim that adds a touch of whimsy and femininity.

As I move, the dress catches the light, shimmering and sparkling like a constellation in the moonlit sky. It exudes an air of confidence and sophistication, empowering the woman who wears it to embrace her inner strength and beauty.

The dress wasn't my first choice though. My first choice was an indigo dress with a sweetheart neckline, that showed just enough of my cleavage to not be named as slutty. It had a slit that showed my whole right leg, but Elain had liked that dress after she saw it in my wardrobe, so I gave it to her.

She always got what she wanted.

I wasn't a type of feminine beauty like my sisters. They all had graceful features and beautiful dainty blonde hair. Nesta and I were the most similar with our sharp features.

But that's where the similarities ended.

My hair was a lustrous cascade of ebony strands, shimmered like a moonless night sky, reflecting an ethereal sheen with every subtle movement. Its glossy surface captured the light, revealing depths of darkness that held an irresistible allure.

Once I had slipped my heels on, I headed down the stairs where everyone else was waiting for me. My lips curved into a sly smile when everyone's attention was on me, glancing over the room, my eyes stopped at Elain. Her dress (my dress) was falling at all the wrong places.

She wasn't as curvy as me, Nesta and Feyre. I don't get why she would want the dress, it's obviously not fitting her properly. Ignoring Elain's incessant huffing, I head to Nesta and Cassian.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight, sister,” I compliment, giggling.

“I love this dress on you,” she gushes.

Nesta was my best friend, my confidant, the sister who cared for me.

“But I would’ve loved to have seen the other dress on you,” she continues. “You shouldn’t have given it to Elain,”.

“Oh it’s fine, look at the absolute beauty I have found instead,” I reassure.

“Elain are you sure you don’t want to change your dress,” Feyre asks.

Nesta and I snicker behind our hands, Elain turns around towards us and I watch in glee as her faces turns into a scowl.

“I’m fine can we leave already” she snaps.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Cassian winnows Nesta, Rhysand and Feyre, Azriel and Elain, while Mor winnows me.

Landing outside the day court palace, I mentally take in the beauty of the place. The sandy blocks making the palace and the beautiful candles hung at every corner. There truly is no darkness.

I look down at my dress, skepticism glazes over my face. I shouldn’t have worn such an eye catching dress.

How was I meant to know that there would be lights everywhere?

Cauldron fucking boil me.

After some mindless chatter with Feyre about how excited she is to show me her paintings. We’re escorted inside to see the High Lord of the Day Court lounging on his throne, looking like the childish playboy he is. Even though he was centuries old.

His beauty was otherworldly, the way his onyx locks cascaded down his back like they were paid to do so. Piercing amber orbs stared down at everyone. Clad in only a white fabric that was draped over him, he had an easy going presence to him. The sharp points of his golden crown glinting under the bright lights.

But the vision next to him put the Night Court stars to a shame. He was the sun personified. Tan skin, lighter than his father’s but darker than mine. Auburn red hair, similar to his father’s in length, rested along his back. A scar ran from just above his eyebrow to his jaw. His eyes met mine, maroon and golden. His features picked apart weren’t attractive but somehow together on him, he looked like a god.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes blurred in and out of focus. Once they went back to normal I saw a single golden thread tugging. My eyes followed the thread back to Lucien.

I ran outside. Mother’s tits, I found my mate.

I gave an experimental tug on the bond revelling in the feeling of being complete. Tugging on it again, I let him know I wanted to see him.

Sitting there on the roof, I waited for five minutes, then ten, soon twenty and as quickly as my hope had been born it had faded away. But still remnants of it remained, maybe he couldn’t get away so soon, after all he was the heir to the Day Court.

Holy shit, he was the heir to the Day Court, what if he wanted nothing to do with me?

My thoughts spiralled one after the other.

A throat cleared behind me. Turning around to look at Lucien, I beckon him over.

“I’m Y/N, I already know who you are so introductions won’t be necessary” My attempt at a joke fails.

Finally taking a closer look at his face, I take in the pained expression. “Are you all right?” concern laces my voice, I stand up and whisper, “Have you had enough to eat you look like you’re about to pass out,”.

I’m about to leave and grab him some food, when he speaks, “You… why did it have to be you?”.

I freeze in place, I don’t dare to turn around. My mind flashes with memories of Feyre not wanting to teach me archery because she was busy, or how the boys at Rita’s never even looked at me, or how Elain took it upon herself to make me hate everything about me, or how everyone had their other half and I had just found mine. But not even a full hour of knowing me he hated me.

And somehow after all those years of rejection, self hatred and jealousy my heart broke one last time.

I assume he could feel it through the bond, as I wasn’t all that used to blocking people out of my mind yet.

I run down the stairs to get off the roof, to get as far away from him as possible.

Finally, finding an unoccupied balcony on the opposite side of the palace, I settled there, sobbing my broken heart out. The kohl from my eyes streaming down my face. My fingers red from rubbing my stinging eyes.

I looked around at the material of the dress pillowing around me. Such a waste of such a breathtaking dress.

Soft crying filled the room, my ears were ringing as I hadn’t heard the High Lord of Day Court enter.

“My dear, may I ask what’s wrong?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

Gasping I stood up and did a sorry excuse of a curtesy, “High Lord” I bowed my head.

“Helion is fine,”

He sat down right next to the place where I was sitting. His muscled arm gently tapped the spot beside him as an invitation.

I sit down, smoothing my skirts out.

As if he can sense the awkwardness he clears his throat and says “We can stay quiet or we can talk about my son or your mate?”.

My eyes widen in shock. “How do you know me?” I mutter out.

“Sunshine I’m the High Lord of Day Court and unbeknownst to you, Rhysand talks a lot about you during meetings so most of the high lords consider you a little sister, but for me you’re like the daughter I never had,” he confesses.

A man I had not met before today, considered me his daughter, and six other high lords think of me as a little sister. My eyes well up in tears, my father had been one of the only people other than Nesta to ever truely care about me. And I had cried for months when he died.

To have someone think of me as their daughter again brought out a fresh wave of tears.

As if reflex, my head rests against Helion’s shoulder, we gaze into the night sky, in a comfortable silence. A strong hand reaches out and softly taps my head in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s ok sunshine.” he whispers.

After a while my tears stain my cheeks, Helion speaks up “I think you should give your mate another chance, I think you’ve mistaken his intentions,”.

Taking in his advice, I wordlessly stand up and hug the high lord. “Thank you” I breathe out.

Pulling away, I walk through corridors in search of Lucien.

A hand grabs mine and pulls me into a dark corner, while another hand muffles my screams.

I’m about to put the training Cassian gave me into use when I see a familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

“You can’t scream, I just wanted to talk to you,” he pleaded. Once his hand reluctantly leaves my mouth, I nod as a signal for him to keep going.

“When I said what I said before, I didn’t mean it as if you weren’t good enough for me,” he started. “I meant it as I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” My eyes soften at his words. “I mean yes I am devastatingly handsome,” I roll my eyes at his smug words, unable to hide my own smile when his lips twitch upwards.

“But I don’t think I could ever be good enough for you, a thousand lifetimes over,” he whispers, impossibly close to me but at the same time painfully far away.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Lucien,” I mumble cupping his cheek. “Please have me,” he murmurs.

I grab his face gently and fuse our lips together.

“I’m yours, if you’re mine,”

a/n i’m sorry girl dad!helion is just too good to resist and like imagine being like a little sister to all the high lords (instead of heron it’d be eris), hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

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xtaketwox · 5 months

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Summary: The Archerons are new to London society. The rumors go that Viscount Archeron brought his daughters to London after the death of their mother in the south of France. Lucien is struck by the beauty of Elain Archeron from the first moment he sees her, but little does he know the Archeron family is hiding a secret that may just get him killed.

Fic Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Chapter Word Count: 3639

Master List; Read on AO3

A/N: Many thanks to @itsthedoodle for the header and for beta reading. Let me know if you'd like to be added to a tag list for the rest of the fic.

Chapter 1

“Do try not to look as though you are walking to the gallows.”

Lucien sighed as he walked toward his mother waiting at the top of the staircase. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t insinuated I was ready for marriage to every mother in town.”

His mother patted his face when he bent to kiss her cheek. “Not every mother. Only those with unmarried daughters.”

Lucien tried to make his face severe, although as usual, he found it difficult to be severe towards his mother. “I’ll ask that you not interfere in my life like this again. I haven’t been able to go anywhere this week without mothers shoving their daughters in my path.”

His mother sighed. “Seven sons and yet none are married. Can you blame me? I’d like to be a grandmother before I’m dead.”

Lucien scoffed. “You’ve hardly got one foot in the grave, Mother. Besides, I’m only twenty-seven. It’s Eris you should be hounding. He’s nearing forty.”

She sighed again, this time with a tinge of sadness. “Eris is Eris. You know as well as I do, there’s no talking him into something he doesn’t want to do.”

Lucien couldn’t blame Eris for not wanting to get married. None of his half-brothers seemed inclined to continue the Vanserra line. Their father, Beron, the Duke of Ottum, had been a bastard, by all accounts. He had died before Lucien was born, allowing his mother to marry the man she had loved since before she was forced to marry Beron and birth him six children. Lucien was a product of that union, had grown up witnessing how very in love his parents were. He supposed he understood why his mother was eager for him to marry, to perhaps find the same marital bliss she had with Helion, the Duke of Daitonn. What she failed to consider, however, was that marrying for love was nearly unheard of among the members of the British aristocracy. Matches were most often made for money and status.

His mother looped her hand into his arm and pulled him toward the stairs, at the bottom of which they were to greet their guests as they arrived for the ball. His father was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, a smile on his face, his eyes soft as he watched his wife and son descend the stairs.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Helion said, placing a kiss on her cheek.

Lucien looked away from the open display of affection. It wasn’t indecent, but they were still his parents and he hardly wanted to witness their open affection. The doors to the house opened, the first of their guests arriving, and Lucien just barely stopped himself from sighing, preparing for a long evening in which every mother would be shoving their eligible daughters into his face.

He pasted on a polite smile, greeting each family as they entered, the minutes dragging by at a snail’s pace. At least when the dancing started, he would be doing something more than nodding his head and pretending he wasn’t bored out of his mind. Of course, then he’d be forced to make polite conversation while women batted their eyes at him and tried to inflate his ego.

Lucien was nearly falling asleep as the last of their guests filtered into the ballroom, when a man and his daughter stepped through the door. Lucien’s eyes widened and he quickly schooled his face to hide his shock. The daughter was a vision, quite easily the most beautiful woman to walk through their doors tonight. She was dressed in the latest fashion, but there was no hiding the luxury of the fabric, much finer than even his mother’s gown. The dark jade green dress had a bodice of fine velvet, the skirt made of row upon row of gossamer silk flaring out from her waist and falling delicately to the floor. The neckline drew delicately across her collarbones and the same gossamer silk formed the sleeves. Her matching gloves were finely sewn silk lace, and across her neck was hung a string of emeralds with matching dew drop emerald earrings. Her hair was a honey brown that glimmered in the light, the curls piled high on her head accentuating the soft curve of her neck.

He leaned over to his mother as they approached. “Who is that?”

His mother frowned. “I don’t know.”

Before she could turned to his father to ask, the butler announced them. “Viscount Archeron and his daughter, Lady Elain Archeron.”

“Viscount,” Helion greeted, “I’m so pleased you could make it.” He turned toward Elain. “And how lovely to meet your daughter.” He gestured toward Lucien and his mother. “Allow me to introduce my wife, the Duchess of Daitonn and my son Lucien.”

Lucien nodded toward Elain even as his heart pattered strangely in his chest. “A pleasure.” Without stopping to think too hard about it, he said, “I don’t suppose you would do me the honor of the first dance?”

Elain’s smile was elegant and polite as she curtsied and held out her arm so Lucien could write his name on the card attached to her wrist. “It would be my pleasure.”

Lucien quickly wrote his name on the first line, already planning to request a second dance, and then stepped back with a nod. “Please enjoy the refreshments. The music should begin shortly.”

As the Viscount and his daughter walked away, Lucien’s mother turned to her husband. “How do you know them? I’ve never even heard of the Viscount.”

“I met the Viscount at Whites yesterday evening. He and his three daughters are new in town. They have been living in the south of France for most of his children’s lives. Apparently his wife was French, and after her death, he decided to move his daughters back to England, most likely in an attempt to find them a good match. I invited them this evening and plan to introduce the Viscount to some of the men.”

His mother clicked her tongue. “The poor dears, losing their mother like that and then to be uprooted. It must be awful. I wonder where the other two are this evening.”

“Perhaps they don’t feel up to merriment, given the circumstances of their moving to London,” Lucien offered.

His mother nodded. “Yes, you’re quite right. It must not have been too recent an occurrence, given they’re here and not wearing black, but I can imagine it must be difficult nonetheless.” She turned to Lucien with an eyebrow raised. “You were quick to claim Elain’s first dance.”

Lucien returned his mother’s stare. “Yes, well, I’m simply being a good host. It’s only fitting that as we’re the ones throwing this ball, I do my part to help the Viscount and his daughter fit in with the rest of London society.”

His mother hmm’d as his father chuckled. “Well,” she said, “just be careful you find out more about the lovely woman before you make a spectacle of yourself this time.”

Lucien scoffed. “I would never make a spectacle of myself.”

His mother raised her eyebrows. “Need I remind you of the time you declared yourself for Lady Jesminda, who was already engaged?”

Lucien winced. “That was a long time ago. I was barely twenty and I learned my lesson.”

Helion held out his arm for his wife, who placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Yes, well, remember that as the hosting family, you’ll need to dance with more than one young lady.”

Lucien barely contained his annoyed sigh as he walked beside his parents into the ballroom. His father nodded to the orchestra on the mezzanine and they immediately began a waltz. Lucien couldn’t help his smile as he found Elain and walked over to her.

He bowed and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Elain curtsied and placed her gloved hand in his. He walked them to the center of the ballroom, all eyes on them as Lucien turned, placing one hand on her waist, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder as he clasped her other hand in his. As he started to move, other couples joined them on the floor. Lucien hardly noticed them, the vision that was Elain Archeron capturing his entire attention. It was a wonder he could remember the steps to the waltz.

“You’re a fine dancer, my lord,” Elain said, her voice as elegant as her gown.

“You’re much more graceful than me, I’m afraid,” was his response.

Elain’s mouth curved as she tilted her eyes down. “My mother made sure that my sisters and I received dance instruction. I’ve been waltzing for many years now.”

“My father told me of the circumstances of your move to England. Please allow me to express my condolences.”

Another couple came careening toward them, and Lucien pulled Elain close to avoid a collision, his stomach flipping as her body came flush against his. He glared at the gentleman before reluctantly placing space between them once more.

Elain looked up at him, the soft brown of her eyes reminding him of a fawn’s coat or warm honey. Her complexion was pale, but her eyes softened the otherwise cold look of her, and the overall effect was devastating.

He swallowed hard, not remembering what they were speaking about until Elain said, “Thank you, my lord. It was quite a shock, but I do believe my father made the best decision when deciding to move us to England. It was quite difficult to be reminded of my mother in every stone.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that, which was unusual. He prided himself in his ability to talk his way through any situation, but something about Elain was halting his ability to think. “Yes. I can imagine that would be difficult.”

Elain gave him another soft smile. “Let us not speak of such dark topics. It’s not fitting for a ball, after all.”

Lucien smiled back, taking the not so subtle hint that Elain did not wish to speak of her mother’s passing. “You’re quite right.” He gripped her close once more when another pair of dancers brushed too close. Really, people ought to learn how to dance before subjecting their fellow dancers to their shoddy footwork. “Have you been in London long?”

Elain shook her head as she took a step back, once more putting space between them. “We arrived in town not three days ago.”

Lucien raised his eyebrows. “So soon? I’m surprised you’re not at home recovering from your voyage.”

Elain laughed softly, the sound reminding him of the sound of wind chimes, tinkling softly in the breeze. “That is why my sisters did not join us, but I cannot resist a ball.”

The waltz came to a close, so Elain stepped back, curtsying as Lucien bowed. When she made to let go of his hand, Lucien gripped it harder.

“Forgive me for being so forward, but I was wondering if you still had dances available and if I might ask for another dance later this evening?”

Elain’s answering smile sent relief through his body. She held out her wrist once more and he took it and wrote his name on the last dance of the evening. “I shall see you for the last dance then,” he said as he let go of her wrist. She curtsied once more and walked over to her father.

Lucien didn’t realize that he was staring until his mother whispered in his ear, “Remember there are other young ladies here that require partners.”

Lucien sighed. It was going to be a long night, but at least he had another dance with Elain Archeron to look forward to. He went to get a beverage before he became surrounded by ladies and their mothers.

The evening wore on not unpleasantly. Lucien enjoyed a ball, even if it was his mother’s attempt at marrying him off, the mothers of London’s society doing their best to help her. Some young ladies were terrible dancers and others were terrible conversationalists, but regardless, he had to admit he enjoyed himself. As well, there was the prospect of another dance with Elain to keep him happy.

Elain had spent the entire evening dancing, her card rapidly filling as the other eligible bachelors of London vyed for her attention. Lucien tried not to stare at them all, to wonder if she enjoyed their company more than his. He reminded himself that he didn’t wish to insult the ladies he himself was dancing with; it was not their fault that Elain Archeron had arrived in London to take away the attention of all the men in society.

Still it was difficult to keep his eyes off the vision that was Elain as she twirled around the dance floor, so regal that she looked as if she were floating around the room, the silk of her skirt trailing after her. Eventually, the last dance of the evening was announced and Lucien did his best to walk calmly to where she was standing next to her father, a cup of punch in her hand.

Her lips curved up as he bowed and held out his hand. “I believe this last dance is mine?”

She handed her cup to her father as she curtsied, taking his hand. He couldn’t help but wish that it was ok for ladies to remove their gloves, so that he might feel her skin against his. He walked her back to the center of the room and placed his hand on her waist.

As they started dancing about the room, he asked, “So, how was your first ball in London?”

She smiled, her eyes dancing and her cheeks flushed. “It was quite entertaining and just what I needed after several weeks of traveling.”

He knew he shouldn’t ask, that it wasn’t proper, but, “Have any of the gentlemen caught your eye this evening?”

He knew he should be embarrassed for being so bold, as well as for showing how much he cared about her answer, but couldn’t find it in himself to worry what she thought of him as her smile grew and her alluring eyes shifted down. “There are many fine gentlemen in London. The ladies are quite lucky to have such a pool from which to choose husbands, but you, sir, are the only gentleman with which I’ve shared two dances.”

Lucien didn’t bother to moderate his grin. “Well then, I hope to share many more dances with you in the future.” He tightened his grip on her waist before adding. “Perhaps I will also see you at the opera?”

Elain looked up at him, a coy smile on her face. “Perhaps.”

Lucien’s grin grew and they fell into a companionable silence as they moved about the room, staring into each other’s eyes. The urge to kiss her came over him quite suddenly and he just barely resisted. It would make him a bastard of the highest order if he were to kiss her in full view of London society, especially given she had been in town for a mere three days, but the urge remained nonetheless.

When the song ended, Elain curtsied and Lucien held out his arm. “Will you allow me to escort you to your carriage?”

Elain placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You may.”

Many people glanced their way as they made their way toward the front door, the women doing little to hide their disappointment that they weren’t the one on his arm and then men doing little to hide their envy that he was the one to escort Elain. No doubt Lucien would have to be quick if he decided to propose, as surely Elain would have men lined up around the block.

When they reached the Viscount at the door, Lucien thanked them both for coming before asking if he could call upon Elain the following day.

“You’ll have to excuse us,” the Viscount replied. “I indulged my middle daughter this evening, but our home is not yet ready to receive guests, and my other two daughters are not yet recovered from our long journey. Perhaps another time.”

Lucien nodded and smiled despite the disappointment coursing through him. “Of course. Another time then.”

He watched as the Viscount and Elain got into their carriage before turning back into the house, straight into the smirking face of his mother.

“Well,” she said, “that was quite the success, I do think.”

Lucien looked to the ceiling and sighed in mock irritation. “I hate it when you’re right.”

She patted him on the cheek. “I know, my darling boy, but what else are mothers for if not to annoy their children with wisdom?”

Helion walked up, hand to his mouth as he yawned. It was nearly three in the morning. “Shall we, my dear?”

His mother nodded and looped her hand through his father’s arm. “I might just fall asleep standing up if I don’t find my bed soon.”

Lucien followed his parents up the stairs, turning in the opposite direction for his room.

Despite not planning to spend the season finding a wife, one might just have dropped into his lap unexpectedly.

~~~~~~

The following evening, Lucien spent his time playing cards at White’s with his good friend Jurian and several other men. He had slept until nearly noon, but with Elain’s father declining his offer to visit, Lucien had seen no reason to get out of bed earlier.

By the time he left the club it was nearing midnight and he was nearly drunk, having gone a little heavy handed on the wine throughout the night. He stared out the window as the carriage meandered down the road. There weren’t many carriages out at this time of night, so the trip back to his home shouldn’t take long. Still, he willed himself to sober up a bit. His mother hated to see him drunk and he hated to disappoint her. Eris had once alluded to the fact that Beron had been drunk regularly, so Lucien could certainly understand why it bothered her.

They were just passing by the edge of the slums when a glint of golden hair caught his eye. He sat up, and peered out the window. Surely he was wrong. No lady would be alone this late at night, especially in this area of town.

He rapped the top of the carriage. “Stop the carriage.”

The driver pulled over as a woman who looked very much like Elain Archeron turned into a dark alley, oblivious of the unsavory gentleman who was following close behind. Lucien’s heart was in his throat as he leapt out of the carriage before it had come to a complete stop. Elain—or whomever the woman was—was in trouble. He wasn’t quite sure how he would help her, having no weapon on him but his own two fists, but he could hardly leave her to be assaulted. He could only hope the man wasn’t carrying a knife or pistol with him.

Lucien ran toward through the mud, nearly getting trampled by another carriage as he hurried across the street. The streets weren’t as noisy as during the day, but there was still enough sound that he couldn’t be certain of the scream he heard coming from the alley. He quickly pumped his legs, skidding to a halt in the dark alley, as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.

“Hey! What are—” He pulled up short, uncertain what exactly his eyes were seeing.

The man who had followed the woman who looked like Elain into the alley was backed against the brick wall, his eyes glazed over as the woman pressed her lips to his neck. Lucien blinked for several seconds as the reality of what he was seeing caught up to him, the wine leaving his brain muddled. It appeared he wasn’t saving a woman from assault; rather, he had interrupted what appeared to be a romantic interlude.

“Pardon me,” he said, stepping back, now certain the woman could not be Elain Archeron. No woman in society would be in this part of town, and certainly not with her lips pressed against a man’s neck.

“Help—me,” the man rasped, his fingers twitching toward Lucien, stopping him in his tracks.

As if finally alerted to his presence, the woman pulled away, the man she had had her lips against sliding down the wall. Lucien’s eyes widened in horror as he realized the woman before him was indeed Elain Archeron.

Except his mind could not process what he was seeing. What appeared to be blood was dripping down one corner of her mouth. Her teeth also looked quite strange, two of them much longer than the rest, resting against her lips and calling to mind the word fangs. Lucien’s eyes flicked to the man now laying on the ground, at what appeared to be two puncture holes which were slowly leaking blood down his neck. When he looked back to Elain, it was to find her tongue darting out to capture the red liquid on the corner of her mouth. Before his eyes, the sharp fangs grew shorter, sliding back behind her lips, and Elain grabbed a handkerchief and dabbed the rest of the blood off her chin.

“I—I don’t understand.” Some subconscious part of him knew that he was in danger, forcing him to back up a step, even as his rational mind tried to explain away what he was seeing. There was no way that Elain Archeron, daughter of a viscount, could have overpowered that man, no way she was drinking his blood. There had to be some other explanation.

Elain sighed as she replaced her handkerchief, sorrow filling her eyes.

“Oh Lucien. I really wish you hadn’t seen that.”

#Victorian AU #Vampire AU #Vampire Elain #elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction

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warriorowan · 3 months

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hey guys! i would like to ask whenever you make a request to be specific with how you want me to make it. like what highlight color you want, if messy or quotes header or both. this helps me a lot ♥

summary

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maybellwesley

naominicholas

nathanstassie

nessamiko

percabeth

pipravi

rafepenny

rhysbridget

romajuliette

rowaelin

rowaelin pt.2

theowinter

vadcorvina

vip series

warnette

warnette pt.2

willacade

xadenviolet

rinaverse

jeremycecily

landonmia

nikobran

reinaasher

ronanteal

xanderkim

xanderkim pt.2

general

acotar series

a court of silver flames

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carrie soto is back

daisy jones and the six

from blood and ash

heartless

heartstopper

it ends with us

it ends with us pt.2

kingdom of the wicked

scythe

stormlight archive

the cruel prince

the infernal devices

the invisible life of addie larue

the unbecoming of mara dyer

characters

aelin galathynius

cardan greenbriar

cassian

feyre archeron

jude duarte

lucien vanserra

maven calore

nesta archeron

nikolai lantsov

victor vale

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Text

We Could Pretend to Form an Attachment | Chapter 2 | ACOTAR Writing Circle

Summary: Desperate to escape the ton's expectations, Elain Archeron makes an unlikely arrangement with a handsome stranger. (Header and summary by @velidewrites)

Word Count: 3.4k

Note: This is part two of a collaborative project organized by @azrielshadowssing! The first chapter was written by @velidewrites and the next chapter will be written by a different author.

Part 1 | Writing Circle Masterlist

Prince.

The word bloomed in her chest as readily as the heat from his lips poised against her fingers, seeping through her silken glove to mark her skin irreparably.

Elain could see it now. The long red hair, the smirking russet eyes, the gold-embroidered finery. She had been foolish—so, so foolish—not to realize that he was a Vanserra on sight. Now she could recognize that famed, cruel beauty of the King’s youngest brother.

Lucien Vanserra.

Sinfully full lips twisted into their best impression of a smile, so clearly amused by the way she stared at him. Elain thought she was going to be sick. She turned her head towards the garden she had been escaping to when she ran into the Prince, thinking all the more that she could use the fresh air. How was it that in her attempts to flee the King, she had thrown herself to the mercy of his brother?

“Something the matter, Lady Elain?”

She snatched her hand away as though he had burned her. He very well might have, from the way her skin still tingled as if there had been no barrier between them.

“Nothing sire,” Elain breathed, gathering her skirts to sketch a curtsy. “Forgive me, your highness. I realize I have been entirely improper—”

A warm, broad hand at her arm prevented her from leaving. Lucien was frowning now. “I do hope you are not backing out of our agreement.”

“I…” She searched for the words to refute a man of his status, and could think of nothing short of incurring his brother’s name. I am already of interest to the King.

“I assure you, lady, there is no one better fitting for this arrangement than myself.” He flashed an achingly charming smile. “If I am publicly courting you, there are few men who would dare to oppose it.”

His own brother might. And Elain wondered if Lucien would truly stand in opposition to the King or if the ruse would fall apart from one private conversation between the brothers. And how precarious, that if she were to find another man to fit the arrangement, Lucien could expose her to the entire court.

What was she to do? She had mistepped in her haste, and now this handsome, powerful man held her fate in his hands.

Elain wanted to rage, wanted to peel off her shoe and see if she could throw it hard enough to wipe that obnoxious grin off of Lucien’s face. He knew he had her cornered, and part of her wanted to demand why he was entertaining this at all. He, at least, was a man. A prince. And if an unwanted match pursued him, he had the power to say no. He had the freedom to navigate society unmarried, wearing his rakish reputation like a badge of honor.

Resentment built in her chest, but she swallowed it like all proper ladies are bred to. “I am not going back on our agreement, your highness. I only seek some fresh air.”

“Let me accompany you,” he said smoothly.

Elain raised an accusational brow. “Without a chaperone?”

His laugh was a dark, sensual thing that twisted in her gut. With a wide sweeping motion, he gestured around the empty pathway. “You are unchaperoned now, lady.”

“Then I must be going,” she said, stepping out of his grasp. “Lest we be caught alone and forced into a proper marriage.”

That, at least, encouraged Lucien to release his grip on her arm, and she felt the lack of his touch like a brand. She looked to the Prince, noticing how the humor in his expression had sobered at the mention of marriage. As a member of the royal family—as the famed rake, no less—she wondered if any girls had tried to trap him through such a convention.

And, from the dark gleam in his eyes, she wondered how many he had left to ruin as consequence. Elain had the sense that if they were caught alone together, there would be no dutiful marriages. He did not intend to marry, and he was assisting in her scheme out of convenience, not compassion.

Lucien tipped his head, stepping aside from the path so she could continue to the gardens. “Enjoy your fresh air, then. I will be waiting in the ballroom to claim your first dance.” His eyes slid warily towards the gardens, which had looked lovely in the golden wash of sunset but were now becoming increasingly sinister as the shadows grew. “I encourage you not to be long.”

His boots clicked softly against the cobblestone, and the sound of music and muffled voices drifted towards her as he opened the door to slip inside. Now alone, Elain looked back towards the King’s garden. She understood why Lucien had cautioned her—Nesta had warned her enough times about the danger of a lady caught unchaperoned in dark places.

And, very briefly, she contemplated the merits of wandering into that garden and waiting for a man to happen by. Being caught with him would mean she would not have to worry about the King, or his brother, or the Archeron finances. But she would need to worry about her husband, and whether he was a kind enough man she could endure spending the rest of her life beside him.

She stayed only long enough to let the evening air cool her flushed skin, greedily swallowing it into her lungs like maybe if she took a heavy enough breath, the weight could make her feel steady again. Yet she still felt shaky as she returned to the bustling ballroom, already swept into a dance that the King watched over. She pressed to the outskirts as his eyes traced over the crowd, hoping to avoid his attention until she had someone on her arm.

“How were the gardens?”

The deep voice at her ear made her jump.

Elain whirled to find Lucien, holding a delicate glass of sparkling wine between pinched fingers. Light glinted off the crystal, sparkling like the amusement in his eyes as he extended the drink towards her.

“Beautiful,” she answered, accepting the glass with a gracious nod. “The King must take painstaking care of them.”

Lucien snorted. “I doubt Eris could name a single flower in that garden.”

“Could you?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

He looked surprised by the question—by the challenge it contained. Elain was certain that a prince’s words were hardly ever called into question, least of all by the darling debutantes of the ton. He was likely used to women batting their lashes and fawning over his every word if it meant they could coerce him into a courtship.

Yet his composure remained endlessly proud as he raised his own glass to his lips and pulled a long sip. Something he had certainly done on purpose, so she could observe the way the liquid gleamed on his lips as he asked, “What do you say to a friendly game, lady?”

“I would say that I’m not foolish enough to agree to one without knowing the rules.”

His errant smile grew. “They have taught you well, then.” An assessment he saw she was prepared to bite at, for how quickly he continued. “The rules are this: you describe the flowers you saw in the garden and for every one I correctly identify, you owe me a dance.”

Elain hesitated, studying Lucien curiously. Most men seemed clueless about such subjects, but he carried himself with an unwavering confidence that made her think twice before agreeing. “How well are princes educated in botany?”

“Dare to find out?”

That answer said enough. She knew the way gentlemen liked to bet—had witnessed her father stumble home from gambling dens in such a sour mood that he had to be avoided for days. Elain could not always tell when a man was bluffing; if she could, she would never have been fooled by Graysen. But in that moment she felt certain that Lucien could name every flower in that garden.

And maybe… maybe she wanted him to prove it.

“There was a red flower,” she said slowly, testing him. “It had thorns on its stem, and a layering of petals—”

“Rose,” he interrupted, sounding almost offended. “I’m not counting that. My three-year-old cousin would be able to identify one.”

Elain bit her lip. “There was another flower that grew from a long stem, with purple petals that drooped away from each other—almost in the shape of a star.”

He considered this for a moment. There were two types of purple flowers in the King’s garden—and if he did indeed know the flowers he kept, it would be easy to identify the difference between them.

“Irises,” he said after a moment, smiling. “Like a star.”

Despite herself, Elain’s temper flared. “Don’t mock me—”

“I’m not mocking you.” The delight in his voice made her think otherwise. “But you owe me a dance.” He extended his hand towards her. “Tell me more about the flowers while I twirl you around the room.”

Without meaning to, she glanced towards the King still perched against his throne. They were partially obscured by his vision, behind pillars and palms and the rest of the crowd. It was safe here, away from most of the prying eyes. But once they entered that dance floor… the entire ton would be talking about Lady Archeron dancing with the Prince. Elain could not decide if she was more nervous to face the King or Nesta in the aftermath.

“You do know how to dance, lady?” Lucien prompted, purposely misreading her hesitance.

Elain narrowed her eyes. “Do not worry—I’m certain I’m more proficient in dancing than you are in decorum, your highness.”

He leaned closer, until she could mark the flecks of gold swimming in his eyes beneath the gleam of candlelight. Lashes brushed against his cheek as his attention diverted to their hands. His fingers curled slowly around her own.

“That fills me with little confidence,” he murmured. “You will find I have famously poor decorum.”

He was staring at her gloved hand like he could track the warmth spreading along her skin, shuddering up her arm until her pulse was fluttering at the simple touch—or perhaps it was simply from the anxiety of subjecting herself to the scrutiny of the ton. In any case, it made her feel unsteady. And as Lucien glanced up to meet her eyes, she worried she truly would forget how to dance beneath those molten pools of russet.

He tugged lightly on her hand, which at least reminded her how to walk. One foot in front of the other, dragging her slowly back to the poisoned attention of the King and his subjects. But there was something about being by Lucien’s side that put her more at ease, encouraging her to lift her chin proudly as heads turned and jaws dropped.

Elain was certain it had something to do with the control she finally felt she had. She’d seldom tasted any freedom in her life, but she felt an ounce of it as the Prince stopped in front of her on the dance floor and bowed at the waist. Gasps echoed in the crowd behind her, and she relished at being able to manufacture this surprise. So long this society had been a controlling overseer, looming over every aspect of her life. Now, she had taken the reins back, at least temporarily.

The mischief sparkling in Lucien’s eyes was their own private secret as he swept them into the dance, playing the part of the distinguished gentleman she was discovering he absolutely was not. But he was a good dancer. Lithe and graceful. She wanted to laugh at those meticulous hours of instruction she’d received from her governess, so useless with the way he was leading her into each motion with little effort on her part.

It allowed her to focus on other things, like the weight of the warm, steady hand he had placed on her waist. His thumb rubbed taunting, indecent circles into her hip, scrambling her brain nearly as much as the feint smell of cedar that clung to his clothes. As though he’d emerged straight from the forest.

Despite the prying eyes of the ton, watching them like circling birds of prey, Elain was anchored to this small, stolen moment between the two of them. Nothing else existed aside from the music and Lucien and the way he was staring at her like she was the only one in the room.

His smile returned, but it was softer. More palatable to the public eye, she assumed.

“Tell me more about the flowers,” he said.

“I take it that means you want another dance,” she teased. “I suppose my performance wasn’t so poor after all.”

“I want the next dance,” he agreed, sounding breathless. Elain supposed he was doing most of the work, after all. “The next, and every one after.”

Laughter bubbles from her lips, unbidden in a way that caused her to think the wine was going to her head. “You can’t simply—“

“I’m the Prince,” he protested. “I can do whatever I’d like.”

“Must be nice,” she said wistfully. Yes, her tongue had certainly loosened. “I could not hope to imagine what that would feel like.”

Maybe it was her imagination, but Lucien seemed to pull her closer. And she swore his fingers tightened their grip.

“Is there something you desire, lady?”

It could have been posed as a kind question, but the way he asked, the way his voice dropped low and scraped over skin, made her want to cover her face. Those amber eyes had darkened, settling overtly on her lips. “Tell me what it is, and I shall see it done.”

Her mouth felt dry. “I think you are promising more than you can provide, your Highness.”

Her words did little to mitigate the heat of his stare. He said lowly, “Do not underestimate what I can provide you, Elain.”

And the suggestion in those words—she couldn’t help the small, startled gasp that hiccuped past her lips, nor the way her face flushed. But she would blame it all on the sliver of alcohol she had consumed.

Lucien looked like he was prepared to say more, seemingly determined to scandalize her. But the fanfare of trumpets cut suddenly though the room, halting the music and the dancing bodies and whatever words were on the Prince’s lips.

The attention of the room had turned to the King, who clambered from his throne with that same careless grace that Lucien carried himself with. Elain did not know if it was a trait of Vanserras or simply of royalty, and had not encountered enough of either to decide.

Eris’s eyes swept over the crowd, grinning like he had invited them all into a lion’s den. It felt more appropriate for him to announce that he had secretly poisoned the wine than to declare the season’s diamond.

“I am appreciative of all who could make their attendance,” he said, searching over the faces in a way that felt too analytical to be sincere. Their eyes met, briefly, before his gaze fell to the hand still clasped delicately in Lucien’s. The King’s lips twitched. “Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season’s diamond.”

Elain turned her head, easily spotting Nesta in the crowd. She was the only one who wasn’t looking at the King. She was watching Elain, blue eyes wide and burning. And when Elain glanced back to Eris, she saw that he had been assessing Nesta, too. A game. This was all such a carefully laid out game.

And Elain wanted to refuse to be a pawn, but she could do little about the way Eris returned his attention to her. And smirked.

“Lady Elain Archeron,” he called, stepping into the crowd. They scrambled immediately to part for him so that no obstacle lay in his path as he took each condemning step towards Elain. It was customary for the diamond to approach the King, and yet she was weighted to the ground, pinned beneath that predatory gleam in his eyes.

Lucien’s grip tightened in her hand. She knew that people were beginning to take notice of the fact that he hadn’t released her, especially as Eris paused in front of them.

Everyone was watching, holding their breaths as the world came to a standstill.

Snatching her hand away from Lucien’s, Elain gathered her skirts and bowed into a low curtsey. Fingers framed her chin—so much colder than Lucien’s, just like the eyes she was made to look into as Eris tilted her face towards his.

“I see you have already been acquainted with my brother, Lady Archeron.”

It seemed a challenge. One Nesta might have a fit for later as Elain answered, “I have, your majesty.”

Those calculating eyes slid to Lucien, some tense, silent communication being passed between them. “I trust his manners have been exemplary.”

She bowed her head, ignoring the way his statement was aimed primarily towards Lucien. “Exactly as one could anticipate from a member of your royal family.”

They both seemed to find that amusing.

Eris turned to face her once more, extending his hand. “Allow your King to dance with his incomparable, if only so I may demonstrate how a king compares to a prince.”

“Her dance card is full on account of a wager,” Lucien cut in before she could answer, casting an easy smile towards Elain. “You wouldn’t make a darling debutante go back on her word, would you brother?”

Brother, he said. Not King, not Your Majesty.

“Of course,” Eris said, tone and expression unbothered. But there was an edge to his voice as he said, “I respect a lady’s word above all else, though I caution her to be more careful with it in the future. Gambling is a dangerous affair, afterall.”

So too, she expected, was being involved with the royal family to this degree.

Eris’s eyes turned towards the still-listening crowd, grinning. “Perhaps your sister can accept a dance in your place, then.”

“I’m sure she would be honored,” Elain said quickly, trying her best to hide her shock.

She kept her eyes on the King, certain if she turned her head she would see Nesta’s furious expression. Eris, at least, looked pleased as he nodded his ascent for Lucien to take her hand. Lucien obeyed, pulling Elain back to the dance floor in a way that encouraged the rest of the ton to begin moving. She saw the way the King approached Nesta, ever-curious to the exchange of words that led to her sister begrudgingly accepting the King’s hand.

“Eris loves to play games,” Lucien said at her ear, pulling her back into the dance. “I advise you not to get dragged into one.”

Elain was finding she was tired of being cautioned. For the moment, she preferred to think of other things—like the way Lucien’s hand fit perfectly against the curve of her back.

“You lied,” she whispered to him, looking up at those scarlet lashes, so long they brushed over his golden brown cheekbones. “You said you had filled my dance card with our wager, but you have not won another dance.”

That encouraged a sinful smile. “Perhaps I like to play games, too.”

Dearest Gentle Readers,

There will forever be just two words that come to this author’s mind the morning after any good party: “shock” and “delight”.

Well, dear reader, the scandalous accounts from last night’s soiree at the Grand Orangerie are quite shocking and delightful indeed.

Emerging phoenix-like from the ashes of her sister’s unfulfilled potential is one Lady Elain Archeron. The illustrious debutante was seen grappling with the attentions of not one, but two members of the Royal Family. Choosing between a Prince and a King is a dilemma most mamas would spend very little time considering—for who wouldn’t want to see their daughter become a Queen? Perhaps it is her lack of motherly guidance that led Lady Elain to turn down the King so she could dance exclusively with the rakish Prince Lucien.

Although this author is left to wonder if this was a strategic decision orchestrated by our former incomparable Lady Nesta. It appears that an old diamond does not lose its luster, for the eldest Archeron was spotted dancing with the King in the wake of Lady Elain’s dismissal.

The Archeron sisters’ ability to advance from insignificance to potential royal consorts is something that even this jaded author must applaud. It seems the ton will need to keep a careful eye on this pair of sisters and the royal brothers they are pursuing.

Trust that if anything can be revealed about the circumstances of these matches, it is I who will uncover it.

Yours truly,

Lady Suriel

Tagging: @azrielshadowssing @headcanonheadcase @the-lonelybarricade @crazy-cool-girl-blog @violet-shadows @thehaemanthus @shadowsingerofnight @ofduskanddreams @hlizr50 @vikingmagic33

#acotarwritingcircle #elucien #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #Sorry I'm genuinely publishing this and vanishing #Your girl is so busy this weekend she had to wake up at 6am to write this #I'm sorry if it's trash

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