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bookish-whore · 2 years

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Falling Part III

Azriel x Reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: slight discussions of trauma/depressive thoughts

A/N: This is the longest chapter so far! thank you so much to everyone who has shown this story love it makes my heart so happy when you like, reblog, and comment like I want to jump through the screen and kiss all of you. ANYWAYS my requests are open as usual so ask away and enjoy this chapter <3

Part I, Part II

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Lucien was a good male. He understood my need for silence and didn’t push me to talk the entire walk back to the House of Wind. He only spoke once, gently asking me if it was alright to pick me up so he could winnow us inside the wards. I silently nodded my head, knowing that if I tried to speak my voice would come out weak and cracked. He delicately picked me up, as if the brokenness that resided within me had made its way onto my physical form, he handled me like I was cracked porcelain, and one wrong move would shatter me completely.

Lucien even went so far as to walk me directly to my bedroom. My footsteps halting at the door as I turned around to thank him for his kindness, for helping me tonight. I opened my mouth, trying to form the words when he disrupted the silence.

“Its Azriel isn’t it” he said softly, not wanting to startle me but needing confirmation of what he too saw tonight.

I slowly nodded, turning the doorknob, and stepping into the dark room illuminated only by the moon as it shone through the window, soft shadows dancing within the space. Lucien followed; and for a moment I wondered if he too needed a friend, someone to comfort him as he had me.

“And he is with Elain…” he spoke it out loud, not as a question but to speak his reality into existence. As though he needed to hear it himself to believe it.

I nodded my head again as he brought his hand up to his eyes, rubbing it down his face until it settled over his mouth. An anguished look resting along his features. He made his way across the room to sit in one of the plush chairs in the corner lowering his head into his hands, and bringing both to rest between his knees, his shoulders softly shaking. I made my way to my dressing room, wanting to give the male privacy and change out of my clothes suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric.

I quickly strip off the dress discarding it in a pile in the corner and opt for a simple soft blue silk nightgown to sleep in. Once changed, I make my way to the bathroom, washing the makeup off my face before returning to Lucien, who is in the same position he took when I left him. I make my way over, kneeling gently in front of him and bring my hands to rest on his knees. He slowly looks up at me, the moonlight reflecting off the wetness on his cheeks, evidence enough that he had been crying. That this news was a shock to him, and he felt it as deeply as I did.

For a brief moment, I felt relieved, we may have been two broken souls alone together in the moonlight, but at least there was someone who understood the vast depths of this pain, someone who could understand the suffocating ache that resided in my chest, someone who could understand the invisible pull that I felt towards a mate who would not offer me so much as a glance. It was a strange and comforting vulnerability and although I was not glad that he was in pain, I was glad that I had someone in this world who could empathize.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask rubbing small comforting circles on his knees as I knelt before him.

“Not particularly” he says softly, his voice hoarse and rough.

I nod, removing my hands from his knees as he stands. “I should probably go” he says, although rather than moving towards the door his heels remain planted in front of me. His hand reaching out as a silent offering to help me from my kneeling position. I give him a look of gratitude as I take it and rise from the floor.

“Can you stay?” I ask, taking a deep breath before continuing “I just- I don’t want to be alone right now.”

He takes a long breath, my offer ringing in the air. My body tenses, hesitantly waiting for his reply. I want to open my mouth and take it back, perhaps I overstepped what he is in a position to give right now. I quickly think, but after what feels like an eternity, he looks at me and says “I don’t either”

Our eyes lock, a mutual understanding hanging in the air that there was nothing romantic in this. It was simply two broken people seeking out support in each other. “I’ll be right back” I say breaking the brief silence that had settled over the room. I turn towards the door and quickly exit the space; I was going to Cassian and Nesta’s room to borrow some sleep clothes for Lucien. I knew they wouldn’t mind being that they were all still enjoying the vibrant nightlife that Velaris had to offer. After quickly raiding Cassian’s closet I make my way through the dark halls back to my bedroom only noticed by the watchful eyes of the house itself.

I quietly entered the room, closing the door behind me and was surprised to see the room cast in a soft orange glow, the gentle sounds of a crackling fire filling the room. It appeared that while I was gone, Lucien took it upon himself to get a fire going. I was grateful for such a small act as I felt the hearth’s warmth slowly sink into my bones melting away the chill brought on by the frigid night air.

“I thought you might want something more comfortable to sleep in” I say while handing the bundle of clothing out to him and point to the door across the room “the bathroom is over there; you are welcome to anything in there”

He gives me a small nod, taking the clothing into the washroom as the door closes behind him with a soft click. Now somewhat alone, I pull the covers down on my side of the bed, climbing in and pulling them up to my waist. I adjust the pillows and lean against the headboard, my mind reflecting on the events of the night but before I can dwell further on it the door reopens, and Lucien emerges in just the soft linen pants I provided. His bare chest gleaming in the firelight as he makes his way to the opposite side of the bed.

“I don’t usually sleep in a shirt, I hope that’s alright” he says pulling the covers down and settling in, bringing the blankets to rest around his waist. I simply nod, exhaustion beginning to pull on my body.

He gently pulls me into him, my back rests against his chest as he wraps his arms around me tucking my head under his chin. “We will get through this” he murmurs into my hair pressing a soft kiss there. I can’t help the tears that spring into my eyes and Lucien simply holds me while the events of the day come flooding back, my heart aching in tandem with his own. I don’t remember when the tears stop but we lay like that until I let the sweet embrace of sleep take me.

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I wake up to the delicate sounds of rain pattering against my window and roll over, stretching out my limbs. As I turn over, I am met by the sight of Lucien sitting up in my bed, his back propped against the headboard as he reads a book. “Good morning y/n” he says “I didn’t want to wake you; It seems like you were in desperate need of uninterrupted sleep”

“I don’t really sleep well these days, to be honest” I say, my mouth opening into an involuntary yawn. “This is the best I’ve gotten in weeks” I finish.

“Happy to be of service” Lucien says, slowly rising out of the bed “Do you mind if I use your bath?” he asks making his way to the washroom.

“Of course, not Vanserra” I flash him a smile “in fact I insist. because if we’re being honest, which is where I think our friendship stands after last night, you have the worst bedhead I have ever seen and your breath? horrendous” He laughs and flashes me an obscene gesture closing the door behind him.

He quickly bathes and dresses in his clothes from last night, simple pants and a green tunic adorned with gold embroidery. He sits in the chair in the corner of the room to lace up his boots and makes his way to where I was, where I had remained sitting on the bed. He sits beside me taking my hand in his.

“Y/n because I value you and our friendship” he begins “you get two days” he says firmly “two days to sulk, and cry, and lick your wounds and pity yourself and then you get up and you move past it. Do not give him” he pauses “do not give them; control over who you are. You are more than someone’s mate as am I. You are strong, and intelligent, and training to be a Valkyrie for cauldron’s sake. Channel yourself into that.” He gently squeezes me hand before rising.

“And you’ll do the same?” I question

“I wouldn’t give you advice I myself would not heed.” He makes his way to the door slowly opening it and stepping into the hall.

“Thank you for everything y/n”

I simply pull him into a tight hug “no need for that Vanserra, you were as much my savior last night as I was yours”

We pull away as soft steps sound from down the hall. The universe was a cruel place I think as Elain rounds the corner, her steps faltering as she notices the scene before her; Lucien leaving my bedroom in the morning after we had disappeared together, he was in his clothing from the night before and I only wore a nightgown. Gods only knows what assumptions she made in that moment. She quickly gives us a wave before continuing on her path, disappearing into another hall.

Lucien simply gives me a smirk as if to say let her draw her own conclusions. As he turns and walks way.

I close the door behind me, returning to my position in bed. Lucien’s advice still lingering in the air. I look out the window, the dark storm clouds casting the normally vibrant city into a perpetual state of gloom.

Two days, I can do that. I think before hurling the covers over my head drowning out the world.

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Once again sleep had eluded me which is why I was currently making my way up to the roof at this ungodly hour. I had decided that instead of continuing to stare at my ceiling I would much rather gaze at the stars, I could also use the fresh air and cool nights like this tended to clear my mind.

I open the door and make my way to the edge of the roof, quickly jumping onto the thick railing and swinging my legs over to dangle them over the side. There was a lot of space, so much that I could fully lay back, bringing my hands to rest behind my head, my knees carelessly swinging my feet back and forth into the empty space below me. I don’t know how long I lay there, looking for constellations and thinking about the last few weeks.

“Can’t sleep?” a familiar voice says from the shadows

I can’t help but jump at the sudden interruption “do you make it a habit to sneak up on women in the middle of the night shadowsinger?” I slowly sit up, turning slightly to face him.

He chuckles “I made an exception for you.” He pauses “do you mind if I join you?”

“I suppose not” I say tapping the empty space beside me, Azriel’s wings flare slightly as he shifts himself down dangling his feet over the edge. His knee coming to rest against my own.

His shadows suddenly emerge, swirling like dark clouds up my forearms and around my torso, a few even coming to caress my face. I can’t help but smile at their presence as I look at them in awe. Bringing a finger to touch one as it swirls around my hand.

His eyes go wide, fear evident in his look. His hands reach out in a silent order to them to return to their master. “y/n I am so sorry, that has never happened. They have never done that before” His voice sounds rushed and panicked. “Are you alright” he asks observing me for any indication that I wouldn’t be.

“Yeah Az, I’m fine” I say “in fact, I like them”

Relief floods his features as he cocks his head to the side, taking in my words “You- you like them?”

“They are unique, and different, I’ve ever seen anything like them. I think they’re even sort of beautiful” I finally say.

Beautiful. He mouths the word “you aren’t afraid of them?” he asks

“I know they wouldn’t hurt me” I say confidently

“How can you be so sure they wouldn’t” his question lingers as I contemplate my response

“Because I know you wouldn’t hurt me - at least not intentionally” I say looking back up at the stars.

My words hang in the air as we sit in the silence. I look over at him “so what brings you up here at this time of night”

“I was working on reports earlier for Rhys and before I knew it hours had gone by. I was headed to my room but just felt like I needed to come up here instead” his gaze met mine “what about you”

“I couldn’t sleep” I said softly “I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, and I just couldn’t put a damper on my thoughts”

“Well, what’s been on your mind” he asks “maybe talking about it will help”

“I don’t know if that’s a go-”

“It’s the least I can do” he cuts me off “come on y/n”

I take a deep inhale “I guess” I trail off trying to find the words “I guess I don’t feel like I belong here…I mean everyone has someone, Cassian has Nesta, Amren has Varian, Rhys has Feyre, and you- you have Elain.” I take a deep breath “I guess these days I feel like I don’t really belong anywhere, like no one would notice if I just disappeared” I shift my gaze to look out at the distant city lights.

“I would notice” he said

I flash him a small smile “well you are the spymaster for the night court, if you failed to notice a missing person from the inner circle, I would highly doubt your abilities” he lets out a laugh, and I can’t help but think it was one of the most delightful sounds I have ever heard.

We sat in silence both looking up at the night sky.

After a while of comfortable silence, the shadowsinger rises from his position next to me. “I should head inside” he says “thanks for the chat y/n”

“Goodnight Az” I mutter softly, feeling one of his shadows gently caress my shoulder as he disappeared into the house.

Not soon after he left, I made my way back to my room and as I settle in my bed the conversation runs through my head one last time before my eyelids grow heavy and I fall asleep.

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The weeks after that night on the rooftop blurred by.

I took Lucien and Nesta’s advice and threw myself into the comfort of a routine, relished in it even. I was constantly training, either by myself to build my stamina or with the Valkyries and I was spending a lot of time helping Feyre with winter solstice preparations as we were only a week away from the holiday. In fact, today after training I was going into Velaris to shop for solstice gifts with Feyre and Nyx. Once bathing the dirt and sweat off myself and dressing for the day I made my way to the sitting room, where I was meeting Rhysand to winnow to the River House.

However, when I got to the sitting room it wasn’t the high lord I came face-to-face with but rather the spymaster. We had exchanged pleasantries since the night on the rooftop and would train together and have meals together, but I still felt nervous in his presence. He slowly turned to me.

“Rhys got called away early this morning to deal with a skirmish at one of the Illyrian camps, he sent a note asking if I could drop you at the River House today”

“That’s nice of you” I said cursing myself for such an awkward response.

“It’s no trouble, I have some things to deal with there anyways” he takes a step towards me “are you ready to go?”

I nod my head and walk towards him. We had been in close proximity in training, but this somehow felt different. The air felt like it was charged with electricity, he held out his gloved hand which I took without question as he pulled me close, his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar enveloping me, his shadows swirling around us as he made that jump between spaces. When we arrived in the River House I thanked Az before slowly stepping out of his embrace as the high lady walked into the room. Feyre’s eyes glanced between us before she had me follow her through the house to retrieve Nyx.

We made our way outside to the gardens, where Elain sat with Nyx on a blanket, the little prince babbling and laughing, his dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. Feyre made her way over to him, gently scooping him in her arms and pressing a finger to his nose “are you ready to go spend time with aunt y/n my darling” she cooed quickly thanking Elain for watching him.

I offered Elain a simple smile and nod as I followed the high lady back through the house to get Nyx’s stroller and toys to keep him occupied while we shopped. I had a lot of time in the past few weeks to contemplate Elain, and my whole situation in general and I had come to the conclusion that I didn’t hate her. How could I? she was gentle and quiet; she spent her days tending to flowers and cared nothing for the conversations about what was coming. She was a human in a fae body, still clinging to what she could of her old life. I couldn’t help but think that given the choice between me and her I didn’t blame Azriel for choosing her, it would be easier to love her. Maybe that made me insane, but I wanted to be chosen because of who I was and what I made him feel, not because of this bond that told us we were meant for each other. I shook the thoughts from my head as Feyre and I made our way out of the house and onto the streets of Velaris.

Walking through the shops proved to be very successful. So far, I had picked up some stunning silver and emerald pieces for Amren, a collection of romance books for Nesta, a selection of sheet music for Gwyn, a new thigh sheath for Emerie, and a pair of satin slippers for Mor. The only people I still needed to shop for being the high lord and lady, little Nyx of course, Cassian, Lucien and Azriel.

Feyre and I had decided to pick up supplies for an impromptu picnic in one of our favorite parks, we set a large blanket down and laid Nyx with his favorite toy, which currently was a stuffed wyvern, and arranged the food for ourselves while we talked.

The conversation flowed from topic to topic, what were the new solstice plans, how was training, what was new with Nyx, the library, house renovations and general girl talk before the high lady said “when are you going to tell Azriel you’re his mate” I immediately froze, the blood draining from my face as I took in her words.

“How did you-”

“I saw your face in the study when you arrived, and I may have looked into your mind where I may have seen the bond snap into place for you” she said quickly “and before you say it, yes I know it was a huge invasion of privacy and I am sorry for that, but this is a big deal”

“I know it’s a big deal, but it also doesn’t change anything, he is in a relationship with your sister, he is happy, and I am not going to ruin that for him by telling him something he may not even want.” I huff

“y/n, I’m not trying to tell you what to do but I know how angry I was with Rhys for keeping the bond a secret from me as long as he did. He had the same reasoning; he was going to watch me marry Tamlin and suffer the rest of his life if it meant that I was happy. He had no idea I wasn’t happy there. All I am saying is you might think you are doing the right thing, but what if you are taking the choice away from him.”

“I don’t want him to choose me simply because the cauldron decided we were meant to be. I want him to choose me because it’s what he wants.” I say looking over at Nyx who is enthralled by the butterfly that has landed on his nose.

“Just think it over” Feyre says “I think he deserves to know”

“I will” I say softly

My conversation with the high lady remains in my head long after we parted. Maybe she was right, just because the mating bond existed didn’t mean it had to be acted upon. After all, Elain was mated to Lucien but that didn’t stop her from being with Az, so maybe this wouldn’t either, although a small part of me hoped it would change everything. I knew then what I was going to do.

Winter Solstice, I decided. I would tell him about the bond at the Winter Solstice party.

Next Chapter ->

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Throw Me To The Flames

You could drag me through hell if it meant I could hold your hand

Summary: Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien.

And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest.

Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS to my BEST @acotargiftexchange, @fieldofdaisiies

I hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed hanging out with you!!!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read More AO3

Elain woke up alone. She hadn’t expected that, though she suspected Lucien had meant to return before she realized he wasn’t there. It was the soft pitter-patter of rain that had brought Elain back, along with the memory of their shared night. Of her waking from a nightmare and grinding against him like an animal in heat. Lucien had been half asleep, finger-combing her hair in an effort to soothe her and Elain had just lost control. It had been the clean, soapy scent of him and the memory of his naked body that unraveled her.

She could still taste the shared air between them. The rain was a disappointment—another day in bed with him was likely going to be their combined undoing. Lucien had held the line, one she was grateful for, up until the moment release barreled into him. Elain half expected Lucien to come rushing back into that room, pent-up and full of need.

He came back with what was almost certainly a stolen, if not rather nice, long-sleeved green tunic and a sturdier pair of pants. He also brought breakfast with him. And no hint that there was anything off about them. He smiled when he saw her rise up on her elbows, cocking his head to the side as his hood fell from his face.

“Sleep well?” he asked, pulling off his eye patch to sit at the little table by the window.

Was he really not going to bring it up? Elain didn’t know what to make of that. Gray had spoken of nothing but their shared night together when they’d woken the next morning. It had felt, at the time, almost like a critique. Did Lucien not have any thoughts?

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly, pushing back the blankets to join him at the table. It wasn’t the spread from the night before which was just as well. She couldn’t hike after two days of dumplings and she knew it.

Lucien pushed a platter of food towards her when she sat, unfolding a paper he’d tucked beneath his arm. It was like nothing happened, and for some reason, that hurt Elain’s feelings. She’d imagined what it might be like to be with him on occasion—usually late at night when there was no one to witness her. And each time, Elain expected more gratitude.

Awe, even.

The real thing was nothing like her imagination. Lucien treated their night like it was nothing at all, and Elain was more than a little irritated about it. She picked at the fruit Lucien had brought out, dropping it into her oats and mixing everything together until she had a muddy blur of colors and nothing appetizing.

“Something on your mind?” Lucien asked dryly, eyes never leaving the paper.

Prick. Prick!

“Why would anything be wrong?” she sniffed, earning an amused smile. She knew what he was doing—needling, to provoke a reaction because he was obnoxious.

“I don’t know,” he replied, finally looking up at her. “Here I was thinking we had a perfect night and I’m realizing maybe it wasn’t great for you.”

Elain glared. “That’s…that isn’t–”

“Enlighten me, Elain. How will I ever please you if you won’t talk to me?”

“You just…” Gods, now she felt stupid. Gripping her spoon like a weapon, Elain forced herself to just say what upset her. “You weren’t properly grateful.”

Lucien’s laugh exploded out of him, his cheeks tinged a bright cherry red. “Not grateful?” he all but gasped. “Elain, last night was…”

His words trailed off as he ran a hand through his hair, wrecking his careful style with his befuddlement.

“If I’m silent, it’s not to spook you. How am I supposed to know if you did what you did because you want me, or the reawakening bond in your chest stirred up things again? I was offering you a polite out. By all means,” Lucien’s voice had dropped an octave, his once polished words roughened like water-battered stone. “Get back in bed and let me properly express my gratitude.”

Gods above, she thought with a shiver. Lucien practically burned, his intensity so absurdly attractive that Elain nearly stood and did as he said.

Not like this, a little voice whispered in her head. Not in some inn, when in just a day they’d be back beneath an open sky. Lucien wanted it to be right, well so did she. And maybe once she would have preferred a polite bed of goose down feathers and piles of pillows. Maybe for another man—or male, even—but not him.

Lucien belonged to the wild, and so did she. She would have him under a blanket of stars or she wouldn’t have him at all.

The knot in Lucien’s throat bobbed, waiting for her to make a decision. “Well, now you’re just being silly.”

He relaxed, a faint flush still staining his features. “When it comes to you? Always.”

Elain found she was hungry after all, and didn’t mind watching Lucien read the paper. He was curious about human affairs and Elain learned he was helping with the division of the human territories since the war, and kept the fae lords from encroaching and taking too much.

“Maybe that’s why they kidnapped you,” Elain suggested for the first time since they’d begun walking home. Lucien’s paper fluttered to the table, his eyes glassy and far away.

“I hadn’t considered that,” he admitted, running a hand over his jaw. “Maybe they resent my influence.”

“Why are you helping?” Elain questioned. Lucien, who had seemingly loathed every small thing about humans, and had grown up very solidly faerie, seemed a strange choice.

“Well,” he began slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. That pink she’d come to associate with his embarrassment began creeping back up his neck. “I can be persuasive. And I have a foothold in all seven courts. But ah…when Rhys suggested it, I admit I…” his words trailed off again.

“Why?” she whispered.

Their eyes met. “My mate was human,” he finally told her, as if he very much did not wish to confess such a thing. “And I thought it was a poor way to repay her sacrifices by letting her friends and family and former home fall to ruin under greedier hands.”

“You…” Elain felt strangely emotional. “You did it for me?”

Elain didn’t know what she imagined. All those years, living among the human queen and general, Elain had always assumed Lucien merely wanted to escape them all. Perhaps that was part of it. Even most of it. But something motivated not by anger or desperation, but the mere possibility of what might exist between them—of love—had kept him there.

“You did it for me?”

“A little,” he admitted, eyes sliding to the table. “And that decision nearly got you killed.”

“Well,” she began, sliding her empty bowl away from her, “we’re having fun, aren’t we?”

Lucien’s brows pulled toward the center of his face. “Are we?”

Elain made her way back towards that bed, flopping back to the messy blankets and the mattress that still smelled like the salt of his body.

“I am.”

She’d never seen someone trip out of their shoes as fast as Lucien did. He crawled up the bed, letting her lean forward so when he threw out his arm, she fell neatly against his chest.

“Did you know humans wear undershorts?” he asked casually. She could have died at the question, at the implication.

“Yes. I am well aware of how humans dress.”

“Just in case,” Lucien told her, though he did little more than rub his thumb over her shoulder. Elain thought it ought to have been a miserably dull day, trapped inside while the train stopped and started for most of the morning. Instead, Lucien somehow managed to lull her back to sleep, likely with his own steady heart and slow, measured breathing.

And when she couldn’t sleep, and no longer cared to memorize the contours of his face, she poked him awake for a lesson in Prythian. Lucien claimed to have a foot in every court? Well.

Prove it.

And Lucien, for all his many, many flaws, so clearly loved that she asked him that. “When we get home, I’m taking you to Day Court first,” he said, his eyes as bright as the promised sun. Elain couldn’t help her delight, smoothing the blanket in her lap while Lucien all but floated around the room to gather up their things.

“Why’s that?”

“First of all,” he began without preamble, “I know it’ll agree with you. But secondly, Day Court is home to some of the oldest libraries in the world. It’s a good starting place for the kind of education I think you’d like.”

“What kind of education is that?” Elain asked. She’d never been as book-smart as Nesta, who could read a page and practically recite it from memory. And she’d never had Feyre’s ease at picking up new things, seemingly on a whim. No, Elain had always been a watcher. A planner. Collecting information like a squirrel gathering nuts, and hoarding little tidbits of whatever she could in order to make her way through the world. A careful smile, a demure glance and suddenly doors opened.

“The education of a faerie courtier,” Lucien said with relish, draping her dress over the back of a chair. “Day Court isn’t so cutthroat it's impossible, and yet not so small that it barely functions at all. Helion’s court is large, with dozens of courtiers all overseeing different aspects of his territory, his people, and his policies. How he maneuvers them is like a game of chess, especially if you want something.”

“Who says I’ll want something?” she asked, only half teasing. She liked him like this, so obviously in his element. Was Rhys wasting him with the humans?

“Of course you will,” Lucien disagreed, unaware of her thoughts. “You’ll stumble into some policy that irks you or you’ll find you care about something and want to see it happen. We fae can be terribly stubborn. Set in our ways, even. I imagine, with your human heart, you’ll cause all kinds of good mischief.”

His praise warmed her.

“And after Day Court?”

Lucien inclined his head. “Summer—or Dawn. Dawn, if you want to slow down for a decade. Helion’s court is loud, but it’s upfront. You always know where you stand. Thesan’s is quiet–and cutthroat. They’ll smile to your face and bury a knife in your back all the while promising no hard feelings.”

“And Summer?”

“You need cunning to make it in Summer,” Lucien told her with a feral smile. “They’re young and they’re hungry. They spent most of their lives beneath the mountain and it shaped the way they get things done. It feels almost human in that fast, almost urgent sort of way. Summer doesn’t hide behind the quiet pretense of Dawn or the opulence of Day.”

“Which do you prefer?” Elain asked, well aware she’d go anywhere with him.

“Summer,” he said with relish. To her, Lucien was old, but to them, Lucien was still young. It shouldn’t have surprised her he much preferred to be among those who thought like him.

“And Autumn?” she questioned.

Their eyes met. “Brutal. Beautiful, but brutal.”

“Maybe we’ll go when Eris takes the throne,” she said, stopping Lucien in his tracks.

Eyes narrowed, he said, “Not even then. What do you know of Eris, anyway?”

Elain shrugged. She knew he was a good dancer–and the entire time he’d danced with Nesta, she’d wondered if Lucien danced half as well. “He wanted to marry my sister.”

Lucien scoffed. “They would have shredded each other to ribbons.”

Elain wondered how much Lucien knew about all that. Elain, of course, knew all of it. Not because she’d been told, but because no one considered that she might be listening. That she cared at all. And just like always, Elain was collecting her little secrets just in case she ever needed them, watching everyone just as she always had.

“He has a made weapon,” she told him.

It was exactly as she thought. Lucien was wasted on Rhys. His eyes widened with surprise. “By what?”

“The Cauldron,” Elain replied, unsure of how, exactly, it worked. Rhys had said so in passing to Morrigan and Amren, who understood how it was possible. Elain still wondered if she could wield that sort of magic, but didn’t think so. Nesta had too much, so much that it seemed to seep out of her when she wasn’t careful.

Elain had just enough, poured from that immortal, undying spout until the burning in her bones and simmered to shimmering sunlight.

“Well,” Lucien murmured, rubbing a thoughtful hand beneath his jaw. “That’s one way to put a new High Lord on the throne. Whatever Rhys thinks he’s going to get from Eris is a mistake—Eris makes no deal that isn’t beneficial to him.”

“Maybe it benefits them both?”

Lucien didn’t seem convinced. “Rhys is…Rhys skews towards optimism. He has too many blind spots and too few advisors willing to tell him the truth. To push him. Eris doesn’t have that problem. There are no necessary risks, no compromises. Only what he wants, and all the ways in which he might achieve it without risking anything he wouldn’t throw away himself.”

“Why him, then? Why not–” She almost asked why not Lucien. She’d forgotten he’d given up his crown for Jesminda and though he’d been banished, she didn’t think Lucien wanted it back.

Lucien stared for a moment, as if trying to decipher why she’d asked at all.

“Better Eris than Beron,” Lucien declared, settling the matter in the easiest way possible. Elain didn’t want him to think she was angling to be Lady of Autumn—or lady at all. The life he’d so casually offered up was practically heaven after years trapped in Velaris.

A decade in Dawn. Said so easily, with no forethought at all. She might have asked him to explain that, too.

Some things were, perhaps, better left buried.

At least for now.

LUCIEN:

Lucien very much dreaded the new morning. He woke before her, half disappointed she hadn’t crawled into his lap again. Despite a lazy day doing nothing, the pair were still sore from days of walking and fell asleep relatively quickly. Lucien enjoyed the sight of Elain drooling into a pillow, her hair a tangled halo around her lovely face. He was going to miss all of it, in some strange, near deranged way.

They were up and out the door before those first golden rays ever managed to warm either of them. Dressed beneath the fur lined cape and his warmer pants, Lucien hoped it would be enough to protect them from the worst of the mountains. It was summer, and he didn’t think it would be as cold as when he and Feyre had tried to get into winter.

Of course, Lucien felt limited responsibility to Feyre, who was much better prepared.. Feyre had chosen the manner of her death, at least. Elain had been thrust into it over a message Feyre could have sent via letter.

Could have sent via letter.

Reaching for her hand, Lucien laced his fingers through her own, hoping the physical contact might soften his next question.

“Elain?”

She squeezed his hand in response, eyes fixated on the road around them. Humans moved along with them, occasionally glancing over as they passed on horse pulled carts—or walking, just as he and Elain were. If anyone realized what they were, they said nothing. That was wise, given how anxious Lucien felt.

“Why did you never respond to any of my letters?”

He’d written her after the war. Six months' worth of letters, to be precise, before he’d taken the hint, packed up that apartment, and officially moved in with Jurian and Vassa. Whatever had prompted her to ask him to stay in Velaris had been short-lived. Lucien had been uncertain of her, but willing to try. And Elain…well, Lucien never knew.

She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Letters?” He didn’t know how to respond. She seemed so earnest, so wide-eyed and hopeful in her own query that for a moment, Lucien thought that maybe he’d hallucinated that miserable period of time.

“After the war. I wrote to you,” he insisted. “I was going to court you.”

Her smile faded and Lucien understood, all at once, what had happened. Elain had made some passing comment–to her sister, or her sister's court–and those letters had been intercepted.

She’d been spared his presence and he had been allowed no response at all, versus forcing a polite rejection.

It wounded him more than he’d thought it might. Maybe it was all the nights they’d spend cuddled up beside each other. Or maybe it was knowing what her breath tasted like. But Lucien felt genuinely wounded knowing the rejection had been firmly her, even if she’d never read those letters.

Elain swept her thumb over the back of his hand. “You know why.”

“I know,” he managed, which only heightened the hurt. Her intentions had been kind, had been borne of wanting to move on. And he knew, from his time with her, that she still mourned Graysen and the life she’d imagined for herself. A human life.

“Did you sleep with one of them?” he blurted out, thinking of who might intercept her letters. Of why they might have chosen to remove her choice entirely in a misguided attempt to protect her. Of who Elain suspected voted against her when she wanted to participate in larger things. Who dogged her steps every time Lucien did see her, his eyes never leaving her, even when they were separated by space and furniture.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to say his name. And in the split second it took him to ask, he swore he wouldn’t explode if the answer was yes. He’d swallow more hurt and an ocean of jealousy because he’d promised her she could have that time, that experience.

But he needed to know. If only to pick at that wound a little more.

“No,” she said, though there was a tightness to her voice. Something then, though he didn’t know what. It eased at the knot in his chest a little–too territorial to be polite, too animal for her liking. She dropped his hand and Lucien didn’t reach for it again. Not for the rest of that dim morning, his mind working overtime. Lucien played out a million scenarios between Elain and him, wondering which terrible, tawdry imagining was the closest to the truth. Surely they hadn’t laughed, at least?

But his insecurities felt insurmountable, to the point that when the road forked, he nearly abandoned his plan to show her the tulip fields. It was her own distrustful eyes and the thought of returning to that first night that saw Lucien veer, well aware they have to camp in the woods beneath the mountain that night.

He tried to tug at his magic, to see if there was enough to winnow. The bond flickered a little, singing ever so slightly when the distance between them was a whisper. No magic, though. No flame, no heat—nothing that would move them from point to point quicker than their legs.

As the day warmed, so too, did the frigid tension between them. He caught her looking up at him more than once. What was she wondering about? Lucien brushed his fingers along her knuckles and Elain smiled, ducking her head as though her reaction embarrassed her.

“Where are we going?” she asked, eyes surveying their surroundings. Lush lowlands surrounded them, dotted by swaying wildflowers and the occasional errant tulip. He knew she was counting them, had likely clocked that first pink bloom blowing jauntily in the wind.

He reached for her hand, pressing a firm kiss to her skin. “Trust me.”

Her response thrilled him. “Of course I do.”

He practically ran the rest of that even path, mingling with all the humans who had come to see the last days of the tulips before they faded for the season. It was a sea of color—reds and pinks and whites, interspersed against a bed of green. Lucien was momentarily struck by the beauty, drinking it in like he, too, had always wanted to see such a sight.

A tear slipped down Elain’s cheek, unnoticed as she stepped as close to the path as was allowed. The moment he turned to look at her, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was the only beautiful thing, he thought in a daze. He felt giddy, knowing he’d given her something she’d wanted before she became fae, that he could bridge these two lives for her. It didn’t have to be all or nothing.

He wanted to tell her that, but lacked the words. Looking at her was like staring fully at the sun. Lucien was half blind, was struck by the radiating warmth of her features that when she turned with that face-splitting grin, his knees trembled.

“Do you see the blue?” she asked, pointing into the distance. He forced himself to look, though his whole body protested. Lucien didn’t understand the diversion—there was no blue—until he felt her fingers fist against his vest, pulling him close.

And when he turned to see what she wanted, Elain surged upwards on her tiptoes, eyes closed. It was all of a moment before her lips brushed against his own, soft at first. Tentative. Testing to see if he’d be receptive at all.

He had no control of his body and was relieved that his own hand cupped the back of her hooded head to draw her closer. His mouth was firm, slotting between his lips.

I want this.

Elain relaxed into him, letting him kiss her among a sea of flowers and humans. He’d forgotten all of it entirely. Lucien wanted to card his fingers through her hair, wanted to touch those pointed ears. He wanted her just as she was, and if he never got anything more than this one sweet kiss, he swore he’d be content with that.

Elain deepened the kiss, her lips parting with the sweetest sigh. He took advantage, wanting to taste. She was sweeter than the air around them, like spun sugar dissolving in the center of his tongue.

Somewhere near them, someone jostled Elain, knocking her off her balance. Her teeth crashed into his own, effectively ending the kiss as he went to catch her. The man in question didn’t seem concerned and Lucien knew better than to draw any attention to themselves.

“Sorry,” she whispered, cheeks flushed as she rubbed at her lips. “I want to do that again,” was his addled response. Elain brightened.

“When we stop tonight?” she asked almost shyly.

Lucien didn’t trust himself to speak. He might have said something foolish, made him innuendo that wrecked the whole thing. He only nodded, offering her his sweating hand after he wiped it quickly on his pants.

“Should I put you over my shoulder?” he whispered, unable to help himself. Elain offered him a look of exasperation, lacing her fingers through his own to lead him back to the main pathway.

Lucien was pulled by the cord between them, wrapped so firmly around his ribs he might have been led by a leash. He would have—gladly—if she were the one who held it.

“Don’t,” Elain warned, though there was no heat to her words. A playful smile tugged at her lips, setting him at ease.

“Well. If you change your mind,” he murmured, earning a rough elbow to the ribs.

“I won’t.”

But he hoped she might anyway.

Of course, Elain kept pace like she always did, and before they knew it, the sun was at the highest point in the sky and they were facing the slope of the first mountain. Lucien’s legs already dreaded the climb. They’d long since stopped holding hands, both tired with still hours to go. Lucien tried, as he had that morning, to call up just enough magic to winnow them both across.

To spare her what promised to be a difficult journey.

He felt the bond flare, felt rising heat in his veins before it tempered to ash. Lucien sighed, grateful that they were, at least, the only two still on the path. He surveyed their surroundings, looking for anyone who might be watching. It would have been easy to hide given the forest that blanketed the sloping, white peaked mountain. How long before it thinned to only snow?

Lucien felt uneasy all the same. All the excitement from their first shared kiss had faded back into the fear that they had only managed to get this far because someone willed it.

That killing them in the mountains might be preferable, though he couldn’t tease out how or why.

Elain was eyeing the slope upward warily, and he wondered if her slow returning magic offered her some intuition.

“See anything?” he asked.

“No…but I feel like something is coming. Like we’re being watched,” she whispered, inching closer as they began the climb. “I don’t always get visions.”

“No?”

“Sometimes it’s just a really strong feeling,” Elain said, biting her bottom lip with clear apprehension. “It’s more than anxiety, it’s—”

“I believe you,” Lucien murmured gently, catching the frustration that flashed through her eyes. She looked up, expression softening.

“Thank you,” she replied.

He couldn’t help but push his luck. “I always believed you.”

Elain’s thumb began to rub slow circles over the back of his hand. “I remember.”

And he had. He’d overheard Ferye and her court—how they’d ruminated on her strangeness long after it was revealed she was a Seer. Wondering privately if she hadn’t been irreparably damaged by the Cauldron. Broken.

He’d wanted to prove himself back then. Not just to Elain, but to Feyre, too. Lucien was pragmatic. He knew he’d need a place to work and a High Lord to shield him from his father. If it was going to be Night, then he needed Rhysand to trust him as best he could.

But he wanted to prove Elain right, too. Wanted everyone to see her visions were clear, that she wasn’t broken or damaged, but merely new to powerful magic and struggling to make sense of it all. Pieced together, everything she’d said was coherent.

And in the aftermath, even when she’d begun to ignore him, Lucien wondered if proving her right hadn’t helped. It made him feel better, even as resentment began to crowd out his yearning.

“I had those feelings when I was human, too,” she added, unaware of the jumbling thoughts bouncing through his head. “They weren’t as strong, but they were often right. Sometimes I wonder if the Cauldron just…pulled out something that had always existed. Feyre said it gifted me this magic but she wasn’t in there and I…” Elain’s voice faltered, eyes glazing as they plunged back into a dense cedar forest. The air was cooling a degree the higher they trekked, which did wonders for the sweat rolling down his back. Snapping twigs beneath their combined boots announced their presence loudly to anyone who might be watching.

And if Elain thought they were, well, she was probably right. Lucien regretted not tracking down a sword when he’d had the chance. All he had were a few carefully hidden knives, none of which would do a damn thing if they were outnumbered with swords.

He halted, dragging her with him. What was wrong with him? Was he a son of Autumn or not? And Beron, damn him, had ordered all his sons to learn the ways of the forest. It had been several brutal summers under the tutelage of Eris Vanserra himself, a miserable, cruel teacher determined to make Lucien a silent predator among creatures far worse than wolves and bears.

“This way,” he murmured, stepping off the path. Elain did exactly as he asked, perhaps recalling the early days of their journey when he’d demanded she step exactly where he did. That wasn’t wholly necessary now. Lucien wanted to create confusion and having multiple sets of tracks would force any would-be interlopers to choose among them.

Lucien liked a lot of things about Elain. Ignoring how utterly stunning she was, Elain was good at making the best of bad situations. She complained very little, even when it was well deserved.

And perhaps the thing he liked most of all was what a quick study she was. He didn’t need to explain everything like he’d once done with her too-curious sister. Elain caught on very quickly that Lucien was trying to throw people off their trail and began mimicking his actions. The sight of Elain picking up pieces of the Autumn Court like a natural did nothing for his concentration. Keeping his mate safe had always been Lucien’s top priority.

But just beneath that urge was the darker urge to press her into the soft bark of the trees and pleasure her until she couldn’t walk at all. To leave her so boneless she’d let him carry her in his arms up the mountain, safely tucked against him.

“I can smell you,” Elain accused, ripping Lucien from a particularly vivid daydream of Elain pressing his head between her legs.

“Right,” he mumbled, embarrassed he’d been caught. “Sorry.”

Elain, who was a few steps ahead of him, turned to look at him over her shoulder. She smiled. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you think about me.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her she was all he thought about. Lucien swallowed the urge and instead offered her a smile in return.

He wondered if she’d even want to know what this journey meant to him. What it had ignited within him, and how badly he wanted to continue once they were safe again.

And he didn’t say a word at all.

Lucien didn’t dare ruin a good thing.

ELAIN:

She could feel the gentle hum of magic filtering through her blood by the time Lucien finished his careful survey of the cave they were going to sleep in that evening. Elain suspected she’d be fully back in a day–maybe two at the most. She knew Lucien was still trying to call his own up and if he could, he’d have winnowed them straight home without question.

So Elain was doing her best to pretend she was still muted and prayed a vision didn’t rip through her and destroy the illusion. Things were going so well, and beyond just the excitement of the feelings constantly tumbling through her stomach was the feeling that for the first time in her life, Elain felt important.

Useful.

Valued.

“This is us tonight,” Lucien said without any of the tension Elain felt simmering in her stomach. She could still feel his mouth against her own, the scent of him swimming alongside the perfume of the tulips.

“How long will it take to cross the mountain?” she asked him not for the first time. Elain needed to reassure herself that they weren’t anywhere close to going home. If she was honest, she would have told him she wanted to keep working with him when things were done—and Elain couldn’t be sure Lucien would say yes. He liked her, of that she was positive. Physically, and seemingly emotionally.

But Lucien was important, and from what she’d seen back in Velaris, constantly moving. Maybe he wouldn’t want her around. She had the sense she could just ask—Lucien wasn’t one to mince words. He would just tell her what was possible and what wasn’t.

It was the fear of his polite rejection that kept the words glued to her tongue. Her fear that, like everyone else she’d made an overture of romance toward, he’d look at her pity, gently explaining why he wanted to keep seeing her, but didn’t want her interfering with his business.

“Where did you go?” Lucien asked, groaning softly as he sat on the rocky ground beside her. He’d already laid out the make shift bed of the the blanket they’d been carrying around, his cloak tossed casually just atop it. She knew hers would join, and they’d curl up against each other while they slept in order to keep warm.

“Hm?” she replied, her own mind unable to keep the image of what might happen just beneath the warm fabric as Lucien picked apart some jerky and fruit for her to eat. They were back to rations, back to hiding. She missed the inn in the human city, missed the street food and how Lucien had gamely eaten all of it, knowing full well human food was dulled by the magic of the fae lands.

“Where did you go?” he repeated. He reached for his muscled calf, rubbing it with slow, broad strokes as he exhaled his relief. “You vanished for a second.”

“Just thinking about home,” she murmured, taking a bite of the overripe fruit. It was still good, bright, and tart in comparison to the salty jerky.

Lucien nodded. “I’ve been thinking of home, too.”

Her heart quickened. “Oh?”

A scowl darkened his expression. “I’m going to be drowning in tasks for the next three months. I think, if we start in Summer with an apology and a basket of–”

“We?”

Lucien turned, his frown deepening the pair of lines just between his eyebrows. “Yes, we. Or have you changed your mind about traveling? I won’t require you to work–”

“But what if I wanted to?” she interrupted. His expression smoothed into something unreadable. He exhaled a soft breath, as though relieving some knotted tension in his body.

“If that’s what you’d like. Is…are you being required to find employment?”

Ah. So he thought she’d take over his position, did he? Or that Rhysand wanted her to keep tabs, to work alongside him as someone Rhys trusted. Elain might have laughed. She’d never gotten the impression Rhys had ever done more than tolerate her.

“No,” she said blithely, scooting an inch closer to him. She knew he was well aware of every movement she made, especially if it drew them closer. “I’d like something to do, though. And besides. You promised to take me to Day, remember? And Dawn?”

Lucien swallowed audibly. “I could teach you to do what I do. It’s not…it’s not like it's that hard.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” she responded, realizing how sultry she sounded only in the aftermath. The warm scent of his arousal was pouring off him, like a switch had been flipped by her mere presence. The sun had nearly set, throwing shadows against the mouth of the cave. Lucien’s fire was the only thing offering a flickering, warm light that Elain was starting to find a little too romantic. “I’m sure you’re very hard,” she added, emphasizing the word hard just to see how he’d react. She had so little practice winding anyone up. Graysen had taken the lead when he’d asked to spend the evening together. To show any arousal, any sexual desire, would have been lewd for a lady and so Elain had always kept it to herself. Even during the encounter she’d been careful to moderate her own reactions, which had impeded her ability to finish.

And of course, she’d gotten absolutely nowhere with Azriel, even after months of offering her most suggestive looks, which, in retrospect, had probably not been the signal she’d assumed. Not that it mattered, given he hadn’t been interested in anything, casual or otherwise. Elain often wondered if they hadn’t accidentally avoided disaster when he’d walked away, and if he’d known it, even when she’d been uncharacteristically reckless and bold..

Lucien’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes fixed on the flames in front of them. What would it take to shatter his careful concentration? For her own fragile ego, Elain desperately hoped it wouldn’t take much.

“I don’t know what to make of my new life,” she told him, the scrape of her body against the stone beneath her enough to keep Lucien utterly still. His nostrils flared, lashes fluttering and too late, she realized he must be scenting the dampness that had begun between her legs.

Still, he stayed where he was.

“I want to help,” he replied, his voice taking on a hoarse quality. “Tell me what you want from me and I’ll do my best to…” his words trailed to nothing when she pressed her hand to his uppermost thigh.

“I know I’ve been difficult—”

“You haven’t,” he whispered breathlessly. “You’ve been fine.”

He was such a stupid liar. Elain was delighted by his reaction, certain he had no idea what she was saying to him anymore.

“It means a lot to me, knowing you would let me come with you.”

Lucien finally turned, half wild from whatever restraint kept him still. “You can demand anything you want of me. I would give it to you.”

“Even a broken bond?”

The tension between them snapped. Lucien snarled, clambering to his feet as though he needed to escape her. Elain stood, too, wondering why she’d said that to him. She hadn’t meant it. Lucien ran a furious hand through his hair, half turning as if the sight of her might draw words from him he didn’t want to say.

“Is that what you want?”

It wasn’t, but now that she’d said it, there was no way to walk backwards from it. Elain, who’d watched Cassian push and push and push at Nesta, terrified she’d break the bond between them, needed to know how far Lucien was willing to go. Was it her? Or merely the bond?

“What if it was?” Elain persisted. The color drained from Lucien’s face, his hands slack at his sides.

“Do it, then. Get it over with. Don’t make me…don’t draw it out.”

They faced each other, standing on opposite ends in a cave low enough that Lucien was hunched to keep from smashing his head. It made him look sadder, somehow. Smaller, brought low by one little question. It was clear, from his guarded expression and his weakened posture, that this was the outcome he’d always expected.

She couldn’t speak. She’d spent so long imagining this moment. Thinking of how it might go—how he’d yell and refuse and insult and snarl until she changed her mind. A million arguments played out in her head, evaporating at the sight of him acquiescing.

He waited, cocking his head when Elain said nothing at all. She couldn’t breathe for her racing heart, and the thought that saying those words would pull them apart forever. It wasn’t what she wanted.

The thought slammed into her violently, the truth ripping through her all at once. She did not want to break the bond. Had he guessed? Lucien took a careful step towards her, both eyes of gold and russet watching her with a careful, albeit predatory stare.

“Do it, Elain,” he said again, his voice just a shade darker. “Do you need me to tell you the words?”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Not even a whimper. She merely remained rooted to the ground, heart racing with the truth. The bond—and him—that had been no choice at all. She’d thought so from the moment they’d been shoved together. Stripped of any right to make a determination herself, and yet now…now choosing him felt like freedom.

Lucien was so close to guessing her feelings. She could see the wheels turning in his mind, how he was piecing her together as he came closer. This was a dare, now. Adept at crawling beneath her skin, irritating her until she exploded with the truth, Lucien seized the moment and pushed harder, leaning into his own fear and discomfort.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked her with a dangerously sensual voice. “Here I am, Elain. Exactly as you imagined.”

Wrong, she wanted to scream. All her daydreams had turned on her. If he was exactly as she’d imagined, he would be naked. He would be touching her with his long fingers, with his calloused palms. He would have her pressed against him like they were back at the inn, lost to the brutal demands of the instinctual bond.

He was close enough she could smell his desire again. Did he hate himself, for wanting her like he did, or did he need the game, too? Elain yielded a step back on purpose when he crowded her space, dragging him with her until she was pressed against the smooth, cool stone that comprised the cave walls.

“Do it,” he said one last time, reaching out his hand to skim her waist. “Or I’m going to think you only asked to see how I’d respond.”

“What if I did?” she whispered, hoping he wouldn’t be angry.

Lucien cocked his head so some of his molten hair spilled over his shoulders. He looked so fae to her, a reminder of all the things she’d used to hate.

And all the things she currently wanted.

“Are you satisfied with the answer?” he questioned, both eyes drifting down her face to settle on her mouth.

Elain had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him, tucking strands of his hair behind one of his arched ears. Lucien’s eyes shuttered at the act of intimacy.

“I am.”

“What is it that you want, Elain?” he managed, the words half-chewed in his mouth. He’d forced them out, clearly against his better judgment. Elain knew, though. She knew, had made a choice regarding him and their bond concretely.

And still, it was too terrifying to tell him that. He’d promised her time to sort it all out. Had begun piecing together a future that solidly included her in whatever capacity she wished. That was what she wanted—life with meaning, life with him.

Elain’s hands found his shirt. Curling into the fabric, she yanked him closer, delighted when one of his own hands cupped the back of her head while his fingers squeezed the curve of her waist. “You,” she murmured against his lips. Let him make of that what he wanted. Lucien exhaled a breath of relief before slanting his mouth over her own for a needy kiss. All of his fears poured themselves down her throat and Elain, gasping, opened her mouth to receive it. The kiss was a desperate trade, the meeting of two souls terrified of being vulnerable again. Of admitting there was something happening, something beyond, perhaps, a mere snap of fate—something that would happen in every lifetime, in every place the two of them might exist.

She didn’t know what to make of that knowledge. She had centuries to untease it. Enough had been decided. Without having to confess bright, new feelings, Elain had told Lucien enough. She did not want to sever their bond.

She wanted him.

Lucien groaned when his tongue entered her mouth, tasting her for the first time. She was an inferno, trying so hard to line up their bodies so that she could relieve the ache of him—one that had begun building the day their eyes first met.

The hand on her waist slid to her thigh, hoisting her just enough so she could grind her body against his own. All thoughts eddied from her head just as they’d done in the inn. Elain had momentarily forgotten the sheer size of him, but when they were like this, there was no pretending Lucien was not better than well-endowed, just as there was no pretending that she did not want to see it. Elain reached for him, only for Lucien to catch her by the wrist and push it up against the wall.

“Me first,” Lucien managed, though he did nothing but kiss her again. It was like he’d been deprived of air, and the only way to get oxygen into his lungs was through her own mouth. Elain had never been kissed like that in her life, and the realization that it was him who wanted her that badly made her giddy and dizzy all at once.

“You promised me,” he reminded her, bringing them both to the makeshift bed where, instead of laying her out like she’d wanted him to, Lucien merely positioned her in his lap so she faced him, legs draped around his hips.

She had, in the tulip fields when they’d been so rudely pushed apart. “I just thought–” His mouth recaptured her lips, silencing what he had to know was implicit permission to do far, far more than kiss. She’d pleasured herself on his thigh already—what was stopping him?

Elain leaned into him, breasts pressed to his chest while she raked her fingers through his long hair. Had she once thought his appearance unfortunate? That he could have been beautiful, had he not been scarred and left without one of his eyes.

Pulling back to look at him, Elain felt stupid. Those scars, his missing eye, his back—all of it was proof of his character. Of the sort of male who did the right thing even when it was hard. Lucien was rigid beneath her, not from lust but the fear she was seeing something she shouldn’t.

“You stopped,” he said, his lips bright red.

“Am I not allowed to admire you?” she asked, brushing strands of hair from his face. “I see you doing as much to me when you think I don’t notice.”

His expression softened. “You’re beautiful and I—”

“Am beautiful,” she interrupted firmly, caressing the scarred cheek with her fingers. “Absurdly so.”

Lucien groaned, pushing her back so she was between him and the cloak and blanket on the floor. A pebble lodged itself against her spine and she didn’t care. Not when Lucien had stretched the full length of his body along her own. His mouth was back over her, fingers carding through the tangled mass of curls around her face.

She felt angry on his behalf, given Lucien was clearly seeking more of her approval. More of her validation, that to her, he was worth something. Elain was reminded that no one had taken very good care of him or appreciated him in a way that made Lucien feel like he mattered. Had he not been kissing her so well–so thoroughly—Elain might have wondered if Lucien didn’t work so hard to convince people not to abandon him.

She pushed him back, somehow managing to reverse their positions. Lucien growled, as though it offended him to have her straddling his body. Experimentally, Elain rolled her hips against his erection, delighted at the hiss of air that was unleashed from between his teeth.

“There is no rush,” he breathed, fingers skimming the sides of her body.

“I want to touch you,” Elain told him, punctuating her point by running her hands down his chest. Lucien looked like he might die. She could hear his thudding heart, could feel his excitement.

He wanted her to. “Can I?”

Lucien arched his neck, working his jaw as if he were trying to keep some words leashed behind his lips. “What is your experience, Elain?”

If he asked because he wanted to ensure she was well cared for and not abused beneath his own attention, or because he was suddenly overwhelmed with jealousy, Elain could not say.

“Limited,” she admitted as she pushed up his shirt. The sight of him beneath her arching his back left Elain feeling hotter than she ever had in her life. He’d done it so she could remove his shirt without resistance, but all Elain saw was her male succumbing to her touch.

She felt powerful, seated atop him. It was an illusion, given Lucien was made of nothing but distracting, powerful muscle. All of which was set against his beautiful golden skin, unmarred when he was on his back.

Elain vowed to change that. She’d see ten bright lines from her own nails raked down his abdomen before the night was through.

“How limited?” Lucien pressed, his tone urgent. Not jealousy, she decided, but worry. Worry that he was planning something she wasn’t ready for, or he’d hurt her.

“Once,” she assured him blithely. While tugging the laces, carefully undoing the knots, Elain added, “It was very dark and I was embarrassed he might think I wanted him so I averted my eyes to be polite.”

He sounded desperate. “Oh,” he whispered loudly.

“I think, though,” Elain continued, her hands shaking when she managed to undo the stays. More of the copper hair that trailed beneath his navel converged, vanishing just above the bulge of his desire. Elain ran her fingers through it, surprised by how much coarser it was. “If I were to look at you, it would not seem so obscene.”

“I meant it when I said you could do whatever you like to me,” Lucien promised. He lifted his hips and just like that, Elain had his pants bunched at his ankles. She would have sworn, in the aftermath, that she intended to help him with his boots. In truth, Elain was frozen as she sat just over his thighs and it was Lucien who kicked them off carefully, leaving him entirely naked while she stared.

There he was. She’d wondered, of course, but to see every inch of him in the orange glow of the firelight was entirely another. Lucien didn’t move, save to put his hands behind his head, which only served to make his biceps look bigger. Elain ran her nails nervously over his muscled thighs, catching on the soft hair that covered the length of both legs.

But what she really wanted to touch was the thick, large cock pressed against his stomach. Her newfound boldness vanished, replaced by years of uncertainty and insecurity. She hadn’t been wrong to call him beautiful, but even beyond that, Lucien was someone with more experience than Elain could count years alive. And she had only one, where she’d laid still the entire time and hoped marriage made things easier.

So lost in her nerves, Elain didn’t notice Lucien lean up on his elbows, his hair spilling down his back like some sort of long-lost forest god. He took her wrist in his hand and gently pressed it against his cock.

“Touch,” he murmured, holding her gaze as she wrapped herself around him. “Perfect. Just like that. I’m yours, I’ll do as you say.”

He kept his hands on hers, letting her adjust to the sensation of holding his cock in her hand. He was big enough her fingers just barely met, and warmer than she’d supposed. Like a fever had gripped him, though the rest of his body was perfectly normal, if not a little flushed. Elain knew reasonably what it felt like to have a cock inside her and was still strangely fascinated he was hard.

“Now,” Lucien continued after a loud, nervous swallow. “You stroke.”

To demonstrate, he dragged her hand up the length of him, holding her with the exact pressure she assumed he liked. Her fear was ebbing, replaced by the tingling want of knowing him so intimately. They’d crossed a long-held line, one she knew they could not walk back from. He would have her let her pretend the night in the inn was nothing more than a bad dream and the bond flaring to life after days of lying dormant, rendering her little more than a slave to instinct.

She knew he would not let her forget this.

There was an unhurried quality to how he used her hand that told Elain they would be going no further than this touching. It offered her a small measure of relief—she didn’t have to master everything in one evening. Learning her mate, mapping his body, and merely exploring him was clearly good enough for Lucien. The revelation relaxed her, causing Elain to shake off his hand to see if she couldn’t make him arch again.

Lucien went back to propping his hand behind his head, watching her with blown-out pupils. How long before it was her on her back, she wondered. The very thought thrilled her. Elain began experimenting, trying to see what she could pull from him. She worked him slowly, teasing the bead of moisture gathering at his slit with her thumb. She twisted her hand when she reached the purpling head of him, delighted when air escaped him in a breathless moan.

She was rough and soft in equal measure, nothing he liked it somewhere in between.

Elain knew Lucien was enjoying himself when he lost control of his composure long enough to drop his head to the ground, looking for something to curl his fingers around. His hips were bucking, thrusting into her hand for more relief she wasn’t inclined to give him.

Lucien arched his back, practically whimpering her name. “Elain,” he managed, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.

“Yes,” he pleaded. “I’m going to come if you don’t.”

“I want to see it,” Elain replied, unwilling to admit that she, too, wasn’t ready to be done. Lucien leaned upwards, sandwiching his cock between their bodies. Lucien gathered up her hair, holding her close.

“You will,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her mouth. “But not before I do. Trade me places.”

“You know what the female form is composed of,” Elain protested, her hand gently pried of its grip around him.

“Not your form,” was his gentle response. Lucien reversed their positions with ease, his naked thighs nestled right against the frame of her body. “I have been imagining you naked for a long time.”

Elain offered him a long stare. “I am well aware, Lucien. I see your dreams, remember?”

Had it not occurred to him that he had sent her his nighttime fantasies? A detailed imagining of all the things he intended to do to her just as soon as he was given the chance. She shivered at the memory.

“Oh?” His voice was dark again, fingers deftly unlacing her top. His skill was far more practiced, more eager. It took him all of seconds to have the top of her dress opened, her weapon tossed to the side, and pulled up over her head. The long shift just beneath joined, and then Elain was laying utterly bare beneath Lucien Vanserra.

Her mate.

His cock was nestled against her stomach, the still dripping head teasing between her breasts. The only thing that settled Elain and kept her from squirming away was the awed, near stupefied look on his face.

“Just like you imagined?” She tried to sound nonchalant but the warble in her voice betrayed her.

“What did you see? In my dreams, I mean? What did you see?”

What didn’t Elain see? She’d learned far too much about Lucien and the possibilities that existed between two people when it came to being intimate. She looked away as a flood of those memories swept through her.

Lucien only groaned, as if he, too, were remembering all the ways he’d imagined having her.

“What was most intriguing?”

“Don’t make me say,” she pleaded. “Can’t you just…”

She felt him hesitate, tugging against the invisible leash he’d wrapped around his neck. “Would you accept my mouth instead of my hands?”

She would have let him do anything at all. Elain only nodded, because this was something Graysen had not done and something she had been unaware could be done to a female. She understood pleasuring a man with her mouth, given the way cocks were shaped but it seemed messy to her imagination.

At least, until Lucien began flooding their shared bond with his unconscious desires. Elain quickly realized the mess was half the point. Lucien rubbed himself against her only once, leaving a trail of come just between her breasts. Elain felt bold again.

“You may finish like that if you like,” she murmured, catching his attention. Lucien’s eyes widened, mouth falling open and closing, and then opening again.

“Yes,” he finally managed. “That—yes.”

With the matter of his own release settled, Lucien adjusted himself so he could lean over her for another bruising kiss. Elain melted into him, running her hands up and down the length of his muscle back with appreciation. With his cock pressed against the side of her thigh, Elain could rub herself against him without worrying about him pushing into her. The position seemed intentional.

She appreciated that about him.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispered, his callused hands catching over her smooth skin. Elain arched, offering more of her neck as he trailed nipping kisses over the column of her throat. Lucien sucked the hollow of her neck before licking back up in an unbroken line to delve back into her mouth.

More. Elain was desperate for more. Her sweet caresses became edged, dragging down his back until Lucien’s hips jerked, pushing his erection harder into her flesh. Back down Lucien went, moaning a soft, “Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” as he descended.

He couldn’t just settle between her parted legs. Lucien distracted himself with her breasts, murmuring quiet words of appreciation. Elain wondered if this was what Nesta and Feyre had meant when they’d said they felt as if their mates worshiped them. She certainly felt like the sun to which Lucien revolved around when he sucked one of her nipples into her mouth. Elain gasped, arching into the thigh still wedged between her legs.

The pleasure was unmatched. Unlike anything she’d ever managed to pull from herself and definitely during her nervous night with Graysen. Lucien was skilled in a way Graysen could only have dreamt of.

She imagined it was twofold—his long life gave him more time to practice, and unlike Graysen, Lucien cared if she was enjoying herself.

Elain carded her fingers through his hair, unable to stop touching. How had they gone so long? It seemed a testament to whatever stubborn will ribboned through them both. Elain knew she wouldn’t be able to manage it again. Not as he teased between her nipples, hot breath and smooth tongue pulling far more than arousal from her. Elain would have admitted to any secret, would have confessed any crime so long as he promised not to stop.

Lucien was too much of a gentleman to demand that of her, and too focused on breaking her apart beneath him to notice that Elain was going insane. When Lucien forced himself to continue lower, it was with a pained groan. One hand remained on her still wet breast, plucking and teasing absently as he made his way towards his true goal.

She squirmed when he ran his nose through the light curls just above her cunt, but Lucien only moaned. Did it hurt him, to be so spread out against the rocky cave bottom? Elain leaned upwards to ask, but he was tucking his powerful legs beneath his body to remain on the blanket, all while kissing everywhere but where she wanted him.

“Lucien,” she whispered, arching up into him.

“Your smell, Elain…” he shook his head back and forth. There was no opportunity to respond. She saw the last vestiges of his control fray into ash, lowering his head to have her. It was exactly as she’d seen in the dreams, which had offered only a muted version of the pleasure now racing through her. Lucien’s tongue was soft, and he used it expertly. Light enough it felt like more teasing, with just enough pressure to ease the build in her stomach.

Now Elain was the one bucking against him, panting like she’d run miles despite her place on his back. Spreading her legs heightened the pleasure, made better when Lucien pressed the pad of his fingertip against her entrance.

He swore, his whole body jerking as if he’d been pulled by strings. Elain moaned when that finger slid into her, finding no resistance given how wet she was. Elain regretted, all at once, his promise that there would be time for sex. She wanted to feel him in her body, to bring them even closer. Something thrumming in her blood demanded this as satisfaction, screaming that nothing was going to feel half as good until they finished what they’d started.

She was aroused enough to agree, though it was hard to imagine anything feeling better than the way his lips and tongue and fingers were working her. Elain was writhing against him, chasing the rising release gathering in her limbs, her throat, her core. Lucien’s lips sucked around her, his clever tongue steady, his finger pumping in and out. His other hand teased at her breast, combining a million pleasurable sensations until she couldn’t hold back.

Her scream echoed through the cave. Elain’s body went tight, fracturing into a glittering mist of light. Lucien kept going, riding her through her orgasm until her whole body went limp beneath him. He scrambled upwards, taking his own cock in his hand.

It was an affront to her, personally. She, too, was up, moving quickly to shove him back to the ground, not caring where or how he landed.

“I know I said—” Elain didn’t bother finishing her sentence. His cock was jumping right beside her face and she, too, needed to know what he tasted like. Overwhelmed the urge now possessing her, Elain licked the beaded precum against his slit. He didn’t try and stop her when she opened her mouth and sucked him between her lips.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gathering her hair. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

It wouldn’t take long. Elain understood that from the way his muscles were shaking and how his fingers tightened in her hair. She had to widen her jaw to an uncomfortable degree in order to accommodate him and could only manage half before she had to use her hand.

“That’s perfect,” he praised, raising his hips before stilling himself. Elain bobbed, enjoying the salty taste of his skin. Still, Elain wasn’t satisfied. Even with her own release still throbbing, she wanted more of him. Elain wanted to crawl into his lap and ride him until there was a salve for the open ache in her body.

She pulled back, tongue gliding under his shaft and Lucien groaned, holding her still to take a seemingly impossible amount of come. He was moaning her name, spending himself all but into the back of her throat.

And then it was over. Lucien released his hold on her, gathering her naked body against his own. It took very little maneuvering to get them both onto the makeshift blanket, her still tucked up in his arms. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her scalp.

“Was it good for you?” he asked her the very same question she’d been wondering.

Elain pressed her face further against him to hide the flush creeping up her neck. “Yes.”

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he joked, his hold tightening all the same.

“Was it good for you?” she repeated. His hold was a rib crush and Elain wondered if Lucien was feeling that same throbbing ache begging him to keep going.

“Yes,” he murmured with another kiss to her forehead. “You were perfect.”

And if she’d been braver, she would have told him he was the same.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #these next two chapters are for the hot girls #and the two after that are for the sad girls

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danydragons21 · 1 year

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TSTS Chapter 29: The Day Court Pt. 1

Read on ao3 here.

Chapter 29: The Day Court Part 1

The moment they arrived at the Day Court, an attendant approached her. “Lady Archeron, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the first of our libraries so you may begin your…research project,” the attendant finished uncertainly.

“The first of your libraries?” Elain repeated, the barest hint of incredulity ringing in her voice. “How many are there?”

“Hundreds,” a booming voice responded. Elain glanced up to see Helion striding down the sweeping staircase of the entrance hall, a broad smile on his face. He gave Feyre a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the Day Court, all of you,” he beamed. “I was excited to hear you would be coming to visit.”

“Sorry - did you say you have hundreds of libraries?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” Helion replied. “Some larger than others, of course…but yes, hundreds. Most are organized by topic or the century in which they were written. Do you have any guidance on the information you are hoping to find? Perhaps then we can direct you to the most likely library that will contain that information.”

Elain blinked. “Um…to be honest, I don’t know exactly what we’re looking for,” she confessed. “I had a vision, you see, in one of your libraries. It had dark mahogany wood and huge, arching windows and intricate gold detailing and-”

“That sounds like the Hall of the Hallowed,” interrupted Helion. “One of our largest collections, located in one of our tallest towers. It primarily contains books about curses, spells and hexes throughout the last few millennia.”

“All that fun stuff,” Lucien muttered under his breath.

Helion clapped his hands together and gestured at the attendant. “Finneal here can take the three of you to the Hall at once.”

“Actually, Helion, I was hoping to speak to you in private,” Feyre said.

“Were you now?” Helion asked, a tone of surprise in his voice.

It mimicked Elain’s own. Hadn’t Feyre said that she had business to attend to with the Day Court? If so, why wouldn’t Helion have been aware of this business beforehand? Was it “secret” business, and if so, why would Feyre not fill Elain and Lucien in?

Before she could contemplate on it any further, the attendant beckoned to them. Elain looked questioningly at her sister.

“I will catch up with you later,” Feyre promised. Maybe she was imagining it, but the High Lady’s face looked rather pale.

Feeling like she was missing something important, but not sure what else she could do, Elain simply nodded and let the attendant lead her and Lucien down a spacious hallway.

***

A common misconception about Azriel was that he liked being alone.

He was the Spymaster, after all, a position that required him to spend hours and hours on end in solitude, and so others often assumed that this seclusion was something he enjoyed - or, at the very least, found pleasantly comfortable. Add in his quiet voice, rather shy nature and inability to express his emotions in a robust way, and everyone simply thought he’d prefer to be alone than in the company of his chosen family and friends.

But none of that was accurate. In fact, it was the very opposite that held true: Azriel hated being alone.

He despised it, the quiet. The silence. The suffocating weight of solitude.

If his childhood had taught him anything, it was the damning power of isolation. Half his youth was spent in the cellar beneath his father’s home, ensconced in darkness, with no one to talk to but himself. So Azriel knew only too well how dangerous loneliness could be; knew how it could twist your sanity and warp reality and build your desperation to cataclysmic levels.

He was about five years old when his shadows first appeared to him. He still cannot explain why one day they were just there, as much a part of him as his limbs, like they had been there all along. And maybe they had; Az would be the first to claim that he did not fully understand the ins and outs of shadowsinging. But he had long harbored a secret belief that his shadows came as a result of his intense loneliness, of his desperate desire for someone to speak to during the endless hours in that wretched basement. The shadows heard his call for companionship - and they answered.

Now, no matter where he goes, he is never alone. He is never faced with deafening silence, not when his shadows are there to whisper to him.

But when things get too quiet, his uneasiness returns - such as now, as he roams the strangely hushed halls of the Mortal Manor alone, his shadows swirling around him but not uttering a sound.

Shortly after Elain and Feyre had left for the Day Court (Vanserra clutching the elder sister’s hand as they winnowed away like he had any goddamn right to, Azriel thought angrily), Rhys, Nesta and Cassian had departed as well, returning to Velaris.

Rhys and Nesta had both tried to insist that Cassian wait a few more days before participating in something as risky as winnowing, but Cassian would have none of it. Truthfully, they didn’t have much basis for an argument: Cassian was healthier than ever, Elain’s powers having cured him entirely and wholly. Not that the others knew that last part, of course.

If he and Elain were on good terms - if hadn’t fucked things up so badly - he would have sat her down and advised her to share the extent of her powers with the rest of their court. He would promise to respect whatever decision she made, of course, and he would never threaten or coerce her into it, but after Cassian’s “miraculous” recovery, he knew it was only a matter of time before Elain’s powers were revealed entirely. And he knew that it was incredibly important that the reveal be on her terms, not anyone else's.

As it was, though, Azriel was still trying to sort through the last mess he’d made and was thus disinclined to dig his grave any deeper.

A shadow swept over his collarbone in agitation. He frowned slightly, trying to listen, trying to hear what worried his wispy little friend, but all he heard was an incomprehensible buzzing.

He froze in mid-step. Glanced at the window to his left, where the last tendrils of sunlight had just disappeared behind the sweeping hills. Night had arrived, and so Vassa’s curse must have ended - until the sun returned, at least. And she had none of her friends here to greet her. To comfort her.

Another common misconception about Azriel was that he was cold and aloof and uncaring. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Months ago, Elain had referred to his stoic persona as a mask - and she was exactly right. He’d spent 500 years not knowing how to properly display emotions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have them. Didn’t feel them. He felt them so deeply, so profoundly, that sometimes he thought they might just drown him.

So he shoved them away before they could.

But today…today, he would not do that. Shadows in tow, Azriel spun around, heading for the Queen’s Quarters.

***

“I can’t read another word,” Lucien said. “I think I might be going blind.”

“That’s very dramatic,” Elain said, only half paying attention to him as she diligently scanned the book in her hands.

Lucien groaned even more dramatically. His head dropped to the table with a resounding thud. “How are we supposed to find something important when we don’t even know what we are looking for?”

A small huff of frustration passed through her lips. This was not the first time he’d asked Elain that question - and, just like the past four times, she had no answer for him.

They’d been in the library for at least 6 hours now. Stacks of books lay haphazardly across the table; even taller stacks were piled around them, lingering evidence of the many fruitless searches they’d experienced. Feyre still had yet to join them, and if Elain had any spare room in her head, she would have wondered why it was taking her sister so long.

Elain rubbed her temples. “I don’t know,” she replied finally. “I don’t know what we’re looking for, I don’t know what we’re doing here, I just don’t know, okay?” The last word came out sharper than she meant for it to.

“I need to walk around for a moment,” she said after a few moments, intentionally keeping her voice level. “I’ll be back.”

Without looking at Lucien, she slid out of her chair. Her legs felt like lead after sitting for so long, and her movements were stiff at first. Thankfully, her surroundings were more than enough to distract her.

The Hall of the Hallowed was even more marvelous than her vision had led her to believe. The ceiling was so high she could not even make it out; sweeping staircases with banisters made of multi-colored marble circled the space, each leading to a different level; the setting sun streamed through crystal windows, brilliant in a way only Day Court sun could be. If Elain wasn’t mistaken - and since her Fae vision was virtually perfect, she must be correct - the tapestries artfully placed between the shelves were woven with actual gold, and the effect from the sun sparkling against the material was nothing short of glorious.

As the sun set entirely, the iron-wrought candelabras became illuminated, guiding Elain as she made her way up a small staircase and onto a new level of the Hall. She began weaving aimlessly through a new maze of shelves, picking out books at random in the hope that one of them would provide her with the unknown information she sought - the information that, she was starting to dread, might never be found. At least not in time.

At least half-an-hour later, she came to the end of the section. It was significantly darker over here, the books older and dustier. A strange but not altogether unpleasant feeling gathered at the base of her belly.

It was then that she heard the voice.

It was the same voice that had spoken to her that night in Pentalos - the night she’d slaughtered all those soldiers; the night her powers had transcended beyond understanding, beyond reason. She still didn’t know how she’d done it. But she knew that she trusted that voice. Knew that listening to it then was one of the best decisions she’d ever made - and so why would she ignore it now?

See, the voice said, only to her. It was clear as a bell and yet rang with echoing cacophony at the same time, like a thousand ancestors were speaking to her at once, their voices lapping over each other like waves upon the shore.

Anticipation sparked through her veins. She began picking books off the shelf at random, flipping through them feverishly.

See, the voice instructed again. Elain snapped the book she held shut and continued down the aisle. Clearly what she was supposed to find - what she was supposed to see - was further down the aisle.

Her head swiveled back and forth as her gaze oscillated between shelves, looking for that something, waiting for that feeling of rightness to swim through her. But she felt nothing.

What am I supposed to see? She thought back desperately.

You are looking, but you are not seeing.

Her steps quickened as she strode down the aisle.

See, the voice said, louder than before.

Instinctively, Elain’s eyes latched onto a volume at the end of the row. It was sticking out just a touch further than the rest of its bookmates. Silvery script danced down the dark indigo spine, spelling out a title in a language Elain didn’t recognize.

The voice in her head had gone quiet, but it didn’t matter. This book was the one she was supposed to find, she knew it, knew it like she knew flowers and soil and growth.

She reached out to grab the book.

However, as she began to slide it off the shelf, the strangest thing happened. The book - and it felt strangely light, oddly hollow - wouldn’t come off the shelf. Not fully. She was only able to tip the upper part of it backward.

And then, to her utter amazement, the shelf itself opened ever so slightly, revealing a thin gap. A chilly draft blew out of it.

A hidden passageway.

She let out a loud gasp. Mere seconds later, footsteps sounded behind her; she spun around to find Lucien staring at the newly-revealed doorway, his eyes wide as saucers. He must have heard her sound of surprise from the floor below and raced up to see what had shocked her so much.

“Holy gods,” Lucien said faintly. Elain nodded in agreement.

“We have to see where this goes,” she said.

Lucien made a noise under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

“Come on,” she said, not bothering to wait for a response before slipping through the thin entryway the bookshelf had revealed.

Quite unlike the rest of the Day Court, the passageway was formed entirely of roughly hewn stone. A drafty chill permeating the air.

“We shouldn’t be in here,” Lucien said, appearing behind her, just like Elain knew he would.

He was right. A secret passageway was, in its very nature, not meant to be found. But she found that she did not care all too much.

“Are you coming or not?” she asked Lucien, sending a pointed glance over her shoulder. The determined glow in her eyes was both an invitation and a challenge.

He sighed in defeat.

“Lead the way,” he said.

***

The Queen’s Quarters was not nearly as opulent as Azriel would have expected. Instead of ornate grandeur, the wing was full of soft, muted colors and plush carpets and interconnected, dimly-lit rooms. It was like a den. Like a home.

The attendant had been weary to let him in, but somehow he’d managed to sweet talk his way through the door. Or perhaps his shadows had simply frightened the mortal into submission.

Well done, he told his shadows silently. They started swirling around him excitedly, pleased with the praise. The corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly.

He rounded the corner, coming to yet another room. The only light here came from a low burning fire. On a couch facing the fireplace lay the Mortal Queen, curled up on her side, red hair splayed around her. She was not sleeping though; Azriel could see her wide-open eyes reflecting against the firelight.

Azriel made sure she could hear his footsteps as he approached. Without looking up, she said, “For the last time, Cartsen, I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

The queen sounded anything but fine. She sounded dull and lifeless and monotone, so unlike the vibrant voice of the Vassa he knew.

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

Vassa sat up and eyed him. “Oh. Hello,” she said with a hint of dignity, sounding slightly more like her regal self. She brought a hand up to pat down her tousled hair. “I wasn’t expecting visitors tonight.”

“I’m sorry for dropping by unexpectedly.”

“That’s alright.”

They stared at each other.

“Is there something you wanted?” Vassa asked after a moment.

Azriel hesitated. This was unknown territory for him, comforting a female he’d never spent time with alone, and he didn’t want to navigate it incorrectly. Didn’t want to take a wrong turn and make things worse.

What would Elain do? he thought. Well, she would probably know just the right thing to say, and she would make Vassa feel perfectly at ease, and they would cry and laugh and the queen would feel just absolutely wonderful by the end. But he wasn’t Elain, and he never would be.

Maybe the better question to ask was what would Elain tell me to do? Well, that was easy. He could almost hear her now, the sweet and steady cadence of her voice a melody in his ear. Just be yourself, she would say. Just be Azriel.

He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.”

Vassa cocked her head to the side ever-so-slightly. “Oh?”

He shook his head. “Nah.” With an exaggerated sigh, he plopped down on the sofa across from her. “I was just wandering the halls, bored out of my mind and I thought, well, hanging out with you would be slightly more pleasant than hanging out with just my shadows. No offense, guys,” he said hastily as his shadows buzzed angrily around him. Just go with it, he told them silently.

Vassa’s mouth was agape. “Excuse me?” she choked out. A hint of anger blazed in her blue eyes.

Hiding his satisfaction, he just nodded. “Yep. I saw the sun setting and I realized that you would have shed your feathers by now, and since no one else was around, I thought you might want to hang out.”

“Shed my feathers?!” she repeated with a hiss, teeth bared.

This time, he grinned at her.

She sat back, her angry expression fading, although her eyes were still narrowed. “You’re winding me up,” she accused.

“You’re too smart to be wound up,” he replied.

She snorted.

“And you have too many responsibilities to let a slight obstacle like this keep you down,” he added, a bit more quietly.

She blinked.

He blinked back.

Then she chuckled, rising and shaking back her long tresses. She crossed to the other side of the room and poured them both a glass of whiskey.

She held out the tumbler. If Azriel wasn't mistaken, there was a new light in her eyes, brilliant and bold and something like hope. “You know, Shadowsinger,” she said, “You’re a bit of a softy.”

He took the drink. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

The red-haired queen inclined her head. “As do I.”

Azriel tipped his glass toward hers. “To reputations,” he said.

She clinked her glass with his. “To reputations.”

They both downed their glasses in one heavy gulp.

***

Elain and Lucien walked for at least 30 minutes before either of them spoke.

“I don’t like this,” the red-haired male said through his teeth, eyes darting around.

Truth be told, neither did Elain. The passageway had hit a sharp southward decline about halfway through their trek. At this point, they must be below the ground floor of the castle, level with the dungeons; perhaps even lower for all she knew.

It was pitch black, and though she could see fine with her Fae eyes, the mere knowledge that they were walking in all-encompassing darkness - that anything could be lurking around the corner in wait - made her rather anxious. But her curiosity outweighed her nerves, and her unshakeable confidence in the journey’s inevitable answers gave her courage, so she continued down the path.

A sudden cracking sound had her jumping nearly a foot in the air. Elain blinked as light filled the corridor.

“Sorry,” Lucien murmured. His left hand was raised slightly; floating above the center of his palm was a twisting, curling flame.

“That’s okay,” she said, heart thundering in her chest. She nodded at the flame. “Thanks.”

The pair walked for another ten minutes or so, not encountering anything noteworthy except for a few rats - Lucien let out a terrified and ironically rat-like squeak when one skittered over his foot, which she found rather funny - before they came across an old wooden door. There was the faintest light pulsing through the cracks beneath and above it; an unnaturally golden light, brilliant and magnetic.

They shared a wary glance. But when Elain looked back at the door, taking in the strangely pleasant golden light, a sense of calm washed over her like a summer rainshower. The light called to her the same way the voice did, enticing her forward, roping her in.

She managed to take a step forward before Lucien gripped her forearm.

“Hold on a minute,” he said seriously. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Elain. We need to discuss this before we go barging into some hidden lair beneath the foundation of the godsdamn Day Court -”

“I am meant to go through that door, and I am meant to meet whoever exists beyond it,” she said earnestly. Urgently. There was no time to waste, no time to argue; how did he not understand?

“Whoever exists?” Lucien repeated incredulously. His mechanical eye whirred in its metal socket.

“There is a presence inside that room,” Elain confirmed. “There is someone beyond that door that I am supposed to meet. And I know in my gut - in my soul - that it will do us no harm.” She believed what she was saying entirely. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that presence was of no threat to them.

She lifted her chin. “Are you coming or not?” Without waiting for an answer, she approached the door and twisted the knob. The door opened on silent hinges.

Elain was right - there was someone behind the door.

It was a female. She was sitting at a desk, facing away from them and poring over a large volume, muttering to herself while furiously scribbling notes on a sheaf of paper. There was no other furniture in the room beside the desk and chair, but the walls did have nooks carved out in the stone. Each nook was filled with books and a few dimly-burning candles. There were even more books on the floor, stacked neatly in towering piles throughout the cavern-like space.

In the time it took Elain to take in her surroundings, the female had stopped writing. Slowly, she stood up and turned.

It was a priestess - or something like it. A Day Court priestess, Elain presumed, not only because of where they were but because of the signature glow that seemed to emanate from the depths of her rich and dark skin, the inherent golden ambiance that all Day Court residents seemed to carry. There were other significant differences between this female and the other priestesses she had met, as well. Instead of a soft blue gemstone, the shining circlet on her brow held a brilliantly-bright garnet; her robes were pure white instead of blue-gray; she wore no shoes on her narrow, delicate feet.

Most telling was that she was not - could not - be Fae. At least not entirely. Elain could tell that the second she laid eyes on the priestess’ face. There was something otherworldly about her, and Elain was reminded of another non-Fae immortal who she knew; like Amren, this female was made of something different than the rest of them.

The priestess-like figure spread her arms.

“Lady Archeron,” she said in a soft, melodious voice, inclining her head slightly.

“Hello,” Elain breathed back. “How do you know my name?”

“I know many things, child.” The female’s eyes swept over Elain before flicking to Lucien. “Lord Lucien,” she said, her eyes shining with sudden emotion. “You are very welcome here.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Thank you,” Lucien said finally, a hint of discomfort in his tone.

After smiling brilliantly at Lucien for an extended moment, the priestess turned her attention back to Elain.

“Seer. Kingslayer. Life-Maker. You have many names, Lady Archeron. I wonder, which do you prefer?”

“Elain,” she replied. “Just Elain.”

The female made a humming noise. “So humble. So powerful.” She cocked her head to the side. “So small,” she observed.

“I’m not that small,” Elain said defensively.

“You’re certainly not tall, though,” Lucien added in an undertone. She shot him a scowl.

“I knew you would come to see me,” the priestess told Elain, continuing as if neither of them had said a word. “I have been waiting for you.”

“How could you know that?” Elain asked. “I didn’t even know this passageway existed until an hour ago.”

“I did not know how you would find me,” the female clarified. “I just knew you would.”

“We’re going to need more of an explanation than that,” Lucien said.

“Because to know is my gift.” She straightened up, onyx ringlets falling to her waist. “I am Isira, a Flame-Keeper of the Day Court.”

“Flame-Keeper,” Lucien repeated suspiciously. “How is that possible? Fire is a gift of the Autumn Court.”

“Calm yourself, Lord Lucien,” she said kindly. “These hands hold no fire power. The Flame that I protect is much more important than that.”

“What is this Flame you speak of?” Elain asked.

Isira crossed the room and picked up a book off the floor. She handed it to her.

“Open it.”

She did. And then she blinked.

“But there’s nothing here,” she said, nonplussed.

“Yes, there is,” Isira replied.

Elain frowned. “Is this supposed to be a joke?”

“This is no joke, Lady Elain. You may not see anything when you look at these pages,” said Isira, “but I do. Only I and the other Keepers are entrusted with the knowledge in these books, and so only we can see them.”

“Is that how you knew I was coming?” Elain asked. “From one of these invisible-worded books?”

“No, child. I knew because the Voices told me.”

“The Voices,” Elain echoed, exchanging a wary glance with Lucien.

“Yes. The Voices of Before.”

“Like…ghosts?” Lucien asked. Maybe it was the way the candlelight bounced against him, but he looked paler than usual.

“Yes. And no,” Isira responded. “My gift - and the gift of all Flame Keepers - is to know the Past.”

“How much of the Past do you know?” Lucien questioned.

“Why, as much as we want,” the priestess said. “You see, the past, unlike the future, is solid. Stagnant. Permanent. It has already been carved into stone.

“But so much of our past is told only in partiality - those in power, those who win wars, those who conquer - those are the ones who are allowed to write history as they wish, and often, they write it to present themselves in the best light. Often, they do not tell history as it truly happened, and so the integrity of the past is threatened.

“That is why we exist. That is why us Keepers are so important to the balance of the universe. We alone possess the truth of the past. We alone hold the knowledge of yore. We alone remember.”

“But how is that possible?” Elain asked, her eyes wide. “How can a single person know everything that has ever happened?”

Isira burst out laughing, the sound light and tinkling. “Dear child, I must not be explaining correctly. Keepers do not hold all the world’s knowledge within ourselves - but we can access it whenever we wish.”

“The Voices of Before,” Lucien murmured.

The Keeper nodded. “Exactly. Whenever we wish to learn something new - which is always, since us Keepers have an innate and unquenchable thirst for knowledge - we merely ask the Voices of Before to share with us. Sometimes they speak to us directly; sometimes they provide it to us in a book that only we can read.” She gestured vaguely to the hundreds of tomes stacked behind her, presumably with pages as blank as what she’d shown Elain.

“Oftentimes they share with us knowledge that we did not request. That we were not even aware existed.” Isira looked steadily at Elain. “It was approximately two and a half years ago that one of the Voices of Before spoke to me about you, Lady Elain.”

Approximately two and a half years ago, Elain had recently been thrown into the cauldron. Had lost her humanity. Her heart twisted of its own accord.

“The Voice told me of a mortal female who was recently turned Fae. It told me how the transformation occurred. It told me that when the Cauldron took her into its liquidy grasp, it found her so lovely and purehearted and honorable that it gifted her powers beyond measure.”

Elain felt her composure begin to slip as memories of that evening clouded her head. But then Isira spoke again, and the clear, quiet voice steadied her.

“And most importantly, the Voice told me that this had happened before.”

It felt like the world stopped moving for a moment. “What?” Elain finally breathed out. “What do you mean this has happened before?”

But Isira was shaking her head. “I cannot say,” she said, “I do not know. The Voices did not share that with me. But they did tell me this: That which you seek is closer than you think.”

Lucien groaned under his breath. “Another godsdamn riddle.”

“That which I seek…,” Elain murmured to herself. “That which I seek…” Her head shot up. There was only one thing she was seeking, truly, only one thing that would put this entire mess to an end.

“Koschei’s soul,” she said, eyes wide. “Please. You must tell me where it is.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Then ask the Voices to tell you!” Elain begged. “If this has happened before, if this is a repeat of the past, then they will know what we should do now. They might even know exactly where Koschei’s soul is. Please, please ask them.”

But Isira was shaking her head. “The Voices would not tell me more. It is not their place to say, nor is it mine to ask again. Just remember, Lady Elain, to watch closely. Watch those around you. The answers you seek are right in front of you. You are nearly there.”

Elain had never felt more frustrated in her entire life, and that included her complicated feelings toward both the crimson-haired male beside her and the hazel-eyed Illyrian warrior back at the Mortal Manor. She was about to start begging again when Isira suddenly shifted her attention to Lucien.

“Lord Lucien, there is something you must know as well,” she said seriously. “About the truth of your origins.”

The youngest Vanserra brother took a surprised step back. “What do you mean?” he asked, a fearful gleam in his wide eyes.

Isira owned her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, the floor started to rumble, dust filling the cavern as the rocky interior trembled viciously. Instinctively, Elain clutched Lucien’s wrist; he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“What’s happening?” she yelled in terror.

But her question was deemed unnecessary as the shaking immediately ceased. The dust in the room was replaced with a nearly-blinding luminescent glow. Then, after a few seconds, Lord Helion strode out of that glow.

The priestess fell to her knees and bowed her head. “High Lord, please forgive me,” she said, rocking back and forth. “The Voices asked me to share. Please understand.”

The High Lord merely said, “I’ll speak with you later, Isira,” in a low, dangerous voice, refusing to take his gaze off of Elain and Lucien. His usual friendly and convivial face was twisted in fury.

“How dare you take advantage of my hospitality? How dare you trespass in the Caverns of the Keepers?” he snarled.

Elain’s grip on Lucien’s wrist tightened. They were in deep, deep shit.

Tagging: @sakurakittypeach @shedoessoshedoes @courtofjurdan @lesolehabitantdelalune @suntoksabuwan @sweet-pea1 @ireneherondale24 @supernaturallynerdy @dreaming-of-azriel @bookstaninthesoul @cuppamelia @fawnandshadows @offtorivendell @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @nikethestatue @reverie-tales @nyaxxe @casuallivi @protectorofvel @briar-reads @creatureofnightmares @swankii-art-teacher @the-laughing-bubble @gracie-rosee @cntrol @magnolia-blossom87 @ela-ivp @potassium-boron @freepandahugs @karomdr-blog @athena-85 @justreallybored

LMK if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

#elriel #elrielfic #elain acotar #elain archeron #elain acosf #Azriel #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotarfic #acotarfanfic #post acosf #please accept my apologies for being AWOL the past two months #please forgive your friend dany #dany loves to know what her fans think of the story

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gwyns · 2 months

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If Nesta was originally supposed to end up with Lucien, and Azriel was originally supposed to be with Mor (I’m still confused about that whole scenario), then it makes me wonder who Elain was supposed to end up with? I know Elain & Az were never going to be a thing (I know E/riel’s like to think otherwise), but I’ve seen a few say maybe Elain and Cassian, but I strongly disagree. I don’t think Elain was ever meant to be in the NC (which isn’t a bad thing) and she doesn’t like violence, and Cassian is literally the Lord of Bloodshed. I feel like E/riel’s just want Elain to be in the NC with a batboy for whatever reason. At this point, I think they care more about her as a love interest rather than her as a character.

i love this question because it's something i think about more often than i should lol

i'd love to talk about my thoughts on moriel someday! i've never really shipped them, even back in 2016, and on rereads since acowar i just... don't see it on mor's end. granted sjm did have some romantic coded pins for them saved to her acotar board on her old pinterest but meh. i'd love to pick her brain on this!

i've seen the elain and cassian thing before and yeah i don't see it either. the only answer i've been able to come up with that makes some sense to me is tamlin. like let's take a look at the drawers feyre painted since that seems to be one of the biggest foreshadowing tools in the series

the night sky for feyre = rhys and the night court

flames for nesta = originally lucien and the autumn court, now it's cassian who has been described as fire made flesh before i think? also her own powers

spring flowers for elain = who exactly? there isn't much room for interpretation here. that's why i think elain was meant to be part of the spring court and maybe tied to tamlin. i still think she could end up in spring, even now. both of her sisters have made comments on how it was made for her and lucien is emotionally attached to that court. that was his first true home. i'm very curious to see where elain ends up!

obviously idk if sjm ever planned to actually redeem tamlin or have him with elain but... it's the only answer i can come up with when i take a step back and try to figure it out. there could have even been a scrapped character for elain that we know nothing about lol. i'd love to hear others' thoughts on this!!

and i agree with your last statement wholeheartedly. they don't see elain as her own person capable of making choices, they see her as a self insert they can project on. if they truly liked elain they would support any choice she could make, not just the ones that tie her to the night court and azriel

#antielriel #anti e/riel #asks #anonymous

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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I'm just saying, 21 is giving Elucien vibes 👀

Look, I don't even know what this is. I started typing and these are the words that came out.

I've Got a Hundred Thrown Out Speeches I Almost Said to You - Elain/Lucien (1330 words)

“Elain,” Lucien’s voice was sharp, cutting through the otherwise silent garden. She’d snuck away after the exchange of presents, hoping to find somewhere to hide away until everyone—namely Lucien—went to bed.

She glanced up from where she perched over a flowerbed, bare hands plunged through the dirt. There was something simmering behind Lucien’s expression, a quiet fury that made her wonder if he was thinking about the gardening gloves she refused to wear.

“Please,” he said, and the dread that settled thick in her throat made Elain realized this was not about the gardening gloves at all. “This is our fourth solstice together. It’s been four years, and still you refuse to even look at me. I can’t keep doing this. Just reject the bond.”

She turned her head sharply. He wanted to discuss this here. Now? She said slowly, “Is that what you want?”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “What does it matter what I want? If you don’t want to accept the bond, then my wants are hardly important.”

Elain bristled at his tone, have never heard such hostility from Lucien… ever. “What are these last four years, in the face of eternity?” she demanded, brushing the dirt off her hands as she scrambled to her feet. “Can you really not afford me any more time than that?”

“Because this four years has felt like eternity, Elain,” he said, and she felt a sharpness in her chest that mirrored the pain in his eyes. “It’s been agonizing. And I’d endure it, if I knew that time was truly what you needed. If at the end, you were what waited for me. But if you’re going to reject the bond, I’d rather you do it now and put me out of my misery.”

Elain went quiet, refusing to meet his eyes.

He stepped closer, evidently taking her silence as answer. Gone, clearly, was the Lucien treating her like some delicate glass thing that would shatter at any moment. His eyes were hard as they met hers. “Why can’t you let go of me, Elain? It’s clear the bond isn’t as repulsive as you pretend it is, or you’ve of rejected it by now. So what are you holding on for? I don’t know what you want from me at this point. I’ve tried giving you space, I’ve tried to be readily available to you. Do you just like having me on a pretty leash? Does it make you feel powerful and in control?”

Elain scowled, furious at that implication. “You’re trying to take meaning from something that doesn’t have any.”

“Like hell there’s no meaning to it. I’m bound to you, Elain.” She couldn’t help cringing at that, knowing that Lucien noticed, just as he seemed to notice everything about her. “I can feel your emotions as if they were my own, I share your dreams. I even felt you lust after the spymaster when everyone went to sleep last solstice. So why do you keep me around? I can think of no other explanation than that control has been taken from you so many times in your life, you relish having it over me. You love that you can push me away and ignore me as much as you want and I will always come back to you. Hmm? Am I getting close enough to the truth, princess?”

“This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, Lucien,” she sniped, hardly believing he was speaking to her this way. “Don’t presume to know so much about me.”

“This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, because you refuse to talk to me. So if I’m so off base, then tell me, Elain. Explain to me why you’ve held onto the bond this long.”

Elain had no answer. It was something she asked herself enough times, it was a question she knew was in the eyes of ever member of Feyre’s court when they looked at her. It was why her romance with Azriel was as short lived as a stolen kiss. Could he not see the way this bond haunted her, day and night?

Most likely sensing he would be getting no answer, Lucien sighed. More gentle, he asked, “What do you think it is I want from you? What is it that terrifies you so much about even just speaking to me? Are you afraid that if you get to know me, you might actually like me? Would that truly be so horrible?”

There was a vulnerability to that question that disarmed her. Enough to share at least one thing with him. Just one thing from the many, countless speeches she’d rehearsed, of the letters she’d written before tossing into the fire.

“They’re both so permanent,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Lose you forever or keep you forever. What kind of choice is that?”

He took a heavy breath. “So the issue is commitment.”

“It’s more than that. It’s the idea that half of my soul belongs to someone else. I don’t want to belong to anyone but me.”

“I don’t own you, Elain,” he said, sounding disgusted at the idea. “It’s not like that. Everything you give, I’d give back. It’s a give and take, as equals.”

“And to have a connection so complete like that… Then what?” she felt her heart hammer in her chest, and scorched earth flickered through her vision. “What if something happens, and I lose you?”

Lucien’s eyes softened in understanding. “Then you’d feel it as if you lost a piece of your own soul, or so the rumors say. But the alternative, Elain, is not having that connection at all. Either way you lose me.”

“I haven’t meant to keep you in agony like this Lucien,” she said finally, tears springing to her eyes as she realized just how much she meant it. “I just… I’m just scared.”

“And you think I’m not?” he breathed.

But she continued. “I’m scared by how strongly my body reacts to you. I’m scared that I can feel your pain and longing as though it were my own—sometimes I think it is. I’m scared because I dream about you every night. I don’t know if it’s my magic, or the bond, but I see your memories. Of childhood, of… another female. Of the day you lost your eye. And I feel as if I do know you, more than that as if I love you. And everytime I think I might be ready to choose you, I feel all at once as if it’s no choice at all, as though I’ve been made to feel this way through our bond. And is that truly love at all, if it’s been forced upon me?”

“You’ve seen my memories?” he asked, shocked.

Slowly, she nodded.

Then he smiled, and something about it made the weight in her chest ease. “You’ve seen my memories, and they’ve caused you to fall in love with me? And you think that’s the magic’s doing?”

She lifted her chin stubbornly. “Who’s to say the magic hasn’t only shown me the memories that would make me find you endearing?

“I’d argue I have no memories that would endear me to you. I’d have chosen not to show you any of it. Particularly the gruesome ones you’ve been made to witness.”

“The ones about your eye… and about the girl. Sometimes I can’t tell if they’re your memories or nightmares.”

“Both, typically.” He answered. “I can’t tell you if there’s any truth to what you’ve seen, but I can tell you my own version of events. And you can fill in the gaps yourself.”

She hesitated. “Okay,” she said finally, gesturing towards the bench nearby. She could have laughed at the tense uncertainty to Lucien, so at odds with the emissary she’d known at a distance. She offered a smile, a peace offering in her own way. “So then Lucien, tell me about yourself.”

#this one is angsty #sorry #I said I was going to stick to my goal #and I lied #Elucien #Elucien fic #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #T-Swift prompts

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bookofmirth · 7 months

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I was watching a video on YouTube about ACOTAR on discussing ships and saw a comment that said “it seemed out of character for Azriel to give the necklace away to someone else rather than return it as he'd planned. Azriel put a lot of thought into Elain's necklace - it looks ordinary/everyday at first glance, but the light reveals it's secret, inner beauty and depth of colour. He's spent a lot of time with her, he knows her well and thinks Elain is like that necklace. Azriel was always endgame for Elain and Lucien was a fun shakeup to get us all thinking, “what” and this has been setting up since book two. SJM has been building toward e/riel, and if gwynriel becomes cannon, it's her backtracking on the original plans, maybe responding to readers who ship them. Based on what we have- e/riel is wayyyyy more likely than gwynriel. It would be so out of left field which is NOT what SJM does.” >>> I honestly thought the necklace was generic. Az was okay with giving it to any priestess and in his chapter we didn’t get any text evidence that him and Elain spend a lot of time together. I don’t see how Azriel was always meant for Elain and what build up? If there was build up shouldn’t we’ve gotten Azriel to talk about how much he liked her/was in love with her in his chapter?

Hmmmm no no no sorry, I don't know who said these things but nope! Azriel was not always endgame for Elain, that's factually untrue. That sounds like someone who either went into the series knowing it's a fandom ship, or someone who went back and reread once they'd made up their mind. I also highly disagree with the idea that Azriel knows Elain well. What does he know, other than Garden? She's Elain and her job is Garden. Like that's the extent of his knowledge. (tbh that's the extent of the fandom's knowledge as well, though I am being a bit hyperbolic. We know a bit more, but not nearly as much as we know about other characters. If my head canons about her character and personality are true I won't be surprised, but at this point they are just very strong suppositions.)

Azriel literally didn't care who got the necklace because it was such a generic feminine thing. You've heard of Girl Dinner and Girl Math, well Azriel originated the concept of Girl Gift! It's not like he got it engraved with Elain's name or something.

I've been searching Azriel's chapter for evidence of his romantic feelings for Elain for two years now and I'm still coming up empty! We get his thoughts for the first time in the series, and he's got nothing?

#antielriel #ask #anon #I really don't care enough about them to be anti #I'm just tagging for other people

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ladyelain · 2 years

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Am I the only one that found Vassa annoying in Acowar with how she was like “and you will help me” and hmmph’d off? Like who was she talking to like that 💀 like can they get to know you human before you start making demands to other people in power? I just don’t care for her at all yet and the sass with strangers isn’t for me. Or how she was like “your father was a great man” sis you know nothing about his neglect. Idk I just don’t want lucien having feels for someone like that he’s meant for someone a bit softer and respectful

I’m going to answer this as someone who loves both Vassa and Elain. 🌝

I am a huge Vassa fan because she’s human, she’s different, there’s something mystical about her, and I’m putting all the money I don’t have on the band of exiles to make the finale of the series epic.

I agree with you on the Lucien x Vassa part. Without really knowing her that well, their dynamic gives Feyre x Lucien vibes to me, so I wouldn’t worry much about Vassa being a threat to Elucien. The girl is too busy for being second choice.

As for the Papa Archeron dilemma, I think it wasn’t handled too well overall. His big heroic act in the end felt rather cheap and overdramatised to me. Vassa’s plot would have worked perfectly without throwing Papa Archeron into it and give him a redemption arc I didn’t really need nor cared for. Up until this day, I still don’t get what he contributed exactly. I think he’s just too little of a character to have his death play that big of a role plot-wise. Am I enjoying the fact Elain is probably dying to know all about her father’s last days with Lucien and Vassa? Absolutely, yes. It’s definitely setting up for some interesting conversations in the future. :)

Vassa’s words of condolence to Feyre felt pretty much appropriate for the situation, considering they hardly know each other. You wouldn’t go up to someone you’re just meeting and remind them how bad of a parent their father was, and Vassa isn’t really in the place to be the judge of that. I wouldn’t read too much into it.

Also, I don’t blame Vassa for bonding with Papa Archeron (if that was the case). He was good to her, I suppose, and she never got to feel familiar affection before. She didn’t grow up in a protected, harmonious environment. She never had much guidance in her life at all. And I don’t think she just blindly trusted Papa Archeron. Honestly, I don’t think she’s able to fully trust anyone.

I know this sounds lame, but she’s going through so much and she’s only just in her mid-twenties? She’s an unexperienced leader and is going to make her fair share of mistakes. Out of all the characters in positions of power, Tarquin included, Vassa is probably the last one I’d criticize. She hasn’t given much reason to, in my eyes, but obviously you don’t need any reason to personally dislike a character.

#why is this so long lol #vassa #lucien vanserra #elucien

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courtofwingsandruin · 3 years

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I’m so mad at the ACOTAR fandom right now and how they’re dealing with Azriel’s chapter.

Warning: under the cut is just me going off for way too long about Azriel and his extra chapter.

Azriel is a huge comfort character for me, and before I could get my hands on the actual extra chapter I saw tons of posts talking about how gross and OOC he was and the disgusting things he was saying about Elain.

I literally laid in bed crying over it because it hurt to think that this character I had invested so much into, that I had been desperate to hear more about, would be that horrible.

And then I read it and...It’s not that bad? Yeah, he speaks of her sexually and is turned on by her. Sure. But she’s also turned on by him in that moment? She’s wanting him just as badly? He can clearly see that she does, we can clearly see that she does. I haven’t read ACOSF, so I may be wrong, but as far as I know she hasn’t accepted the mating bond yet and has shown no sign of planning to do so. She hasn’t shown any sign of wanting to be Lucien’s mate, but she’s shown a very obvious sign in this chapter about liking Azriel and wanting him.

I didn’t like the whole “Rhys and Cass got their Archeron sisters, why don’t I have one?” thing either, because it does feel like he’s just projecting his loneliness onto Elain and assuming that the Cauldron was wrong because of a kind of dumb theory he has. But I didn’t really feel like he was calling himself entitled to her. If she did not want him, he would be acting completely different. But she is showing that she wants him, is interested in him, and isn’t showing any signs of being interested in Lucien (as far as I understand, correct me if I’m wrong). So yes, it was a weird and stupid thing for him to say, but I don’t think he’s thinking “She should be mine because of this one little crazy thing I noticed.” He’s saying “The Cauldron and the Fates have been wrong about mates in the past and I’m just thinking maybe it was wrong about Lucien and Elain because they don’t have chemistry and we do AND because of this one little crazy thing I noticed.” He just didn’t state it that way.

(Also, quick note: Azriel says he can defeat Lucien out of arrogance, yeah, but also remember that he didn’t do so just unprompted. Rhys was the one to be like “he could challenge you to this duel BS” and Az, who probably only has confidence in his powers and nothing else about himself, says back, “I would win” because...tbh I’d probably say that too if my brother was like “You want this girl but she bElOnGs to another man so he can fight you for her.”)

The line that stuck with me the most was this: “But she’d gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he’d done every night he’d slept there.” I think it’s super important to read between the lines in chapters from the POV with characters like Azriel. He’s going to be a lot more open and upfront about his sexual desires than his romantic desires, even with himself, after spending so many years of pining after Mor for it to never happen. With how he has always been the one to try to stay stoned face and keep his personal feelings hidden. We see this with how, when Rhys brings up Mor, Azriel ignores it outright—and thus ignores his feelings. And I feel we also saw it with Gwyn and how he isn’t truly sure what he’s feeling towards her, which is the only reason we actually get a genuine view of those feelings towards the end of the extra chapter.

That quote kind of showed an inner working of his head that we aren’t seeing yet. He clearly isn’t only having sexual thoughts—he stares at this powder and probably thinks about a lot of damn things regarding Elain, not just regarding the bond and the sexual desires. Don’t forget that he’s been one of the few people to be her friend—sitting with her and listening to her and hanging out in the gardens with her in the previous books. His feelings are not only sexual. He’s just not showing us everything because this is only, what, 9 pages from him? We aren’t going to see every little thing he is feeling.

I believe, wholeheartedly, that the next book will be about Elain and Azriel. SJM has set up too much for them both for it to not be. For it to be about Elain and Azriel—unless she pulls a trick on us and has it focus solely on their individual development rather than their relationships, which is possible but I can’t see happening—this would mean that the two of them end up together (1 relationship per book, guys).

I’m not gonna go into Gwyn, because I don’t know much about her yet, and I don’t want to hit you guys with false information. But I feel like Azriel and Elain both have a lot of development to go through and Gwyn will be there with them, but I don’t really know if she is going to be a genuine love interest, or just someone who helps Azriel open up and be better—a good, true friend that he can count on.

The one thing I will say is that Elain and Mor have the parallel of making Azriel’s shadows disappear, or hide away—and Azriel definitely had romantic feelings for Mor. And Gwyn has a completely different effect on Azriel’s shadows. Whether this is a mating bond, or something else about Gwyn we have yet to find out, I don’t know. But I feel it’s definitely important to remember the similarities between how his shadows react to Elain and how they react to Mor versus how they react to Gwyn.

If you actually stuck around for all of this, thank you. I’m gonna go cry into my pillow now over how desperately I need ACOSF so I can focus on Nesta and Cassian and not all of this bull with Azriel and Elain and Lucien and Gwyn.

#acosf spoilers #acosf #azriel #elain archeron #elriel #gwyn #a court of silver flames #bonus chapter #quickly adding this edit in the notes #i’m not an elriel shipper or an elucien shipper #i like both ships and mainly just want to see them all happy #azriel and lucien are my two favorite characters in the series #i don’t talk about lucien much in this or his feelings- rather about elain’s feelings towards lucien #my focus here is not a ship war. it’s about azriel’s feelings in the extra chapter and mainly these feelings with elain #which is why i brought up gwyn too because he shows feelings for her as well #now that’s all i wanted to say (i think). goodbye

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psychee92 · 3 years

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Why Elriel has the most realistic relationship in the ACOTAR series

Disclaimer: If you’re reading this, please take a step back from your personal preferences (ships, characters). This post lacks any subjectivity and focuses, instead, on the timeline (canon) of the ACOTAR series, and what this means for the development of Azriel and Elain’s relationship.

I’m always surprised when I read a post claiming that Elriel is not realistic, or that it came out of nowhere. While I will use scenes from the books as references, my biggest argument against Elriel not being realistic, or having come out of nowhere, is the passing of time (and compatibility).

These two characters have spent more time together than any other ACOTAR couple.

How, then, does it not make sense that they developed a mutual attraction/feelings for one another?

Remember: We have yet to read Elain’s POV, and have read very little about Azriel’s thoughts and feelings, but the little we do know is very telling.

Let’s start by looking at compatibility—something that Maas has focused on, again and again, since their first meeting.

Feyre draws constant parallels between them—how alike they are in temperament. How similar they are, both able to put others at ease without much difficulty. They’ve shared one scene together, interacted once, and Feyre can already picture it, picture them together.

Most importantly, however, Maas draws the reader’s attention to their ability to read one another. Remember—Azriel’s own family is unable to discern his thoughts/emotions and yet, Elain manages to do so during their first meeting.

This shows how perceptive they both are.

Their ability to read each other is addressed again in Azriel’s Bonus POV, but more on that later.

Then, in ACOWAR, the little hints about their compatibility increase tenfold. Do you think that it’s a coincidence that Elain interacts with Azriel moments after her first interaction with Lucien?

(It is also interesting to note the description in this passage. The image is poetic, and the meaning behind this moment (him carrying her in his arms through the front door - bridal-style? - even more so).

Do you think that it’s a coincidence that, after saying that no one truly sees her (or bothers to look), we see Azriel offering to show Elain the garden? He senses what she needs before anyone else does.

(It should also be noted that he offers to show it to her, something that no one asked him to do.)

Do you think that it’s a coincidence that Elain, who is viewed as the weakest of the Archeron sisters, is never afraid (or intimidated by) Azriel, who is often perceived as one of the (if not the) most feared member of the IC? Azriel, with his shadows and wings, with his cold eyes and expressionless face?

Do you think that it’s a coincidence that Feyre noticed the small moment between them, when Elain looked at his scars and called them beautiful? The scars on his hands are a reminder of the horrors he endured and yet, Elain calls them beautiful.

(It is almost as if she truly sees him, as well).

Finally, do you think that it’s a coincidence that Feyre, who witnessed both, Elain’s interaction with Lucien and Azriel, questions whether the Cauldron chose the right mate for Elain?

Again, we have the poetic description, and two contrasting images: brutal and lovely. And yet, Feyre looks at them and sees how compatible they truly are. She knows Lucien well—she considers him a friend—and yet, the chemistry between Azriel and Elain is so evident (and has been since ACOMAF), that she cannot help but wonder if the Cauldron made a mistake.

I would also like to draw your attention to the scene that Feyre witnesses between them. They are both sitting in silence and yet, they appear content. Do you know how rare it is to be in the same room with someone and not feel the need to fill the silence with conversation? I don’t know about you, but I’ve only ever experienced this feeling with the people I’m closest to.

Azriel understands Elain’s need for peace and quiet (a need that he shares and can relate to, as well), and he chooses to stay with her in the garden (again, no one asked him to). She is comfortable enough around him to not mind his presence. In fact, with Elain drinking her tea and Azriel reading his reports, they are the very picture of domesticity.

Then, Azriel continues to seek out her presence.

Any interactions between them take place behind the scenes, but again, notice how Azriel is the one offering to keep her company in the garden. Feyre was going to do it herself, but he stepped in. What can we conclude from this?

He enjoys her company.

So much so that, after the Ravens’ attack, when Nesta worries about Elain, Rhys informs her that Azriel was still at the house when the attack happened.

The scenes that follow are the most widely discussed, so I will only mention them briefly:

It is not a coincidence that it was Azriel (and not Lucien) who figured out that Elain is a seer (nor is it a coincidence that he was the only one who truly listened to her, instead of thinking that she’s gone mad, like everyone else).

It is not a coincidence that he was the only one who thought of her when the Cauldron lured her away. Why didn’t Nesta, the overprotective older sister? Or Feyre, who dreamed of it happening? Why did Maas have Azriel utter, “What about Elain?”

It is not a coincidence that he was the one who risked his life to save hers (and not Lucien).

I believe that, if Elain wasn’t already feeling some kind of pull towards Azriel, having him rescue her was the final push in that direction.

And it makes perfect sense.

She’s never seen by anyone (not even her sisters)—until she meets Azriel. Not only does he pay attention to what she needs, he keeps her company, and seemingly enjoys being in her presence.

Similarly, it makes perfect sense for Azriel to feel a pull towards Elain, as well.

Contrary to what a loud majority has been saying, Azriel does not need another Cassian or Mor in his life. He is quite obviously an introvert, who craves peace and quiet above all else. He is surrounded by extroverts and, if you’re an introvert, you know how draining it can be. It makes sense, then, that he gravitated towards Elain, whose temperament matches his.

Again, it all comes down to compatibility.

They understand each other.

He understands her need for peace and quiet, and she understands his.

They accept each other.

But, more importantly, they trust each other.

It makes sense, doesn’t it? That he risked his life without a second thought to save hers. By the time Elain gets taken, Azriel and Elain have spent time in each other’s company and have quite obviously formed a bond/connection—a companionship of sorts, built on mutual understanding and acceptance.

She trusts him. She feels safe with him. Something that I guarantee she hasn’t felt since being violated and changed into a Fae against her will.

Similarly, he trusts her.

Why does Azriel give Truth-Teller, his legendary blade, to Elain? He doesn’t just let her touch it; he actually lends it to her, and trusts her enough to know that she’ll return it to him when she’s ready to.

In 500+ years, he has never let another person touch that blade—not even Mor, the woman he loves—but he parts with it for Elain.

Why? Because he knows that she cannot go into a battlefield unarmed, and understands that she, too, trusts him enough to accept it and use it if need be.

We, as readers, understand the importance of this moment. Maas draws our attention to Cassian’s shock, and includes the dialogue between Feyre and Rhys to underline, again and again, that something extremely significant is taking place.

So significant, in fact, that the scene was included in the coloring book and mentioned again in ACOFAS.

Maas is once again saying how rare this is. How different. How significant.

And what about the description? Like before, Maas uses poetic wording and contrasting imagery to describe Azriel and Elain.

The only bridge of connection—because what we are seeing, what we’ve been getting hints of, is two people who have slowly formed a connection.

Trust is earned.

Trust is built.

It does not happen overnight.

Remember—the majority of Azriel and Elain’s relationship takes place behind the scenes. We know that they are spending time together—and even have a description of some of their interactions—but we don’t really know what happens when it’s just the two of them.

This connection between them does not happen overnight.

ACOFAS takes place months after the war.

And what do we witness?

Azriel and Elain having grown even closer. In other words, we see progress and development.

He respects her, and cares about her. He makes everyone wait for her to be seated at the table, something he has never done before (similar to when he lended her Truth-Teller).

Again, that understanding.

And Azriel seeking out her company.

And Elain seeing him, paying attention to his needs.

Making him laugh like no one has ever had before.

And finally, them enjoying spending time in each other’s company. At 3 AM.

Azriel would rather sit and listen to Elain talk about her garden than go upstairs with the others.

Notice the pattern of understanding, trust, and connection that Maas has been coming back to (and increasing, strengthening) since ACOMAF.

Why, then, are readers surprised by their feelings?

More than two years have passed since their first meeting.

By the time we get a glimpse into Azriel’s thoughts and feelings, these two characters have been interacting and spending time with each other for years.

No, his feelings did not come out of nowhere.

No, their feelings are not cliché, or unrealistic.

No, he did not get over Mor after meeting Elain. In fact, we went from this in ACOMAF:

To this in ACOWAR:

And finally, to this, in ACOSF:

Again, remember: ACOSF takes place 1.5 years after ACOWAR, and almost 2 years after ACOMAF.

Azriel getting over Mor has been a gradual process. Same with Elain getting over Graysen.

Azriel does not see Elain as the third sister, one he is entitled to.

He actually sees Elain, something that Maas has been hinting at since ACOMAF.

The relationship (and feelings) between these two characters has been building for 2 years.

And 90% of it has taken place behind the scenes.

Azriel’s POV is proof of this:

What looks? What occasional brush of their fingers?

We’ve seen none of this.

And it makes sense.

We haven’t gotten their POVs yet.

Even Azriel’s POV is filled with the pattern that Maas has established for them since ACOMAF.

Understanding (and an ability to read each other without the use of words):

Trust:

Connection:

This is why their relationship is far more realistic (and healthy, but that’s a post for another time) than Feysand’s or Nessian’s. In a way, it reminds me of Kallias and Viviane’s (friends to lovers), who spent years developing a friendship, which then turned into romantic feelings.

Why?

Because they’ve had time.

Time to get to know each other, to connect with each other.

Time to develop a friendship which then slowly turned into romantic feelings and sexual desire.

This is also why I connect with and understand their relationship—more so than anyone else’s in the ACOTAR series.

#acosf spoilers #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #elain archeron #pro elain #azriel #azriel's pov #elriel #pro elriel

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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They Say I Did Something Bad

Then why's it feel so good?

Summary: Eris Vanserra is in the house

Chapter 3: They Love Me

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

for @sjmkinkmeme

The estate Lord Vanserra possessed was nothing like Elain imagined. She’d pictured some backwoods cabin half buried in the ground. In truth, it was a sprawling marble thing that looked as if it ought to belong to royalty. The sun glimmered off the stone, reflecting outwards in a rainbow of colors scattered over the hilly lawn. The inside was just as lovely, open and airy which Elain preferred. No heavy curtains obscured the natural light and the furniture was arranged in such a way to maximize that sunshine. Lucien left her bags with his staff, lined up outside his home to meet their new mistress. She’d never seen so many people responsible for maintaining one household and the sight reminded her that her home probably ought to have just as many people. They could not afford it.

It was why she was Lady Vanserra instead of Lady Archeron. Absently, Elain wondered if her father had already begun to rebuild his empire or if he had turned his gaze towards his other daughters, having had such good luck with her?

“I’ll leave you to it,” Lucien murmured, gesturing towards his housekeeper. The woman was much younger than Elain had expected, and lovely to boot. Her blonde hair was twisted neatly against the nape of her neck, her blue dress modest despite the unusually warm autumn day.

“Lady Vanserra,” his housekeeper murmured, glancing at the other staff. Lucien’s steward and butler trailed after him, likely interested in updating him on what had happened in his absence. “This way, if you don’t mind.”

The housekeeper was typically an older woman, someone in charge of the female staff of the house. This woman couldn’t have been five years older than Elain’s twenty-two. “My name is Arina.” Elain smiled. She needed allies here, if nothing else. Everything she knew about Lucien centered around making his body feel good. Here was a woman who likely had known him her whole life, who had grown up on this estate and risen quickly through the ranks because she’d proven herself trustworthy. Elain didn’t want to make an enemy of her.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Elain assured her, following her through the halls.

“How is Velaris?” Arina asked, making small talk as they began the tour of the rather large estate. Lucien had not lied when he called it large.

“Unchanged, I’m certain,” Elain reassured Arina. “Please, tell me everything I need to know about…”

“The Forest House,” Arina supplied. “Absolutely.”

Elain didn’t expect this woman to tell her all of Lord Vanserra’s secrets. Arina, carrying a clipboard in her hand, seemed far too professional to risk making an enemy of the new Lady, besides. Instead, Arina walked Elain through a typical day in the house as she showed Elain all the most interesting places. A ballroom big enough to host at least two hundred guests, a formal and informal dining hall, depending on her preferences. A drawing room with a piano that led to the back gardens and even a library that would have made her eldest sister weep with satisfaction.

As they walked, Arina introduced Elain to everyone, from laundresses to gardeners, Arina knew them all. Elain could not keep track of the names and wished they wore name tags, or, at least, she had thought to write them down. As they walked, Arina passed Lucien’s study where he already sat, peering at a stack of papers with studious interest. He didn’t look at her at all, even when she paused and came to the doorway. Arina kept a respectful distance and when it was clear Lucien had no intention of acknowledging her, Elain pressed on.

“Do you require anything?” Arina asked, only stopping once they reached Elain’s chambers in the west wing of the house. “Where does the lord reside?” she asked. Arina nodded.

“On the opposite end of the house, lady. The west had traditionally been the domain of Lady Vanserra. Would you like me to move your things to his suite?”

“No,” Elain assured her. “No, I just…I was merely curious.” “Of course. If you need anything from me, I am at your beck and call.”

Elain was unaware of just how truthful the words would prove to be. She did not see Lucien for a full three days in any true capacity. She walked past his office every day to find him working. He never acknowledged her and Elain, unsure what, if anything, he required of her, didn’t bother to intrude. Instead she became Arina’s constant shadow. Arina managed household expenses, among other things, and with no prodding at all, offered to let Elain see the ledgers. No one had ever let her so close to figures and yet Arina cheerfully declared it was Elain’s right to know how money was spent.

Arina took Elain to the nearby village on her second morning. “In truth, we probably should have asked the Lord to accompany you,” Arina admitted. “But he’s been gone so long, I imagine there is much to consider.” “He said he did not like this house,” Elain confided, wondering if it was wise to tell a servant a secret. In the city, household help was notorious for gossiping , trading information like currency. Arina didn’t seem the type and still, Elain ought to have assumed she was, if only to protect her and her husband from scrutiny.

“I imagine not,” Arina interrupted Elains’ thoughts. “My mother was a housekeeper before me and I grew up in that house. The Duke was a cruel man, which I guess you must have realized and all his children were afraid of him. He brought them every winter for Christmas and departed each Spring. We were relieved when he passed the estate along to his son,” Arina added, her cheeks flushing. Elain wondered if Arina didn’t think him handsome. THe thought sparked the tiniest prick of jealousy in her chest.

“What was he like as a boy?” Elain couldn’t help but ask. Arina smiled.

“A menace. That’s what my mother used to say, anyway. You’ll forgive me for being so–”

“No need to apologize,” Elain assured her as they walked the dusty streets of the village market. Elain paused to examine a lovely bushel of red apples. “You can speak freely.”

Arina clearly did not believe that, if her narrowed green eyes were any indication. Still, Arina plucked a few coins from the pouch on her wrist so Elain could purchase what she liked. “He was wild. His mothers favorite. His father loathed him, of course—”

“Because he was her favorite?” Elain questioned. Arina’s brows knitted together.

“They informed you so poorly. How did you meet Lord Vanserra?”

“It was arranged for me,” Elain admitted, placing five pretty apples in her basket. She was resolved to make Lucien a pie and draw him from his work, if only for a moment. “We did not meet before our wedding.”

A pretty lie but Arina did not need to know everything. Arina nodded, sighing softly. “There have always been rumors, though I think if the Duke could prove it, he would have banished his wife long ago. Lucien does not look like his father, don’t you think?”

“That is a blessing,” Elain was quick to retort. Arina nodded her agreement.

“Yes, everyone thinks so, just as they believe he is likely not Beron’s son at all. A bastard,” she added, as if Elain was too simple to understand.

“But his father claimed him,” Elain protested, strangely outraged on the exhausted-looking Lady Vanserra’s behalf.

“Yes. To do otherwise was to admit his wife cuckolded him. I don’t think the Duke could bear the shame. He has always been particularly cruel to his youngest son, though, and this estate is proof of that. Lucien has made it prosperous once again, but when he inherited it, the village was impoverished and there was risk of true rebellion.”

“They seem to like him well enough,” Elain murmured, wondering if it was safe to be there. Arina nodded.

“Well…you’ve seen him. Lord Vanserra is kind. He has not raised rents like many others do and allows the farmers to sell outside of just this village. Taxes are also reasonable. In exchange, we get a much fairer price on meat and dairy. Everyone is very excited he’s brought home a wife as well. It means he’ll be around more often.”

Elain nodded, drinking in the cute little houses with their pointed red roofs and the cheerful little planter boxes now empty with impending winter. She pulled her silvery blue cloak a little tighter around her neck.

“Did you ah…” Arina trailed off, her cheeks pink again. “Did you happen to see Eris Vanserra before you left?”

“For a brief moment,” Elain admitted, studying the woman carefully now. “You know him, too?”

“Barely,” Arina insisted quickly, despite the blush of her cheeks. “He was older than me when I was growing up. He ah…how has he settled into marriage, then?”

Elain frowned. “Eris isn’t married.” Arina’s hands twisted nervously in front of her stomach. “No?”

“He was engaged and it ended. I’m told he was not kind about it,” Elain added, thinking perhaps she had been wrong as to which Vanserra Arina found to be handsome. Elain could not imagine it. To be fair, she had not studied the eldest of the Vanserras, given her focus was on the youngest. Perhaps Arina had an ill-placed crush that had never quite abated.

“Oh.” Arina said nothing more regarding Eris and Elain was not stupid enough to push. Chatter shifted towards other families and matters. Arina informed Elain that Lord Tamlin was rumored to be looking for a wife and wondered rather openly how he had managed to avoid Elain. She imagined, though she didn’t say it, that Tamlin lacked the money of the Vanserras.

Lucien was proving to be decent enough. On her third night, she heard his boots echoing down the hall late into the night. The handle to her door turned and Lucien stepped inside, shrouded in darkness. He was still dressed in one of his fine coats though his hair was unbound around his face. She did not move and after a moment, Lucien stepped out as if he’d thought better of the entire thing.

In the morning, Elain anticipated another breakfast alone. She was surprised to find Lucien waiting at the rounded table, the newspaper propped up on the mahogany surface. A plate of eggs and meat was half touched and a ceramic mug of coffee curled steam towards the unlit chandelier overheard. He looked over the top of his paper when she stepped in.

“Good morning,” he offered, gesturing for her to come sit beside him. Elain did, nearly tripping over her lilac dress as she did so. “Did you sleep well?”

“I–yes?” she asked, looking behind her at the open windows. Was she still dreaming? “Did you?”

“Leave us,” Lucien suddenly ordered the room, his voice clear and punctuated with cold authority. The servants immediately obliged, closing the wooden double doors behind them. Elain took a breath, wondering if this was the moment the other shoe dropped. Perhaps now that she was firmly entrenched in his life, Lucien felt comfortable treating her however he liked.

He set his paper to the side, pushing the food away from them so he could lean on the table. There were no fine clothes today. Lucien wore a white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of well-fitted brown trousers.

“I sleep terribly,” he told her, eyes searching her face. “I have been neglecting you and by the time I realized you were living in my house, unfucked, you were fast asleep.”

“Oh,” she breathed, truly unsure where he was going with his little speech. Lucien studied her for a moment.

“I took myself in my hand instead and all the while, all I could think of was you,” he continued, unaware of how each new word was filling her with heat. “I decided I would have you for breakfast.”

“I’m sorry?” she replied, certain she must have heard him wrong. Lucien’s mouth curled upwards with amusement.

“Come here, Elain. Come sit on the table for me.”

“You’re mad,” she whispered, glancing towards the windows. “Anyone might see us.” “It is hardly a secret what happens between husbands and wives,” Lucien replied with a lazy smile, pushing his chair backwards across the swirling blue and green rug. “Please, wife. Don’t make me beg you.” “You wouldn’t beg,” Elain retorted just a shade too hotly. Lucien shook his head.

“Oh, but I would.”

Elain took a large gulp of air. “Then do it, Lord Vanserra. Get on your knees and beg.”She had the sense he’d say no. That it was a game she had taken too far and now he’d simply have his way. Lucien stood, the muscles in his forearms flexing, and Elain braced herself to be hauled up onto the table anyway, to be spread out for his amusement. Their eyes locked—Elain in her chair practically clutching the wooden arms and Lucien standing above her without an ounce of humor in his expression—before he sank to one knee, and then the other. Elain knew he heard the soft gasp of air expelled from her lungs.

“Wife,” he murmured, sliding the hem of her dress up her shins. “Please let me eat you for breakfast.”

Elain turned in her chair, raising her leg until her slippered foot was pressed against his throat. He was enjoying himself far too much. “You’ve been ignoring me,” she complained softly.

“Get on the table, wife,” Lucien said for the second time. Elain dropped her foot and Lucien, realizing what she was about to do, shook his head.

“I’ll catch you,” he warned just as she flew from her chair. Elain didn’t know what prompted her to do it. The thought of him racing her down the halls, of tackling her and having his way was so disturbingly arousing that Elain scrambled backwards, shoving the chair between them as she ran for the door. She didn’t make it. Lucien was faster, wrapping his arms around her torso and lifting her feet off the floor. His mouth was immediately on her neck, licking from her collarbone to her ear as he walked her deftly back to the dining table. Lucien dropped her on top of it, one arm pressed against her chest.

“I begged, just like you asked,” he complained, his eyes glittering with want. “And still you run from me.”

“Next time I’ll be quicker,” she whispered. Lucien grinned, tugging at the neck of his shirt before pushing apart her knees.

“Next time you should do it on the lawn,” he replied, sinking back into his chair. He pulled her to the edge of the table and for a moment, Lucien truly did look as if he were about to eat breakfast. Fascination crept through her stomach as Lucien wrapped his arms around her legs and dipped his head. He hadn’t bothered to remove her underthings—Lucien just licked straight through the fabric, apparently determined to tease her.

“Am I being punished?” she asked, writhing when he didn’t her underwear off her body. She wanted more, was hot and needy, had all but forgotten anyone might wandered by the side of the house and find the Lord of the estate taking his time with his spread out wife.

“Why don’t you come to see me at night?” he asked, his breath hot against her skin. Elain moaned.

“Because I hate you, remember?” “You hate my cock?” he questioned, licking another stripe over the cloth that covered her. “I don’t think that's true.”

“Is your cock independent of you?” she gasped, reaching for his hair. Lucien groaned softly when she yanked at the strands of his hair, pulling it from the leather strap he’d bound it with.

“Yes,” he murmured, hooking his finger through the band of her panties. “It has its own thoughts and opinions on things…you may insult me, but my cock is very fond of you and if you do not reciprocate its feelings, it will be very put out.”

He dipped a finger into her body, crooking it until he found the exact spot he was looking for. Elains back arched involuntarily and Lucien chuckled with satisfaction. “Say you like my penis, Elain.”

“I like it,” she panted.

“And they say romance is dead,” he murmured, kissing her cunt sweetly. She shoved his face closer.

“Stop talking,” she whispered, squeezing tight around his finger. Lucien obliged, utterly compliant whenever it came to pleasure. Suddenly, it didn’t matter who might see them or if it was wrong to desecrate the breakfast table as they were. It took a breathless minute to realize she was having fun. It was fun to be pinned beneath his mouth, his tongue taking its time swirling lazy circles over her clit. He was treating her like the finest meal and something about it made Elain happy.

Perhaps it was the attention he was suddenly paying her. He was busy, likely had other things he needed to do and yet there he was, carving vast pockets of time from his day to see her. He could have simply demanded she make herself available to him later that evening. She’d seen her father do that far too often when she was a child. Her mother would pale for a moment while she and her sisters immediately scattered to the wind, desperate not to get caught in her mothers resulting storm.

She always knew when Lucien’s control began to fray. His once patient, slow mouth became faster, more frantic, more concentrated on the nub of flesh apexed at her thighs. It was as if he were suddenly overwhelming hungry and could no longer control how he went at her. She liked his best this way, though she never would have admitted it. Elain moaned in encouragement, her orgasm cresting in bright white sparks just behind her eyelids. Lucien’s eyes snapped open, meeting her gaze and with a quick hook of his finger, Elain came with an embarrassing scream she was certain the whole house must have heard.

Lucien scrambled upwards, flipping her to her stomach as he fumbled with his pants,

“You can’t truly mean to…” her words died when he all but slammed himself into her body, using his booted foot to spread her legs as he bent her over the breakfast table.

“I mean to have you everywhere,” Lucien grunted, his hips snapping against her body. The union of their sticky flesh echoed around the room, shaking the silverware beneath them. “On the table, on the floor, against the wall,” he continued, fingers digging in her hips as he drove into her. “This house shall be haunted with the memories of it.”

Elain pressed her forehead against the cool table, her body still convulsing from his mouth. Lucien groaned loudly, his fingers likely leaving dimpling bruises against her skin. “I need you at night,” he continued when Elain began to move with him, angling herself so his cock continued to slide over the sensitive place inside her body. Lucien was always demanding she use him and she’d become far too accustomed to coming multiple times.

“You know where I sleep,” Elain replied, so close it was almost painful. “Wake me up if you must.” “I fucking will,” he whispered. They came within a second of the other, the squeeze of her body likely setting off his own. She liked when Lucien came. It was erratic and messy, so at odds with how controlled he seemed to be. It was as if he became a slave to his baser urges, driven purely by need and instinct.

Lucien pulled himself from her body, yanking her with him into the chair.

“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, his heart hammering against his skin. He was flushed, messy and undone. Handsome, she decided. Utterly, and impossibly handsome.

“I was going to bake a pie.”

That seemed to amuse him. “My wife can bake, can she? How charming.”

“No need to tease, Lucien,” she replied, some of her good will slipping into uncertainty. Lucien kissed her cheek.

“I am not teasing you. Not this time,” he assured her. “Bring me a slice when you finish?” “I would hate to bother you,” she hedged, catching the flash of disappointment in his features.

“You are allowed,” he offered. The post-glow of sex was wearing off, reminding them they were not friends. They were merely strangers with a bargain between them and would, at some point, be merely two people sharing a last name. It would be foolish to get too attached to him. Elain willed herself to ice as she nodded.

“I was also going to invite your brother down.”

Lucien went still beneath her. “Eris?”

“Yes, Eris. And your mother…my sisters, too? If you don’t mind hosting–”

“What do you need of Eris?” Lucien gingerly set her back to her feet, his distrust plain. Elain didn’t want to admit she was inviting him to see if he, too, had a little crush on her housekeeper. She was certain Lucien would not find it half as charming as Elain did.

“Am I not allowed to get to know your family better?” Elain asked, sitting in her chair from before. Lucien hesitated, his jealousy both obvious and absurd. She was married to him, was dripping his come down her leg, and he was stewing in the possibility that perhaps she meant to sample his brother, too.

It was offensive and it irked her. “It’s your house,” he finally dismissed. “Do as you like.”

“I have your permission?” she questioned. Lucien frowned.

“One day you will sit me down and tell me the truly ugly details of your fathers marriage. Until that day, however, please hear me when I assure you that I do not care who you invite to our home…so long as it is not my father.”

“So…don’t ask your mother?” Elain questioned, biting her bottom lip. Lucien exhaled, setting his fork back to the table.

“Their marriage is complicated and I don’t want him here…I don’t want him around you.”

That stung. “You truly think I am so depraved I would–”

“Not you,” Lucien interrupted, his expression dark, ugly. “Him. He cannot be around you.”

Elain swallowed. “Oh.”

“I will write to Eris and see if he cannot bring mother himself. Father likes to lose himself in his little affairs. Perhaps it will escape his notice. As for your sisters…perhaps a party to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?”

Lucien’s expression shifted from anger to curiosity. “Your father informs you of matters quite poorly, doesn’t it?”

Elain’s stomach dropped. “I am already married.”

“Yes, fortunately for you. It seems Lord Tamlin has made an offer for your youngest sister—” “Feyre?” Elain exclaimed with a laugh. “You jest.”

Lucien chuckled, sipping his lukewarm coffee while Elain pulled a platter of fruit towards herself.

“I assure you I don’t. I wouldn’t wish the Baron on anyone, not even your feisty sister. We could host an engagement party of sorts.” “She will never marry him,” Elain said with supreme satisfaction. “I know her. She will run away before she ever walks down that church aisle.” Lucien shrugged. “Invite them anyway. Invite all of society. Let them see what a lovely match we make.”

Elain looked at him and Lucien shrugged. “Doting husband, remember?”

Of course. Elain was no longer hungry as she stood. “I should clean myself up,” she told him, watching his eyes drift down her body. “I will see you later.”

“You will,” Lucien agreed.

Elain didn’t dare to look back.

Lucien had hoped marriage would be simple. He could seek out his wife when he wanted her and ignore her when he didn’t. He made it all of three days before his self-control shredded and he fucked her on the breakfast table like an animal. He regretted none of it, other than his original avoidance. Elain was under his skin like a scratch he couldn’t quite itch. How long, he mused, until the urge to have her passed and he could get back to his life?

Never, at this rate. Far from slaking his lust, each new sexual encounter only made him want more. It was a new and not entirely comfortable feeling. He very rarely wanted the same woman more than once and to learn it was his wife currently driving him towards madness did not sit well with him.

Elain was utterly unaware, bouncing around the house without a care in the world. For two weeks she charmed his staff, planning the ball she intended to host in another two weeks. Time was moving impossibly fast even as it felt no time had passed at all. Elain made herself at home as if she’d always lived there, worming her way into his life as if she’d always been a part of it. Lucien could scarcely remember how he’d functioned without her which worried him.

The Forest House was peppered with the horrific ghosts of his childhood. He’d begun exploring the once familiar places, if only to see himself as a boy. He took Elain with him, showing her the path cut through the forest that would lead to the tall, iron gate at the very back of the property or walked her through the garden explaining his mothers careful care while Elain took literal notes on a clipboard.

In the village, men tripped all over themselves to speak to the Lord's wife and Elain indulged it all with a sweet smile. Women were kind, bringing her their problems which Elain immediately turned around and dumped in his lap with a scowl, as if he ought to somehow be able to read each villager's mind. He’d caught her out in the field one particularly chilly day with a gaggle of children, teaching them to braid little flower crowns while they giggled and shrieked. He did not know what to do with her or the knowledge that she charmed everyone else so easily…and had begun to charm him, as well.

For a well-bred Lady, Elain had no qualms about getting in the dirt. The steward complained she was often up too early digging weeds out of the garden with her bare hands and more than once, Elain had presented him with a beautifully latticed pie made entirely on her own. He found himself seeking her out more often than he wanted to, curious as to what she did and how she spent her time when he was not around. He wasn’t just the sex anymore, though he often found clever little ways to convince her to lift her skirts.

It was what dragged Lucien from his office that particular night. HIs brother and mother were set to arrive in the morning, which meant he’d have to stop fucking his wife at the breakfast table. The notion disappointed him. He wondered if he might convince her to move into his bedroom, at least until they left, so he could put them in the east wing where Lucien and Elain would not be overheard.

He found her lounging in her bed, dressed in a pretty pink night dress. Lucien’s head emptied of all thoughts at the sight of her clingy little dress just barely hugging the curve of her ass. “Did you bring the mask this time?” Elain asked, glancing towards the leather straps still hanging casually from her bedposts. He’d let her tie him up again the night before.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. What was wrong with him? “I saw Arina today.”

“I see her everyday,” Elain replied, setting the book she was reading on the night table beside her bed.

“Yes, you two are quite the pair, aren’t you?”

“If you’ve come to say we cannot be friends, I will–” “Stab me, yes,” he interrupted impatiently, catching the outrage in her expression. “Be honest with me. Have you asked to invite Eris because you want him and Arina to see each other?”

Elain’s cheeks immediately flushed.

“Of course not.”

“Liar,” he replied, crossing the room to sit on her bed. His fingers twitched with the want to touch her. “And here I was thinking you would be meddling in your sister's life.”

“Feyre can handle herself,” Elain insisted. “You’ll see. There will be no wedding to Lord Tamlin of all people. He’s so…so…”

“Bland,” Lucien agreed. Elain looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing.

“You assaulted him, did you not?”

Lucien shrugged. “He had something to say about my mother.”

Elain scooted closer. “He said something about your mother?” she questioned. Lucien scowled. Tamlin had implied his mother would get hit less if she spoke more and Lucien, who’d seen the fresh bruises on her face, had lost his temper in a regretful sort of way. It only confirmed the worst rumors about him and his brothers—they were no better than their father.

“Feyre will hate him if he doesn’t respect women,” Elain continued when it was clear Lucien would not be expanding on why he’d spent an evening in the stockyards.

“Feyre will be given no choice in the matter. Lord Tamlin is well aware of her reputation and claims not to care. She should be grateful–” “Grateful?” Elain hissed, withdrawing from him as though he’d struck her. Lucien ran a hand through his hair, immediately irritated.

“Yes, Elain. Whether you like it or not, these things matter—” “Should I be disappointed, then?” she asked him, so close to the edge of her bed she seemed in danger of falling off. Lucien hoped she did, if only to inject a little comedy to the moment. Why couldn’t she ever assume good intentions? She almost imagined the least charitable interpretation of his words.

“You are disappointed, Elain. You remind me every single day,” he replied plaintively. “Come sit in my lap.”

“No! Feyre can do better than Lord Tamlin,” she added, unaware that when she crossed her arms over her chest, it made her breasts practically pop out of her night dress. Lucien was openly staring.

“I never said she couldn’t. I only meant she’s unlikely to get a better offer—” “Why does she need one?” Elain demanded. “I got married, did I not? Feyre and Nesta should be allowed to complete the season.”

Lucien shrugged, ignoring the way disappointment slid through his veins. She’d married him because she’d been made to, because she had no choice, and perhaps because she believed it would spare her sisters a similar fate. He wished, strangely, she’d also married him because he was tolerable to her.

“Perhaps your father ran the costs in his mind and decided it was more economical to marry you all off.” Elain’s anger seemed to melt right off her face, leaving genuine hurt in its wake. “That sounds like him.”

Lucien sighed. “Will you come here now?”

Elain looked up, dark lashes fanned around her even darker eyes. Lucien gestured for her, letting her see slick amusement and nothing else. She hesitated and he swallowed how much he hated her distrust, his fingers beckoning her. Elain relented, crawling quickly over the mattress until he caught her and dragged her the rest of the way into his lap.

“Are you happy now?” she asked, too rigid, too grumpy.

“With you?” he teased. “Never.”

She squirmed, scowling darkly for all it mattered. He merely tightened his hold.

“Tell me the truth, now. Are you meddling in my brother's love life?”

“She seems to care for him,” Elain admitted. Lucien poked her in the ribs. “She is…”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Elain whispered, twisting to look up at him. “She is lovely.” “Beron would kill her,” Lucien finished. “Even if Eris wanted her, which I’m not certain he does, Beron would kill him, and Eris knows it. You should have come to me first. All you’ve done is heap hurt onto Arina’s shoulders. She knows her station, Eris knows his.”

Elain’s eyes were so round and innocent, so utterly sweet he wished wildly for a better world, if only to stop seeing how disappointed she often was. Lucien couldn’t help himself as he caressed her face.

“I’ll help your sister,” he said despite his better judgment. “If your father needs money, I can send it.”

Elain exhaled a breath, relaxing against his body. Relief flooded his veins when she tucked her head beneath his chin. “That’s kind of you, Lucien.”

He would have done far more, he wanted to say. He was trying, he wanted to remind her. In his own strange, stupid way. He said nothing, unwilling to admit she was having an effect on him he didn’t entirely hate. He needed to get out of his own head.

“You will stop meddling,” he told her sternly. Elain rolled her eyes, flicking him in the cheek to punctuate her annoyance.

“Are you ordering me to?” she asked him, her eyes burning with sensuality.

“Be careful, wife,” he crooned, his body immediately taking notice of how she shifted in her lap so she was rubbing against his penis. He wasn’t hard yet, though his hand flew to her breast all the same, pinching her nipple through the thin fabric.

“Or what?” Elain demanded, teeth grazing the stubble on his neck.

“Or I’ll bend you over the dresser and spank you,” he all but growled. Far from fear, Elain offered a breathy little gasp and he wondered if she didn’t mean to run. He kept hoping she would, that he’d see her in the hall and she’d just take off so he could fuck her up against one of those ugly, expensive portraits of a long-dead ancestor.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Elain breathed, grinding herself against him. Lucien pushed her chestnut hair off her shoulders, nipping the skin beneath her ear. “Try me.”

“You’re a coward,” she goaded, the little minx. Lucien chuckled, so immensely pleased. Tightening his grip around her, Lucien dragged them both from the bed. Elain squirmed, playing her little game in which she pretended to resist him. He wondered what it said about him that he liked making her submit almost as much as he liked when she pressed her foot to his neck and demanded he beg to taste her.

Lucien bent her over the white wood of her vanity, enjoying the sight of her breasts pressed against the surface and reflected back at him through the mirror. He pushed up her nightgown, tired of constantly fucking her in clothes. Writhing against his hold did nothing to stop him from revealing her bare body—it only served to make him harder.

“You asked for this,” he reminded her, palming her curved ass cheek. For only a moment Lucien hesitated, suddenly afraid of what it would mean to strike his wife. Elain turned, looking over her shoulder with a soft expression.

“Do your worst,” she murmured, her eyes offering silent permission despite the unspoken rules of the game. “I’m not afraid of you.” His knees trembled when she said it. Lucien rubbed again, spreading her apart just enough to look at her, barred and quivering and willing.

He brought his hand down with a satisfying smack. Her whole body went tight for a moment, head dropping against her forearm. He couldn’t see her face, hidden beneath the loose curls of her long hair. “This is what you wanted,” he reminded her, admiring the print of his hand blooming on her cheek. “How many, Elain?”

“Ten,” she whispered, surprising him. “I’ve been so bad.” Lucien’s mouth dried, his eyes rolling backwards in his head. “You have,” he agreed, his other hand holding her waist. He landed another hit on the opposite cheek as his cock solidified in his pants, straining to be released. Elain whimpered, rising up on her tiptoes, legs spread wider. Lucien rubbed the little hurt with his hand, unable to resist sliding his hand along the long seam of her. His fingers brushed against the puckered hole of her ass, eliciting another gasp. He pressed his thumb ever so slightly, gauging her reaction. Would she let him use her this way? Or did Elain have a hard limit somewhere?

This wasn’t the place to push her, only to introduce her to the concept. He continued down, groaning softly when he felt the gathering wetness. “You’re not supposed to enjoy being punished,” he crooned, slipping his finger inside her all the same. He was a masochist, unable to resist feeling her clench around him.

“I hate you,” she lied, so tight he could feel it burning against his cock. Lucien withdrew without preamble, spanking her yet again. He caught her face in the mirror when she looked up, her cheeks flushed, eyes glowing with pleasure. She was absurd, so obscenely beautiful he didn’t know what to do with her. Lucien would be lucky to get to five, let alone ten.

“You want me,” he told her, leaning against her back so she could feel his erection. He gathered her hair in his fist, arching her back so he could lick the side of her neck. “You’re already soaked.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, their thoughts reflected back at them. Elain thrust her breasts forward, gripping the edge of the vanity so he could see the way her pink nipples brushed against the wood.

“Fuck, Elain,” he breathed, shedding himself of his clothes as she spread her legs wider and manuvered her hair so he could have a truly unparalleled view of her. Wishing there was a mirror on the floor so he could watch from every angle, Lucien slicked the swollen head of his cock through her wetness, teasing her clit with his sensitive, soft skin. Elain moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

It occurred to Lucien, as he pushed into his wife, that he might never tire of her. That there was no novelty to Elain, nothing inherently different that would eventually pass. Perhaps this was more than just lust. That, more than anything, terrified him more than he was willing to admit. Wanting her and knowing it would slow, that eventually he’d get bored and move on, made Lucien feel safe. Secure. She couldn’t hurt him if this was only temporary. He couldn’t lose her to another man, to time, to a cruel and capricious world that might one day decide to take her for simply no reason at all.

Elain moaned, drawing him back to the present. Lucien did what he did best and swallowed his concerns in favor of enjoying himself. There was nothing finer that being buried in her body, of feeling the proof of her arousal dripping against his cock. He was certain there were dozens of men who would have killed to so casually reach for her hip, to pull her roughly against him so he could drive deeper, could feel every glorious inch of her body. He was mesmerized by the sight of her, at her bouncing breasts and her flushed cheeks, her parted lips.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Take what you need.” “I need you to touch me,” she panted, still on her tiptoes. Lucien reached for one of her legs, holding it in the air while sliding the other around to rub against her clit. Elain whimpered, clenching so tight he could barely breathe.

“Come for me,” Lucien demanded, dragging toward the edge despite his best intentions. She’d stolen his stamina like she’d taken everything else. “Elain, sweetheart—”

She screamed, nails scraping against the wood. He exploded beneath the sight of her orgasm, pumping hard release into her body. He was grunting, pulling her too rough against him and still Elain took it without complaint the way he’d once thought she might.

This was the part he hated. Pulling himself out of her body, the redressing and slipping back into the awkward, unsure pair too quick to fight. He’d leave her here when what he really wanted was to pack her things up and move her into his bedroom. It was not done, unheard of. Men thought it made them weak, stripped them of their most basic rights but Lucien wanted to wake up with her nestled against him like they’d been in the inn. She’d been so sweet, so warm, her cheek pressed against his bicep, her back curved against his chest.

He didn’t dare ask. Lucien merely pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well.”

“You as well,” she agreed, holding her nightdress against her body. Lucien willed himself to walk away.

Willed himself not to think of her at all.

Eris Vanserra arrived the next morning with his mother and no one else. As to what Lucien had said to entice him into coming, Elain did not know. The elder Vanserra was nothing like his brother and in retrospect, Elain wondered how she had never noticed. Lucien, who was tall and muscular, greeted his leaner, shorter brother. Not that Eris didn’t dwarf both the fragile-looking Lady Vanserra or Elain, but comparatively, Lucien was just large.

When had she begun appreciating her husband, she wondered?

“Little sister,” Eris crooned, every inch the gentleman. Here was the man who Nesta had rejected, who had the reputation of being just like his father. Lucien, too, had that reputation though over the course of a week, Elain was beginning to suspect the rumors were not as true as she’d once believed. “I hear you’re hosting a party next weekend.”

Elain looked at Lucien, who rolled his eyes behind his brothers back.

“Yes,” she agreed.

“She’s trying to find you a wife, brother,” Lucien teased, clapping Eris’s shoulder hard.

“And how is domesticity treating you?” Eris asked, his amber eyes firmly on Lucien as they walked from the foyer to the drawing room.

“Wedded bliss, as they say,” Lucien replied easily. Elain didn’t know why those words made her heart pound, why her cheeks suddenly flushed with warmth. Beside Lucien, his mother, who clutched his arm for dear life, beamed with happiness. Eris seemed less convinced.

“Better you than me, I suppose,” he argued, looking around the house with a guarded expression. Elain thought of what Arina had said of their childhood. Lucien had been particularly cagey around the details and Elain knew better than to press but judging by the way Eris walked and his paler than usual expression, she didn’t think this place held any fond memories for him.

Elain meant to warn Arina that Eris was coming. She stood by the door, intending to slip out when Lady Vanserra caught her by the hand.

“Sit with me,” she asked, beaming with such radiant happiness that Elain could hardly say no. She’d just dropped to the little floral couch when Arina came in, more familiar than she would have dared had she known they had guests. Eris immediately jumped to his feet as the room fell silent.

“Lady Vanserra,” Arina said with surprise, eyes darting from Eris to his mother. “Lord ah—” “Eris,” he said quickly, an echo of his brother. Elain looked to Lucien who, to his credit, was staring pointedly out the window behind him. Elain also stood.

“Excuse me, for just a moment,” Elain offered the room. She chanced one last glance at Eris, who genuinely looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Elain strode from the room, wondering if Lucien hadn’t been right when he told her not to meddle. Arina’s tanned face was just as pale, her green eyes just as stricken. Elain followed her friend down the corridor, pulling her to the library where Arina pressed her back against the wall.

“I haven’t seen him in so long,” she gasped, sliding to the floor, knees pulled to her chest.

“I’ll send him away,” Elain said immediately, grabbing Arina’s clammy hands. “I’m so sorry, I thought—” “No!” Arina shrieked softly, shaking her head. “No. Don’t…don’t send him away. I’m only surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think he’d truly come.” Arina blinked away the glassy look from her eyes. “Don’t send him away,” she repeated. “I want to see him…I just…I don’t want him to see me.”

“Why not?” Elain demanded. Arina was beautiful, the kind of woman who turned heads everywhere she went. She would have ruined every upstanding man in Velaris, would have brought that city to its knees if she’d ever had the notion. Elain had sent the butcher's son away on not one, but three separate occasions when he’d come inquiring after Arina. Why shouldn’t Eris see her?

“He is…” she trailed off helplessly. “If you see less of me, that is why.”

“I saw how he looked at you,” Elain insisted. “Like he’d seen a ghost.”

“I’m sure he thought so,” Arina agreed. “He made me swear I would leave this place. I promised, I…”

Arina bit her bottom lip, tugging at the skin with her teeth. “I didn’t know where else to go. I had no money and a poor education, I just…he left and I stayed.”

Elain nodded.

“Lord Vanserra—Lucien…he made me housekeeper when my mother passed and it’s been a good job. Better, even, since you came and it’s not just boring men traipsing about. I don’t regret it. Eris was just…” Arina’s eyes were dreamy for a moment. “He was, perhaps, better left to my imagination.” Arina stood, smoothing out the blue of her dress. “I shall be fine. Don’t worry about me. Focus on that husband of yours.” “You’ll tell me if anything changes?”

“Of course.”

Elain didn’t believe Arina, though she accepted her friend's promise all the same. Trudging back to the drawing room, she caught the fleeting look of hope that crossed Eris’s face. He was so painfully obvious, so openly apparent.

“No tea?” Lucien asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You know where the kitchen is,” Elain shot back, a plan forming in her mind. Lucien had demanded she not meddle, but if the only thing separating Eris and Arina was class, surely that could be rectified. How badly did Eris truly want to become Duke?

“Is everything alright?” Lady Vanserra questioned. Eris smoothed his expression into one of supreme boredom. He wasn’t fooling her.

“Perfectly alright,” Elain agreed. “The butcher's son is courting my housekeeper, that’s all. If he keeps this up, we’ll have another wedding on our hands before Christmas.” Lucien scowled from behind his brother's chair, eyes laser focused on Elain.

What are you doing?! His body language demanded. Elain didn’t care, too busy studying the elder son. His face was moody and dark, fingers gripping the arm of his chair so tightly she could see the whites of his knuckles.

Lady Vanserra, unaware of Elain’s manipulations, clapped her hands together with delight. “Oh, I remember that boy. You three used to play together. Lucien, Arina, and…what was his name?’ “John,” Eris all but ground out. “He was rather simple, as I remember.”

Elain sat beside their mother, hands in her lap. “Well, boys grow into rather dashing, intelligent men I think. John is wonderful. We are so fond of him.” “Perhaps too fond,” Lucien agreed with amusement. “I didn’t know you spoke so often to him.” “My husband is quite busy,” Elain explained. “Arina and I find all sorts of ways to amuse ourselves.”

Lucien snorted his agreement, turning his gaze back to the window.

“It’s lovely to see the two of you getting along so well,” Lady Vanserra murmured, taking Elain’s hand in hers. “It makes me happy to see you both radiant and in love.”

Elain swallowed the panic that rose in her chest. Lucien didn’t react at all, eyes moody just like his brother.

“It is easy,” Elain replied, not daring to look at him as she assured his mother, “To love your son.”

“He has always been a good boy,” she agreed. “A good man, too.”

“Come, mother. Your sentimentality embarasses him,” Eris interjected with more than a little amusement. “Give us a tour of the house brother. I haven’t seen it in ages.”

Elain intended to let them go together as a family, to prepare for her own sister's arrival in a few days and the party that she was wholly unprepared for. As Lucien went to the door, he caught her around the waist. She expected him to offer her snark, to say something hurtful for claiming to love him.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, drawing her close for an unexpected kiss. “Oh,” Elain whispered, looking him in the eyes, nose brushing his own.

“Behave yourself,” he murmured, kissing her again, softer than before. It was affectionate, touching her in a place she hadn’t known existed. Elain swallowed hard, nodding while wishing he’d keep his arm around her body. He didn’t, releasing her without a hint of disappointment on his end.

Elain watched him go with a shake of her head, wondering what was wrong with her. It was only Lucien. He touched her constantly without asking, was always pulling her into his lap or pressing his mouth against her own. The air was easier to breathe once Lucien vacated it and Elain busied herself with the morning's preparations. Her sisters were coming early, chaperoned by Lucien who was the only man their father apparently trusted their care to. He had written, stating he was far too busy to do more than drop them off.

She supposed business had gotten better with Beron Vanserra’s patronage. If it kept Beron out of her home and let Feyre and Nesta run wild in the countryside, Elain hardly cared. The Lady Vanserra—or Amera, as she insisted Elain call her—also seemed to bloom far from her husband's dark cloud. She was all smiles, tucked between her sons as they made their barbed jokes and relived more pleasant days in the house. Elain wondered if she couldn’t keep Lady Vanserra forever. Surely Beron, who Lucien swore was always mired in one affair or another, would be grateful not to have to support her?

It was that thought that pulled Elain from her bed that night. She slipped down the halls, making her way in near darkness with nothing but a candle until she found his room. Lucien’s was the largest in the house, a series of interconnected chambers where he could work and lounge and bathe without having to be bothered. He was in bed, propped up on a wall of pillows without a shirt on. The white sheet was tangled about his waist, one bare leg pulled closer to his chest, offering Elain a mind-emptying view of his muscular thighs. Lucien looked over at her when she appeared in the doorway, setting the book he was reading in his lap.

“Is it my birthday?” he joked, immediately gesturing for her to come to him. Insatiable, was what he was and yet Elain could not help herself. She still remembered waking in the inn, tucked safe against his body. Some part of her still wanted that, though she would never have admitted it. Not when Lucien retreated back to his own bed after coming to hers for sex, not bothering to even look back at her. Elain could not make herself vulnerable in that way. She hesitated, even though she wanted to go to him. She always did, every time he beckoned her. It was a game she played with herself, telling him no. He could not have everything while he gave her so little. He could not have her unguarded affection.

Lucien sighed, running a hand through his lovely hair. “Do not make me beg,” he said, his expression plaintive. “I have been imagining you in this bed since we arrived. Indulge me.”

“When is your birthday?” Elain couldn’t help but ask, taking the tiniest step onto the braided rug his bed sat atop of.

“October thirtieth,” he answered, gesturing again for her to get into his bed. He pulled back the sheet, revealing himself to be utterly naked and this time, Elain could not resist despite her exhaustion.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” she complained, letting him snatch her the moment she reached the side of the bed. Lucien pulled her into the bed and yank the blanket up over her body until merely her face remained open to the dim air.

“You came all this way to decline my advances?” Lucien asked, brushing hair from her face. Elain swallowed hard, hating the way her heart fluttered at this new softness. When she’d once imagined being married, she had pictured moments like these. Lucien was so good at making her feel cared for. Cherished, even. Sometimes she caught him looking at her with a fondness that made her chest tight. Some part of her wanted it to be real and not the product of a too-romantic imagination.

“I came all this way to ask you if your mother could live with us permanently,” Elain replied, dragging her fingertips over the sparse hair on his chest. Lucien sighed, pressing a kiss to her scalp.

“Ah. Father would never allow it.”

Elain twisted to look at him, desperately trying to ignore how handsome he was in the firelight. “Why not? You say he is having affairs. Would it not be easier with his wife out in the countryside?”

“And who will organize his dinners? Warm his bed when his mistress is not available?” Lucien countered. “She is his most prized possession, Elain.” “She is a woman–” “She was the daughter of the most powerful Duke before he died. Father coveted her, he was obsessed with her…he still is. It would draw far too much attention to the pair of us to beg for mother to live here. When you are pregnant and it’s coming close, I intend permission for her to come and tend to you and that will keep her away for part of the year but it’s dangerous to ask for anymore.” “I do not understand,” Elain complained, settling back against him. Lucien threaded his fingers through her hair, combing softly.

“No, I imagine not,” Lucien murmured, pressing the curls to his nose. “An invitation for mother is an invitation to both of my parents. Beron will not come for the birth of a grandchild but he might just to insert himself somewhere he does not belong…to remind us both that we are still under his care and control. We are far better outside of his awareness and if I am being completely honest, I do not want him anywhere near my wife.”

Elain shivered. “She seems so happy here.”

Lucien nodded, kissing her forehead again. “You are kind to think of her. She had nothing but questions about you when I took her through the house.”

“I miss my own mother,” Elain admitted, unsure if it was wise to do so. Lucien shifted, both arms wrapped around her body. She felt heavy, head nuzzled against his arm so she could better inhale the scent of him.

“How old were you when she died?” he asked.

“Eleven,” she whispered, dragging her lips over his skin as she said it. She didn’t want to have sex…she merely wanted to touch him without the expectation of anything else. Lucien didn’t make a sound as she kissed the muscles against his ribs, her hand flat against his stomach.

“What happened?” “Influenza,” Elain replied. “It was slow and for a while we thought she might get better.” His hand rubbed against her spine. “I’m sorry.”

Tracing the coarse line of hair from his belly button downward, Elain let herself reflect on that time. “Nesta begged father to take her to the hospital or the countryside…she would get better only to get worse, over and over. It was terrible and…” And he’d said no. He’d ignored them, making his daughters work in shifts to keep her hydrated and fed and cool. Elain had listened to Nesta rage and scream, twelve years old and already far angrier than any child should ever be. Feyre had begun sneaking out of the house then, unable to stand the tension or the way death clung to everything. Elain had been left to smooth it all out, to help in the kitchen, the garden, anywhere her mother would have overseen.

She supposed her father decided it would be easier without the wife who hated him. Nesta was certain he had purposefully let her die and Feyre had been too traumatized to ever consider his motives at all. Elain wondered if her father hadn’t begun setting her up for her own marriage years before. She had no expectation Lucien would ever take care of her, even as she clung to him, desperate that he might.

“I should go,” she said, pushing away from him. Lucien tightened his hold again.

“Stay,” he whispered. “I promise no sex, just…”

Their eyes met and she saw her own same pulsating fear radiating through his own eyes. Her chest constricted, heart pounding terribly in her chest. Say no! Her mind screamed it at her, reminding her she would read too much into this evening, would project her own slow blooming hopes onto his actions only to be disappointed. He did not want her, had been perfectly clear the day of their marriage.

People could change, she told herself stupidly. “Okay,” she agreed, watching his relief. “Just for tonight.”

Lucien nodded.

“Just for tonight.”

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien fan fic #elucien fanfiction #gee i wonder what is going on with elain and lucien #theyre like huh i feel weird #and my face is hot #is it the flu???#NO ITS LOVE YOU IDIOTS #god theyre so stupid i love them #elain x lucien #also welcome: feysand subplot #brought to you by: the lonely barricade drinking tequila in my comment section #and Rhysand High Lord of Night Court and a man who likes to cause problems on purpose #injecting a little drama into chapter 5 #as always #this is not historically accurate

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shadowsandtea · 2 years

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Chosen Love when Lucien and Elain can set an example, I don't see the point why Gwyn would add something.

Elain, who already has a bond with Lucien, would set an example.

I always think the biggest example of a rejected partnership would be Lucien.

Because in the book it always left me with the impression that the women rejects easily and that there would not be the drama that people keep talking about if Elain rejects.

Elain rejected see living happily with Az without so much impact denying the bond.

But Lucien, I already see a greater impact in the fight against the bond.

Sarah has her mistakes here, because really the book makes me think that the women rejecting is normal and easy.

But anyway Gwyn doesn't add anything there and doesn't even look like she's going to be there suffering for Az if he's longing for 3 women and not knowing how to choose

I agree with you! I don’t think throwing Gwyn into an already awkward situation would do anything for the plot, except maybe intentionally hurt yet another beloved character for no reason. I really hate the idea of SJM using Gwyn as a catalyst for E/riel. It seems cruel and unnecessary when that ship already technically has an obstacle in the form of Elain’s mating bond to Lucien. Same goes for using Elain as a catalyst for Gwynriel. Both put a bad taste in my mouth.

In all honesty, rejecting the mating bond for a *chosen love* just doesn’t excite me, but to each their own. I guess it’s because I’ve always considered mating bonds to be their own form of chosen love, because you can choose whether or not you accept or reject the bond. You might be “fated” with someone (or should I say FAE-ted), but you don’t really HAVE to be with them if you don’t want to (unless maybe you’re the LoA 😅)

But you’re right anon, rejecting a bond does seem rather easy overall, and may even be easier for females (the exception being if your mate is a psychotic dick, which Lucien isn’t). We can guess this based on canon information that a broken bond is often harder on the males, but the tug of the bond can still linger for both.

But all it would take for Az and Elain to realistically be together if they wanted to badly enough would be one conversation with Lucien, because he’s not the type of guy to stand in the way of his mate if she truly loved another. He’s not the type of guy to call a Blood Duel, it’s just not in his nature. So, really, if Elain and Azriel wanted each other badly enough, they could do it pretty easily!

But I personally find the idea of Elain & Lucien having an insane “mates of convenience” slow burn much more interesting, and it’s also something Sarah has never really done before! Up until now, we’ve only seen characters fall for each other and THEN we get a mating bond. This is her opportunity to do something different, and show us what it’s like for two people who had a mating bond snap into place before they had a chance to fall for each other.

She’s done the chosen love thing, every time a character accepts the bond with their mate. Nessian is a good example of this, Feyre too. Neither of them HAD to accept the bond, but they chose to because they loved that person. And I feel like she could still use the broken bond scenario with Helion & the LoA or even Eris or Mor if she wanted to.

#gwynriel #elucien #pro gwynriel #pro elucien

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danydragons21 · 2 years

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TSTS Chapter 25

I could spend the rest of my life apologizing for the long wait between chapters, but I'd rather just tell you how much I appreciate the support for TSTS and hope you like this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts. :)

Read it on ao3 here.

Chapter 25: Decay

It was late afternoon when Elain entered the conservatory for the first time since Koshei's attack. The cavernous, glass-walled room, once so full of vibrant color and light, was an empty shell of what it used to be. It reminded her of a graveyard - and she realized how close that thought was to the truth when the image of Phillip's motionless corpse flashed across her mind's eye.

If it was up to Elain, she wouldn't be here. But Lucien had suggested the conservatory as the meeting spot for healing power training, so here she was.

“I hate being here,” she said.

“I know,” Lucien responded. She looked at him, surprised. “That’s why I chose it,” he admitted. “Sometimes the best way to summon your powers - especially powers that you don’t have significant control over - is to enter a state of high emotion. It stirs up the magic, you see. And this place," he swept his arms around, "is certain to bring forth emotions."

Elain thought about the times she had called her powers forth without meaning to. When she was angry at her family. When she was angry at the unfair lot life had thrown at Vassa. That day in the conservatory with Koschei, and of course, in Pentalos. When she’d used her powers not to revive, but for the opposite effect.

She nodded. “That makes sense.” A shriveled violet lay abandoned on the conservatory floor. She bent down and picked it up. “The first time I ever really used my powers - without meaning to, of course - was here, in the conservatory. That day with Koschei. I was so angry, and I felt so helpless - so hopeless - and I picked up a rose and it just…happened. One second the rose was dead and the next it was fresh and vibrant in the palm of my hand.”

“That’s good,” Lucien said encouragingly. “That means we’re on the right track with inciting strong emotions.” He paused slightly. “Do you think you can try again?”

“I can try,” she said. “But expressing my emotions intentionally does not come easily to me.”

Lucien’s face was amused. “Perhaps you could teach Feyre a little of that self-control,” he teased, “When I met her, I was shocked by how…overly expressive she was. Is. You’d think with an older sister like you, she’d be a little better at controlling her emotions.”

Elain chuckled. “You’re forgetting that Feyre has two older sisters. She takes after Nesta much more.”

Lucien laughed, then continued talking in a more serious vein. “I’ve never trained someone to use their magic before. But I think the most important thing to start with is to accept this knowledge: magic is a part of you. It is embedded in your soul. It is every drop of blood running through your veins. It is your very essence.

“…But it is also quite finicky. Anything you are feeling - anything you want or hate or dread or love - your magic will respond in kind. High emotions like anger and hatred will bring forth your magic, but because the magic is responding to these uncontrollable, negative feelings, and because these feelings are as fleeting as they are emotionally draining, the strength of the magic is not nearly as powerful as it could be. It’s simply a reaction. What you need to do is learn how to summon your magic without relying on emotions like anger and fear.

“Healing magic works best when you exert all your focus onto positive emotions. Happiness, excitement, adoration, passion…love.” He said the last word quietly, and Elain couldn’t help but glance away. “While all emotions are inconstant in nature, positive emotions differ from negative ones in more than just sentiment - they leave a mark, a foundational building block, that you can draw from and use to aid your healing magic, rather than a negative or traumatic memory that will only detract from its potential.”

What Lucien was saying made sense. The night her magic was the strongest it had ever been - that night in Pentalos - she had been protecting Azriel. It hadn’t just been in her fear that incited her magic, but her intense care for him and the need to protect him. It had sparked her magic and elicited powers she’d not even been aware of.

It felt like a foggy mirror being wiped clean, the way this revelation cleared her confusion surrounding her healing magic. To summon her seer powers, she needed to be a blank slate - needed to empty herself of emotions and personal desires and everything that made her Elain Archeron and simply just be, letting those otherworldly visions speak to her instead. But to use her healing magic, she needed to capitalize on the love and devotion she felt toward others.

Healing was an act of selflessness. Of course it was strongest when one’s intentions were genuine and rooted in decency.

“Have you ever purged your magic?” he asked.

“Pardon?”

“A purge. It’s when you cleanse your magic, so to say. Like running it through a stream and letting all the dirt and mud and nastiness drift away with the current.”

“No,” she answered slowly, though the idea of it sounded rather lovely. How pleasant would it be if humans were like that, capable of being rinsed and purified of sin so easily? So absolutely?

“Then that is how we will begin. Healers have to purge their magic frequently to keep it pure and unfettered. It is a delicate art, one that is affected easily by rot.”

“How does one purge their magic?” she asked curiously.

“You have to expel any built-up, supremely negative emotions. To focus on the positive…you must first feel the negative.”

She frowned. Pushing down her negative feelings, trivializing her traumatic experiences, ignoring repressed memories…those were three of her favorite coping mechanisms. And as ill-advised as they might be, they got her through the day, right?

But pretending her trauma was nonexistent certainly did not diminish the significant stains it had left on her soul. Perhaps it was time to try a different approach.

“Are you ready to begin?”

She steeled herself. Nodded.

“Close your eyes.”

She did.

“Take a deep breath.”

She did.

“What makes you angry, Elain?”

Her limbs went still, shocked at his blunt and straightforward question. If only she could summon her powers with how awkward she was feeling right now. But she had to try…

What made her angry? A lot of things, to be honest, none of which she particularly felt like telling Lucien, of all people.

“If you don’t feel comfortable answering, just think about it in your head,” he said kindly.

“Dead flowers,” she said in a rush, the first not-so-incriminating thing that popped into her head. Bright pink circles tinged her cheeks as she tensed. Would he think her answer was silly? It was true, though. She hated seeing dead flowers, hated seeing something so beautiful die from neglect. It made her unashamedly, albeit perhaps a bit unreasonably, angry.

“Okay,” Lucien said, and to his credit he did not sound amused in the slightest. Elain relaxed slightly. “What else?”

“When I’m woken up before I want to be.”

He chuckled. “Such a Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, and she smiled, wondering how he knew of the old human fairy tale, then remembering he’d been alive for quite a few centuries. He probably knew a million more things than she did.

“What else? Perhaps something a little deeper?”

A heavy swallow from Elain as she considered his question. “My sisters,” she finally answered. “Not always, of course, but sometimes…they make me very angry.”

“Why?”

“They have always been at each other’s throats. From the time we were children, and it’s better now, I suppose but…they were always fighting. Always angry. There was rarely peace.”

It was something she’d never admitted out loud, not even to Azriel. Certainly not to Nesta or Feyre. That there were remnants of resentment coiling in her gut still, to this very day, about all the times her sisters had played their tug-of-war game of fury. Most of the time, she was caught in the middle, expected to remain a neutral player. Never allowed to be angry herself.

A thrum of electricity shot through her veins, so strong she opened her eyes in surprise.

“Close your eyes,” he reprimanded her. She frowned but did as he said. “You felt something, didn’t you?” When she nodded, he continued excitedly, “Good. Good. What else?”

In a soft voice, she replied, “It makes me angry when decisions that I should make are made for me. When I am not in control of my own life.” Her heart was hammering against her chest. Another shock of power hummed through her.

“Good, Elain. Keep going. What makes you the angriest? What makes you absolutely livid? What fury do you hide behind that placid demeanor? Behind that perfect veil of poise?”

The flush had now spread over her entire body, and the primal rage he’d been trying to elicit from her rose with a vengeance - as did its usual companion of fear. Did he know what he was asking of her? That there was a reason she held her feelings and secrets so close to her chest and yet he was asking her to lay all her cards on the table? To do what she so rarely did, and for so few people, because to do so was to expose the shame and self-resentment that existed beneath the flimsy cover of her soul?

“You’re scared,” he mused, and she froze, wondering how he could possibly know that when she felt an uncomfortably familiar tug in her chest. The bond. It had been so long since the bond reacted this viscerally - even longer since it had happened while the two of them were alone. If ever.

The bond. The stupid, fucking bond that had marked her as someone not entirely herself within seconds of her immortal life beginning.

The male in front of her, asking all these maddening questions, the most integral element of the gods forsaken bond in question.

She knew it was irrational to blame him. He was just as chained as she was, wasn’t he? He had not asked for this either.

But just because you know it is wrong to be angry doesn’t mean you stop being angry.

“It’s infuriating, isn’t it?” Lucien asked.

“What?” Elain replied, taken aback.

“The bond. Our bond,” he said quietly. “It is infuriating that we were never given a choice. Or a chance.” The last word sounded so sad it made her sad, too. Though, she mused, she supposed she’d been sad about the bond for a very, very long time. And Lucien had been sad too, a fact that could have made her feel worse but actually made her feel better for a second. But then that sadness twisted into a fierce anger because they would never be free of the restrictive and confining knot tying them together, and it was so unfair, it was so fucking unfair to both of them -

And so Elain was feeling all these things - insatiable fury, sour humiliation, shared misery, bitter fear and the ubiquitous shame that lived beneath it all - and she did not know what to do. Did not know what to do with all of these scorching pieces that burned inside of her. Did not know how she was going to bottle all of this energy back up, fold it up until it fit nice and neat inside of her body.

“Do you feel your magic pulse within you? Feel the way it’s trying to claw its way out of your skin?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Let it. Let it out, Elain.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Because that was part of it, perhaps the biggest part; that if she wasn’t perfect and lovely and kind and sweet Elain who never upset anyone and stayed silent even when a better person would have screamed - what kind of ruin would occur? If they peeled back her shiny, duplicitous layers and discovered what rotted beneath, who would she hurt? Would anyone still love her, then? Would she herself ever be able to grow from the decay?

“You won’t.” He sounded so sure that a tear slipped down her cheek. “You’ll heal.”

Heal. It was all she needed to hear.

With a heaving sob, Elain let it out.

Let out every grimy, grubby feeling that had suffocated her for far too long. Let it out in a vivid and robust burst of magic that blew across the conservatory with a great, resounding whoosh. Her body shook and vibrated with innate power as it expelled that which had existed inside of her with no outlet, no relief, for far too long.

When the last of the roaring power had stopped rattling her bones, she opened her eyes. And gasped.

Color. Beautiful, vibrant flashes of color, of life, danced across her vision. Vines climbed halfway up the walls. Budding roses and lilies and gardenias, not yet fully bloomed but well on their way, were bunched together by the rows. Dark, rich soil lined the spaces between the still-growing blossoms. It wasn’t the conservatory as it was before Koschei’s attack, but within a few weeks, after the plants were given time to grow, she was sure it would be.

All that which had been destroyed was now revived.

And she understood, then, why purging your magic was compared to a cleanse. She felt renewed. Absolute in the aftermath of absolution. Bright and whole and imperfect, all at once. A lovely, warm contentment stole across her.

“Holy gods,” Lucien whispered. His one good eye was wide as he stared at her. “If that’s what you can do with negative energy…” He trailed off, shaking his head in wonder.

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in months. Years. A lifetime.

“Let’s try again,” she said.

***

The wind bit and snapped at Azriel’s cheeks as he flew over the island, eyes scanning the surface to no avail.

Mikaou was located only a half-a-thousand miles or so from Pentalos, but before today, Azriel had never stepped foot on the island. It came as an unwelcome surprise. With wildly unpredictable temperatures, a significant lack of native inhabitants and the desolate, barren plains that coated its surface, Mikaou couldn’t be more opposite from his mother’s homeland.

He wasn’t at Mikaou for fun. A few days prior, spies from the Night Court had discovered Autumn Court soldiers on the island. While this sighting wasn’t new - there had been multiple sightings of Autumn Court soldiers on the islands off the coast of Prythian over the past few months, including Mikaou - the spies had noted a significant increase in the number of soldiers on this particular island. So Rhys had told Azriel to go check it out, and so he’d spent the last three days on this gods forsaken island searching for clues about the Autumn Court’s connection to the island.

His search was not going well. Much like his and Elain’s fruitless attempts to locate where the Autumn Court soldiers were stationed in Pentalos, he had not been able to find hide nor hair of the soldiers on Miakou. It was like the soldiers had the uncanny ability to disappear at the drop of a hat, and while winnowing was common enough among Fae, the vast majority did not possess enough innate power to winnow. The odds of every regular old foot soldier being able to do so was virtually impossible. It was the strangest, damndest, most infuriating thing. Where were they hiding? How were they able to conceal themselves so well?

And the question that gnawed at Azriel the most: what the hell were they doing there in the first place?

Assuming their theory about the Autumn Court working with Koschei was correct, then it would only be logical to assume that the soldiers were combing the islands looking for - or guarding - something that Koschei cared about.

There was only one thing Koschei cared about, but Azriel had no idea why the death lord would think the missing piece of his soul was located on Pentalos, Mikaou, or one of the other southern islands. If that was even the reason why the Autumn Court soldiers were there.

Azriel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He hated not having all the pieces of information. He was the spymaster, for gods sake; if anyone was able to figure out this increasingly confounding mystery, it should be him, shouldn’t it? His failure to do so was not good for his reputation.

Ego aside, Azriel also couldn’t help but feel as if he was overlooking some very obvious clue. And as someone who never overlooked anything, this significant gap in knowledge was as haunting as it was problematic. If he and his superb network of spies couldn’t solve this mystery, who could?

Like so often these days, the thought of Elain flashed across his mind.

And Azriel had his answer.

***

While Azriel brooded over the mystery with the Autumn Court, Elain brooded over Vassa’s secret.

When she wasn’t training her healing powers with Lucien, Elain spent her time surreptitiously wandering the halls of the Manor, fully in spy mode. Vassa’s betrayal stung more than she cared to admit, but instead of letting that anger get the best of her, she decided to funnel her heightened emotions into the task at hand: finding out what the hell her “friend” was hiding.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t discovered anything out of the ordinary, unless you counted accidentally happening upon Jurian and a handmaiden in an otherwise abandoned corridor while the two were locked at the lips and thrashing around like a pair of sex-depraved eels. Thankfully, neither noticed Elain’s momentary presence, and she was able to escape without any awkward confrontation. Though she did have the sudden urge to scrub her eyes clean with soap.

Elain sat on her bed afterward, thinking. Clearly her brilliant plan of roaming the manor until a clue jumped out in front of her was foolish. She needed another angle.

Needed to try something else.

Despite her many months of seer training, Elain still had trouble calling forth visions on command. Sure, the premonitions appeared clearer and more consistently than before, but she still hadn’t mastered the knack of seeing exactly what she wanted, when she wanted. But there was no time like the present, and ever since her and Lucien’s training session the other day, her entire being felt lighter. She may as well try and see if the purge had strengthened her seer powers as well as her healing ones.

Steeling herself, she folded her legs underneath her and inhaled deeply. Slowly but surely, her muscles relaxed. The tension weighing on her body and mind lifted. She relished in the comforting mindlessness for a moment, and then let herself ask for exactly what she wanted.

Vassa. Show me what Vassa is hiding. Show me what she is keeping from me.

For a few seconds, all Elain saw was the darkness behind her eyelids. But she didn’t let frustration take over. She just focused on her breathing, on keeping her mind settled, and on singing to her shadows as best she could.

It didn’t even surprise her when, a moment later, a vivid scene began to play out in her mind. Vassa was standing in the library of the Mortal Manor. Elain had only been there once before, but the shelves full of books that lined every inch of wall and wound up to the ceiling made the location obvious. The bright crimson dress Vassa wore also struck a chord - it was the same dress she’d been wearing at breakfast this morning. This vision must take place in the very near future.

Vassa was perusing a heavy tome with furrowed brows. She flipped through the pages feverishly. It was clear she was looking for something specific, and when a flash of recognition ran across Vassa’s face, Elain knew that she had found it.

The queen grabbed a pen off a nearby table and scribbled something in the book, then snapped it shut with a look of grim acceptance.

The slamming of the book served as the abrupt end to Elain’s vision. She blinked, taking in her surroundings, reacquainting herself with reality.

A minute later, she had a plan.

The plan went into motion late that evening when, a few strikes before midnight, Elain slipped out of her bed. She crept down the dark hallways wearing a nightgown, loose robe and silky socks that made it easy for her to slip undetected through the manor.

Reaching the library, Elain hesitantly pushed on the heavy oak door. It opened with an echoing creak; Elain winced. Some spy she was. She had probably just woken up the whole Manor! But after a few minutes, when no sounds of a suspicious arrival appeared, her chest relaxed. She was glad that Lucien had departed for the Spring Court earlier that morning, because sneaking around a bunch of mortals was one thing; sneaking around a skilled Fae with superior hearing and scent was quite another.

Grabbing the nearest book she could find, Elain used it to prop open the door, preventing any more incriminating noises. Then she turned to face the darkened room before her. Using her heightened Fae senses and the moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, she was able to easily see the corner of the room where Vassa had stood and pored over books earlier that day.

Elain slowly started walking among the books on the shelves, hoping one of the titles struck a chord of significance. Every so often, she’d pull a book off the shelf at random and flip through it, just to see if anything jumped out at her, but she’d had no luck thus far.

Finally, after about 10 minutes of perusing, she came across a book that carried Vassa’s scent so strongly it must be one the queen had recently touched.

Tilting her head sideways, she read the title stamped on the spine: THE ROYAL LINEAGE. Elain plucked the book off the shelf and thumbed through it. It seemed to be a detailed account of the ancestral lines that made up human royal families, dating back at least a thousand centuries. Maybe more. Either way, the knowledge held in this book certainly predated any of the Fae she knew, which was an impressive feat in and of itself.

But why was Vassa so interested in it? Was the information inside this book important in the fight against Koschei? Did it have anything to do with the secret she was keeping from Elain?

Eyes narrowed in concentration, Elain continued to flip through the book until something caught her eye. She brought the book closer. Written in the margin in cramped, cursive handwriting was one word, followed by an inexplicable question mark:

Celians?

If Elain was confused before, she was baffled now. What or who was a Celian? Her first thought was that it sounded like someone’s first name, but the plurality had her quickly dismissing that theory.

She turned her attention to the paragraph beside the scribbled word. It listed a bunch of mortal families that Elain had never heard of before.

Frustration rushed through her. Could Vassa not have left such a cryptic clue? Elain wasn’t even sure if this had anything to do with the secret the queen was keeping from her. Gods, it was all so -

“Enjoying your midnight stroll?” asked a voice behind her.

Elain slammed the book shut at the same time a scream crawled up her throat, but before she could release it, Azriel clapped a hand over her mouth.

“So jumpy,” he murmured in her ear.

Slowly, Azriel removed his hand from her mouth, but not before running a calloused thumb over her lip. A shiver danced down her spine.

“Should I be worried that you seem to find such joy in scaring me?” she asked.

“Very worried,” he answered seriously. He released her. Elain turned around, swallowing heavily as she met his hazel gaze.

"How did the mission go?"

"Good." He took a step back, surveying her hungrily with those penetrating eyes. After a beat, a slight frown graced his devastatingly gorgeous face. His stare darkened.

“Why are you wearing that?”

She glanced down at her nightgown. “Because it’s nighttime?” she replied bemusedly.

“So you just walked around the manor dressed in this? When anyone could have woken up and seen you?” Though his tone was cool and controlled as ever, a dangerous edge laced every word.

“Um…yes?”

The taut lines of his jaw tightened. He shook his head, his disapproval a living, tangible thing. “Were you hoping someone would see you wearing this tiny, sheer thing?” His long fingers thumbed the lacy edge of her gown, twitching slightly, as if he longed to tear it to shreds.

Elain had seen many sides of Az, but this one - this dominant and slightly intimidating version - had her toes curling in her slippers. The thrill-seeker in Elain decided to stoke the fire a little more.

“Careful, Az,” she cooed, “Your jealousy is showing.”

Within a heartbeat, Azriel had her pinned against the bookcase, several spines of books digging into her back. “Of course I’m jealous,” he grated out, eyes full of lust and an animalistic fervor that, instead of scaring her, merely turned her on even more. With two long fingers under her chin, he tipped her head up. “I don’t like anyone else seeing what is mine.”

Mine. The thumping of her heart had reached a nearly chaotic pace.

“Yours?” she whispered back, trying to keep a modicum of control. “So possessive, Spymaster.”

“That,” he said, tracing his lips across the sharp lines of her jaw, “is an understatement.” A moment later, Elain found herself facing the bookshelf. He lifted the hem of her gown up to her waist, exposing her lower half. A growl guttered through his throat as he saw that she was completely bare beneath, which in hindsight had been a very risky move on her part.

“No panties? I swear to the gods, Elain, it’s like you’re begging for a punishment,” he rasped.

A strangled whimper escaped her throat. His dominant words, the dark promise they held, and the undeniable fact that she really wanted to know what kind of punishment he had in mind had her pussy throbbing hotly. Moisture dripped down her thighs, and she knew it was obvious to Azriel that she was absolutely and utterly soaked. No foreplay necessary.

He spread her cheeks wide for a moment, inhaling raggedly, before hooking one arm around her waist and holding her tight to his board chest. She let out a pathetic mewl when she felt his thick, hard length digging into her back. His other hand gathered her long hair and pulled, just this side of rough, baring her neck to him.

“Az,” she whispered as his lips danced down her throat. His hot breath over her racing pulse sent yet another rush of heat between her legs. Instinctively, her back arched, breasts pushed up directly in his eyeline. When he noticed, he let out a low growl and grasped both of her breasts in each of his massive hands, massaging and twisting her already rock-hard nipples.

“We should go to the bedroom.” Her voice was nothing but a broken whisper as his nimble fingers started untying the laces on her bodice, lips never leaving her throat. She was beginning to think he had a slight obsession with that part of her body.

Not that she minded. Not at all.

“Someone could hear us.” A sudden nip to the center of her throat made her gasp.

“I can’t wait,” he rasped, running his hot and wet tongue sweetly over the affronted area. She let out a soft moan.

Anticipation gripped her in full force as his shadows suddenly twisted out of thin air. They wrapped around her wrists and lifted them until her fingers clung to the shelf before her. Then they disappeared as quickly as they’d come.

She inhaled sharply and tensed up when the tip of his cock slid across her folds.

He paused. "Okay?" he breathed in her ear. Her heart warmed. Despite his daunting demeanor and dark threats, he would never do anything she didn't want him to. She gave an eager nod.

“Hold on,” Azriel warned, and then he was pushing inside of her, filling her completely in one mighty thrust, and their quiet moans and groans and heavy breathing echoed throughout the library, and if anyone walked by they would no doubt hear them in the throes of pleasure, but Elain had never cared less about impropriety, had never cared about anything as much as living fully in this glorious moment of ecstasy for as long as possible -

Elain pressed up on her tip-toes, adjusting the angle ever so slightly, and on Azriel’s next thrust, he hit a spot inside of her that sent waves of tingling pleasure all throughout her body.“Ohhhh,” Elain moaned. Her center clenched greedily around his member, like it was refusing to ever let go of such a good and wonderful thing.

“I can feel you milking my cock,” Azriel groaned. “Just like - fuck, just like that,” he panted out when she squeezed him again, intentionally this time. She loved how good it felt, how right, but she loved how it unraveled him even more.

“Oh gods,” she said breathlessly. “I missed you.”

Elain stiffened. She hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to say anything at all, but the words had poured out of her mouth anyway, and now she couldn’t take it back. It wasn’t like she didn’t mean it, but it sounded so…coupley. And she might not know where she and Azriel stood relationship-wise, but she knew they were most certainly not a couple.

But Azriel just leaned forward and kissed her temple. “Is that right?” he asked, his movement sweeter and slower now. “You missed my cock buried deep inside your little wet pussy?”

“Yes,” she said as her body began to shake, the pleasure threatening to destabilize her. Azriel’s grip on her waist tightened as he held her up.

“Did you think about this when I was gone? Did you think about how full I make you feel?”

“Every night,” she breathed back, eyes rolling to the back of her head as his balls slapped against her clit on his next stroke.

Suddenly, Azriel ceased moving. He took his hands off her and stepped backward until the only part of him that touched her was tip of his length still inside of her slit, the most torturous of teases.

“Show me what you thought about, ‘Lain. Show me how much you thought about fucking that sweet, juicy cunt on my big cock.”

Lust-riddled and desperate for release, Elain did the only thing that she could: she began moving backwards, fucking herself on his rigid member, clutching onto the wooden edge of the bookshelf like it was a lifeline.

“Gods, that’s sexy,” he moaned roughly, which made her moan in turn. “So perfect, Elain. You always feel so perfect I can hardly believe it.”

And then, as if he couldn’t control himself, he gripped her hips and thrust forward into her with a vengeance. His mouth found a groove between her neck and chin and sucked relentlessly.

That was all Elain needed to fall over the edge. The orgasm hit her fast and hard, and she barely registered the obscene noises coming out of her mouth as she rode out the waves of ecstasy. Azriel, unable to hold out any longer now that her pussy was throbbing around him uncontrollably, came inside her shortly after.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Azriel scooped her up in his arms. The force of her climax had exhausted her completely, and her eyes were still closed. Azriel twisted, and when Elain finally opened her eyes, she saw not the library but her bedroom.

With heart wrenching gentleness, Azriel laid her down on the bed. She didn’t hesitate before she gripped his arm and tugged him forward. “Stay,” she said. And he didn’t hesitate to climb in immediately after.

She curled against his chest, something settling deep within her. He mindlessly began stroking her hair. She hummed in pleasure, and within a minute was out cold.

Azriel watched her sleep for a moment, reveling in her decadent serenity.

“I missed you, too, you know,” he murmured, even though he knew she could not hear him. “So fucking much.”

And with that, he continued stroking her hair.

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