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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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Last Young Renegade

Summary: A war on the continent is looming. A Death God approaches, his curse slowly unravelling. A firebird screams through the night.

And Elain Archeron can see it all.

Read More: AO3

Chapter Summary: You want me to go where? With who?

Thumpthumpthumpthump

Elain woke to the sound of a too-familiar heart beat and the reminder that Ferye wanted her to talk to him. Him. Mate. Lucien.

Thumpthumpthump

She could hear his heart beating through the stone no matter where he was in the house while he was freed of her presence, her heart, her everything. Blessedly, Lucien remained gone for the majority of the year but today–now–he’d been called back.

The whole city was on lock down with the arrival of that starborn female. Bryce, or whatever her name was. Elain hadn’t been invited to meet her, which was just as well. She’d heard from Nuala that Bryce did not speak their same language, causing Rhysand and Amren to translate. Still, it irked her that for all her trying, she was sheltered, shut away and kept out.

Only when Lucien arrived was she expected to do something.

Be nice, was what Feyre had asked. Elain understood the meaning beneath the words. Give him a chance. She sighed, kicking the blankets from her body angrily before yanking on a rose colored dress. Sit still, be sweet, smile at all the males, placate with pretty words. Well, what about her? Elain was staring down immortality and it looked boring. Dull. Utterly joyless. Just centuries of entertaining guests and gardening.

She might as well have stayed human. Elain swallowed her anger and hurt and resentment to walk through the familiar sand and ivory halls of the River House, ignoring the pretty art on the walls, the beautifully potted plants, and the tastefully decorated furniture.

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

There he was, sitting casually in the drawing room pretending like he didn’t notice she’d come in. Feyre was already there sitting just beside him, sparing him from being openly rejected. Feyre was always so quick to consider his feeling, wordlessly reminding Elain that she was cruel. Not that Elain would have sat beside him—to do so was to tempt the bond between them constantly begging her to touch him. Elain said primly across the room, smoothing her skirts over her knees. Lucien, his hair tied off his face and his blue jacket buttoned to his jaw, glanced over with tight eyes.

“You look well,” he offered after a moment, crossing one booted leg over the other. Elain didn’t look again.

“Thank you.”

She could hear Feyre grinding her teeth. Offer him a compliment, Feyre’s teeth seemed to chomp but Elain had said all she needed to. The three lapsed back into silence and then Elain, unable to stand it, jumped back up to her feet. “I’ll get tea.”

“There’s no—” Lucien didn’t get a chance to finish before she all but ran from the room. She heard Feyre sigh.

“Well. I tried,” Feyre grumbled softly, her words lingering as Elain escaped to the kitchen. She knew how to drag this out, to waste time picking a pot and filling it only to dump the water due to some imagined imperfection. Steeping tea could take just as long before it was finally added to the little porcelain pot. Elain took her time arranging cups and cakes before finally returning, ideally just in time for Lucien to leave.

He was standing, arms crossed over his muscular chest when she swanned back in. He didn’t look at her at all as she set the silver tray onto the wooden coffee table, eyes pinned to Rhysand.

“It would take me weeks to build that sort of trust,” Lucien was saying, a muscle working furiously in his jaw. That perked her up. Rhysand leaned against the mantle, his eyes stormy and dark.

“Months,” Lucien added, “Is more likely. Who do you even know in Rask?”

“But it’s possible?” Rhysand asked curiously. “That kind of magic is elusive.”

Feyre shifted in her seat, her black clad legs hidden beneath her sweater. She toyed with the ends of her braid, blue eyes burning with curiosity.

Elain studied Lucien for a moment now that no one was watching her do so. She always forgot how big he was. Tall and muscular, like someone who’d been bred to cut lumber rather than dance around in court. Not that he wasn’t elegant—he was, in a rough sort of way. More rake than anything. Had he been human, she would have avoided him anyway. His look made him seem the sort to ruin a lady’s good reputation.

“With my eye, it’s possible,” Lucien conceded. “Assuming they have aligned with anyone but their own greed.”

“Mor seems to think they have,” Rhysand murmured. “Or are at least considering it. They border the mortal lands most closely. Vallahan and Montaserre would need to lean heavily on Rask if they were going to try and grab any of that land for themselves.”

“It would be smarter for Rask to absorb those territories before turning their eye to Scythia,” Lucien replied wryly.

“I want you to go. Be my eyes and ears in their court…convince them not to go to war, however it takes.”

A furious muscle worked itself in Lucien’s jaw. “You overestimate my skills.”

Rhysand shook his head. “You are right for this given your relationship with both Vassa and Beron. You know how he thinks…and you have lived with the mortal queen. No one else understands the players in this game better. I want you to go. Make yourself indispensable to them however you must.”

“On my own?” Lucien scoffed. “Any courtier worth their salt will see through the ruse. Let me at least take Feyre—”

“Feyre stays,” Rhysand interrupted in clipped tones, his eyes shifting to Elain. “Take Elain.”

Both Lucien and Elain went utterly still. The only person who moved was Feyre, a Cheshire’s grin on her face as she unfurled her legs.

“An excellent idea,” Feyre said, staring Elain down. “You were saying last Solstice how you wished to help.”

“I know nothing about court politics,” Elain gasped, her own heart drowning out the sound of Lucien’s.

“That’s not how I remember it,” Feyre insisted. “You seemed to have no problem as a human—”

“That was hardly the same!” Elain protested, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“I ah…I could ask Jurian,” Lucien amended, shifting on his feet.

“Jurian needs to remain in Scythia,” Rhysand rumbled softly. “Vassa’s time is nearing an end and Scythia needs a stable ruler in her absence. They trust the general…and we may need him if war is coming.”

War. The word clanged through her, reverberating through her bones. It was selfish to beg to stay when everyone else was leaving. Even as Lucien asked, “I would ah…is Nesta unavailable?”

Feyre shook her head, as if she could not believe her friend's audacity. Elain, too, looked at him with stunned surprise. Nesta? Since when did they talk?

“Nesta has her own project. I’m not asking you two to get married. Just to work together for the time being. Elain can be incredibly charming when she needs to be. This is the sort of mission that should not end in bloodshed and I don’t trust Nesta to hold you accountable. No killing,” Feyre added pointedly, as if it were Elain who required the reminder. Lucien hardly looked as if he were riding out to war in his finely tailored pants, though she saw the glint of metal tucked into his boot. How many other weapons had he carefully hidden among his person? What sort of danger did he expect to find in Velaris?

Lucien turned the full weight of his gaze on her, pushing her further into the couch. He sighed with exasperation, clicking his teeth at her unease. “Wonderful. We leave in the morning, Lady Elain.”

Lucien strolled from the room, Rhysand just behind him. Elain waited for the High Lord to close the drawing room doors before she spoke.

“You cannot be serious,” Elain began but Feyre wasn’t having it.

“You’re going.”

“Feyre!”

“No,” Feyre held up her hand. “Everyone is contributing. Nesta and Cassian are hunting the fourth trove, Azriel has managed to infiltrate Autumn and you continue baking pies.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Help Lucien,” Feyre retorted hotly. “He shouldn’t do it by himself and everyone I trust is otherwise occupied.”

“You go.”

“I would,” Feyre hissed, “Were it not for the baby that requires my attention. Otherwise I would be out the door, delighted to do this. I am not asking, as your sister, but telling you as your High Lady. You will go to the continent tomorrow and you will do exactly as he requires of you. If I learn that the mission failed because you were difficult, I…” Feyre didn’t finish her sentence. She did not need to. Elain could guess.

“You will not be welcome back,” Feyre finally finished, her voice hard. “It is time to do something, Elain. Aren’t you tired of sitting around waiting for life to happen to you?”

“Do not pretend you are not trying to foist this bond upon me,” Elain whispered, rising from her place on the couch. Feyre walked to the door.

“You should make a decision about it,” she said with a shrug. “Lucien is a good male. The kind, if nothing else, other females want. Why should you keep him from living his life? If you truly have no interest, it will be no problem to break it when you return.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Feyre merely turned to look at Elain with disgust before strolling from the room. She snapped the door shut loudly, making her displeasure known. Feyre and her friendship with Lucien—Ferye and her new life. Of course she’d choose his side. It wasn’t as if Feyre had ever really liked Elain.

Elain put her face in her hands, alone in the drawing room with her cooling tea and this new job she didn’t want. Elain would have begged and pleaded to go with anyone else. She wanted to be useful. If it had been Cassian asking her to go to the continent and play lady, she would have said yes without hesitation.

But Lucien…Elain forced her heart to steady. She was drawn to him and didn’t want to be. There was nothing about him she’d ever liked that wasn’t a reaction to that magical pull. He’d never once given her something that felt genuine, had never once said something to her that interested her. He kept coming around, expecting her to one day fall at his feet because he was handsome and her body was drawn to him.

Lucien was everything Elain had abhorred as a human. Other girls were forced into arranged marriages but Elain’s father had loved her, had allowed her to wait, to choose for herself. All that ruined in one terrible moment. Lucien hadn’t even had the decency to keep the mating bond a secret—he’d announced it to the entire world, claiming her the very moment she fell from the Cauldron. Mine. You’re mine. Mine.

She’d never forgiven him for it. Perhaps if he’d kept it a secret, had visited her privately and allowed her a discussion she might have considered him. But that moment coupled with his own infuriating entitlement ensured that Elain would never accept the bond on principle alone. She’d rather spend eternity by herself than with Lucien.

Elain packed all her nicest clothing and jewels for the occasion, forcing herself to think only of the task at hand and not what they would likely have to pretend. After all, a man and woman appearing in court were hardly an inconspicuous thing. She’d be forced to bolster Lucien’s reputation, to stand beside him with hearts in her eyes and love in her heart. She was angry Feyre had foisted this task upon her even as nothing about her person betrayed her feelings. She folded neatly, tucking everything away in a large bag. There would be an opportunity to get more once she arrived if necessary. Elain had no idea what the fashions were on the continent.

All the while, his heart thumped in her ears.

Mate.Mate.Mate.

LUCIEN:

Lucien sat on the bottom stair as dawn began to crest over the horizon. He was ready to go, would have preferred to already be barging down the door of the inn so he could get some sleep before Elain inevitably caused problems. In their haste, Rhysand had been forced to concede a few days. Lucien could have let Elain stay in Velaris, could have gone back to Scythia to spend the last few months with Vassa trying desperately to break the curse on her. He knew, as Rhysand did, that Elain would weasel her way out of the task and he’d be on his own. Hardly unusual and yet…some stupid part of him wanted her to change her mind about him. He hadn’t asked to be mates but fuck, at least he was trying. It was better than her sulking, silent presence at any rate.

Lucien waited for Feyre to slip from her bedroom, feet padding softly down the steps before she sat beside him. Feyre looped her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’d go with you if I could,” she murmured with a heavy sigh. “We would have such a good time.”

“Don’t make Elain do this,” he asked gently, pressing his cheek against Feyre’s hair. “I’ve made my peace with her dislike.”

“She doesn’t have to like you,” Feyre insisted softly. “But she should get to know you. Besides, I stand by what I said—for a mission like this, there is no one better suited than Elain.”

“Why not put her in Spring Court, then? Tamlin could use the help and Elain would enjoy his court. You could keep tabs on Tamlin while she helps rebuild.”

“I don’t trust Tamlin around my sisters. Not when he’s still so volatile…not when Elain refuses any sort of training.”

“This will only make things worse between us,” Lucien reminded Feyre. “Everyone will want to know what our relationship is…I will be forced to tell a lie.

“Elain had been so coddled,” Feyre told him, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “Treat her exactly like you’d treat me.”

Lucien poked her in the cheek. “You were different.”

Feyre smiled. “I was more taken with your good looks than Elain, you mean? C’mon. I’ll bet if you crawled under her skin she’d lose her temper a little.”

“Why do I sense you’d enjoy that?”

“Because I would. She’s so obsessed with making everyone around her happy that I don’t know if she even realizes she’s doing it. This will be good. She’s got a whole immortal life ahead of her and Lucien, I don’t want her in my house for it.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. But if she stabs me in my sleep—”

“She won’t. Probably. You can be very annoying.”

Lucien kissed the top of Feyre’s head with affection. “But for the record, I would have preferred if it were us. Tramping about like old times.”

“Making a mess of everything?” she asked with a mischievous smile. “We had fun, didn’t we?”

Lucien’s spine straightened before he registered her presence. How long had she been standing there listening to him and Feyre wish she wasn’t coming? Lucien willed himself not to feel bad about it. Maybe hearing the truth would be good for her, too. It wasn’t as if Elain tried very hard to make friends or be friendly. Feyre looked over her shoulder, her easy smile fading a little at whatever she saw.

“We did,” Lucien said, squeezing Ferye’s hand one last time before he stood. Elain was at the top of the steps, her long hair braided off her face, the tail draped over her delicate shoulder. She was practical, at least, in a safe coat dress with quarter sleeves and silver buttons. Her trousers hugged against her legs, tucked into neat brown boots with matching silver buckles. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and a book tucked beneath her arm. Lucien didn’t know why, but he’d expected her to flounce in looking like a spoiled princess, and lay six bags at his feet. Feyre, too, seemed a little surprised.

Elain, as usual, said nothing at all. She didn’t look at him, either, her brown eyes fixed on some point on the wall just behind him. “Ready?” he asked with an irritated sigh. Elain took a step towards him, eyes sliding over his body for only a moment.

“They know to expect you in two days’ time,” Feyre told him. “Rhys sent over word last night and they responded almost instantaneously. I think your reputation precedes you because it was Queen Hilda who responded and not her husband.” Lucien smothered his grin when Elain reached the bottom step, her irritation plain. “I hear she married him quite young,” Feyre added with a wink, ignoring Elain entirely, even when Lucien took her bag without complaint.

“Don’t tempt me,” he joked, the words a lie. Maybe in another life, when he wasn’t a mated male, he’d be curious if the famed beauty of Hilda of Rask was truth or mere myth. Her husband, King Gunnar, was at least as old as Beron and just as cunning. It was the extent of Lucien’s knowledge of their court or their home, though he did know it was their borders that contained Koschei. If the death god were going to start anywhere, starting with the monarchs who governed him wasn’t the worst plan.

As for Elain, well…Lucien imagined her flitting about the kitchens like a serving maid until he had to make some excuse for her. She’d embarrass him, of that he was sure. Feyre tossed Lucien a heavy sack of coins with a wink.

“Just in case,” she said, as if she didn’t know her mate had paid Lucien handsomely the night before.

For whatever Elain might need, Feyre’s voice whispered through his mind. At least new clothes.

He didn’t react as he stepped out of the hall, giving Elain and Ferye a chance to say goodbye. Lucien dreaded this entire mission more than anything in his entire life. More so when Elain appeared at his elbow, her eyes suspiciously glassy. Lucien took one last look at her, dressed for traveling and perhaps roughing it a little. Would she murder him when she learned there was only one room at the inn’s he’d booked?

“There are some things you should know,” he began, swallowing his urge to melt into the floor. Elain said nothing, like she always did, head tilted towards him, eyes looking at anything but his face. “While we’re in Rask, we will be pretending to be a mated, married couple.” She sucked in a breath as Lucien plowed ahead. “Which means you’ll have to act like Lady Vanserra—”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It means my mother would never be caught dead in a kitchen,” Lucien snapped without meaning to. “And she wouldn’t rush off every time she was uncomfortable to make tea or cakes or whatever it is you do. You are more than welcome to hate me privately but I cannot do my job if I am on an apology tour for your behavior.”

She looked at him with such burning, blazing hatred. “So I am to be your doting, submissive wife?”

“Let’s start with besotted before we try obedience,” Lucien grumbled. “I care nothing for your submission so long as you act the part of my wife.”

“I can do this,” Elain told him, her anger giving way to some other emotion he didn’t recognize. Lucien didn’t care to figure it out.

“I doubt that,” he hissed, pushing open the front door of Feyre’s home. “But it will be you and not me who has to explain to the High Lord why the continent hates us when you inevitably fuck this all up.”

Elain clamped her mouth shut, stepping into the early morning sun with him. Lucien wanted her to hear him say that, if only once. He needed her to know he took his job seriously, that he wasn’t some spoiled, pampered prince that could cry his way out of a mess. War was the consequence of failure, not just for the people of the continent but Prythian, too. They could hardly withstand the forces of Montessere, Rask, and Vallahan combined, especially if Autumn aligned themselves with the continent and Scythia fell.

Lucien gripped Elain’s wrist when they were on the bounds of the wards, feet just between the edge of the drive and the sidewalk leading into Velaris. She sucked in a breath as Lucien summoned all of his magic to make the leap.

He gave it all of a week.

ELAIN:

Lord and Lady Vanserra. That was how the innkeeper addressed the pair of them when Lucien, panting and pale, winnowed them in. Well, not in, but close enough. His usual golden brown skin was tinged green, body sagging when his boots hit the mud. Elain hadn’t said a word, his condemnation still buzzing in her ears. Winnowing had sucked everything out of him.

When you inevitably fuck this all up.

No one had ever spoken to her like that and yet she saw it in all their eyes. Elain—useless but pretty. Lucien had merely said what everyone else thought. She might have respected him for it had she not resented him so deeply. What did he know of her abilities? She went to the kitchens to avoid him, first of all, and secondly, what else did she have to do? This was the first job she’d ever been offered but Elain had tried to take others. She’d asked to scry in the past, for all the good it did her. No one thought her capable.

She’d show them, starting right now. Striding into that four story wooden inn, Elain was the one who smiled with ease. “That’s us,” she agreed, holding out her hand for the golden key while Lucien fished out copper coins and paid.

“Breakfast just began if you’re hungry,” the woman, graying and wrinkled and yet still radiant and lovely, told the pair. “Lunch is at noon and supper at six. All just to the left. You get what you get so no complaining. Tavern is next door if you fancy something a little stronger. Doors here close at midnight no matter how much you paid so be mindful of the time. I don’t mind newly weds but we enforce quiet between the hours of eleven and seven,” she added, eyeing the pair of them. “You have the look about you.”

Elain continued to smile. “We’ll be mindful of the noise.” Lucien shifted uncomfortably beside her and Elain wanted to gloat. Now who is fucking this all up?

“Just tonight?” the innkeeper added. “What brings you two in?”

“A honeymoon,” Elain said with a sweet sigh. It was an easy enough lie—it had always been her dream to visit the continent and see the field of tulips. “My mate is taking me to see the tulips.” Lucien glanced down at her with an unreadable expression but the innkeeper merely sighed.

“Mates. How lovely,” she breathed. “A lovely honeymoon indeed. Enjoy your stay, then.”

Lucien put his hand on the small of Elain’s back, the contact sending a zap of discomfort through her body. She pushed through, letting him turn her towards the winding staircase to the right. They were on the third floor at the very end of the hall and Elain was prepared, when he pushed open that creaking, wooden door, to see only one bed.

“You sleep on the floor,” she told him the moment they were closed in. To punctuate her point, she tossed one of the fluffy pillows and a blanket onto the threadbare red rug that covered the wooden floors. Lucien glowered, gathering the heap in his arms and dragging it towards a little couch in front of the fireplace. The furniture was too small for his muscular frame and yet Elain was grateful he’d decided to sleep away from her without complaint.

“You’re too sweet, wife,” he all but snarled, collapsing heavily onto the beige fabric. “I so look forward to showing you the beauty of the continent.”

She bit back a bitter reply. Seeing the beauty of the continent, as he’d so rudely put it, had always been her dream. She didn’t dare share that with him lest he find some way to use it against her. Lucien’s words were sharp, aimed to wound and Elain hated that she was an easy mark. She lacked all of Nesta’s shields. When it came to working courtiers, sweetness had always been Elain’s favored tool. A well-remembered detail about someone went much further than a cruelly barbed word. Especially when it came to men.

Except Lucien, who she knew nothing about. He became silent, head resting against the back of the couch and too late, she realized he’d fallen asleep. Winnowing had been difficult…and she felt a little bad. Not that she’d been mean—Lucien deserved far worse for what he’d said. It was her own ineptitude that shamed her. Had Feyre come, he wouldn’t have had to carry them both. Feyre likely had learned to winnow the moment she became faerie, had probably mastered her magic within weeks, perhaps months at most. Even Nesta had made better progress than she had.

Elain left Lucien to his nap in favor of breakfast. The inn was hardly busy though it was strangely scandalous in its patrons. The big hall was illuminated with dirty windows dotted around the three walls and a heavy iron chandelier with flickering faelights. Tables with little benches were arranged about the room where primarily men sat, not making eye contact as they shoveled down their breakfast. Unease crept through her…perhaps she should wait for Lucien to join her.

The idea of sharing a meal with Lucien made Elain want to vomit. She wasn’t helpless and she didn’t need her mate, pretend or otherwise, to rescue her. None of the men—especially the ones with half naked women in their laps—looked at her at all. Elain made her way to the front of the room where a long table of trays had been set up. She took some eggs and breakfast meat to a table close to the door, just in case she needed to escape.

It was too much to hope that no one would bother her. A youngish man dropped his plate on the bench across from her, his blue eyes alight as he sat. “All alone?”

“My husband is upstairs,” Elain said a little too quickly, noting the way his eyes immediately shot to her hand. No ring. Stupid. She could see he’d caught the lie, unaware there really was a man upstairs sleeping, who could be roused with a rough pull on the cord she was always ignoring.

“Of course he is,” the dark haired man replied, his brown eyes settled on her face. There was something familiar about him, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Had he been lingering outside the tavern when she’d walked in, or did he merely remind her of…Gray. His eyes were a shade too dark, his hair, too, but he had that same chiseled boyishness to his features, the same dimpled smile. It made her heart ache. “You wear him out?”

Elain flushed, eyes slipping back to her plate. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

“My apologies. My name is Nathaniel,” he added, taking a bite of bread. “Do you have a name, lady?”

“Elain,” she told him, wondering if it wouldn’t have been better to lie. Some things were unknown to her and too late, Elain wondered what Ferye would do.

The fae man merely smiled. “Pretty name for a pretty female. If I were your husband, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

“I pity your future wife,” Elain replied primly, earning a chuckle.

“I pity her too,” Nathaniel agreed. “Wherever she is. Perhaps she’s staring right at me?”

“Perhaps not,” Elain replied, careful to keep her voice light. “What brings you here, anyway?”

He shrugged. “I have my business, as I’m sure you have yours. Hasn’t your husband taught you not to ask such questions?”

Elain didn’t like the soft reprimand. She stood, intending to dispose of her dish and return to the quiet chamber of her bedroom. She’d brought a book she wanted to read. It was a perfectly pleasant way to spend the day. Nathaniel reached for her wrist, holding her in place.

“I apologize,” he said as Elain ripped against the bond. The man’s fingers held her just a touch too uncomfortably for her liking. “Please sit. I haven’t had company so lovely in a long time.”

“You should get out more,” Elain replied, slowly sitting. Nathaniel waited a beat, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin beneath her wrist. It was far too suggestive and she hated the familiar touch. Men–males–whatever, they were always touching when they shouldn’t. As if her beauty ought to make her available to them, as if they were owed something simply for wanting her.

“Oh? Are there more females like you out there?”

“Nope,” came a deep, masculine voice. Lucien dropped to the bench beside her, reaching between Elain and Nathaniel to remove his hand from her wrist with rough, bruising fingers. He tossed Nathaniel's hand back to his lap, his voice casual. “There is no female like my wife.”

Lucien stared down the man across from them, his irritation radiating off him in waves. Elain knew it wasn’t that another man had been touching her so much as she’d already bungled things but it worked all the same.

“My apologies,” Nathaniel murmured, rising from his seat.

Lucien twisted once Nathaniel vanished, his golden eye swiveling over her even as his russet one narrowed. “Did you get enough to eat?” he asked softly, lip curling over his teeth. “And are you done flirting?”

“I wasn’t—” she spluttered. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“Of course not,” Lucien retorted, grabbing her plate and walking it towards the kitchen while she trailed behind him. “You just decided to come down here alone and see what might happen.”

“So I’m not allowed to go anywhere without you?”

“First of all,” Lucien began, hand on her elbow to guide her back towards the stairs. “Yes, in places like these, you are exactly correct. But secondly, and don’t lie to me, would you have ever dared to go into a human tavern by yourself?”

Elain felt the heavy weight of his words settle in her stomach. “No,” she admitted.

“Then why would you think you could do it here?” he hissed, all but shoving her back into their shared room. “When fae males are twice as territorial and far trickier? If a human man could drag you out back and have his way, what do you think your breakfast partner was imagining? Did you not scent his intentions?”

Elain sat on the edge of the bed, falling silent. She didn’t know what to say to any of it, couldn’t stand to look at him and his righteous anger. Lucien’s laugh was mirthless.

“I thought not.”

And that was that.

LUCIEN:

Lucien had to bite back a million furious words throughout the day. Elain had all but terrified him awake with her violent pull on their shared bond, the first she’d ever done. He’d assumed she must be dying and had panicked. Finding her in the dining hall with another male reeking of arousal had merely pissed him off. Of fucking course she’d stumbled into the first bad situation she could find without thought. Lucien knew exactly what that male was thinking, what he’d imagined he might do when she slunk off. Had she not called for Lucien at all, he might have found her clothes shredded and forced him into an ugly duel.

Females on the continent belonged to their males. There was no choice, not like in Prythian. A mated male could claim his female whether she wanted him or not. It was the only leverage Lucien had in keeping her safe and he intended to wield it like a sword.

But other males would be thinking the same. She did not wear his scent very well, did not reek of a mating bond that might repel others. Lucien forced himself to swallow his anger, if only because Elain very clearly did not care. She picked up her book, laid on the bed, and spent the majority of her day reading to the exclusion of all else. He could have reprimanded her until he was blue in the face and knew she’d merely look up at him with that blank expression. She’d been trained for humans who were, at best, incredibly stupid. Elain was not cut out for the violence and scheming of the Fae courts.

Rhysand would forgive him for his failure but Lucien would not. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines as war drummed closer and certainly didn’t want to be put back on the frontlines. This was his contribution and Elain was wrecking it with her lack of care. It burned him, how spoiled she was, how blithely uninterested Elain was in even learning something. He wasn’t going to teach her.

“Dinner,” Lucien grumbled when night all but poured into the room, making it difficult to see. There were no faelights up there, only candles and firelight that his magic was keeping alight despite his fatigue. Elain looked up, her face neutrally blank even as she nodded. Feyre swore Elain could do this and yet Elain could not even feign interest.

Back in the dining hall, Lucien found the once sparsely populated room now bursting with noise and filled with people. He ordered Elain to sit while he went for food only to immediately regret it. Elain was beautiful and every single male in the room had noted it the second she stepped in. The bench across from her was filled with hopeful males that would, if given half the chance, drag her up to their bedchambers and do every wicked, depraved thing they could imagine. It was not often a female of Elain’s caliber walked into a place like this.

Grinding his teeth, Lucien grabbed their food before strolling back, irritated to find Elain smiling at her admirers, leaning forward so her breasts, hidden beneath the fabric of her coat dress, were resting on the table. Lucien snarled at the male sitting beside her, sending him skittering away.

“Sweetheart,” she began, her tone so falsely syrupy Lucien might have gagged on it, “Did you know Rask imports diamonds?”

Was that what the males were telling her? From the amused curve of Elain’s mouth, she seemed to recognize the falsehood for what it was. Lucien reached for her hand, almost brushing his mouth over her knuckles. He didn’t dare actually do it, half afraid he might like the taste of her. “Oh? Are you asking for more jewels, my love?” “He says he keeps them in his room. Perhaps you could pick me out a pair of earrings?” Lucien turned his eyes to the only male left at the table, so obviously sweating. Lucien raised his brows.

“Well? My lady wants a pair of earrings.”

“My apologies, Lord, I ah…”

Lucien waved a hand and the male all but scattered, tripping over his own worn boots to escape Lucien. It was far more fun than he’d had in a while, this little game of hers proving a decent enough icebreaker when they were finally alone with their steaming plate of meat and vegetables.

Elain pulled her hand from his with a sigh. “Men don’t change.”

“No?” Lucien replied, putting a small amount of distance between her body and his so he could eat without elbowing her in the face.

Elain arched a delicate brow, her brown eyes sweeping over the room with pretty disdain. “They make silly promises if only I might join them in their bedchamber. As if I am too stupid to understand what happens behind closed doors.”

“I didn’t think ladies were allowed to know such things,” Lucien all but teased. Elain’s eyes cut to him sharply.

“How could we not, when men take an interest the moment we are old enough to take our hair out of braids?”

Lucien only shrugged, shoveling food into his mouth inelegantly. He hadn’t eaten all day, denied by his exhaustion and then his irritation. Elain was all too happy to end their conversation there, her point made well enough. She wasn’t totally inept. It didn’t mean she was ready for the scheming brutality Lucien was certain waited for them in Rasks’ royal court but it did bolster him, if only a little.

He’d need her help, after all. And Lucien knew all too well how far a pretty face could take someone. A well placed touch, a lingering look…and Elain’s beauty could likely bring even King Gunnar to his knees if he believed her to be guileless. Lucien cleared his throat.

“There are some things we should discuss,” he began once Elain had cleared half her plate. His own was empty, his stomach full. He was exhausted and was tempted to crawl back up the steps to his too-small sofa and collapse into sleep. “About tomorrow.”

Elain said nothing, setting her fork primly to the table, hands clasped in her lap. “We’ll be at another inn…nicer than this one. I wanted to show you the capital city Volta before we go. You’ll need clothes and shoes but it would be good to see the people and experience some of the culture. Rask is not like Prythian and Volta is so unlike Velaris…I question why Feyre wanted you to come at all.”

“Because I’m so inept?” Elain asked as if she’d read his every thought. Lucien cleared his throat.

“Because you are used to a certain level of autonomy that does not exist for females on the continent. Between you and I, you may keep it but when we are in court, you will be expected to defer to whatever male is in the room.”

“Is this why we’re married?” she asked and for the first time, Lucien wondered if she thought he’d done that to try and shove her in a corner regarding their mating bond.

“Yes,” Lucien agreed simply. “And mated. I have a band for you to wear and you’ll need to keep it on. Males will respect you because they respect me. You will not be Lady Elain Archeron but Lady Elain Vanserra and no matter how much it angers you, causing even one male to doubt your loyalty or fidelity will cause a fight I very much do not want to have.”

Elain blinked. “There is no need to fight on my behalf.”

Lucien curled his hand into a fist. She was so maddening. “Then you can stay in Rask with your new husband and I will return to Prythian without you.”

Her eyes went wide. Lucien only shook his head. “I am not toying with you, Elain. If you want to be petulant, be my guest. This isn’t the place to play childish games.”

Elain took a breath. “You are so content to imagine the worst of me. I meant there was no reason to fight on behalf because there is not and will not be. I have been dancing around suitors my entire life…I understand my part well enough. It is you, I suspect, who will struggle with the aspects of being a doting husband. Not me. It was my entire purpose in life, to be someone’s wife. What could you possibly know about that?”

Lucien ground his teeth. Nothing, but he had no intention of admitting that to her. Elain pressed her advantage. “In fact, I would guess if a duel was challenged, it would be over my honor and your abominable behavior. I have heard of your reputation, Lord Vanserra.”

“My reputation was put to bed the moment I met you,” he retorted too hotly. “You don’t need to worry about me—”

“Then extend me that same courtesy,” Elain snapped. “And trust I would do nothing to embarrass the illustrious Lucien Vanserra.”

“Fine,” he all but spat.

“Are we done? Can I go to bed?”

He almost made a snide comment about the bed they would be sharing once they reached Volta but Lucien had angered Elain enough for one day. He could see it in the red bloom of her cheeks, the bright fire of her eyes.

“Yes,” he agreed without ire, rising from his place at their table.

And as Lucien plodded back up the steps, a pace behind his pretend wife, it occurred to him that he’d spoken to Elain more that day than he had in nearly five years.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

ELAIN:

Elain woke before Lucien by mere moments. She’d slept terribly under a musty sheet, having given him the heavier blanket since he’d been sent to the couch. Lucien looked miserable, his face screwed up in anger, his large body folded in on himself. Lucien started awake, eyes wild, his copper hair a tangled mass around his face. His gaze fell on her before he looked at the door, his relief palpable and for the first time, Elain wondered what his nightmares consisted of.

“Breakfast?” he asked, running a hand through his long hair with a heavy sigh. Elain looked down at her dress, crumpled and sweaty from a night of tossing and turning.

“Is there a place I can bathe?”

Lucien grimaced. “Can you wait until we reach the next place?”

“Why not now?”

“I’d rather not stand over you,” he mumbled, his cheeks flaming. “It's a shared space.”

“Oh fine,” she retorted, turning so he could see her embarrassment, either. “Can you winnow today?”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “Can you?”

“Very mature, Lucien.”

“Yes, I can winnow, Elain. Pack your things and we’ll be on our way.”

He forced another breakfast on her before they finally left, their things slung over Lucien’s broad shoulders. He was just as disheveled as she was, hardly the refined gentleman from two nights before. They could have been roughing it in the woods for all it mattered and perhaps would have had a better night if they had. Elain was curious what Lucien made of their previous night though she didn’t dare ask. He’d made his opinions on her well known.

Hand in his, too late they both seemed to realize he’d forgotten to give her the ring. He winnowed with a soft curse, spitting the pair of them out in ankle deep snow that made Elain yelp. Everything was covered in snow despite the cheerful sun glimmering high in the sky. While Lucien fished in his pocket, Elain drank in the beauty of Volta. Set high in pine forest covered mountains, Volta was a winter wonderland. Pristine snow covered everything but carefully plowed streets and sidewalks. Houses were built against the mountain side made of white stone and wood peaked rooftops adorned in white powder. Her eyes followed the winding road upwards to the opalescent palace she imagined they’d be living in the next morning. Sunlight bounced off the moonstone, cascading rainbows of light over the city below and drenching the bustling city in magic. Elain wanted to leave Lucien behind, to bound into the frosted glass shops until she was dizzy with delight.

Lucien caught her, sliding a ring over Elain’s finger without prompting or preamble. Elain had expected a plain gold band which would have been more than enough. She certainly hadn’t been prepared for the delicate gold adorned with a circular opal stone placed in a sunburst setting. Against the tan of her skin, the ring seemed to glow softly. Lucien glanced down only for a moment, his expression unreadable. He had a thicker band on his own ring finger, with three red stones set against it. She supposed it made sense for who he was to have something nice and yet the sight of the two rings on their hands made her stomach flip nervously.

She didn’t dare ask where he’d gotten it. It was nothing, she told herself. Something cheap he’d grabbed in Velaris before they left and she was making too much of it because of how the gem glittered beneath the morning light.

The inn they stood behind was clearly meant for wealthier patrons. Lucien pulled open the rounded wooden door, greeting them with a blast of warm air. Gone was the filth and stench of vomit and sweat. There were no topless women, no men grinding their bodies on whatever moved. In fact, Elain had the sense that her and Lucien were the roughest looking people in their rumpled clothes and sleep mussed hair. He moved like a lord, his powerful body effortlessly graceful as his gleaming boots stepped onto the furlined carpet to the shining mahogany desk.

“Lord Vanserra,” he said easily, reaching into his pocket for a pouch of coins. The woman behind was immaculate and lovely. Pale blue eyes snapped to his face, her icy blonde hair twisted into a braid worthy of Nesta.

“Welcome,” she murmured, glancing towards Elain with an easy smile. There was no hint of jealousy—only interest. “Lord and Lady Vanserra.”

Elain suppressed her shiver, taking the key offered to her as Lucien paid. He signed a contract agreeing to pay for any damages incurred with rather lovely script before nodding. “Can I get you anything?”

“My wife wants a bath,” Lucien said smoothly, his smile blinding and lovely. “Our last stay wasn’t half as hospitable.”

Elain plastered a smile on her face despite his possessive usage of the words my wife. She bristled, irritated he was laying claim even after he’d warned her it was necessary. Surely not here, not now. Not in front of this woman?

“I’ll have food sent up,” was her chirruping response, allowing Lucien to gesture for Elain. There was no dim hall for eating, no kitchen where they deposited their plates. Only gleaming, immaculate wood floors and white and blue patterned wallpaper set against gold trim. Fae lights glimmered from large chandeliers overhead, bathing them in light. Lucien didn’t seem to notice any of it as he led her up a curved, polished staircase.

The room was a suite. She could have wept at the largeness of it, of the cerulean linens, the marble fireplace with logs already ignited. A set of double doors led to a white curtained balcony overlooking the city and the couch was certainly big enough for Lucien’s body. Elain went to the bed, already eyeing the darkened bathing chamber off to the side, to gather pillows and blankets for him.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” Lucien informed her, walking around the other end of the bed without meeting her eye.

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” he replied. “And I will be in the royal palace as well.”

“You’re sending me to the couch?”

“No, I’m sending you to sleep beside me because you are my wife,” he gritted out that word, as if it pained him to say it, “And servants talk.”

“So?”

“Come, Elain. I thought we were beyond this? What good is looking at me with your loving eyes if in private you can’t stand my touch?”

“You are not allowed to touch me!” she all but shrieked, earning a rather bored eye roll.

“There will be no touching but there will be a shared bed.”

Elain grabbed another coat dress from her bag set on the bed, the only thing warm enough for the bite of winter wind outside, and stalked to the bathroom. She slammed it loudly behind her so he knew she was angry with him, even if his plan was sound. Elain knew very well how servants gossiped and how that gossip always spread to the ladies of court, who then in turn told their husband while laying in bed. It would be embarrassing for them both to put on a show in public only for everyone to know they couldn’t stand each other in private.

No matter how true that assessment was.

Elain was grateful for hot water and fluffy towels, along with complementary bath soaps and oils and salts that smelled of eucalyptus and mint. She scrubbed herself before refilling the tub just to lay in the sudsy water and float, her legs outstretched pleasantly in the warm water. She could forget what she was doing, of what tomorrow might bring. Her and Lucien would have to find common ground eventually if they were meant to truly work together. She had the sense he wanted to do far more than just gather information. She’d seen how he listened when he came to Night, how he was always carefully watching, storing things away for later. Perhaps he imagined he might prevent Rask from invasion at all.

She wanted to help.

Lucien replaced Elain without slamming the door when she returned, her hair drying in a towel and her body clad in a navy blue coat dress. He took his time just as she had, running the water twice from behind that closed door while Elain sat at the vanity, twisting her wet hair into another braid if only to keep her from having to find a way to dry it. Nuala and Cerridwen had always done it for her. She supposed in Rask there would be servants to do the same. She could take another day of living easy, especially when Lucien strolled out, his hair immaculate and dry, his body clad in a back buttoned jacket and white pants. He had a sword hanging casually from his hips and had she not seen him saunter in wearing suspenders, she might have thought he’d just left a very important meeting with Rhys.

“How did you dry your hair?” she gaped, twisting in her chair to watch him slide socks and boots over his feet. Lucien frowned.

“My hands.”

“What do you mean, your hands?”

Lucien raised a large, golden brown hand and ignited flame over his palm. “You don’t know anything about me.” Elain shook her head. “Your magic is bright,” she insisted. She’d seen it more than once, in both person when they’d been trapped in Hybern but also in a vision. Lucien’s magic was akin to daylight, hot and bright like the sun. It wasn’t the small flame flickering around his fingers.

“Yes,” he agreed, extinguishing the heat. “Because it’s fire.”

Elain frowned. She knew she wasn’t wrong. Her visions, fragmented as they so often skewed towards, weren’t wrong. Lucien was sunlight and she’d always associated him as such. It had endlessly infuriated her given how much Elain craved bright, warm light. There was no use arguing with him in the moment, not when he was so smug and irritating. She didn’t want to provoke a fight.

Not when Lucien reached behind him for a velvet bag of golden coins and tossed them to her. Elain held them in her hand feeling strangely touched. “You’re going to let me pay?”

“Absolutely not,” Lucien said quickly. “But the coins are yours. I wanted you to see what you had so you didn’t feel as if this were some act of charity.”

Elain threw the bag back at him, openly delighted when it smacked him in the chest. “You are far too generous, husband.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lucien agreed, rising from the bed. “This is, technically, Rhysand’s money. If we spend it, he’ll be forced to give us more so don’t hold back.”

“That’s terrible,” Elain chided, though she couldn’t help but mirror his smile.

“Ah, there she is,” he teased, gesturing for her to follow. “I knew we must share some common interests.”

“What is that, then? Spending Rhysand’s money?”

“Pissing off the High Lord of Night,” Lucien amended. “He will be terribly annoyed by how expensive it is to host us.”

“He should have sent Azriel and Morrigan then,” Elain replied, following Lucien into the emptied hall. Lucien’s smile shifted, tightened around the eyes.

“Ah, I don’t believe for a moment Azriel couldn’t outspend us with all his hair gel.”

Elain couldn’t help her laugh. “It is a little too effortless, isn’t it? His hair, I mean.”

Lucien’s smile relaxed again. “I could not picture Azriel dancing among the courtiers the way we will. Does he ever smile?”

Elain had seen him once or twice. “He would hate the attention. You know who might enjoy themselves though? Cassian. I could imagine it. Maybe not dancing,” she added, thinking of his clumsy steps beneath the mountain when Eris came to visit. “But wooing, certainly.”

“The ladies would love him,” Lucien agreed easily, holding open the door to lead her outside.

“And you?” she couldn’t help but ask. Lucien glanced down at her, brows furrowed. His expression seemed dark and unreadable and she wondered, for the very first time, if he didn’t loathe the mating bond between them just as much as she did.

“I’m married, remember?” he said, showing the ring around one of his long fingers. “The females know to stay away.”

The spell around them shattered, leaving Elain more than a little disappointed. That ring was a shackle as close to the cord around her ribs as anything.

And from the look on his face, Lucien knew it too.

LUCIEN:

The brief moment of levity between Lucien and Elain had helped him get through a rather boring day of trying on clothes and shoes and cloak and coats. Elain went from one store to the next, dutifully trying on beautiful gowns and heavy dresses. She bought sleep clothes and underwear, blushing furiously when he handed over the coins wordlessly, as if somehow he owned them now. Lucien hadn’t dared to look at what the shopkeeper folded no matter how hard the female winked in his direction. He’d see it all soon enough, if only for a moment when Elain ducked beneath the blankets. It would give the servants something to giggle about, if nothing else and he appreciated Elain’s willingness to preserve his reputation as a good lover.

When she was laden with bags and boxes, Lucien paid to have them sent to their room well aware he’d pay twice as much to have all her things sent back to the palace. He’d have to teach her how to winnow if she wanted to bring any of it home with her.

After clothing he took her to more than one jewelry store where he learned Elain had a rather muted sense of style. He appreciated that. Any other female would have adorned herself in diamonds but Elain had a good eye for understated pieces that accented her beauty rather than overshadowed. His mate.

He coaxed her into purchasing things for her hair, not willing to admit that Elain’s long golden brown hair was the altar on which Lucien might be convinced to worship, should she ever give him any reason to think she might appreciate that sort of thing. He’d always been too fascinated by the waist- length loose curls that tumbled down her back.

He did his own shopping, purchasing more pants and coats and shirts, if only to ensure he looked half as nice as his pretend wife. After everything he’d said to her, Lucien couldn’t be the one who embarrassed Elain at court because he didn’t know how to dress.

He took her to eat where Elain offered stilted conversation, her eyes drifting towards his hand and the ring on it. It wasn’t cheap—Lucien had the ring made years earlier when he’d been too hopeful after the war, when she’d invited him to live in Velaris. He’d just assumed she was asking to be courted. The ring on her finger was a product of that, not that he’d dare tell her so. Elain and her love of sunlight, the ring so carefully crafted by the finest jewelers in Prythian, only for it to sit buried in his sock drawer. He’d spent nearly a century's worth of coins on it and had called in endless favors to find that rare sunstone.

Lucien didn’t dare spend too much time looking no matter how much he liked seeing it on her hand. It was a strange juxtaposition between his irritation that she was his mate and wanting to please his mate. Instinct warred against his good sense, purring rather loudly in his chest at the sight of Elain claimed as best he could manage, even as her silence and bratty mannerisms irked him.

Night was another beast entirely. Just as he’d suspected, Elain darted from the bathroom to the bed in what he gathered was a semi-sheer night dress that hung to her knees. Males might own their females on the continent, but the same attitudes around body and sex still applied. She’d be hard pressed to find anything heavy and thick like the clothes that existed in the mortal lands.

Lucien was irked he had to sleep in not just pants, but a shirt, too. He was uncomfortable and overly warm, too used to sleeping nude. Lucien focused on the book in his hands and not Elain unwinding her hair into long, thick waves that smelled so strongly of honey and mint despite the way his body ached at the sight pouring through his periphery.

“No touching,” Elain warned before turning her back to him, creating a seat of her hair floating over her pillow and his.

“You make it sound as if you are so tempting,” he grumbled. “I require a sweet word before I begin seducing a female.”

Elain didn’t bother to respond, no sweetness to offer which was just as well. He might have been tempted and fucked things right to hell before they ever even reached the palace. Still, as Lucien rose to turn off the lights, he let his eyes drift to Elain in the large bed, body covered beneath the thick blue blankets. In another life, perhaps they liked each other. He might be greeted by this sight every single night only when he padded across the dark floor, she would have looked up at him with those liquid brown eyes and offered him a smile. Might have scooted closer, not further away. Would have welcomed his touch.

Lucien very desperately missed touching someone. He didn’t dare, turning his back to face the opposite wall, eyes scanning the darkness for any threat before he drifted to sleep. Lucien immediately passed out dreamlessly, woken instead by the feel of small, cold hands pressed against his back. He jolted, twisting in the night to see it was merely Elain with her cheek now gliding over the side of his body. The room was freezing, even under the blankets. Lucien couldn’t blame her for seeking him out given he was the only warm thing left in the room. He flicked a hand at the fireplace, igniting it again before settling against the pillow. He’d move her once the room was bearable but for the moment, he let himself revel in the feel of her body against his.

Experimentally, Lucien brushed a piece of hair off her face. Silken strands slid over his fingers before falling back to the bed, hiding her face from view. He liked her this way, he decided. She trusted him enough to keep her warm—perhaps some part of her subconscious understood he would not harm her. Or maybe he was reading far too much into a simple gesture because deep, deep down, Lucien wanted what Cassian and Rhysand had. He wanted a mate who looked at him with love and not suspicion, who chose him despite the bond that corded between them. It was bitter knowing that in the morning, Elain would wake angry over his perceived touching and distance herself.

The room warmed and as carefully as he could, Lucien moved her back to her side of the bed so she faced away from him. Already he felt colder–emptier. Lucien remained on his back, certain he’d never fall asleep. He did, back to dreamless dark and to Elain, who despite the warm room, still wiggled her way across the bed until she found him. The blanket had slipped around her waist, revealing the rather sheer night dress tangled around her arms. Her small breasts strained against the lace top, nearly falling out. Lucien almost wished they had even as he untangled himself from her body. A gentleman wouldn’t let a lady find herself wrapped around a male the way she was. Elain could preserve her dignity, hidden beneath the blanket he tucked back over her.

Lucien kept the memory, all the same.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #okay everyone promises to let me take a nap #so i can finish the absurd chapter of wonderland #thelonelybarricade sent me so much smut inspo #but i am too dead in my brain to make the words good #elain x lucien #elucien as courtiers #elucien being sassy #elain bringing a king to his fucking knees because shes so hot

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