Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elain stood by the fire in her tattered dress as she stared into the dancing flame absently. She knew, if she could see herself, she’d see a dirty, too thin young woman who was smiling when there was absolutely nothing to smile about. Elain needed to balance Nesta’s fury and Feyre’s desperation and the only way she could think to do that was remain carefully pleasant and soft even when all she wanted to do was join her sisters in their rage.

When they’d first spiraled into poverty, Elain very much believed their father would rally and do something, anything, that would make it bearable. She didn’t care if they never had things again, but she did care if they starved. If she’d been better, she would have gone into the woods with Feyre but Elain was a coward. If she joined Feyre, it meant their father was never going to try again. She didn’t know why it was so important to her that he did.

They’d eaten that night, at least. Guilt gnawed at Elain again, imagining Feyre out in those woods hunting both that deer and the wolf. She tried to push the thought from her mind but she couldn’t. Feyre was going to die one of those days, and what would be left? Nesta, egging her father into an early grave and Elain desperately trying to keep them all together. She’d bought him a knew carving knife at the market that day; it laid next to him on a stool barely touched and it would remain that way until Feyre repurposed it into something useful. She’d have been better off getting Feyre paint again. At least then she might see Feyre smile.

Nesta’s potential marriage to Tomas was preoccupying Feyre, and thus Elain, too. She was trying to be happy for Nesta, but she knew why Feyre looked so angry every time his name came out of Nesta’s mouth. Nesta might be outwardly cold, but she wasn’t intentionally cruel, and Tomas was. He’d twist her into something ugly, into a shell of a person. Elain knew Nesta was bragging to get under both her and Feyre’s skin. She was trying to provoke a reaction.

Elain had no intention of giving it to her. She’d long learned that it was better to let Nesta play her games until she tired of them. Nesta would figure Tomas out eventually. Elain looked down at her father, half-asleep in his chair, and then turned to look at Nesta and Feyre. Feyre had a look of determination on her exhausted face. She was going to try to reason with Nesta again. Elain would be needed to keep the peace. Feyre stood just as the front door shattered into a million wooden splinters.

Elain froze as Nesta grabbed her, yanking her backwards against a wall. A beast of golden fur strode in, it’s eyes too alive to mark it truly animal. It was huge, wolfish, and yet bigger than a horse, with curled, elk-like horns protruding from its head. Elain began shaking. Feyre was on her feet, hunting knife in hand as she shook in her too-small shoes.

“MURDERERS!” The beast roared. He screamed it again, eyes scanning them. Elain realized they were green, even as she cried. They were going to die at the hands of a faerie. Her mother had warned her as girl of the fae’s bloodlust.

She barely heard her father babbling out some plea for mercy, she only felt Nesta’s hands on her body, trying to make her smaller, invisible. It was Nesta’s instinct to protect Elain, born of an incident when they were both children in which a man tried to drag Elain off when she was too young to be considered for such things. Feyre seemed merely exasperated, as though this sort of thing happened every day. It was an act, Elain knew. Feyre was scared, too.

The beast was arguing with Feyre, demanding to know who killed the wolf from earlier. Nesta’s grip tightened on Elain when the beasts’ eyes settled on her. She met his gaze even as she cried because if she was going to die, he was going to really look at her.

“Surely you lie to save them,” the beast told Feyre, his eyes never leaving Elain’s face. Dread settled in her stomach. She knew that look. Men had been looking at her since she was a girl, with open hunger. He wasn’t a man, though…he was a monster and whatever a man could do to her had nothing on what the beast might.

“We didn’t kill anything!” Elain insisted through her tears. The animal cocked his head. “Please spare us!”

Her father, too, seemed to realize what was happening. He tried to rise to his feet. “I killed it,” Feyre said quickly before their father could tell a lie that might kill them all. The beast turned his eyes back to Feyre with distaste so their arguing might begin again. Nesta watched for a moment and then began whispering to Elain.

“You need to run.”

Elain didn’t move. She wasn’t going to abandon her sisters to their fate. If they all died here, Elain would, too. Of that she was certain.

“I didn’t know…didn’t know about that part of the treaty,” Feyre’s voice interrupted, trembling again.

“Most of you mortals have chosen to forget that part of the treaty, which makes punishing you far more enjoyable,” the beast retorted. Nesta barred her teeth.

“Do it outside…not here.”

The faerie laughed but he was looking at Elain again. He was talking, his words smooth with amusement, but it was the hungry look in his eyes that told Elain exactly what was about to happen. She’d seen it too many times, heard that tone too often not to know. A proposal was being offered.

“What?” Feyre blinked.

“I said,” the beast began, it’s feline mouth curling into a horrifying smile. Elain turned her head. She’d heard him the first time. “Your whole family can die right here, tonight, or your sister can offer her life in exchange and live in Prythian forever, forsaking the mortal realms.”

“No.” Feyre and Nesta said it together.

“Live where?” Elain interrupted, her words soft.

“I have…lands,” the faerie replied almost reluctantly. They couldn’t lie, she remembered.

“No,” Nesta said again but to Elain, there was no better way.

“Please, sir Elain…Elain is…I beg you to spare her,” their father interrupted. Nesta’s expression twisted in rage, but Elain knew what he couldn’t say. Elain was sweet, undeserving of whatever hell was surely waiting for her. Feyre though, was looking at Elain with exhaustion. She would fight to her literal death.

Feyre had given enough. Elain stood, slapping away Nesta’s hand that tried to yank her back down. She’d been trained to dodge men from birth, to fight her battles with sharp words and soft glances. She could get through this. The beast watched her as her father tried to negotiate with gold to keep Elain.

“How much gold is your daughter’s life worth?” The faerie demanded. Nesta stood, too.

“I’ll go,” Elain whispered. Feyre and Nesta turned to her, outraged.

“Now,” the beast demanded.

“You’ll give her a minute!” Nesta snapped angrily through her tears. Feyre came to Elain, too, and the three hugged. Elain felt Feyre push something into her hands as Nesta pulled her cloak, a powder blue with a fur lined hood, over Elain’s shoulders.

“We’ll come for you,” Feyre whispered.

“If he tries to touch you,” Nesta added, aware of what Feyre had shoved into Elain’s hand. Elain nodded, slipping the small knife into the pocket of the cape.

“It will be fine,” she told them both louder, though their promises made her feel better. “I’ll be okay.”

“If I catch any of you in Prythian, it’ll be immediate death,” the beast warned. Feyre and Nesta only looked back with a determination that clearly dared him to try. No one said anything else as the beast led her out of the tiny, ruined cottage into the frigid night. Her boots crunched on hard snow, the only sound she heard besides her own soft crying. What would this thing do with her once they crossed the wall? Elain knew men could break women far easier than anything a woman could do to a man. If he decided to forego niceties, she’d have to choice but to take whatever happened.

She shuddered. She followed the beast into the tree line where Feyre had killed the wolf, daring only once to look back. Feyre and Nesta were still outside, her father nowhere to be seen. The two of them might destroy the other without her…she supposed her abduction gave them something to work towards. Something that might unite them. It gave her hope.

The beast gestured for her to get on a snow-white mare hidden in the forest, though Elain had little practice riding horses. She stumbled into the saddle, ignoring the huff of exasperation she heard when he saw her clumsy attempt. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. If he’d hoped for a lady of nobility, he ought to have gone further into the village.

The horse began walking, following a pace set by the beast. Elain shivered miserably as she let her mind wander. Would he keep her in a cage like a pet? Bring her out to show the other faeries where they might laugh and poke and prod at her as though she were little more than a poorly trained dog? Would he want her? Demand physicality out of her like so many other men tried to? She couldn’t fight a regular man off, let alone a beast as large as the one beside her.

The thoughts did little to calm her.

“Do you plan to cry the whole way?” It snarled. Elain snapped her neck in his direction.

“So what if I do?” She asked, her defiance eaten away by her fear. He waved a paw as something metallic slammed into her face and darkness overtook her.

She woke to sunlight. Elain jerked her head upwards just as a gate to the border of Prythian swung open softly though no one opened it. She was bound tightly with invisible ropes, she supposed to keep her from falling from the horse. Terror rose sharp through her body. How long had she been asleep?

She didn’t bother asking the beast, lumbering ahead without a glance backwards towards beautiful, rolling green hills. Her crying had earned her the enchanted sleep so Elain would keep quiet and observe. She’d always been best at that, anyway.  Elain turned her attention towards the sprawling estate she was being directed to. She’d fallen asleep in winter and woken to spring; that was her first thought as she breathed in the faint scent of hydrangeas and rainwater.

“How long was I asleep?” She demanded, realizing she might have been out longer than a day or two if it were already Spring. The beast ahead on snorted, clearly communicating how stupid he thought her. Elain decided, in that moment, she would never forgive the beast before her no matter how long she lived with him.

Elain was taken aback by the massive garden near the rose and ivy-covered marble estate. She’d never seen anything so grand or beautiful in her life. Neat hedges and carefully chose foliage betrayed wealth Elain could only have dreamt of, even when her father himself had gold to burn. Elain’s eyes swept over beautiful balconies, patios, and staircases etched into the side of the gorgeous estate as she wondered who the beast truly was. Was he the lord or just the minion doing the lords bidding?

Her horse paused at the edge of a gravel drive and her captor gestured for her to dismount. Just as she’d done when she clambered atop it, Elain clumsily fell to the ground, her knees hitting rock roughly. The faerie hesitated as though he might reach out a massive paw to help but Elain cringed backwards and righted herself quicky.

There was nothing but silence as they walked towards polished wood doors, carved ornately with cold overlay. She watched amethysts and daffodils sway in a cool breeze but even their movements seemed to be too quiet. It made her uncomfortable. Still, there was nowhere to go but forward.

The inside of the estate was just as beautiful as the outside, with checkered black and white marble floors, grand, sweeping staircases, and doors that led down long, opulent halls. She did not belong in such luxury; her shoes squeaked loudly, leaving a trail of dirt in their wake.

She followed him through a set of beautifully carved doors to a dining room and paused. The long, mahogany table was lain with food fit for a crowd and not the pair of them. She hadn’t seen food like that in years and the sight of it filled her with resentment. Was this some kind of torture, the first of many? Show the starving woman food she wasn’t allowed to eat?

Elain stayed in the threshold of the room watching though the beast didn’t seem to care. He took a seat at the head of the massive table and in a flash of white light, shifted from beast to man.

Her knees shook as a whimper escaped her lips.

This was the lord, then. Half beast, half man but from his position at the table, the way he held his cutlery…hell even the way he held himself, it all betrayed a well-bred man. Perhaps the fae were held to a different standard when it came to manners, if he thought kidnapping young women to fulfil some stupid treaty was appropriate.

He wore a golden mask with jeweled emeralds shaped like leaves over his chiseled face. It was the first thing she noted about him. He was broad, handsome likely, with long, blonde hair pulled off his face and a well-tailored tunic of dark green. High fae and ruling nobility. She hated him.

“You should eat,” he told her, his voice rough and deep. His back was to her though she knew he could see her from his side.

“No thank you,” she replied, impressed by how proper her own words were. He turned, then, to survey her with the same feral green eyes he’d looked at her with back at her estate.

“You’d rather faint?” He asked, arching a golden brow. She’d rather die, she thought though she said nothing. She ducked her head, casting her eyes to the floor.

“Sit. Eat,” he ordered. Her better nature, the part of her that obeyed such things, urged her to listen but Elain held her ground.

“I would rather not.”

He looked outraged at her polite refusal. What had he imagined would happen? That she’d come into his home and fall to his feet gratefully? She’d eat his food over her dead body.

He let out a soft growl. “You plan to starve, then?”

“Who are you?” She interrupted, hating how her body shook. “Tell me your name, at least.”

A chair slammed into the back of her knees, forcing her into it. He kept his gaze on her though she noticed his pointer finger twitched just as she zoomed to the edge of the table. He stood, picking up a golden plate to put food on it and then, once he’d given her enough chicken, vegetables, and bread to feed four women, dropped it roughly in front of her. Her arms were pinned to her sides.

“Eat,” he replied, letting go of the restraints that bound her. Elain stared down at her plate. It was abhorrent to waste it, and yet she had so little power here. She slid a finger along the rim of the dish and before he could stop her, she flipped it off the table.

“No thank you, my lord,” she whispered with more defiance than she felt was wise. The beast rose, his face the picture of fury and she knew he was going to haul her to his dungeon. Elain’s heart pounded as she jerked out of her chair to get away from him. She might have vomited had there been anything in her stomach she could lose.

The faerie opened his mouth to say something when the door behind them breezed open and another man—high Fae, just like her captor—strolled in wearing a nicer tunic of muted silver. His long, red hair was pulled back and just like his companion, he too wore a mask though his was shaped to appear like a fox. This man sketched out a bow to her heaving captor and then asked, “Well?”

Elain’s eyes darted from the pair of them. Unlike the angry blonde, the red head was scarred beneath his mask and one of his russet eyes were missing, replaced with something mechanical and gold.

The golden-haired man slumped back in his chair. “Well what?” He asked. He almost sounded mortal in that moment. Elain took a step backwards from the pair of them and if the red-haired man noticed her, he gave no indication of it.

“Is Andras dead?” The red head demanded.

“I’m sorry,” was all her captor responded.

“How?”

“Ash arrow.”

Elain took another step backwards.  “A girl…a mortal girl actually killed Andras. And the summons found the girl responsible?”

The golden haired one gave a bitter laugh. “The Treaty’s magic led me right to her doorstep.”

Finally, the bronze masked stranger whirled with easy grace to look at Elain. Their eyes met and something settled hard in her stomach. He looked familiar, though she was certain she’d never seen him before. Elain took another step backwards. His strange, mechanical eye whirred, looking her up and down. He sniffed, his lips curling over his perfect, gleaming teeth. “You’re joking. That scrawny thing brought down Andras with a single ash arrow?”

Elain cringed and the blonde sighed. “Her sister.”

“But the treaty—”

“I know what the treaty said,” the blonde snapped. “You didn’t see her or her sisters…the other two would have been difficult. This way…this way there will be no complications to what the treaty demands.”

The red-haired man sank onto the edge of the table, seething. “Did you and your sisters enjoy killing my friend, human?” He demanded.

Elain took another step backwards, her bottom lip trembling. This was a nightmare. If the golden haired one didn’t kill her, the red haired one would. “Did you hesitate, or what the hatred in your heart riding you too hard to consider sparing him? It must have been so satisfying for a small mortal like you to take him down.”

A tear slid down her cheek. Elain didn’t bother to wipe it away, convinced she was going to collapse where she stood. The red-haired man cocked his head, clearly surprised at what he was seeing. Elain took yet another step, unsure what she’d even say. How could she explain to this lord what it felt like to starve or the horror of the woods? Would he even care?

“Anyway,” the red-haired man continued though his sneer had disappeared. “Perhaps there’s a way to—”

“Lucien,” her captor snarled softly. “Behave.”

Lucien. Lucien. Her stomach clenched at the name. It, too, felt familiar. Something yanked softly at her, demanding memory but Elain couldn’t recall when or how she knew him. Perhaps he’d come through her village once and she’d spotted him? Lucien jumped from his spot on the table and offered a deep, mocking bow. “My apologies, lady. I’m Lucien, courtier and emissary.” He gestured towards Elain, in her filthy gown, his eyes moving up her body with distaste. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

He cocked his head, waiting for Elain to give him her name. A game. She supposed men where the same everywhere, no matter if they were mortal or well-bred. An impoverished, terrified woman was always a sport. Elain picked up the side of her gown and offered him the barest of curtseys.

“Elain,” she told him when she righted herself. Lucien’s smile slid from his face though she couldn’t identify the emotion that replaced it. From behind him, the golden-haired fae sighed.

“Alis will take you to your room. You could use a bath and fresh clothes.”

An arm tugged on Elain’s elbow and Elain cringed, jerking back. A rotund, brown-haired woman wearing a brass colored bird mass and a white apron inclined her head towards the door behind Elain. Elain would have gone with a red skinned devil if it meant escaping Lucien and the Lord. She couldn’t stand being made a joke of. She’d had enough of that since her father lost their wealth.

“Not a dungeon?” She murmured to Alis, who scowled in the direction of Lucien and the Lord.

“If you play your cards right, you might have a whole room—” Lucien began but Alis slammed the door in his face before he could finish. Elain decided, if she had to trust anyone, she’d trust Alis.

Risky, she knew, but she needed one ally and she couldn’t count on the men, of that she was certain.

Chapter Text

Elain could hear Lucien and the Lord talking but she tuned them out. She wanted nothing to do with them and didn’t care what they had to say. She followed Alis through halls of gold and silver until they stopped at a bedroom on the second level.

“Will you take a bath?” Alis asked when they stepped into a room large than the cottage Elain had lived in. Elain took in soft, pale green walls with soft patterns of painted gold that complemented the gold moldings nicely. Ivory furniture and rugs made the room feel delicate and feminine; if she’d ever had to pick a place to live, she might have imagined that exact room. Elain’s eyes drifted towards a huge bed with sheer, breezy curtains hanging from the ivory and golden headboard towards huge, open windows. She wanted to touch the cream-colored bedding, but her hands were filthy.

“Okay,” she agreed. Alis smiled at that, leading her towards a bathing room that held a white claw tub big enough for all three of her sisters to sit in comfortably. Elain didn’t complain when Alis and several other servants stripped her bare and washed her, nor did she complain when they pulled her out, wrapped her in a silken white robe so they could trim the ends of the golden blonde hair and pluck the rest of her until nothing, but soft, smooth skin remained. Elain stared in the round mirror of the vanity while Alis and the other worked. It had been years since she’d seen herself so clean. Alis ran a brush through Elain’s hair until fat curls tumbled down her back, twisting the sides gently from Elain’s face and pinning them with golden combs.

She presented Elain with velvet turquois dress that Elain slipped into easily. Alis clucked at the sight and Elain knew why. It was just a little too big on her. Alis worked a little magic, pinning the gown in at the waist until it gave the illusion of curves.

“When is the last time you ate, girl?” Alis demanded as she worked. Elain only sighed. Alis ran a hand over Elain’s ribs as though counting them.

“Keep your wits about you, girl. Your senses will try and betray you here.”

Elain didn’t ask what she meant as she stared back at herself. She’d been beautiful, once. It was all anyone ever spoke about from the moment she could comprehend language. Her beauty now was a shadow, lost in the sharp curves of her jaw and cheekbones and the hungry hollow of her eyes. She touched her lips, still full and pink and assessed herself. She could get out of this if she kept her mouth shut and her ears open. If Lucien and the Lord treated her like they had today, as though she were nothing more than furniture, she could figure out how to escape.

“Some folks are bound to be upset about Andras. Yet if you ask me, Andras was a good sentry, but he knew what he would face when he crossed the wall—knew that he’d likely find trouble. And the others understand the terms of the Treaty, too—even if they might resent your presence here, thanks to the mercy of our master. So keep your head down, and none of them will bother you. Though Lucien—he could use someone snapping at him if you’ve got the courage for it.”

Alis pulled Elain upwards and surveyed her handiwork. “You’re a beautiful thing, aren’t you?”

Elain only shrugged. Once, perhaps.

“Don’t send me back,” Elain whispered when Alis began to tug her back into the hall, fear cooling her blood. Alis barked out a laugh.

“No need to be frightened. Go in and have something to eat. You look like you could use it.”

“Please,” Elain begged, digging her heels into the marble. “Can’t I eat up here?”

Alis surveyed Elain. “Go down this once and I will see about having future meals up here.”

Elain trembled. “I don’t—”

“I know you don’t. Just one. Be brave.”

And with that, Elain was taken right back to where she started. Both men were lounging, drinking wine and when Elain entered their conversation died. She felt a small twinge of satisfaction when they saw her. She wasn’t beautiful like she’d once been but the promise of it was still there, and she knew they recognized it. Both Lucien and the Lord stared, eyes blank from behind their masks.

The Lord gestured for her to sit again and this time she didn’t force him to push a chair into her. He stood, stalking towards her and she decided to ignore him in part to keep her from flinging from her seat back to the door. She sat, looking at the real gold plates and the heavy, silver cutlery, her stomach turning at the excess of it all.

“Will you eat, now, or should I expect you to dump it to the floor again?” The Lord asked, reaching for her place a second time. Elain pressed her lips together, staring straight ahead at the wood panel of the far wall.

“I told you so, Tamlin. Your skills with females have definitely become rusty in recent decades.”

Elain looked over at Lucien, half horrified at his words. Tamlin. Decades. Tamlin, and Lucien didn’t look any older than her. How old were they, then? Decades? Centuries?  

Skills with females… was Tamlin attempting to woo her? Bile rose in her throat. She’d known why he’d chosen her in the cottage; men always preferred her to her sisters but to hear Lucien say it so frankly made her panic. She needed to shift her mindset, then, if she wanted to make it out of this. She wouldn’t be able to play it safe if Tamlin was hoping to find himself a wife…or worse.

Lucien, unaware of her thoughts, continued to drawl, “Well, you don’t look half as bad now. As relief, I suppose since you’re to live with us.”

Lucien was a familiar opponent, she realized. She’d been trained to play his games, games with sharp words instead of sharp blades. “I wish I could repay the compliment, my Lord.”

Shock flashed over his features. Elain kept her eyes level, her face impassive just as her mother had taught her though under the table, her hands shook. Elain’s skillset was narrow, but if she could remember all the tricks in her arsenal, she could be home in no time. They’d underestimate her as little more than a pretty object to toy with and nothing more, as every man who had ever encountered her did.

A ghost of a smile danced over Tamlin’s face as he set another plate of piping hot food in front of her. Elain didn’t cringe away from him no matter how badly her body instinctually wanted to. Instead, she stared down at the food. “I can serve myself.”

“It’s an honor for a human to be served by a High Fae,” he retorted.

“Oh? What mortal told you that?” She replied, her tone very much implying it was the opposite of an honor.

“Careful, Tam. You’re not the only one with claws,” Lucien interrupted, a grin dancing across his features. Tamlin prowled back to his chair, green eyes irritated as he watched her. Did they plan to critique how she ate, then?

“You look…better than before,” Tamlin offered when their stare down yielded nothing. Lucien nodded encouragingly to Tamlin, who continued, “And your hair is clean.”

Elain dropped her fork to her plate and shoved out of her chair, tears burning in her throat, their words too cruel to be endured. So they meant to humiliate her again. Had Lucien’s your eyes are stars and hair burnished gold not been enough amusement for one evening? Elain was tired of wealthy, beautiful men toying with her as a form of sport, and she’d be damned if she listened to it now. Elain spun on her heel to storm out, but the door slammed shut behind her. She pressed her palm against the wood, resisting the urge to scream.

“What do you plan to do with me?” She asked, hating how her voice wavered.

“Nothing. Do whatever you want,” Tamlin replied roughly.

“Am I to be your slave?” She asked, whirling around again. Lucien choked on his wine at her words.

“I don’t keep slaves,” Tamlin gritted out. Elain’s lip curled over her teeth.

“Then open the door.”

“Have we offended you, lady?” Lucien asked mildly. In spite of herself, another tear slid down her face. They both knew they had.

“Please,” was all she could think to say. Tamlin scowled, gesturing back to her plate of untouched food.

“I’ll open the door when you eat something.”

“I don’t want to eat!” Elain exploded, forgetting her plan to charm them. More tears fell down her face. “I want to go home! Surely there must be some other way to atone—"

“Atone?” Lucien asked with disbelief. “Have you even apologized?”

Elain looked him dead in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien leaned back into his chair, all attempts at flattery gone. “How did you kill him? Was it a bloody fight or was it cold-blooded murder?”

Elain stared at him. “I didn’t kill him,” she reminded Lucien. “But I would invite you take a look at me, my Lord. Does it look as though I, or any of my sisters, were killing wolves for sport?”

Lucien stood, his spine utterly straight. “Are you asking me to feel pity for you—”

“I wouldn’t assume you capable of such a thing,” Elain shot back, her words soft and quavering. “Living in luxury, strutting about in your fine clothes. We were starving, and if a wolf was shot in service of that hunger, I’m sorry.”

Lucien was outraged as he opened his mouth to retort but Tamlin stopped him. “That’s enough.”

“I want to go home,” Elain demanded.

“Your family is well cared for. By staying, you’ve given them far more than they ever had, so I would invite you to consider this your home,” Tamlin added. “Now sit down and eat.”

Elain strode towards her plate, intending to dump it again but magic caught her by the wrists and shoved her down into the chair again. Tamlin’s expression was dangerous. “Do not do whatever it was you were contemplating.”

Lucien and Tamlin watched her like predators accessing their prey. She’d been foolish, impulsive to give up her charade so easily. They wouldn’t trust her so readily now. Elain swallowed as she attempted to free herself from the bonds, choking on her hatred for them. The restraints on her hands slackened, silent permission to eat. She glared at Tamlin, hopeful he could feel her hatred for him burning into that mask he wore. She reached for her fork and speared a vegetable on it.

The food was good, but dirt would have been, too. She picked around her plate, slipping into an old persona of a young woman too polite to say no but who obviously was disinterested. Tamlin seemed distressed when she shoved her plate away half un-eaten, but Elain would not give him the satisfaction of stuffing herself to the point of sickness. This was the only power she could wield and she intended to use it.

“May I be excused?”
“Won’t you stay for wine?” Lucien asked with mock sweetness. She didn’t bother to look at him. Elain got the sense dismissal would bother him more than anything else.

“I’d prefer to be alone,” she replied with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. The bonds on the rest of her body loosened and Elain stood.

“It’s been a few decades since I’ve seen one of you, but you humans never change, so I don’t think I’m wrong in asking why you find our company so unpleasant when surely the men back home aren’t much to look at,” Lucien drawled. Elain stared at him for a long moment.

“I’m sure I would find the company of other Fae perfectly delightful,” was the only response she could think of. Dismissed. She turned again, but Lucien was not done.

“You’re a human woman and yet you’d rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this,” he waved his hand over his scarred, metal eye, “Surely we’re not so miserable to look at.”

“Surely,” she agreed, her lips curling upwards. Lucien didn’t like that response.

“Unless you have someone back home. Unless there’s a line of suitors out the door of your…hovel…that makes us seem like worms in comparison,” he sneered, implying that he very much doubted such a line existed.

Why did he care, she wondered? Elain arched a brow. “Perhaps. I’m certain it is no loss to a lord as fine as yourself, given how famously beautiful Fae women are.”

“Are you in love with a man back home?” Tamlin asked her. Elain stared at the pair of them, heart pounding in her chest.

“And if I was?” She asked, her terrified words betraying her. Lucien smirked, settling back in his chair, the question answered with that one response.

“We want to know more about you, given you’ll be living here with us for a while,” Tamlin told her softly.

Elain assessed the pair of them. Which would be a rougher blow? Believing she loved a mortal man to them or knowing there was no man and she found them uninteresting anyway.

“There is no man,” she sniffed, running her hands over her gown. “There has never been a man and now that I’m here, there never will be.”

Lucien and Tamlin exchanged a glance, but Elain turned again and walked out. Let them sit there and plot how they might debauch the mortal woman. Short of brutal force, neither of them would ever get close enough to know what loving her felt like. Elain slammed the door behind her, ignoring Lucien’s barking laugh and the angry growl from Tamlin that silenced it. She’d won that round.

It hardly felt like victory.

Chapter Text

Lucien didn’t hate humans persay. He would have fought for their freedom in the war, had he been alive and had always been proud his own family had stood on that side. He didn’t necessarily think himself better than them, either. At least, not in the ways that really mattered. He might have been stronger and faster but there was likely many human men just as smart and sharp. He could have respected one of them easily as a peer. It was also true that the Fae and humans shared the same moral failings; hunger, violence, greed…they were not unique to the mortals.

And yet Lucien had never truly met a human who’s presence he enjoyed or respected. Humans tended to be weak-willed and simpering and often willing to believe the most fascinatingly absurd myths. Humans were afraid of everything they didn’t understand and it seemed to him that they understood very, very little.

He’d been irrationally angry when he’d learned of Andras’ death. For fifty years they’d made that journey over the wall. Not one human woman had ever taken the bait. They were monstrous things, horse-like and terrifying and when women saw them, they usually cowered and begged. He didn’t blame them and yet he resented them for not even trying. Tamlin was the last hope Prythian had and it all hinged on an impossible curse.

And then, in a twist that Lucien still couldn’t quite believe, Tamlin hadn’t even brought the right woman. Was he so foolish to think magic was so easily tricked? It couldn’t just be any woman. Only Lucien knew it had been her sister that felled Andras and Lucien resented Tamlin for getting everyone’s hopes up.

Even if the woman did fall in love with Tamlin, the curse would remain in place and all Tamlin would get for his trouble was nine months of cunt. Although, judging by the way Elain had watched the pair of them, Lucien wouldn’t bet Tamlin would be seeing much of that anytime soon. Elain’s hatred poured out of her and Lucien couldn’t blame her for it. She’d done nothing wrong and Lucien suspected Elain knew exactly why Tamlin had chosen her over her sisters. Even dirty, in her filthy, worn dress and so absurdly skinny that her eyes practically bulged from her head, Elain was beautiful in a way that would make the vainest of High Fae weep. When he’d fully seen her, really looked upon her, he’d almost gone to his knees in front of her and he’d been only a little better controlled every moment after that.

The hatred shining in her fawn-colored eyes helped temper the fire in his blood. There was something else though, something that terrified him to his very center, that threatened to unravel centuries of lies he’d told himself. Something soft was thrumming in his chest and had been since the moment he’d looked upon her. A string of sorts had wrapped itself around one of his ribs loosely. He’d heard enough stories, read enough books to know that the mating bond was a snapping, a cord falling into place, tethering two people together.

She was mortal and Lucien had never heard a true story of a mortal and Fae with a mating bond. There were fairy tales, romantic stories of old that tried to explain why a fae would ever bind their lives to a mortal.

Beyond that, Jesminda was his mate, and he knew it like he knew himself. The love he’d had for her hadn’t been the usual, regular sort of love. It transcended the rules of the world they lived in, had burned a path through the world and it lingered in the air even now. It had given him a small amount of peace knowing she’d been his mate and he never needed to worry about being with another female in a true sense. No one could compare; she was his mate, his life, his everything and though he might seek pleasure in others, Jesminda would be the only female he ever loved.

Elain belonged to Tamlin. It would be Tamlin who courted her, who fucked her, who inevitably made her love her, regardless of whatever was currently coiling itself in his stomach. If Tamlin got a whiff of a mating bond he’d pack her up and send her back to the mortal lands.

Lucien wished he would. He couldn’t prove she was and he didn’t want to ever know. Still, Lucien was retired to the lounge long after Tamlin stalked up to his own bedroom. His thoughts were a mess. It would be a cruel trick of fate to make his mate a human woman. It was chance itself they might ever meet, but when Jesminda had died, had Elain’s grandmother even been alive? He doubted it. Lucien sipped his wine, slowly drawing himself into a slow oblivion. The wood creaked and he ignored it, assuming servants. It was a mistake. He scented her a moment before an invisible hand plucked at the string, setting it vibrating softly through his blood. Elain, smelling of warm sunlight and honey, peeked her head into the lounge. She froze when she saw him.

“Might as well come in now, Elain,” he offered with a sigh, gesturing for her to take one of the high-backed seats by the dying fire. He could easily get her a glass if she wanted it. Elain hesitated in the doorway, dressed in a silky nightdress that might have hugged curves, had she any. Instead it merely highlighted what years of hunger could do to the body of a twenty year old woman. Her collar bone jutted out, ugly against her smooth skin. Her cheekbones were too sharp, her hipbones obvious through the silk. Her nipples, too, he realized with a flush. She had a white robe draped over her arms but no shoes and her golden hair was utterly loose, tumbling in big curls around and Gods he was half hard just looking at her.

She was sick and she didn’t trust him, and he was an animal for wanting to bury himself inside her, but the urge was persistent and unyielding.

When she didn’t move, he sighed audibly and turned away from the door, though he could see her from the corner of his eye. Experimentally, Lucien tugged on the string and to his surprise, she took a small step into the room, as though he’d pulled her in.

“I would hate me, too,” she whispered, surprising him. Lucien turned to study her again, avoiding looking anywhere but her face. Beautiful. What would she look like after two months of solid meals? He was terrified to find out. He knew if he saw the promise of it, Tamlin did too, and if Tamlin ever thought he was competing with Lucien, their friendship would end in bloodshed. Tamlin was still his High Lord and the High Lord had the right to any female he wanted.

“Is that so?” He asked, bringing his glass to his lips hoping he looked utterly bored of her presence. She was trying with him, which meant she’d sized the two of them up and decided he’d be the easier one to sway. It was disappointing to him.

“I’m sorry that he died,” she whispered. He heard her turn away then and couldn’t stop himself.

“Why no others, Elain?” He called, desperate to know. He wanted to know so much about her, then, like why her family was so poor or why she didn’t leverage her looks for safety and comfort but what came out was the too vain and self-serving question of why she’d never taken a lover.

Their eyes met and he saw that simmering anger behind her innocent, ladylike wiles. Someone had trained this woman for court politics. She might have fit right into Spring Court before Amarantha came. Might have played politics as well as any of them.

“There was no one I cared for,” was her easy, well-trained response. He couldn’t stop though. He needed to know more.

“Even though a husband might have kept you from starvation?”

Her expression shifted then, from well-bred manners to undiluted outrage. She inhaled sharply and Lucien braced himself for her rage. Welcomed it, even. Let them scream at the other. He wanted to unleash himself on her and if yelling was how they went about it, he could handle that.

And then she blew it out, her shoulders slumping. Whatever fight burned in her would not be wasted on the likes of him.

“Especially not then,” she offered. Her lips parted as though she might ask him why he’d never married but then they snapped back together, thinking better of it. He almost reached for the still visible scars on his face, too aware of his gold, whirring eye that showed him all of Tamlin’s wards.

It was foolish to want her, even if he hated her, because she’d never want anything or anyone like him. She didn’t need to ask why he was unmarried or unmated; she could see it on his face. She’d cut through his persona, seen the rot that lied beneath, and found him lacking.

He didn’t stop her when she turned and left, onward on her exploration for weaknesses, unaware Tamlin was having her watched by servants she couldn’t see.

Lucien rubbed the skin above his mask, trying to forget how badly he wished he could peel it off his face. Peel all the skin off his body and lay them at her feet, that strange, angry human female that he was attached to.

He wanted to avoid her. It didn’t explain why, an hour later, he followed that softly shimmering thread, up the stairs to where she hid, door shut.

He almost went in.

**

Elain donned a breezy lilac colored gown the next morning and set out to explore the estate. She’d seen gardens when she’d arrived, so she made that her first planned stop. Ideally, Elain wanted to know the entire estate and the ins and outs of the entire place. There was clearly no lady, so Elain thought it might be easiest if she stepped into the role at least temporarily.

She ignored the paintings hanging on the wall, though she knew Feyre would have loved them. She jogged down the sweeping steps, the soles of her slippers echoing on the marble as she walked purposefully to the patio. She’d just touched the golden door handles when a rough voice made her come nearly out of her skin.

“You.”

Elain spun to find Tamlin striding towards her, looking more warrior than lord. “Where are you going?”

“To the garden,” she replied, hating how her whole body trembled at his presence. She would never forget how he’d stormed in and threatened to kill Feyre no matter how refined he managed to look now. You. Did he remember her name? She doubted it.

Your hair looks clean. The memory burned.

“Do you want a –”

“Where is Lucien?” She interrupted quickly. Tamlin scowled.

“Excuse me?” He asked, stalking a little closer.

She hadn’t meant to ask it. She wanted to be alone, but when it became clear Tamlin was going to try and spend time with her, she asked the only question she could think of. “Lucien. Where is he?”

“He won’t help you escape,” Tamlin warned her. No, she agreed. He’d try and kill her if he got half the chance. Asking for Lucien was like asking for an arrow to the face instead of a sword to the gut. She was stupid to try it.

Elain smiled, curtseyed, and then stepped around Tamlin for the garden.

“I won’t try and kill you; you know!” He called after her. Elain’s blood ran cold. She slowed her steps to look over her shoulder at Tamlin. Had he read her thoughts?

“Do I?” She asked softly. Tamlin flinched. Elain stayed where she was as Tamlin came closer. “You threatened to kill Feyre that night in the cottage and now you’re holding me captive for something I didn’t do. What’s to stop you from killing me if I become boring? Or if I become ill? Or old?”

“I made a promise,” he protested. Elain resisted the urge to laugh in the face of his words.

“Of course, my lord. I apologize.”

Tamlin flinched again. “I meant it. Your sisters are safe…cared for. They have wealth, safety…I…” He trailed off, as though he didn’t know how to finish what he was saying. Elain didn’t bother to wait. She strolled away, grateful when Tamlin didn’t follow her. She walked through his exquisite garden, hating that he possessed something so beautiful.

Faeries couldn’t lie, so if he said her sisters were well cared for, it was some form of truth. What did that mean for her, then? Would they prefer the wealth to saving her? She wouldn’t blame them if they did.

Tamlin had stressed she wasn’t his prisoner. Perhaps there were other pockets of Pyrthian she could go, somewhere that would take her far from Tamlin and Lucien and his empty, quiet house. Elain perched atop the stonewall that separated Tamlin’s estate from the beckoning forest and sighed, her hands sitting uselessly in her lap. She stayed until the sun caused beads of sweat to slide down her neck and Lucien, Tamlin’s rude emissary, strolled into view. He tossed a dagger aimlessly in the air, his mind clearly somewhere else.

Lucien paused when he realized he wasn’t alone in the garden. He looked up at her sitting on that stone wall. “Didn’t your mother teach you to smile?”

“My mother is dead,” Elain told him dully, hoping he’d keep walking. Lucien winced.

“Ah…my apologies, lady.”

She didn’t respond but Lucien stayed, leaning against the wall a few inches from her legs. “How did she die?”

“Typhus,” Elain told him with a soft sigh at the memory. “When I was nine.”

Lucien nodded. “I can’t imagine losing my mother so permanently,” he murmured, though if he was talking to her or himself, she couldn’t be sure. Elain merely shrugged, drawing his attention again. “Did you not care for your mother?”

“No, I did,” Elain replied, wondering why she was telling him this at all when he’d find some way to use it against her later. “She did not care for me.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “No? Why?”

Elain shrugged again. “My eldest sister was her favorite. I…I was meant for other things.”

“Oh?” Lucien asked, twisting his face to look up at her. She peered down at him, curious suddenly about the man who spent so much time with surly Tamlin. Was he stupid, or did the Fae not treat girls like future breeding stock?

“Marriage,” she added dully. Something like irritation flashed through Lucien’s eyes.

“Ah. Well…you’re thwarted her, then,” he replied thoughtfully, staring past her at something she couldn’t see.

“She’s likely twisting in her grave now,” Elain added humorlessly. Lucien pushed off the wall.

“Perhaps she would be pleased to see you now.” His tone was irritated again.

“Lucien!” Elain called after his retreating back. Lucien paused as Elain hopped off the wall and walked to him. She hadn’t realized how tall or broad he was the day before, but standing in front of him, Lucien practically towered over her.

“Mm?” He asked, his eyes unreadable behind his mask. She almost asked why he wore it. Instead, she said, “I wasn’t brought here to be the Lord’s wife, right?”

Lucien flinched. “Would it be so bad?”

Elain took a step backwards and Lucien reached for her. “Of course you weren’t,” he assured her. Elain looked up at the courtier and relaxed. He couldn’t lie to her. She turned but Lucien held his grip on her wrist.

“Would it, though? Be so bad to be his wife?”

Elain looked over her shoulder at Lucien. What did he look like beneath that mask, she wondered? He let her go as though her skin were a brand. “Yes,” she whispered, deciding to be truthful, too. “Yes, it would.”

Lucien seemed sad at her confession though he didn’t stop her as she walked off, back into the estate and into her room, where she was safe from Fae Lords, if only for the moment.

For all Alis’ promises that she might eat alone, dinner was apparently a communal meal. Elain sat sullenly in her chair, waiting for Lucien to arrive so she wouldn’t have to be so alone with Tamlin. Lucien strolled in late, clearly stunned at the scene.

“Waiting for me?” He teased the two of them, one broad hand on the hilt of his sword. Her eyes drifted, focused on the calloused strength of it. He looked like he could snap all the bones in her body with half a thought. She shivered.

“Were you admiring my sword or just contemplating killing me, Elain?” Lucien smirked, taking a seat. She looked up at him with surprise.

“I’ve never killed anything,” she told him with more honesty than she meant. Lucien blinked, clearly just as surprised by the admission.

“How old are you, anyway?” Lucien demanded when it was clear Tamlin wasn’t going to say anything.

“Twenty,” she whispered, looking down at the appetizing food in front of her. When she looked back up, Tamlin was watching her with a glittering expression, but Lucien’s sun-kissed skin had become pale.

“Can I go?” She asked, setting her fork back onto her napkin. Tamlin scowled.

“Do you find us so distasteful?” He asked.  “You barely touched your food.”

“Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t hungry?” She replied.

“No,” Lucien interrupted. “You look as though you haven’t had a good meal in years.”

“Because I haven’t,” she reminded him. He winced again.

“Then why not eat?” Tamlin asked in a clear attempt to be reasonable. Elain, frustrated, speared a vegetable and put it in her mouth. Lucien watched, some of the color coming back to his face as he watched her quiet defiance.

“I think she’d eat if we didn’t watch her,” Lucien guessed with obvious amusement.

“Is this how you occupy your time?” Elain asked, more to Lucien than Tamlin. “Stealing human women and eating fine meals?”

“Of course not,” Lucien grinned. “We also dance half-naked under the moon and snatch babes from cradles and replace them with—”
“Didn’t your mother teach you anything about us?” Tamlin interrupted, throwing Lucien a dirty look. Lucien winced, well aware of what was coming.

“My mother is dead,” Elain bit back, taking a long drink of wine. Tamlin chewed thoughtfully.

“I…I’m sorry, Elain.”

She was certain he wasn’t.

“Did…were you taught anything about us, then?” Tamlin continued, clearly curious.

“Nothing that would surprise you,” she murmured. Lucien perked up.

“Do share.”

“Just…iron is your weakness, and you can’t lie—”

Lucien roared with laughter. “Do humans believe us incapable of lying?” He asked. Even Tamlin seemed amused. Elain’s stomach dropped. Lucien had promised her she hadn’t been brought to be a Lord’s wife and Tamlin had told her that her family was safe.

“Elain, we find lying to be an art form.”

Elain stood, quickly. “If you’ll excuse—”

“Ash,” Tamlin cut through Lucien’s laughter. “Only ash can kill us.”

“As you well know,” Lucien added. Elain’s eyes lingered on Lucien for a moment. Andras had been his friend, but she was not Andras’ killer. She nodded and walked out, collapsing onto her bed with loud sobs the moment her bedroom door snapped behind her. Alis didn’t come to help her ready for bed, perhaps overhearing Elain and recognizing she needed to weep.

We find lying to be an art form. How could she trust anything they’d told her? She’d been so foolish to think they had to be honest. She pounded her pillow with silent fists, furious with herself and Feyre and the world. All this over one stupid wolf?

She needed to go home.

Chapter Text

Elain woke to the sound of someone knocking softly. She sat up, still in yesterdays rumpled dress, when Lucien slipped inside holding a silver tray. He closed the door quietly with his foot before crossing the room to set the tray on her little breakfast table by the window.

“I believe I might owe you an apology,” he said once he was empty handed. Elain only watched, soaking in the courtier in his sky-blue tunic. He looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t go out of your way, Lucien,” she murmured, dropping her hands into her lap. He scoffed.

“I’m trying to apologize,” he insisted even as his temper rose to the surface.

“Why do you wear that mask?” She asked, refusing to acknowledge his apology. Lucien ran a hand through his neat hair, making a mess of it.

“Forty-nine years ago at a masked ball…see……there’s a blight. It ah…the magic in the land went haywire and forced these masks to our faces.”

Elain stood, crossing the room to him. Lucien remained stock still as she slid her fingers up his cheek, attempting to find purchase beneath the bronze, fox shaped mask. She tugged but it remained. Lucien closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Liar,” she murmured, aware of how close their bodies were.

Lucien shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. “As long as you believe I can lie.”

“I would believe nothing else about you.”

He slapped his large hand over his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me, lady.”

Elain scowled. “What do you want, Lucien?”

“I came to make peace with the lady of Spring and beg you to go for a ride with me.”

She turned to the tray behind her. It smelled of spiced apples. “And this?”

He looked over her shoulder. “My mother used to make it for me when I was unhappy. I thought I might…I thought you might enjoy it.”

Lucien turned back to the door. Elain watched him go. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared.”

Lucien looked over his shoulder at her. “Good thing you know better, then.”

Elain watched Lucien leave with suspicion. It would be folly to trust Lucien. Unlike Tamlin, Lucien was practiced, a true courtier who could make others bend to his every whim. His charm was poisoned honey, and she knew he was well aware she was looking for an ally.

It couldn’t be him.

Elain met Lucien in the stables in a gown of seafoam green. She’d taken great care of her appearance that day in an attempt to manipulate Lucien as thoroughly as he was manipulating her. Lucien was rubbing a butter yellow mare, his expression thoughtful. He turned when he saw her come in. “No pants?” He asked, eyes looking her up and down.

“They look better on you, my Lord,” Elain mocked, walking slowly to him.

“Most things do,” he told her with a cocky smile.

“Shall I offer you my dress, then?” Elain asked him as she allowed him to give her his hand so she could mount her horse without looking like an ass.

“Only if you feel compelled to do so,” Lucien shot back smoothly. He was on his own horse, a dapple gray and leading her out of the stable without so much as a backwards glance.

“You know, Tamlin is quite good on a—”

“Don’t,” Elain interrupted, annoyed that Lucien felt the need to go to Tamlin’s defense.

“Don’t?” Lucien asked.

“Don’t try and talk him up to me,” she told Lucien with a snotty sniff.

“He’s not that bad once you know him, Elain.”

“No? As I remember, he broke down the door to my family’s home and threatened to kill my youngest sister if he wasn’t allowed to kidnap me.”

Lucien grimaced. “A rough start but…if you’re going to live here for your whole life, wouldn’t it be better to be friendly with him?”

Elain shrugged. “Fifty years is nothing to you, right?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Fifty years of solitude, then?”

Elain shrugged. “Before Tamlin I had hoped…it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“It does,” Lucien insisted. “What did you hope?”

“To see the continent,” she replied softly. Lucien, to his credit, looked guilty at the admission. “There’s no way out of the Treaty?”

Lucien shook his head. “If I had my way, you would be gone, Elain. There’s no other way to satisfy the Treaty’s demands.”

Elain looked around at the rolling hills and cloudless skies. “Only death?”

Lucien looked at her sharply.

“Do you have powers, or does only the High Lord?” Elain continued, vocalizing her guess out loud. She knew Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords and Elain assumed Tamlin must be one of them.

“Trying to guess my weaknesses?” He asked humorlessly. Elain shrugged.

“The High Fae don’t have specific powers the way lesser faeries do. I don’t have a natural-born affinity, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t clean everything in sight or lure mortals to a watery death or grant you answers to whatever questions you might have if you trap me. We just exist—to rule.”

“There are lesser faeries who lure mortals to a watery death?” She asked, her imagination suddenly taking off.

“Not here there aren’t,” he snapped. “So don’t get any ideas.”

“If I had to be Fae, I’d like to be a one that lured Fae men to watery graves.” It wasn’t true but seeing the shiver that went through Lucien’s body was worth the lie she told.

“And what a devastating—” His head whipped to the right, listening as his eye whirred softly.

“Look straight ahead,” he ordered, his voice low and rough. Elain did as he said, too afraid by his sudden shift in attitude to do anything else.

“Don’t react,” Lucien continued, his own gaze pointed forward. “No matter what you see or feel, don’t react. Don’t look. Just stare ahead.”

Elain swallowed, her body trembling as her horses’ ears went flat against its head. She waited, the hair on the back of her neck on edge. She felt it, whatever Lucien was worried about, creep over her, leeching the warmth from her bones. She gripped the reins too tightly as whispering began to circle around her neck, tightening softly.

I will grind your bones between my claws; I will drink your marrow; I will feast on your flesh. I am what you fear;l I am what you dread…Look at me. Look at me.

Elain swallowed a sob threatening to erupt, her eyes focused on the treetops overhead.

Look at me.

She willed herself to trace the veins of the leaves with her eyes, to stay exactly as she was even as her brain began to demand she acknowledge the voice.

Look at me.

She imagined home, imagined Feyre painting and Nesta dancing. She imagined the manor by the sea and a garden that needed tending.

I will fill my belly with you. I will devour you. Look at me.

Elain imagined a family, a husband who loved her and little children running beneath her skirts. She pictured their laughter, the way their hair might glimmer in bright sunlight. The cold was all around her, deep beneath her skin.

Look at me.

Tears slid down her cheek. She had to look. She was going to look; she couldn’t not look. She began to turn her head when the cold vanished. Beside her, Lucien exhaled loudly. Elain slid out of her saddle so she could collapse onto the warm grass. Loud sobs escaped her lips and a moment later Lucien was there, bent on one knee so he could put a broad, warm hand on her back.

“What was that?” She demanded through her tears. She hung her head, letting her hair curtain off her face.

“Something that should not be here,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “We call it the Bogge. You cannot hunt it and you cannot kill it…even with an ash arrow.”

“Why can’t I look at it?” She demanded. Lucien caught her face in his hands, forcing her to look up at him.

“Because when you look at it—when you acknowledge it—that’s when it becomes real. That’s when it can kill you.”

She sobbed again, pulling herself from his grip. “Take me home. Take me back home, please, I’ll do anything—”

Lucien gathered her up with more tenderness than she’d ever have imagined from him and held her against his body. Elain wept again, loud and bitterly.

“Hey,” Lucien whispered into her hair. “Look.”

She looked up, surprised when she saw flame coming from his palm. She twisted to look at him. “You asked what my powers were.”

“Fire?” She whispered, reaching fingers towards it. The flame was hot, just like Lucien’s skin seemed to be. Every time they touched, he felt just a little too warm.

“Fire,” he agreed, flexing his long, strong fingers so the flame might dance a little for her.

“I’m sorry about your friend, Lucien,” she told him honestly. “Feyre…she wouldn’t have done it if…”

Lucien nodded, closing his hand into a fist. “You were starving mortals who didn’t know any better. He was my friend.”

Lucien helped Elain to her feet and then back to her horse. He remained beneath her for a moment and right there, his hand still holding hers, she could see him as a courtier and not just a jackass that spent his time with Tamlin.

“For what it’s worth…I would take you back, if I could.”

And whether he meant that because he disliked her or her cared, she didn’t know.

**

Lucien found Tamlin at the breakfast table the next day mulling over a report, his fork hovering over his plate. When Lucien entered, Tamlin glanced up with just enough hope that Lucien’s stomach tightened in a knot. Elain didn’t eat breakfast with him; she barely tolerated dinner with the pair of them.

“Send me to the border,” Lucien asked, dropping gracefully into the chair.

“You hate the border,” Tamlin reminded Lucien with an arched brow. Lucien didn’t bother to deny it. Lucien dislike functioning as Tamlin’s general almost as much as he disliked patrolling Tamlin’s border. He scooped fruit onto his plate, ignoring Tamlin’s gaze.

“You hate humans that much—”

“I want to be away from this,” Lucien said flatly. That was the truth, at least.

“I need you here,” Tamlin murmured softly, flexing his hands absently. “I thought…”

Tamlin didn’t need to finish his sentence. He thought he’d have made headway with Elain. She was stubborn and she hated him openly. Lucien admired how opposed she was to Tamlin. Surely the human must have noticed that Tamlin was handsome. It took Lucien back to his earlier question. Any sane woman would have taken a well-off husband to avoid starvation but Elain had not. Any sane woman would have sidled up to the High Lord to keep herself safe and Elain openly scorned him.

“You need to go back and get the right sister,” Lucien reminded Tamlin, his irritation rising visibly to the surface. Only Tamlin would play with the lives of everyone in Prythian this way. It made Lucien angrier than anything knowing Tamlin was actively blowing their chance at freedom all because Elain was prettier than her sisters.

“I have the right sister. It’s only been a week, Lucien. She’s adjusting.”

Lucien gestured around them and Tamlin scowled, picking his report back up. It was a dismissal. They might be friends, but Tamlin’s word was the final say and Lucien knew better than to push anything. He abandoned his food and left, intending to get on his horse and go to the border anyway.

The thread only he could feel pulled a little and Lucien veered into the garden with very little say. He’d been primed his whole life to respect a mating bond above all else. No one had warned him it might be with a human. Somewhere, Jesminda was laughing at him. He could almost hear her amusement at the prospect.

He’d expected to find proper, prim Elain sitting on a bench scowling at the world. He frozen when he saw her crouched to the ground, her bare hands plunged in freshly churned soil. She had a little pouch of plant bulbs next to her and a satchel of gardening tools.

“What are you doing?” Lucien asked, his words dripping in accusation.

Elain glanced up from beneath a straw brimmed hat, eyes narrowed. “Digging your grave, Lord.” The mocking way she called him Lord set his teeth on edge even as her pretty face made his blood race.

“I didn’t know you gardened,” he continued, ignoring her little quip. Elain wiped sweat off her brow.

“I imagine there are many things you don’t know.”
He would strangle her, he decided. He’d strangle her and drop her body in the forest. Did she have to be so combative? He’d held her in the forest after the Bogge, he’d shown her his magic…he’d been kind.

Lucien, unable to stop himself, dropped to his knees beside her. Elain stared, her eyes widening at how close he was.

“I do love learning something new,” he told her though he had little interest in putting his hands in dirt. Elain sized him up, as if deciding how she wanted to proceed and then nodded towards a half emptied bag of soil beside her.

“Scoop some of that out,” Elain bossed. Lucien wondered if she might boss him around in all aspects of his life. He knew there was something wrong with him when he liked the idea of this tiny, fragile human woman who was so openly unafraid of him telling him what to do. Lucien did as he was told, sliding a hand into the moist mixture of dirt. A foul smell hit him in the face and he scowled as she immediately began giggling.

“This is manure, isn’t it?” He asked. Elain nodded, infinitely more beautiful now that she was smiling with amusement. His heart threatened to exit his body at the sight, making a painful case that she was, indeed, his mate. He buried that thought deep, deep down.

“I thought Fae had heightened senses,” she continued, utterly unaware of what was happening between them.

Lucien scowled though he dropped the mixture onto the little plot she was working. Elain was still smiling as she reached for her little hand rake and began mixing the whole thing together.

“I didn’t realize humans were so cruel in the face of help,” Lucien mumbled, hating how alive his entire body felt. Elain shrugged.

“This isn’t help, it’s a diversion. Tamlin is hoping if I amuse myself, eventually I’ll stop hating him.”

“And will you?” Lucien demanded. Elain’s smile dropped.

“No.”

He growled and Elain skittered back, dropping her rake. “Don’t growl at me,” she hissed, sprawled on the stone walkway. Lucien sighed, dusting his hands off on his nice pants. He’d have to bathe and change after her little prank.

“Why not? Am I not just an animal to you?” He was angry and he wasn’t even sure why. He should have been happy nothing Tamlin could do would sway Elain into caring for the Lord.

“You?” She scoffed, standing quickly. “No, and I never once said I thought that.”

He strode towards her, once again using his larger body to try and cow her. Elain held her ground though she bit her bottom lip nervously.

“What am I, then?” He demanded, resisting the urge to haul her over his shoulder and escape Spring with her in tow. They were being watched as it was; he caught the eyes of several of Tamlin’s hidden servants glancing towards them. He’d hear about this later.

“Sometimes I think you’re captive here, too,” she whispered, too softly for any of the buzzing lesser fae to hear. Lucien froze.

“You’re wrong,” he told her after a moment, even though his heart pounded painfully in his throat. Elain shrugged, her fear shifting into irritation again.

“Maybe…but you smell like shit.”

“One of these days you’re going to insult the wrong male, Elain. What then?” He demanded. Elain jutted out her chin in defiance.

“I trust you’ll always come to my aid, Lord Lucien.”

The urge to kill her returned. “You overestimate how willing I am to follow Tamlin’s orders,” he sniffed. Elain though…Elain’s eyes were an open challenge and the sight of it made him panic all over again. Maybe she did feel the thread between them, even if she didn’t know what it was.

Maybe she’s smarter than you give her credit for, and she can see straight through you.

“Shall we test it?” She murmured, lowering her eyes with a demureness that said his body aflame.

“You know my senses are poor, Elain. Perhaps you’ll scream and I won’t hear it.”

Elain shrugged. “Maybe not.”

There was a glint to her expression that made him want to prod deeper, but he didn’t.

“That would be a tragedy,” he told her, his self-loathing returned with a vengeance. She merely shrugged, dropping back to the ground and plunging her hands back into the dirt. It was a dismissal. He was used to it from her.

Why did it irk him so badly?

Chapter Text

There was no Tamlin to mark Elain’s one week anniversary of being kidnapped; just a semi-drunk Lucien in an openly foul mood.

“No Tamlin?” She questioned, pausing just inside the threshold. Lucien rolled his eyes, toasting the air with his half full glass.

“Your disappointment is palpable.”

She nearly turned around, but Elain had spent the day beneath a cloudless sky gardening, and she was starving. Lucien’s eyes tracked every step she made, watching as she dropped into her chair.

“I assume I don’t have to worry about you serving me?” She sniffed, reaching for a rack of lamb.

“You don’t make it seem like much of an honor,” he sneered.

“You’ve never served me,” she reminded him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She said it to get under his skin and from the look on his face, she could see it worked. With deliberate slowness, Lucien stood, decanter in hand. Elain scowled as he poured her a drink.

“Tell me if it tastes better coming from my hand.”

“Sometime tells me you are not well liked in Pyrthian,” Elain muttered, drinking the wine regardless.

“Wrong again,” he told her sweetly, taking a long drink. Elain narrowed her eyes as she ate a bite of food. Delicious, as always. It annoyed her how the food was always good.

“Then how come you aren’t married?” She demanded.

Lucien slammed his glass to the table. She’d hit a nerve, apparently. He rose from his chair, apparently unwilling to play along for a moment longer, leaving her alone at the table. She told herself she didn’t care, that she wanted to be alone, but Lucien’s rejection stung and dinner tasted like ash when he didn’t return. How come he was allowed to prod and pry into her private life, but the moment Elain returned the favor suddenly she was the enemy?

She trudged up to bed well aware she was the enemy because she was the human girl who’d killed Andras, his friend, even if she hadn’t actually done any killing at all. Elain had cooked his flesh which, when she reflected on that, made her more than a little sick. They hadn’t known, she’d reminded herself but…Feyre had used that ash arrow. Had Feyre known?

She tossed and turned in her bed that night, trying to forget the moment with the Bogge, to forget his words.

I would take you back if I could.

“Because he hates you,” she murmured, flinging the blankets off her body to stalk to the window. She was sweaty despite the thin, silky nightgown she considered indecently short, cutting at her mid-thigh. She imagined once she gained some weight it would curve to her body nicer but for now it hung off her like everything else did.

Elain swept her hair to one shoulder as she sat in the window, peering down at the garden. Lucien had been kind once, but to expect it again would be folly. Why was she thinking about it at all? She very much doubted Lucien was up thinking about her. She was looking for someone she could trust and Lucien, by virtue of not being Tamlin, was her best option.

He was hardly good, though. Elain sighed, looking out at the moon bright night. She’d go back to sleep and avoid Lucien the next day to balance out his rejection at dinner. He could come find her, maybe apologize again. That seemed to be their bizarre pattern. She looked back down at the moonlit garden, rubbing her eyes.

Nesta stood at the gate, peering straight up at Elain. Elain froze. Nesta. Nesta had come, she realized, scrambling out of her spot. Nesta, in a ratty dress and a too-thin cloak, her shoes in tatters and her hair dirty, just like Elain’s had been when she’d first arrived. Elain hadn’t seen any weapons on her or a horse or anything that would explain how Nesta got past the wall and into Prythian. Knowing Nesta, she’d done it on pure will alone. Elain didn’t give herself time to second guess as she grabbed a cloak and slid her shoes on. Tamlin was gone and Lucien was asleep, uninterested in the mortal woman who slept a few doors down from her. She ran through the halls, her cloak fluttering behind her as she practically jumped down the steps. How long had it taken Nesta to make the journey? Elain considered stopping in the kitchen for food but she didn’t to accidentally alert Alis.

Elain was breathless when she pulled open the patio doors that led through the garden. She could hear her feet on the gravel, wincing at the loudness of her steps. Nesta turned, her cool gray blue eyes filled with relief as she silently beckoned Elain forward. Her heart pounded. She was just a few steps to the gate and then she would be free. She practically cried with relief.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist, lifting her off her feet.

“Going somewhere?” Lucien asked, his breath warm on her neck. Elain twisted, both terrified at being caught and horrified by Lucien’s lack of shirt. He’d clearly gotten out of bed mere moments after her.

“Please,” she begged as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. She put her hands flat on his hard chest. “My sister—”

“Your sister?” Lucien scoffed, dropping her back to the ground. His long hair was unbound around his shoulders, giving him a truly disheveled look. She blinked for a moment, momentarily stunned by how utterly beautiful he was. He gestured behind her. “Look again, Elain.”

She spun but Nesta was gone, replaced by her father, hobbling as he beckoned. He rippled and then Feyre was there, bow slung over her shoulder, eyes steely as she surveyed. Another shimmer and Nesta was back. Elain sank to the ground. “How…”

Lucien reached down, pulling her up again with an easy grace.

“Weren’t you warned to keep your wits about you?” He demanded.

“Nesta,” Elain whispered just as her legs gave out a second time. Lucien caught her, sweeping her against his chest, cradling her with a softness she wouldn’t have guessed him capable of, had he not shown her after the Bogge. She hated that she felt safe in that moment, even in the wake of the crushing disappointment. No one had come. It had been a fools hope to think Nesta or Feyre would. “I just want to go home.” She cried softly against his warm, bare skin as he walked her back to the estate.

“There is no home, Elain,” he told her too gruffly. “Is it really so bad—”
“Yes!” She screamed, twisting until she fell to the marble floor roughly. “Yes, it is so bad to stay here! Did you think Tamlin could give my family money and I would fall gratefully at his feet?! I didn’t kill your friend and yet I pay for his death with your cruelty, your jokes, your mocking—”

“And you’d go home to what exactly,” He sneered, looking down at her as he gestured around him. “You’d prefer your miserable human existence to this? You prefer starvation, prefer poverty, to everything being offered to you?”
Elain stood, ignoring how absolutely beautiful he was in that moment, shirtless and undone beneath gleaming moonlight. Every inch of Lucien’s chest was pure muscle as though he’d been carved by a loving God.

“Yes. I’d rather starve than stay here—”

“You’re a fool, then!” Lucien snapped. “A stupid, human fool who thought her sisters would brave the wall and take her back. If you’re going to try and escape, at least do it during the day. That thing…the puca at the gate would have devoured you…it would have taken it’s time, too.”

He was trying to scare her. Elain forced herself to meet his stare. She wiped the tears off her face angrily.

“Maybe next time you won’t interrupt, then since I’m such a stupid human fool.”

His face paled for a moment before twisting in anger. “Maybe I won’t.”

Elain spun on her heel to stalk off, but Lucien caught her, grabbing her roughly. “Take it back, Elain.”

“Get your hands off me,” she retorted. Lucien spun her so she had to look at him, their faces mere inches apart.

“Take it back!”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened. Lucien laughed.

“Go ahead, Elain. Scream all you like. It’s only me that’ll hear you. Only me to come to your rescue.”

“Who asked you to?!” She demanded; voice raised.

“I’m not going to sit by and let you kill yourself!” He snarled, pulling her closer. She could practically taste the air he breathed, their faces mere inches apart and though she was certain she hated him, she wasn’t certain that she didn’t want to kiss him—

“What’s going on?!” Tamlin’s voice behind them interrupted. Lucien dropped Elain’s arm, putting space between their flushed bodies.

“Not a damned thing,” Lucien snapped, dropping his hold to walk off Tamlin turned his pine green eyes to Elain, taking in Lucien’s lack of shirt and her too small night gown.

“I tried to escape,” she told Tamlin tonelessly. “Lucien caught me.”

She followed just behind Lucien before Tamlin could try and speak to her, slamming her bedroom door loudly behind her.

She pressed her back against the wood of the door, chest heaving. Something in her chest ached, urging her to find Lucien and tell him sorry, even in the wake of his burning anger. She could practically feel the flames coming off his skin. Elain shivered, waited until she heard Tamlin’s disappearing footsteps, and then slipped out of her bedroom.

Straight for the kitchen.

**

He escaped a scolding from Tamlin, though he knew it was coming in the morning. Lucien waited until he heard Tamlin close his bedroom door before he climbed out his bedroom window, down the vine covered trellis, for the quiet, moonlit grounds. He hoped to avoid speaking to anyone, though he did frighten two servants sneaking off for a midnight tryst. He envied them.

Her sister. He scoffed, angry she’d believed that a human would brave the wall to rescue her. He couldn’t decide if it was her stupidity or her optimism that irked him. After all, there was something so…so enchanting to believe that another human woman would come for her.

And you yelled at her for it.

Lie. He’d nearly kissed her stupid for it. He’d had her pressed against him, could feel her skin rubbing against him and despite her tear-stained face and her eyes burning with hatred, he’d nearly slammed his mouth against her own until they were both dizzy with desire. He wondered what was wrong with him. Was it the mating bond that made him want her so bad? Or was it something else? After all, despite her beauty, Elain wasn’t anything special. She was young, skinny, and angry. Beautiful females existed everywhere…

But none like her.

Lucien plunked down on the front steps of the manor, reveling in the cool breeze on his flesh. He’d thrown on a breezy shirt, half buttoned but better than the undressed beast he’d been moments before, screaming at the beautiful woman crying in his arms.

He wasn’t angry she’d been fooled; what child hadn’t once been fooled by a hungry puca? Lucien remembered the sound beating his father had given him as a boy when one had lured him into the woods and nearly eaten him. At least Elain hadn’t gotten that far, and besides, it wasn’t like she knew any better. He was angry she’d tried to leave, and he knew it.

If she vanished into the human world, he knew he’d be left alone…again. It was cruel, it was unfair, but the human was his mate and he wanted her to stay just as much as he wanted her to go. If he’d been a better male, he would have demanded Tamlin send her back.

He smelled her a moment before he heard her, that sunshine and honey scent mingled with the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and— “Cider?”

“It’s a fall beverage, is it not?” She asked, her voice just a little too defensive. She’d put a silver robe on, though it did little to hide how thin she still was. He assumed she’d done it for modesty’s sake which was a tragedy if he was being honest with himself. “You are from autumn—”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to be nice,” Lucien murmured, taking the hot mug from her hand. She wiped her palms on the fuzzy material of her robe with a scowl.

“Good thing you know better.”

He smiled before taking a sip. It was…perfect. His whole body warmed. He closed his eyes and inhaled, suddenly transported to the Autumn woods he missed so badly. He could practically hear the bubbling brook and the soft sound of crunching leaves beneath his boots.

“How did you know where I was?” He asked her, burning his mouth to take another drink.

Elain frowned. “I followed the sound of your preening ego.”

He laughed though his chest clenched. She’d followed the bond, he thought. She could feel it, though she didn’t know.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” he told her, passing her the cup. Elain sighed, looking out at the dark, star freckled sky.

Elain shrugged in response, as though she didn’t care though he knew she had. He’d seen how she looked at him moments before he'd let her go. Any good will they’d built had vanished, though he supposed that was his fault. He’d been angry with her at dinner for asking why he’d never married. How was he supposed to explain Jesminda…explain the mating bond he didn’t want to the human who didn’t want him? His mother would have absolutely murdered him if she knew how he’d behaved.

“I can see, by the look on your face, that you have one more escape attempt in you, so do me a favor, Elain, and scream really loud if I’m not around next time, okay?” Lucien teased, though he meant it. He could feel her need to try again; he could see she only half trusted him. She was only sitting outside with him because the bond was begging them to accept it and Elain, as a human, couldn’t feel it half as strongly as he could. He imagined she felt drawn to him but didn’t understand why, so off to the kitchen for cider she went, grumbling the entire way.

“No promises,” she murmured, her tawny eyes still burning a hole through his face.

“What do you see?” He demanded, suddenly terrified. Her hand came up and he thought for a moment she’d strike him. Instead her fingertips traced the visible lines of the scars beneath his mask.

“Who did this to you?” She demanded fiercely. Lucien’s heart pounded painfully in his throat. He couldn’t tell her; Amarantha had forbade them. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, reveling in the feel of her flesh against his own.

“Would you believe me if I said I deserved it?” He offered, his voice to hoarse for his own liking.

“No,” she replied simply, withdrawing her touch. His skin burned with the trace of her touch. Elain stood, perhaps realizing she’d stayed too long and was still far too furious with him to be kind. Lucien looked up, once again wondering what she saw.

“Someday you’ll ask to escape together,” she all but whispered, her voice practically lost to the wind.

Lucien scoffed, even as his stomach dropped. “What will you say in response?”

She left him there unanswered. It was only after she was gone and his cup was cold that he realized she’d already told him, days ago, her answer.

Sometimes I think you’re captive here, too.

Lucien stood, nearly shattering the porcelain mug in his hand.

Oh no, he thought. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

It was wrong and utterly forbidden and if Tamlin ever found out it would destroy their friendship. She was human and she still looked at him with mistrust, still disliked him, still loathed him and yet.

And yet Lucien wanted her.

He would have her.

Chapter Text

Elain barely slept that night, thinking of her interaction with Lucien. There were moments she almost thought him her ally and then he turned around and was so cold, so closed off it was like walking unexpectedly into a wall. She was drawn to him and couldn’t explain why. She didn’t understand how she knew when he was upset or how she always seemed to know where he was. She wanted to be away from him, given how openly he seemed to not like her. At least Tamlin was trying but Lucien might one day kill her from sheer boredom if she wasn’t careful. She told herself Lucien would be glad to be rid of her when she bound out of her bedroom that morning. He might have ended the night on a high note, but he’d told her to escape in daylight and though she knew he hadn’t meant it literally, Elain was all too happy to take Lucien at his word. She imagined he’d be quite pleased when he came home and discovered her gone.

It would have been suspicious to ask Alis for pants, so Elain chose a hunter green gown that was breezy and easy to run in, even if the bodice was a little too low cut for her taste. She ignored Lucien and Tamlin at breakfast, swiping an apple from the table before stalking out to the grounds. If it bothered either of them, they gave no indication. She hid, waiting for Lucien and Tamlin to vanish into the stables and then leave on their horses. Whatever they imagined her doing, she was certain it didn’t include going into the very forests Lucien had kept her out of the night before.

By the time they returned, she hoped to be halfway to the wall. They might not realize she’d gone until they’d gotten back. Perhaps they’d decide she was more trouble than she was worth, that upholding the Treaty was hardly worth whatever they actually wanted her for.

With a sack of food and little else, Elain plunged into the forest with more determination than she’d ever felt in her life. Seeing Nesta the night before, though it had been an illusion, made her sick for home. She was tired of Lucien’s watchful eyes and Tamlin’s ever constant brooding. Nesta and Feyre would be a welcome change.

The woods were warm and inviting and Elain felt safe as her feet crunched along fallen leaves and twigs. She knew she needed to head south to get back to the wall. If she walked without stopping, she thought she might arrive by the next morning, though in truth she had no idea how far she was from the wall. Still, the thought filled her with hope. She imagined her sister’s faces as she trudged along. Would they have missed her? What would think they think of the Fae? Elain tried to imagine Nesta navigating Lucien’s sharp tongue with a laugh. Nesta and Lucien would have destroyed the other by now. Feyre, she thought, would have been a better match for Tamlin. Feyre was just as serious as Tamlin.

She’d become too lost in through. She tripped over a thick root, ripping part of her dress and cutting her knee. She hissed, touching the burning wound and the blood it brought. Elain wiped her hand on a nearby tree trunk and continued forward, irritated she’d already injured herself. It was barely noon.

It took Elain another hour of walking to realize something was following her. She paused, glancing over her shoulder before she sighed, exasperated. Of course Lucien had found her. “Come out, Lucien.”

The sound of branches cracking brought with it the scent of warm, rotting flesh. Elain froze in place. “The Dark Mother has sent us a gift today, brothers.” The voice was accompanied by creatures that might have existed in her darkest of nightmare. Covered in dark scales and unclothed, they were half serpentine, half male humanoid. Dark, flesh shredding talons and razor-sharp teeth vied for her attention as four of them stalked towards her.

“Not much of a meal,” another disagreed, its almond-colored amber eyes surveying Elain with distaste.

Elain was too far from the manor, but also way too far to get to the wall. She didn’t know which direction to run or even how far and how long she’d have to go in either direction. She decided she’d take her chances and circle back to the estate. How fast were they, and how much of a chase did they prefer, she wondered, edging backwards? All four creatures moved closer. Elain opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could, just as she’d promised Lucien she would, should she ever need him when he wasn’t around, for all the good it would do her now. She turned, then, hair fanning out around her, and began running as fast as she could. She could hear them behind her, their feet pounding too loudly on the ground. Their snarls were nothing like she’d heard from Lucien and Tamlin; the sound fueled her forward.

Of course this would be how she died, she thought angrily, biting back tears as she focused on moving flawlessly. Any one mistake would be the end of her. The creatures were already too close. Elain flew through a thicket, thorns ripping through her cheeks, her arms, her already battered knee. She barely felt the stinging or the blood running down her face as two of the creatures flanked, closing in to cut her off. She was too filled with panic to feel anything else. Elain leapt to the side but couldn’t avoid the talon that sliced across her side. She screamed again, flinging herself down the side of a ravine. Halfway to the bottom she scrambled back to her feet and took off again, trying desperately to ignore the pain against her ribs as her feet splashed through a creek. Another talon cut along her back, taking her to the ground. She turned, her head slamming hard into a rock.

“Scrawny human thing,” one of the nightmares crooned, licking her blood from its talon. Elain’s fingers searched through the leaf strewn forest floor for anything that might save her.

“When we’re done ripping off your skin, you’ll wish you hadn’t crossed into Prythian,” the one who’d licked her blood breathed his words into her face. She gagged at the scent. “We’ll cut you up so fine there won’t be much for the crows to pick at.”

She found a jagged rock and dug her nails into the dirt to pry it loose. Without waiting, she slammed it into the face of the creature above her. The scream it unleashed was unholy though Elain didn’t care. She scrambled to her feet and had made it four steps before she came crashing roughly back to the ground. She struggled against their grip, oily, black blood dripping into her face.

“You’ll bleed,” the injured nightmare promised.

She turned her face the moment something too sharp, too metal slid through the nightmares body. It yanked out and then came singing through the air, taking off the head of the creature. Elain skittered backwards at the sight of Lucien and his sword, dripping in that same oily blood. Their eyes met and for a moment it was though the entire world stopped. He was every inch the heroic warrior in the stories she’d read as a girl, his sword gleaming in blood. She opened her mouth to say something, but Lucien looked angry. The other three creature shrieked, turning their attention from Elain to Lucien who, to his credit, never flinched. She pressed her body against a nearby tree trunk and watched the man who’d kept her safe twice now defend her life a third time.

Though Lucien kept swords and daggers, she’d never imagined him a warrior. Their fights had always been verbal sparring. How wrong she’d been, she realized, watching him cut down the other three nightmares. Only when they were all beheaded did he turn to her, wiping the blade of his sword on some nearby grass.

She didn’t move; she thought she might fall into a million pieces if she did. Lucien crouched in front of her, flecks of dark blood dotted along his face and mask.

“Don’t say it,” she whispered, her hands trembling. He bit his bottom lip.

“Don’t say what?”

“That I’m stupid,” she replied, wiping blood and dirt and tears off her cheeks. Lucien assessed her for a moment.

“You’re hurt,” he said instead, and Elain realized she wasn’t the only one with trembling hands. Lucien reached out, she thought to touch the wounds on her face but instead he reached for her and pulled her too roughly into his body. She hissed in pain, but Lucien didn’t let her go. “I heard you scream.”

She fisted his lapel as he hoisted her into the air, a sob choking the apology she meant to offer. Though Lucien was typically well dressed, for the first time he looked truly disheveled with his untucked, dirty, and torn shirt. His beautiful, thick hair was a sweaty, red mess half pasted to his damp forehead. His eyes were wild, his tunic askew. She’d never seen the well-dressed, fashionable Lucien so undone.

“I heard you scream,” he told her again, his voice rough. “I thought you…”

“What were those things?” Elain asked, deciding to ignore what he was trying to say.

“Naga,” Lucien gulped, his steps steady. “What were you doing, Elain?”

“I was escaping in daylight,” she replied but it sounded foolish to her now. His steps paused so he could look down at her.

“I wasn’t serious.”

She nodded wiping tears roughly from her face. The salt burned at the wounds. “I’m sorry, Lucien.” And she meant it. She was sorry.

They said nothing else as they made their way to the estate though too much was hanging between them. Elain let Lucien take her to his room, similar in its set up though his looked like a fall wood and not the soft spring scene that graced her own décor. Lucien dropped her on his bed and walked with purpose towards his own towering armoire, pulling out a metal tin of what she found to be first aid supplies.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching for the torn hem of her dress and sliding it upwards to the ripped skin of her knee. Despite the pain and her fear and the horror that she’d just narrowly escaped, she gasped at the feel of his hands on her legs. No man had ever touched her like that.

“I forgot how fragile mortals are,” he murmured, misunderstanding the noise. Elain was too afraid to tell him of the gashes along her back and ribs if he was so undone by one bruised knee. Lucien worked, cleaning and disinfecting before bandaging it. He turned to her face, next, gently cleaning the wounds though there was little he could do for the hairline scrapes.

He moved to put his things away, but Elain stood quickly, reaching for her gown and pulling it off her head. She had to unlace the top of her underthings quickly, though she kept her undershorts on. She wrapped her arm around her breasts, well aware he was watching every move she made, to show him the gashes on her ribs and spine. He sucked in a breath.

“Elain,” he murmured, his fingers hovering over her skin. He brushed her hair over one shoulder and then, with a tenderness she wouldn’t have believed possible of him, bandaged both wounds.

“Will I live?” She asked him, hating how sensuous her voice sounded.

Lucien chuckled though his usual tanned skin was ashen. “Tomorrow is going to be really rough. Perhaps you could indulge in an easier pastime?”

“I suppose I could go back to gardening,” she murmured.

“No weapons,” he replied quickly, teasing though it didn’t quite meet his eye. “I won’t have you slitting my throat in my sleep.”

“Not you. Never you,” she whispered though she didn’t know why.

He nodded, reaching for her ruined gown. He balled it up and handed it to her. Elain pressed it against her naked chest. He’d seen nothing of her he shouldn’t and yet she felt something intimate had passed between them.

“Elain?” He asked when she reached his door.

“Yes?”

“Would it be so bad to stay here…with us?” With me, she wondered if he was trying to ask. She looked at him, really looked at him. Three times, then, Lucien had unnecessarily come to her aid when it might have been easier to let her die. She crossed the room again, adjusting her gown so she could reach up and touch his cheek. She hated that mask. What did he look like beneath it? Some instinctual part of her demanded to know.

“No, Lucien. It would be so bad to stay here with you.”

She left him there, wondering if liking the Fae Lord was a mistake.

She decided that for that day, at least, she didn’t care.

**

Lucien woke in a cold sweat. In his dreams he heard that high pitched scream coming from the woods, one of pure, undiluted fear. Just as he’d done that day, he abandoned his horse to run, trying to pick up her scent as he grasped at the weak cord between them. And just like before, he scented her blood on the tree and the rot of the naga. Unlike that afternoon, when he arrived it was to her half-shredded corpse. He saw her beautiful eyes, dull as they stared up at a canopy of trees, her body limp and pale, bloodless. Felt the bond vanish—

If he was certain of anything anymore, it was that the bond existed, weak as it was. It would likely always be weak, and she would probably never feel it. He should have been sad, but it offered him relief. She could live her life away from this place. He rose, aware of the dark night, and stalked down the hall.

“Send her home,” he said, ignoring Tamlin in his bed, a candle flickering beside the night table. “Tomorrow, put her in a carriage and send her home. Glamor her memories if you must but send her—”

“I won’t,” Tamlin replied dully, rubbing his temples.

“She nearly died in her escape. Three times, now Tam! Three times, twice in barely the span of a day. What will she look like in a week? You sentence her to her own death here. She’s not her huntress sister, she’s not Andras’ killer, even! She is weak and angry and—”

“I will not send her back, Lucien. We will merely need to keep a better watch on her.”

Hatred simmered in Lucien’s gut at Tamlin’s words. He was so hellbent on fucking Elain that he’d put his own cock over her needs? Lucien’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

Mate, something primal roared in his blood. He ignored it.

“She doesn’t want you. Go back for the right sister and give up on this one.”

Tamlin bristled. “Why are you pushing me on this?”

“Because I was the one who slaughtered the naga,” Lucien hissed, his hand gripping the edge of the door so roughly he heard the wood groan in protest. “They cut into her flesh, they were seconds from stripping her of skin and it was me who heard the screams, who had to drag her back when she was willing to risk her own fucking death to get away from us. Send her back. Admit you chose the wrong human woman, take a different sister and send this one away.”

Tamlin stared at Lucien for a long moment and Lucien was terrified that Tamlin guessed why Lucien wouldn’t let it go. He’d heard that mating bonds could be scented. Could Tamlin smell it? Did he suspect?

“It’s been less than a month. I expected this show of spirit. The naga will have broken than and she will settle. You’ll see.”

The door splintered beneath his hand and Tamlin growled his warning. There would be no arguing and if Lucien pushed it, he’d be met with pain. He turned, then, his fury burning hot in his blood. If Tamlin touched her it would be his head. He was certain Elain would show spirit, as Tamlin called it, and remove his head right after she took his balls.

Mine, he thought with dizzying possession, slamming his bedroom door loudly. He stood there for a moment in the dark, trying to decide if he’d vomit on the floor or sink to the floor and sob. He could still hear her scream ringing through his head. Had it just been the night before he’d thought he would kiss her? How foolish, how stupid, how selfish—

“Lucien?” Elain whispered. She was sitting in his bed. All his anger wooshed out of him. She winced beneath the clingy nightdress as she twisted to look at him, a tray of food perched carefully on the bed. She shouldn’t have done that, he chided.

“Take that off,” he breathed, his voice too rough to be friendly. Elain stilled but Lucien kept walking, aware he was shirtless again, in just the pants he’d thrown on to confront Tamlin. He yanked open his armoire and pulled out a billowing shirt that would engulf her. Everything in her own wardrobe was likely too clingy to be comfortable, even on her thin frame. Lucien dwarfed her, and his clothes would too. He tossed his shirt back, keeping his eyes on the window and the swaying grass below, listening as she stripped and then tugged his shirt on overhead.

“Okay,” she murmured. He turned, the possessive need he’d felt when imagining Tamlin touching her flaring to life again. Her scent mingled with his as her small, fragile body swam in the shirt.

“Is that better?” He asked, his eye glancing towards the discarded night dress. Elain nodded.

“Why are you here?” He asked roughly, cursing himself. He wanted her there. Elain shifted, her hands moving nervously in her lap. She mumbled something he didn’t quite catch. “What?”
“I came to apologize…I brought an offering.”

Gods, she’d kill him.

She’d been there little more than two weeks and three times he’d been tasked with her life. What would she look like in a year? Her skin, he knew, was unblemished and had been before she arrived; he’d seen large, perfect swaths of it that afternoon. Now it would be forever marred by naga. That was his fault. He’d seen the gleam in her eye the night before. He shuddered as he considered what she would look like if Amarantha ever got wind of her.

Lucien wanted to be a little selfish, Tamlin be damned. If Tamlin would keep her then Lucien would, too. He had a claim to her, a claim he could call in if he wished. He could have done it with Tamlin earlier, had he wanted a bloody and bruising fight. He might have, had Elain been Fae and understood what it meant, but he suspected if he announced the bond to her she’d turn and flee, terrified and rightfully so. He couldn’t stand the thought, so he’d lie, at least for the moment. He’d tell he when she understood or maybe if she ever grew to actually care for him. She was in his bed, he told himself. She trusted him.

She hates Tamlin more than she hates you.

So he crossed the room and sat next to her, peering down at the tea and cookies.

“You didn’t make any of this, did you?” He asked quickly, unsure how the mating bond worked exactly, though he didn’t want to temp fate by accidentally forcing her into a situation where she felt the overwhelming desire to fuck him….not yet, anyway.

“No…and I’m sorry,” she confessed.

“Don’t be. I would have tried to escape, too,” he replied, impressed with her spirit. “I did try to escape, once.”

“You did?”

“Mm,” he agreed, biting into a snickerdoodle.. “A long time ago.”

“Why? From where?”

“I was born in Autumn,” he told her softly, wincing at the memory. “The High Lords seventh son. I…we had a disagreement, and I renounced my claim to the throne and escaped his palace.”

“Your own father forced you to flee?” She asked, tilting her head to look up at him. She was so close he could have kissed her, had he wanted to.

“I have six older brothers and by the time one of them ascends to Autumn’s throne, I will only have one. They saw my abdication as a way to eliminate a little competition.”
“And they were unsuccessful?”

Lucien chuckled but it wasn’t with amusement. His gut coiled at the memory. “Three went after me…and one came home. It was a warning to the rest and though I suspect they would very much like to pay me back, it is a warning they’ve heeded.”

And in all the years he’d told that story, to his friends, to lovers, to anyone who ever dared ask, no one had ever sympathized or suspected that he’d hated having to end one of the brothers he’d loved as a boy, and watch the other be ripped apart by Tamlin. Even if the rivalry had turned ugly, and even if they had never cared for him the way he might have liked, Lucien had hero worshipped all his older brothers as the youngest and a part of him always would.

“It was,” he admitted, his voice barely audible even in the silence. The mother was laughing at him, sitting in bed eating with an injured, human woman and confessing his sins to her but he didn’t care. He would offer Elain this, let her see what he suspected she always had. They could go back to being angry with the other in the morning.

“Why did you never take a husband to save yourself?” Lucien asked her again, practically demanding to know. Any sane female would have, human or not. Especially one as beautiful as Elain. Surely even with her diminished status she could have caught a lesser noble, some seventh son of her own who had money and titles but wasn’t expected to further the family name in any meaningful way.

She sucked in a breath. “Is it selfish to say I wanted someone to love?”

His heart pounded. “Stupid, maybe, but not selfish,” he murmured, careful to keep his words light. She smacked him softly in the shin.

“Then I suppose I’m stupid,” she whispered, and Lucien didn’t know why, but he felt like she’d chosen her words carefully, though they sounded off-handed. As though she wanted him to read into them. It would be stupid, he thought, for her to ever consider loving an immortal Fae male and yet…maybe she could? Just as it would be stupid for him to love an utterly breakable human woman and yet today, with the naga, had shown she had more than a little power of him and his heart.

His hands were trembling at her words, at the way she made him want that, too. So blissfully unaware of her effect on him, of what held them together. Of how Lucien would have crawled on his knees for her, would have gone to the grave to keep the naga from touching her and he barely knew her. Did she suspect, he wondered?

“Get some sleep, Elain,” he told her, brushing a thumb over her soft cheek. She stilled.

“Are you sending me back to my room?”

He was sending her to a priestess so she might be his wife if she wasn’t careful.

“You need rest,” he told her, unsure it was smart for them to sleep in the same room. Even if nothing happened, Tamlin would kill him for the transgression. Elain nodded though he noted her disappointment.

“Elain?”

She turned at the door, hair tumbling over shoulders. In the dark, illuminated only by waning candlelight, he thought she looked like a long forgotten goddess.

“You asked why I never married. I’m stupid, too.”

And the admission made him feel a little better. Elain offered him the barest hint of a smile, her eyes impossibly sad, and then she left, leaving him with the rest of the food she’d brought and her lingering scent. Lucien sighed.

Mate.

Chapter Text

Elain woke in severe, burning pain. For a moment she thought she might be dead. Elain groaned loudly, rolling to her side since the burning seemed to be coming from her spine.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered when blinding heat raced through her ribs. Wrong side. Memories of the naga, of Lucien, came flooding in a moment before the door flung open and the man himself, impeccably dressed, strode into the room.

“You’re awake,” he assessed, hands on his hips. He peered down at her, and she might have appreciated how lovely he seemed in the bright sunlight had she not been aching so badly.

“Unfortunately,” she hissed, attempting to prop herself up on a bed of pillows. Lucien’s hands reached out and then stopped, as though he couldn’t decide if he ought to touch her.

“We’re far past this,” she ground out, nodding towards him. Lucien slid his arms beneath her and carefully helped her sit up in bed. Elain looked down at the sheets to find bright blooms of blood staring back at her.

“Am I dying?” She asked softly, touching a wet spot on Lucien’s billowing night shirt.

“Alis is working on a few tonics. You’ll feel a lot better tomorrow,” he promised, eyeing the blood with distaste.

She nodded, wincing as she shifted. She breathed out a slow, controlled breath, her eyes closed.

“Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?” Lucien asked, his voice just a little too accusatory to be friendly. She peeked open an eye.

“Is this the part where you lecture me?”

“You almost died,” he reminded her through gritted teeth. Elain gestured at the blood-soaked sheets.

“How was I to know those…things…lurked in your woods?” She demanded, attempting to draw a full breath. Her aching ribs made that difficult.

“You were told to stay put,” he reminded her darkly.

She scoffed. “Oh, well, my apologies for defying my kidnappers.”

His russet eye sizzled with flame and Elain knew she was in dangerous territory. Some small, instinctual part of her wanted to be in dangerous territory with him. Only him, though. His anger made her blood race, and she didn’t understand why.

Lucien ran a broad hand over his face and turned his back to her. “I’ve seen naga take down Fae far faster and better skilled with a sword than you, Elain. Naga don’t just kill, they shred skin from bones and they do it slow. You would have felt every agonizing second of it, and I would have found your—”

“Stop it,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. He turned again, took the three steps to the bed and leaned down until their faces were so close their noses practically touched. “I fully expected to find you dead yesterday.”

“So?” She whispered, her voice trembling. “Then you’d be rid of your friend’s killer, right? I’m the human woman you hate, why not just let me—”

His arms became a cage around her body, pinning her to the bed. Elain squeaked, pain shooting up her spine. “I would rather lose my other eye than bury your body and if you ever suggest otherwise, you will regret it.”

Elain closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She’d been staring at his mouth. She wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him.

“I already regret it,” she lied. Lucien withdrew his body quickly, crossed the room, flung open the door and called, “Tam! Elain is asking for you!”

Elain scowled but Lucien’s face remained utterly impassive as he lounged against the door frame examining his fingernails.

“I hate you,” she hissed. Lucien’s full lips curved upwards into a smile.

“As long as you’re around and you feel something for me, I’ll take it.”

Tamlin stepped in a moment later, his green eyes wide and anxious behind his cream and gold mask.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Lucien murmured with a wicked grin.

Tamlin sat on the edge of Elain’s bed, his eyes drifting to the blood stain on the sheets.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, worry tightening his voice. Elain decided to lie.

“Yes.”

Tamlin clearly saw himself as a protector because he was on his feet again in a moment, racing from the room. He returned with servants Elain had never seen before along with Alis, who plied her with a tonic for the pain, a tonic for all the bruising that had bloomed across her skin, and a tonic that was supposed to speed healing. Alis helped Elain into the bathtub, filled with oils, and Elain could hear Tamlin’s soft voice from the hall.

“Would you like a tonic for… anything else?” Alis aske her softly once Elain was submerged in hot water. She hissed. She didn’t need a tonic to control for pregnancy.

“Don’t be gross.”

Alis raised a brow beneath her bird mask. “You were in the Lord’s shirt, were you not?”

Elain froze. Lucien’s shirt. She looked up at Alis, conscious that Alis had said Lord and not Tamlin.

She swallowed. “No. No other tonics than the one you’ve given me. I still want to go home.”

Alis clucked with disapproval.

“You’d do well to consider this your home. There are far worse things that would harm you than the naga, given the chance.”

“Like what?” She demanded but Alis sailed out of the room, leaving Elain alone to her steaming water. She sank into it until her body was covered and nothing but her chin remained. She laid a hand flat against the pink film of the water, watching as her hair fanned around her. She could remember playing in the ocean with Nesta and Feyre when they were little girls, pretending to be mermaids. Nesta always took control of the game and Feyre always ended the game, angry with Nesta for stealing the mermaid tail color she’d wanted or the special power. Elain, no matter, had always cried. Cried about the salt water in her eyes or Feyre and Nesta’s fighting or how she always was made to be the mom mermaid when she really wanted to be the princess.

Inevitably, their mother would come marching down the beach to get them, hands on her hips. She’d scold them all though Nesta always bore the brunt of her anger and the girls would sulk privately in their rooms for days, refusing to look at the other. They’d always had a hard relationship and looking back; it was easy to blame their parents. Her mother and father played Elain and Nesta off each other and no one seemed to care what Feyre did. Feyre hero-worshipped Nesta who, in turn, hated Feyre for her wildness. Elain stood between them all, watching quietly.

It felt strange to be the center of so much attention. Male attention wasn’t necessarily new, but sometimes she felt like the whole estate revolved around her. It was impossible to hide, to slink around in the shadows. Beyond that, if Elain went back, would her sisters even want her? They’d never been particularly close…perhaps there was some relief now that she was gone.

You’re rationalizing it because you want to stay.

The pain tonic made her droopy and at some point Alis returned to help her finish bathing. Alis tended to her skin with a tenderness reminiscent of a mother’s touch and when Elain asked Alis to wash her hair, too, Alis didn’t complain for a moment. A collection of servants worked to get her out of the tub and bandaged, dried, and dressed before she was tucked back in bed. Alis pulled the curtains back so the gloomy spring weather didn’t wake her.

“If you can sleep through the worst of the healing, you’ll be better for it,” Alis murmured, brushing a strand of hair from Elain’s forehead.

“I don’t suppose there’s a tonic for that, too?” She joked, her voice thick. Alis nodded.

“I’ll send one up.”

Elain burrowed further into the blanket as she waited, her pain mostly gone. She could still feel the radiating heat, but the pulsating pain didn’t return, making it easier to get comfortable. She heard Alis return and the mattress dip.

“Drink,” a deep, rich voice bossed. Elain poked her head out from beneath the blanket, just enough that the top of her head and her eyes were visible. Lucien sat on the edge of the bed holding a steaming cup of what smelled like beef broth.

“How do I know it’s not poison?” She asked him suspiciously. Lucien blinked.

“I always forget how silly that pain tonic makes someone. I suppose doubly if you’re human.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispered, keeping the blanket over her mouth. Lucien sighed with exasperation though his eyes sparkled, like she amused him deeply. She hoped so. She liked when he smiled.

“Are you trying to trick me into sleeping with you, Elain? All you have to do is ask.”

“Gross,” she whispered with a giggle, though she didn’t find the idea gross at all. Lucien seemed openly surprised, though if it was the giggle or the gross that surprised him, she didn’t have the wherewithal to know for sure.

“Drink this, Elain,” he urged, holding it out. She shifted, carefully sitting upright.

“Did you and your brothers ever play games when you were little?” She asked before Lucien could launch into another of his self-important lectures.

“Games?” He asked.

Maybe it was the pain tonic making her loopy or maybe it was the fact that she’d practically shown Lucien her breasts the night before after he’d beheaded for nightmare creatures for her, but Elain plowed ahead. “My sisters and I used to pretend to be mermaids when we were little girls. I had a pink tail, and my power was light.”

There was a very pregnant pause. “Your power was light?” He asked, his voice strained as if he were biting back a hundred different questions.

“Yeah…kind of like your fire but with the sun. Just…” Elain mimed a little explosion with a woosh noise and Lucien laughed loudly, startling her.

“A sunshine mermaid with a pink tail,” he repeated softly, as though telling himself. “And what were your sisters?”

“Nesta had a blue tail, and her voice was so beautiful it lured men to their deaths—”

“That’s a real thing,” Lucien interjected seriously.

“And Feyre had a purple tail and could talk to the other sea animals.”

“That is less real,” Lucien continued. Elain frowned, taking the cup from his hand.

“It wasn’t about realism, Lucien. It was about fun.”

“I think if I’d asked my brothers to play mermaids with me as a boy, they would have drowned me and called it a day.”

“So you didn’t have little games?” She asked, taking a sip. She was right; it tasted like warm beef broth.  

“Sometimes my elder brother Eris and I would see who could punch each other the hardest,” he offered, his face lost in memory. There was a strange warmth to his voice, despite the violence. “We were pretty evenly matched for a long time.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” she complained.

Lucien shrugged; his eyes focused on the mug hovering near her lips. “What was the point of the mermaid game?”

“There wasn’t one…we just…pretended scenarios.”

He digested that for a moment, clearly still curious. “What was your favorite scenario?”

Sleep was beginning to hedge softly at the corners of her consciousness. She handed him the empty cup and settled back among the pillows.

“I was a princess,” she told him with a breathy sigh. “It used to make Feyre and Nesta so mad…they wanted to be warriors.”

Lucien chucked. “But you don’t?”

She shook her head, sliding slowly back down the mattress. “I’ll leave the swords to you,” she murmured, her eyelids droopy.

“Do you miss your sisters?” He asked her. She closed her eyes.

“I miss home,” she replied softly.

Lucien breathed out a loud sigh. “I miss home, too. I’ll make you a deal, Elain. If you rest and let yourself heal, I’ll take you to the edge of the wall when it gets warm in the human lands.”

“That’s three months from now,” she murmured.

“It’s better than nothing, right?”

“I want to see them. I want to know Tamlin didn’t lie.”

“Fine, but you’re not allowed to interact,” he agreed quickly.

“And you have to show me the Autumn woods.”

“Cauldron, Elain, would you like my first born, too?”

Sleep was curling along the edges of Elain’s vision. “Don’t threaten me,” she muttered a moment before the darkness overtook her.

All her dreams were tinged in red.

**

Lucien thought Tamlin suspected his feelings, as he shipped Lucien off the border for a week three days after the naga attack on Elain. Lucien went with grace though he spent every miserable night dreaming of Elain with a pink mermaid tails and no top at all, her hair a swirling mass that often shifted almost enough to reveal pretty breasts. He vented his rage on Amarantha’s creatures, slaughtering them with a brutality that seemed to stun Bron and Hart.

Not that they didn’t have their fun, too. They got drunk that last night and Bron scrounged up more than a couple females from a nearby village. Lucien played himself off as too drunk to take part in the festivities, leaving Bron with a threesome that was so noisy, Lucien got very little sleep.

In some ways, he was jealous of Bron and Hart and their dalliances. That had been him not to long ago and it had been fun, being able to lose himself to pleasure without having to think about the next morning. Lucien wanted to get Elain out of his system and sometimes he thought fucking another woman might help.

It felt wrong and worse than that, disrespectful. Elain wasn’t just anyone, infuriating as she was, and he couldn’t fuck her out of his system because the mating bond demanded recognition. It demanded acceptance. He’d always want her above all else.

The ride home compounded Lucien’s frustrations. It took them an extra day to arrive and Lucien saw Tamlin waiting, arms crossed over his chest.

“We’ll leave him to you, eh?” Bron teased, slinking off, Hart right behind him. Lucien sauntered towards his friend.

“How was it?” Tamlin asked, leading Lucien into the estate. Lucien let out a dry laugh.

“Unchanged in fifty years,” he replied, cognizant Elain could be listening. “We purged as best we could but…”

Tamlin sighed loudly. “I need to go, too.”

“Another day,” Lucien replied, clapping Tamlin on the shoulder. He made a beeline to the kitchen for the wine, swiping a bottle from the watchful gaze of several servants.
“How is Elain?” He asked after a long drink.

Tamlin scowled. “Better.”

Lucien didn’t smile though his insides warmed. If Tamlin was scowling that meant his week alone with her hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped.

“No more escape attempts?”

“No, though if given the chance I wouldn’t put it past her. I gave her access to the library, and she sent several letters to her sisters—”
“You’re letting her write to her sisters?” Lucien asked, surprised Tamlin would be so agreeable.

“No, I burned them,” Tamlin responded. Lucien’s gut coiled with anger.

“What could it possibly hurt, Tam?”

 “Every tie she clings to makes her more likely to try and pull another stunt like the one in the forest,” Tamlin told Lucien reasonably. “Let her write her letters and realize her sisters don’t care while she settles in. She’s already become more comfortable, if all the digging she’s done in the garden is any indication.”

“If she finds out you’ve lied, she won’t forgive you,” Lucien told Tamlin. Tamlin was so stupid when it came to females. He had no sense for flirting, for wooing.

“We’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”

Tamlin turned his back to Lucien, allowing Lucien the freedom to seek her out. He found her in the garden, sitting beneath a cherry tree in pale pink silk, book in hand. The hair at her temples had been twisted off her pretty, healed face. Lucien was pleased to see both color and some fullness had begun to return. He supposed consistent meals and rest would do that for anyone, but in six months Elain’s radiance would be painful to look at.

“Miss me?” He teased from behind her. She turned just as she took a bite of a jam filled pastry. In her surprise, filling spilled out and Elain quickly caught it with her palm. Her tongue darted out along her hand, licking the pink goo and Lucien was instantly hard.

“No,” she replied, her words breathless.

“I see nothing has changed in my absence,” he commented, dropping onto the bench with ease.

“You’re wrong. Tamlin and I are good friends now,” Elain replied with a sniff, having finished her breakfast. Lucien went very still beside her though he knew she was picking at him.

“I’m sure he’s quite pleased.” Lucien’s eyes drifted to her mouth. He wondered if she’d be pleased if he kissed her breathless. The thought did little for his arousal.

“You’ll be officiating a wedding any day now,” she continued. Lucien scowled darkly though he heard the play in her words. She was teasing him.

“If I’d known I was interrupting I would have stayed longer,” he replied, his thumb catching the corner of her mouth. He didn’t know what made him do it; there was the barest speck of jam. She watched, her breath catching, as he brought his finger to his mouth and, so slowly it couldn’t be anything other than a suggestion, wrapped his lips softly around his thumb just like he might do with other parts of her, if she ever gave him half the chance.

“Lucien?”

“Hm?” He asked, his voice rough. He needed to get up before he did something he’d regret.

“You smell awful.”

He jumped to his feet as though she’d doused him in cold water. He was sure he did. It wasn’t what he’d hoped she’d say. He bowed mockingly to her and turned.

“Lucien!” She called, catching the attention of several nearby servants. He didn’t care. He turned silently to look at her.

“I did miss you,” she told him, her tawny eyes wide. He nodded once and left her there for the bath.

He didn’t return until dinner. He was well dressed; he’d spent an hour agonizing over his clothes, his hair, his face though there was little he could do about that. When he sauntered in, the room was thick with tension.

“Pleasant evening?” Lucien asked to two of them, watching Elain push meat around her plate while Tamlin scowled into his cup. They were so poorly matched it would have been amusing, were it not his mate Tamlin was trying to make a match with in the first place.

“Tamlin won’t tell me about the blight,” Elain said quickly, clearly hoping Lucien would. Lucien and Tamlin exchanged a glance. There was practically nothing Tamlin could tell her.

“I told you already. Magic has been…acting wrong lately. It’s why these masks won’t come off our faces,” Tamlin responded her carefully. She watched the pair of them, aware they were concealing something. It’s what’s weakening our borders, allowing all manner of filth into the land.”

“What could be done about it?” She pressed.

“We’re working on it,” Tamlin assured her smoothly. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that.”

“But the blight is what’s bringing the naga?” She confirmed. Lucien and Tamlin nodded, their faces tight. Was she worried? Lucien stared openly, swirling his wine in his hand. She looked tired, in that moment, lost in thought. He would have killed to know what it was going through her head.

She set her fork down and tossed her napkin next to her untouched plate, scooting out of her chair. Tamling growled. Lucien was tired of her antics with the food. He knew she did it to get a rise out of Tamlin but it irked him, too.

“You barely ate all day,” Tamlin hissed when she set her fork down primly.

“Hardly the longest I’ve gone,” Elain reminded the two men softly. A muscle feathered in Lucien’s jaw at the reminder.

“You need not relive those days,” Tamlin replied in an attempt to be reasonable.

“At times it’s as if they’ve never ended,” Elain replied primly.

Tamlin’s claws punched from his knuckles.

“Eat,” Tamlin demanded but Elain stood.

“I think I’d like to lie down.”

“What do you need from me, Elain,” Tamlin asked when she turned her back. His voice was soft and filled with desperation. “Tell me what it will take for you to trust me.”

She turned to look over her shoulder and her eyes met Lucien’s. He felt vulnerable in that moment, exposed even. All the fire left her.

“Time,” she said with a soft breath. “I need time.”

Tamlin bowed his head while relief flickered through Lucien’s body. Elain offered them a curtsey and Elain vanished, taking Tamlin with her.

“Yes, Lucien, I would love to hear how the border was,” he muttered to himself, pulling several dishes towards himself. If no one else wanted to eat, that was their problem. He’d lived on travel rations for a week and was starving.

He was still drinking at the table when he heard her creep down the stairs into the kitchen. Lucien smiled. Finally. He wanted to annoy her one last time before bed.

He caught her assembling a plate of food beside a cheerfully lit lantern.

“This could be avoided if you just ate at dinner, you know,” Lucien’s intoned. Elain smiled, catching Lucien off guard. A long, silky blue robe hung off her shoulders, revealing more of her soft skin, unmarred.

What would she taste like?

“Are you stalking me?” She asked him as she carefully diced up cheese.

“You have a bad habit of scampering off whenever I look the other way. As it so happens, I was still in the dining room when you crept past. You’re not very sneaky, you know.”

“Who says I was trying to be?” She asked. He walked behind her, taking advantage of their height differences. She was so small. He wanted to press her against him and see what she felt like to be flush and wanting against him.

“Are we so awful to eat with that you have to do it in the dead of night?” He asked, his fingers brushing the hair from her neck. Elain shivered.

“Utterly intolerable,” she agreed.

Lucien moved, walking to the far end of the kitchen for another bottle of wine. Better to drink himself stupid, then. Elain watched him uncork it with his teeth.

“There are females who would kill to share a meal with Tamlin,” he told her, taking a drink. Elain stared for a moment.

“And you?” She asked, arching a brow. Lucien grinned lazily as he gestured down his toned body.

“I’ve never had a complaint.”

“Until now,” she reminded him, sliding her knife carefully into the sink.

“Is that what you’re doing? Complaining about my company?”

Elain paused again, head cocked as she stared. Lucien furrowed his brow as he took a drink. A new smell slammed into his chest, nearly driving him to his knees.

Arousal.

She was trying to kill him, he realized, the bottle frozen against his mouth. Elain stared for another second then shook her head, letting her loose curls fly around her shoulders.

“Good night, Lucien.”

Lucien couldn’t move though he desperately wanted to follow her.

Crawl, his brain demanded. Some part of him wanted to.

“Good night, Elain.”

Chapter Text

It annoyed Tamlin when Elain transplanted things, so she’d woken up early to dig up a set of hydrangea bushes that, in her defense, absolutely did not belong so close to the daisy’s. There were no servants to stop her anyway, though she suspected there was more than just Alis and Lucien in the house given how they cropped up in times of stress or emergency but afterwards seemed to just vanish into air.

She assumed Tamlin was having her watched which irked her. She gently pried the bush out of its home from the roots and set it into a wheelbarrow.

“My mother would weep if she could see you now,” Tamlin told Elain from behind her. She jumped, nearly falling face first into the dirt.

“She planted the garden?” Elain asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Tamlin shook his head, holding his hands behind his back. “It was a mating present from my father to my mother. She never planted anything, but she loved to walk through it.”

Elain frowned. “Mating present?”
Tamlin nodded, reaching for the handles of her wheelbarrow. “She loved this garden and he loved her.”

Elain dropped her shovel into the wheelbarrow and wiped her brow. “Not their wedding?” She clarified. Tamlin seemed to understand her, then.

“High Fae mostly marry, but if they’re blessed, they’ll find their mate—their equal, their match in every way. High Fae wed without the mating bond, but if you find your mate, the bond is so deep that marriage is…insignificant in comparison.”

Elain nodded, chewing on her bottom lip as she put her shovel in the wheelbarrow Tamlin held.

“It all sounds very romantic.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw and Elain instantly regretted the question. “My father…my father was as bad as Lucien’s. Worse. My two older brothers were just like him. They kept slaves—all of them. And my brothers…I was young when the Treaty was forged, but I still remember what my brothers used to…It left a mark—enough of a mark that when I saw you, your house, I couldn’t—wouldn’t let myself be like them. Wouldn’t bring harm to your family, or you, or subject you to faeries whims.”

Elain resisted the urge to laugh in his face at that statement. Tamlin’s green eyes were laced with his own pain, his own suffering, and, in her opinion, his own self-importance. Feyre had killed Andras, and it was Tamlin’s whims that had dragged her here. Maybe he thought himself better than his brothers that he meant to court her instead of just outright forcing her, but to Elain it all felt the same.

“Thank you,” she murmured when the pause between them became suffocating. Tamlin’s face loosened a little and Elain’s stomach tightened. “What about your mother?”
“My mother—she loved my father deeply. Too deeply, but they were mated, and…Even if she saw what a tyrant he was, she wouldn’t say an ill word against him. I never expected—never wanted—my father’s title. My brothers would have never let me live to adolescence if they suspected that I did. So the moment I was old enough, I joined my father’s war band and trained so that I might someday serve my father, or whichever of my brothers inherited his title. I’d realized from an early age that fighting and killing were about the only things I was good at.”

Elain digested his words.

“I’m sorry about that,” she murmured, unsure what else to say. She gestured for him to stop beside a row of leafy ferns that were drying beneath direct sunlight. The hydrangeas would shade them, creating a mutually beneficial relationship for both plants. His mother might not have liked Elain digging up her garden, but at least the gardeners wouldn’t have to work so hard to keep everything alive. Elain would plant something else in the space left by the hydrangeas.

Tamlin shrugged. “I would have been happy to leave the scheming to my brothers. But my power kept growing, and I couldn’t hide it—not among our kind. Fortunately, or unfortunately, they were all killed by the High Lord of an enemy court. I was spared for whatever reason or Cauldron-granted luck. My mother, I mourned. The others…my brothers would not have tried to save me from a fate like yours.”

Elain bit back her snort. Tamlin hadn’t either, in her estimation, though she didn’t dare say it. If he wanted to imagine himself some heroic prince there was little she could do to stop him.

“So that’s how you became High Lord?” She asked him, reaching for her shovel again. Tamlin stood over her.

“Most High Lords are trained from birth in manners and laws and court warfare. When the title fell to me, it was a…rough transition. Many of my father’s courtiers defected to other courts rather than have a warrior-beast snarling at them.”

“Is that why your estate is so empty?” She questioned, sliding gloves over her hands. Tamlin paused.

“What do you mean?” He hedged.

“Courts are typically filled with people, but yours is just you, Alis, and Lucien. Surely there ought to be more servants and courtiers filling all that empty space?”

“They…I don’t like all the noise,” Tamlin hedged.

“Liar,” Elain replied, dropping to her knees.

Tamlin crouched beside her, his face too close. Elain held up her spade between them. “Not many would dare to call a High Lord a liar to his face.”

“Some might argue that it’s rude to lie to a woman’s face,” she replied easily, though her heart pounded in her chest.

Tamlin reached out, his hand caressing her cheek. Elain jerked from the touch. “You wouldn’t like my court.”

What else was new, she thought, her butt planted very firmly in the dirt. Tamlin, clearly stung by her rejection, left her to replant his bushes. Elain thought of what he said. His personal history wasn’t interesting to her, though the mating bond was. She’d read about fated mates in books and found the entire thing both terribly romantic and a little terrifying. What happened if you didn’t love the person you found yourself mated to? Were you just trapped with them for the rest of your life?

Lucky for Elain, Lucien was leaving the stables at the same time she left the garden, clearly hoping for cool air and a drink the same as she was. He liked to annoy her; she thought it wouldn’t hurt to repay the favor.

“Lucien!” She called, running towards him. Lucien froze, his gold and russet eye watching warily as she jogged towards him. She could understand why; her once floral dress was muddy, her skin was sweaty, her face red and half hidden beneath a floppy hat. Somehow Lucien always managed to look perfect, no matter the activity. She’d have been more irritated if he wasn’t so lovely to look at. One of them ought to be, she thought.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he replied smoothly when she’d reached him. Elain scowled and Lucien grinned, utterly handsome despite the mask that hid his face.

“What happens if two people who are mates hate each other?”

Lucien tripped over the air in front of him. “Why?” He asked quickly.

Elain grabbed his arm, both to steady him and to feel the corded muscles beneath his shirt. “Because everyone makes it sound so romantic but surely there must be people who realize they’re mates and aren’t right for each other.”

Lucien stopped dead in his tracks, his sun-kissed skin ashen. “Why are you asking me, Elain?”

“Because I don’t want Tamlin to think I’m hoping we’re mates.”

Lucien was very clearly confused. His eyes studied her, and she sighed. “He told me about his parents and the garden this morning and I was wondering what would happen if two people weren’t in love but were mates.”

Lucien’s shoulders slumped visibly. “It happens,” he told her with a woosh of air. “Mating bonds can be rejected. It’s apparently painful, though, and I’ve never heard of an actual case of it. Just stories.”

Elain wrinkled her nose.

“Most everyone has grown up hearing of mating bonds the way you humans hear stories about princes falling in love with servants. It’s rare, and when you find it…who wouldn’t want to try and make it work?”

“Would you?” Elain asked, looking up at him. Lucien scowled.

“Of course I would.”

“Even if she was absolutely wrong for you in every way?” Elain pressed. Lucien glanced down at her.

“Elain, look at me. I’m every female’s type.”

She scoffed though a prick of jealousy lodged in her chest at the thought of some other woman having a fated claim to Lucien. She buried it. “Your ego is out of control.”

Lucien’s grin was lazy as he gestured for her to walk into the estate before him. Ever the gentleman.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But you can’t deny it could be a lot worse finding out I was your mate.”

Elain arched an eyebrow. “You assume too much, my lord.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw at her sarcastic usage of my lord. She wondered if he’d hate being called her lord half as much if she were whispering it in his ear beneath his unclothed body. She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. What did she know about such things?

You might know more if you tried a little harder with the man beside you, a traitorous voice whispered in her mind.

“Besides,’ Elain added, hating how breathless she sounded. “Humans and Fae can’t be mates so I’m safe.”

Lucien laughed then. “Oh my sweet human. Of course humans and fae can be mates. Why do you think that wall was so important to your ancestors?”

“To keep people like Tamlin’s family from using us as slaves?” She asked, her voice edged with distaste. Lucien’s smile darkened.

“Fae and humans can be mates and the fae have not forgotten it like the humans have.”

“Is that why Tamlin stole me?” Elain asked suddenly, panic flooding her veins. “He can feel a bond—”

“No,” Lucien said quickly, grabbing her arm and moving her towards a shaded pillar at the far end of the hall. “No. There is no mating bond between you and Tamlin. Mating bonds leave a mark…he would have told you if he felt it.”

She pulled her arm from Lucien’s grip, inhaling sharply. “What does it feel like?”

Lucien shrugged, though his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Why all the interest over something you don’t want? Let’s get lunch, hm?”

Elain nodded with a mixture of relief and disappointment. She should never have gone down that road with Lucien, never should have asked. They were barely friends and beyond that, she was certain he saw her like an obnoxious younger sister. Lucien was beautiful and smart and witty, and Elain was…Elain was human. She wouldn’t wish him waste a mating bond on her.

So then why did the thought of another woman with him make her so fucking sad?

**

Lucien was strolling the ground for Elain the next morning, their conversation about the mating bond still burned in his chest. Tell her, tell her, tell her— His heart seemed to pound out the words, drumming out all other rational thought. He couldn’t tell her and even if he could, he wouldn’t. Elain had just stopped scowling at everyone and everything and Lucien wasn’t about to send her back into the western woods in an attempt to escape an unwanted mating bond with a male she didn’t want…the scent of arousal notwithstanding.

That didn’t stop Lucien from constantly seeking her out. Maybe she could want him, even if it was just physically. After all, Lucien knew he was attractive. He saw the way females looked at him, though at times he knew they also saw the potential to be Lady of the Autumn Court. Elain, at least, didn’t seem to have those kinds of ambitions. If she did, Lucien had to assume she would have chosen Tamlin, the literal High Lord who actively wanted her and not the seventh son to a court that he was banished from.

She hadn’t chosen either of them, he reminded himself. Lucien practically tripped over Elain sitting beneath a huge oak tree in an off-shoulder butter colored gown. Half her hair was pulled off her face, the rest tumbled softly down her shoulders. She had a bouquet of flowers sitting in her lap and a book in her hand. She hadn’t noticed him. Lucien grinned, swallowing the burning desire he felt to scoop her up, drag her against his body, and kiss her roughly until she begged him for more.

“The High Lord Who Loved Me?” He read the title of the book out loud. Elain jerked, snapping the book shut. “Don’t let Tamlin catch you with that.”

Elain scowled, though she used a large piece of lavender to mark her page. “Just because I like the idea of a High Lord falling in love with a regular person doesn’t mean I want that person to be me.”

“You sure? It would be terribly romantic, after all,” Lucien teased.

“What do you want, Lucien?” Elain grumbled. He nearly sank to his knees in front of her at the look of irritation etched into her beautiful face. He wanted her so bad he could practically taste her, and every time she spurned him, it made him want her just a little more.

“Can’t a guy just patrol the grounds he lives in without wanting something?” He asked, hoping he was getting beneath her skin.

“If that guy wasn’t you, maybe,” she retorted primly. Lucien grinned wider

“You wound me, Elain.”

Elain began fiddling with the flowers in her lap, reaching for the stems and braiding them together as she regarded him with those wide, innocent eyes of hers. How he wanted to be the thing of her father’s nightmares; the Fae male debauching the young, beautiful human woman. He thought Elain might like it. He knew he would.

“Tam and I are going to spar,” he told her after a too long pause. “It’s always good for my ego when a pretty woman watches.”

Elain’s fingers froze. “Even if you lose?”

Lucien laughed. “Oh, Elain. I always lose. Tamlin is the High Lord, after all.”

“How could being watched, even when you lose, be good for your ego?”

Lucien winked. “Come watch and find out.”

She scratched at her cheek and then gathered up her flowers and her book. Lucien straightened his shoulders a little, his stomach twisting with nerves. She’d seen him shirtless before and she’d seen him use a blade before but both times had been in moments of intense stress. This would be different. Tamlin won because Tamlin had brute strength, but Lucien was still good and beyond that, Lucien forced Tamlin to fight creatively. Tamlin was single-minded in his pursuit of victory, but Lucien liked to strategize and could think on his feet. It made Tam a better solider and it kept them both in fighting shape. 

Lucien ducked beneath the space between the wooden rails of the fence that marked their training ring. Elain climbed atop it, smoothing out her skirts. She set her book beside her and was readjusting her flowers as Lucien began stripping himself of his shirt. He kept his eyes on her, waiting for the moment when she’d look up and see him.

It was worth it. Her lips parted into the perfect oh, and as Elain’s beautiful face wasn’t hidden beneath a mask, he could see the desire that flared across her features. Lucien grinned, flexing the muscles of his stomach just a little as he twisted his hair off his face into a messy bun.

“Elain!” Tamlin interrupted the taunt Lucien had planned to throw at Elain. “What brings you here?”

“I came to watch you kick Lucien’s ass,” she told him primly, eyeing Tamlin’s bare chest as well. Lucien hadn’t thought that part through. Tamlin was just as muscled, though he had the benefit of being High Lord and unblemished. Jealousy swam through his veins at her assessment of Tamlin; the two of them looked like they belonged together. Elain had practically been made for Spring. She’d be an absolutely lovely Lady of Spring.

She turned her gaze back to Lucien, her eyes just a tad darker. He pulled his sword with a touch of theatrics. He was irritated with his friend, now. Lucien ran a thumb over his bottom lip when Tamlin turned back to Elain, catching the way she stared—that helped his mood a little.

“She’s a grown woman, Tam,” Lucien called when he heard Tamlin warn Elain it might be bloody and violent. “Give her a reason to lick your wounds.”

“The only wounds that will need tending will be yours,” Tamlin grunted in response, pulling out his own sword.

“We’ll see,” Lucien smiled, lunging quickly. He thought he wouldn’t mind that, if it gave Elain a reason to fuss over his half-naked body. He could practically feel her touch ghosting across his skin; far from making him sloppy, it made him more ruthless. Tamlin, too, fought like Lucien was the enemy and not a friend and not for the first time, Lucien wondered if Tamlin suspected him of wanting Elain. He’d be right; Lucien had never wanted anything or anyone as badly. Not since Jesminda, though Jesminda had not made him work for her at all. She’d given herself freely. Elain though…Lucien grinned through grime, sweat, and blood. The chase was fun.

Elain watched them both with disapproving eyes, weaving her flowers into a crown. When Tamlin won, she placed it softly atop his head though her eyes drifted over his shoulder to Lucien, panting and half feral.

“Will you come again?” Tamlin asked her through his own heavy breathing.

“Once was enough, I think,” she told him softly. “You two were practically animals.”

Her words made Lucien’s blood heat. Sparring wasn’t the only place Lucien could be an animal. He’d show her, if she asked.

Tamlin offered Elain a hand that she accepted, hopping back to the ground neatly, every inch a lady in the face of the monsters before her.

“Get cleaned up,” she bossed to them both. “You smell.”

Tamlin and Lucien exchanged a glance and then swept into deep bows. Lucien tried to bury his anger, seeing Tamlin in Elain’s crown, but by the time he’d reached the top of the stairs he was a mess of emotions. It had been a long two days and an even longer month. Had he ever lived any stretch of time quite as tumultuous as this? Even his time with Jesminda and after had been a steady stream of predictable emotions. This though…

Tamlin had vanished but Elain hadn’t. She paused, her hand on the handle of her door just down the hall. He imagined walking her in, hauling her up onto her bed, lifting her skirts and fucking her until she was covered in the same sheen of sweat. His body ached at the thought.

“Those flowers were for you,” she told him after a moment, a glint in her eye. She turned, then, her skirts fanning around her, and vanished with a soft click of her door.

He’d been holding his breath. 

Gods, how he wanted her to undo him.

He wanted to ruin her.

Against his better judgement, he barged into her room after her, surveying the lovely white and gold walls and her cream bedding neatly made. Elain was standing halfway between the bed and the door, her eyes wide.

“Lucien, what—”

“Tell me something true, Elain. Are you truly untouched or were you trying to get under Tamlin’s skin?”

She looked affronted. “Why would I make that up?”

Lucien glanced sideways at her. “It would bother any hot-blooded male.”
“Why?” She hissed. “Fae males find untouched females distasteful?”

He flexed his hands at his sides to keep himself from grabbing her.  “Quite the opposite, Elain. You’ll find even the most civilized of us tends to be quite possessive.”

“No one has ever touched me,” Elain confirmed, studying his body as she said it. He was still shirtless, still grimy and sweaty. Her eyes slid down his chest like a caress. Her gaze my his heart pound roughly in his throat and his cock. He was taut and at his side, his hand flexed again. “And you can tell Tamlin no male ever will.”

Lucien’s control was tenuous. He knew he should leave but Elain turned her back to him and it felt just a little too much like running. His muscles reacted and too quickly for her to track, he caught her, slamming her up against the wall just beside the bed. There was a hair’s breadth between them; the fabric of her dress brushed against his bare skin, causing a ripple of goosebumps along his arms.

“It’s an honor to be chosen by the High Lord,” he growled, his teeth inches from her throat. Their eyes met and Elain arched her neck to give him better access. His eyes drifted down the column of skin as he swallowed the urge to lick her. His whole body was tightly wound like a bow string, and he could feel himself straining against his pants. He needed to leave

“He might like that,” he warned, cursing himself. Why wasn’t she crying, screaming, threatening? Elain stayed exactly as she was, hands are her side, her head titled, her lips slightly parted. His legs shook a little; Lucien had never begged for any female, but he thought he might beg for a taste of her.

“Does it matter if I like it?” She demanded. Lucien’s expression grew dark.

“It does to me,” he replied before he dipped his head, running his nose softly along the side of her throat. He could smell her arousal again. He groaned softly, his breath hot against her skin.

“Then I trust you to come if you hear me screaming,” she all but whispered with a shiver. Lucien chuckled.

“I promise to always come if you scream.” His words were double edged.  Elain closed her eyes and swallowed.

All at once, Lucien released her, putting a healthy distance between the pair of them. It was necessary. He was a second away from throwing her to the bed and having his way with her. She might let him smell her neck but there was no way Elain wanted him stripping her of her clothes, especially given how little experience she had.

He’d wanted to ruin her but fuck if Elain wasn’t actually ruining him.

Lucien reached for her hand and lowered it to his mouth as he swept into a bow. “My Lady…Elain…you should know that outside of being perfect specimens of males, we have heightened senses. Movement, eyesight, hearing…smell.”

“Oh?” She scowled, no doubt about to make a quip about his too big ego.

Lucien chuckled again, his lips soft and warm against her flesh. He had to tell her, at least. Needed her to know that he knew she wanted him. Just in case she ever wanted to crawl into his bed.

“I can smell your arousal,” he whispered, looking up at her through the mask. She jerked her hand back with a mix of terror and desire. Lucien didn’t smile though he straightened back upwards.

“Always?” She asked him, her voice shaking.

“Always,” Lucien agreed, his mind drifting back to the kitchen. He wanted to know what she’d been thinking about.

“You should go, Lucien,” she murmured, stepping around him. He caught her wrist, stopping her so their faces were too close again.

“Whatever lie you’ve made up in your mind about what’s happening here,” he began, his own desire dripping off every word. His free hand ghosted along her waist, itching to pull her flush against himself. “Know that the only thing that keeps me in my bed at night is knowing how Tamlin would peel the skin from my body were he to ever catch me this close to you.”

“I don’t care what Tamlin thinks,” Elain reminded him, looking from his hand on her wrist to his mouth.

Lucien groaned softly. “Oh, but you should, Elain.”

Too bold. This whole moment was too bold, but they were alone, and the scent of her arousal was heavy in the air and Lucien wasn’t ready to leave. He inhaled softly

“Then you should know that if I lived a thousand years, I would never let Tamlin close enough to touch a button on one of my dresses, let alone my naked body.”

Lucien dared to press his hand into her waist, to pull her just a little closer. Her body pressed against his own, his hand still tight on her wrist. The only thing separating him from her flesh was the flimsy dress she wore. “Is that so?”

She held his gaze, and he would have given his other eye to know what she was thinking in that moment. What did she want from him? Her eyes drifted towards his mouth and if she’d been a Fae female, he might have taken that as a sign she wanted to be kissed. Did she know she was playing with literal fire?  

Elain took the barest of steps, her breasts flush against his chest. Lucien swallowed hard when her free hand ran up his skin, cupping just beneath his jaw. “You hadn’t guessed?” She whispered.

He sucked in a breath at the words, his hand dropping from her wrist. She skittered back as though all her common sense had returned. He turned back to the door, leaving her there without another word. He was in so much trouble, in shit so deep he couldn’t see.

Go back, his brain screamed. Lucien locked his bedroom door before sliding down the wood to the floor.

He gulped down air. You hadn’t guessed?

He’d hoped, certainly. His heart pounded painfully in his chest.

Lucien laughed, then. He’d have her.

He’d fucking crawl across fire and glass if he had to, but he’d have Elain, even if it damned them all.  

Chapter Text

For a week, Elain walked around in a daze, her mind replaying Lucien’s beautiful, slick, bronzed body gleaming in the sunlight, sword in hand as he fought Tamlin. She’d memorized every line of his stomach, the way his back muscles clenched, how taut his biceps became when he tossed his blade from hand to hand. She’d sat on the fence, one ankle crossed over the other, to try and alleviate the ache that had bloomed between her thighs, but nothing helped and by the end of the week, she’d taken matters into her own hands, literally.

She knew they could smell sex, though she didn’t understand how that whole thing worked, so she only touched herself in the bath when the water ran, just in case they could also somehow hear her, too. The last thing she needed was for Tamlin to think she was touching herself to him. He was already far too cocky over the fucking flower crown which she’d begun braiding beneath the tree for Lucien as an excuse to see him. It didn’t make sense to crown a loser, though and Elain sensed it would cause problems if she made her preference a known thing.

Especially given that she knew he wanted her. She couldn’t decide if she thought he wanted her because human women were a novelty and Lucien was bored or he was actually drawn to her the way she was him. She leaned towards the former; it was safer for them both if Lucien’s attraction was only short lived and nothing more. Many times, though, reclined in the bathtub, her hand between her legs, she imagined his face. Imagined what she’d do if he ever took it off and revealed he was disturbingly ugly.

Elain suspected that Lucien was absurdly handsome. He walked around like someone who’d been told his whole life he was. When she touched herself, she imagined his mask coming off, imagined how his face might look undone…how he might touch her.

If he guessed, he said nothing about it. She lifted her boneless body from the lukewarm water and dressed in a soft, silver gown that reminded her of the tunic Lucien had worn when she first arrived. The sleeves draped off her shoulders and in the mirror, Elain was surprised to find a woman looking back at her. Gone was the sharpness of her face, the angles of her body and replaced by softer curves. She supposed knowing where her next meal was coming from, and rest could do a lot for someone. Still, she traced the curve of her collarbone, still carved just beneath her neck. It would take more than a month to truly soften the effects of years of starvation. She still saw the shadows in her eyes, half-hidden in the hopeful brightness. Perhaps in time, the light would chase it all away but for now, she was still wary.

“Lovely,” Alis said with a sigh, breezing in. “You’ve become absolutely lovely.”

Elain flushed, dropping into her chair so Alis could plunge her soft hands into Elain’s thick hair. “Could still use more meals…you’ve stopped eating up here, I’ve noticed.”

Elain nodded, catching Alis’ gaze in the mirror. Alis watched her with nothing but reproach and Elain wondered if Alis knew that Elain still hated Tamlin. “Do you feel more settled?”

“I’d feel better settled with a friend,” Elain admitted. “I know there’s a village—”

“Ask Lord Tamlin,” Alis tutted, catch Elain’s scowl. “When he returns, I’m sure he’ll agree to show you.”

“He’s gone?” She asked, twisting in her chair. Alis frowned, pulling several pins from her mouth to pull up half of Elain’s hair.

“To the border. Left Lucien in charge for the weekend.”

“Is something wrong at the border?”

Alis hesitated and Elain didn’t bother pushing. Alis wouldn’t tell her anything Tamlin hadn’t already. Tamlin was cagey about the blight, about magic, about everything.

It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Alis replied quickly. “What you ought to worry about is Lucien, who I saw in the garden this morning plundering the lavender.”

Elain bit back a smile. “What a cad.”

“He could use a sound lashing, if you ask me,” Alis sniffed, pulling out her hands and stepping back to look Elain over. Elain toyed with a loose curl.

“Perhaps I’ll track him down now, then. See what he’s using all that lavender for.”

“I’d bet my life he’s putting it in his bath,” Alis muttered. “As though he doesn’t have enough oils.”

That was interesting, Elain thought. If he wanted a bath oil, she could make him one. She thought she might offer, though the image of him in the bath was distracting and Elain wandered as she tried to imagine him naked. She’d never seen a naked man before, though she understood the mechanics. She’d finished The High Lord Who Loved Me and the depictions of male appendages had been graphic and thorough. Still, it was one thing to imagine it on someone who only existed in her mind and to truly see one in real life.

She nearly slammed into double doors, painted white and gold. She pulled one open only to bite back her squeal of delight when she saw an empty, half dark ballroom looking back at her. Light poured in from windows high up, and a massive, glittering chandelier likely lit the expansive space up at night. The floor was the same white and black checked marble and tables stacked atop each other along a far wall told Elain that in better times, people likely danced in one half of the room and ate, sat and talked, or drank in the other.

She missed parties. Her mother had loved them and as a girl Elain had been allowed to come along as her mother hosted endless balls, galas, and dances. Elain learned to dance young and when she was too tired to stand but her mother was still going, Elain would often crawl beneath a table where, hidden by a white tablecloth, she’d imagine a handsome Lord offering her a dance. They’d smile and bow, and she’d know, by the end of the dance, that they were in love.

It was a fairytale then and a fairytale now. There were no Lords to sweep her off her feet and certainly no Lords to fall in love with, let alone marry, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend, right? She sketched out a low curtsey to a pretend partner, bright smile on her face. She knew all the steps, knew where she’d put her hands, how close she’d stand, even the way she’d look up at her partner while the music played.  

She began the steps, closing her eyes so she could get the imagery right. She didn’t need a face, just a body so she didn’t bother to imagine one. She could almost feel hands on her waist holding her own, though it was only air that touched her. She hummed a tune softly, gliding easily from foot to foot.

She spun herself only to find warm, strong hands grip her own. She stumbled, terrified for a moment it was Tamlin who’d found her. She looked up and saw Lucien, standing in a beam of glittering sunlight wearing gold, his sword hanging from his belt. Your warrior prince, her traitorous mind whispered. She swallowed hard. He certainly looked it with his hair pulled halfway off his face and his white shirt, tucked into his dark pants. His sword hung casually at his side, slapping him in the thigh. Elain resisted the urge to reach up and touch some of his hair.

“I didn’t know you danced,” he told her, his voice husky. “I suppose I should have guessed.”

She tried to drop her hands, but he held her in a frozen imitation of dancers.

“And you do?” Was all she could think to say.

“I was a High Lords son, once,” he reminded her, pulling her closer, one hand resting on the curve of her waist, the other enveloping her much smaller. Lucien led and though there was no music, she knew exactly which melody he imagined based on the way he moved and the speed in which he brought her with him. There was a respectable distance between them and looking at him, she could imagine them at a masked ball. Only, at the end she would have taken off his mask to see his face and here…here he’d go to sleep still wearing that bronze colored, fox shaped mask that she’d grown to hate.

Lucien spun her easily, catching her in his arms and Elain hated that he heard the gasp that escaped her lips when they met again this time too close even for lovers in polite circles. If they’d been at one of her mother’s parties, all the ladies would have erupted into giggles to see them practically flush against the other. Lucien blinked, his lips parted, and Elain almost threw caution to the wind, lifted herself up on her tiptoes, and kissed him.

Instead she cleared her throat and looked down at her feet. It was Lucien, and she couldn’t bare the humiliation of how he’d tease her if she was wrong about the other night. Lucien didn’t drop her hands, though and Elain didn’t ask him to. She quite liked being this close. She could smell the familiar scent of warm, sun-washed apples that she dreamt of at night and the feel of his rough skin against her own made her practically shiver.

Lucien spun her again, faster this time and when he caught her, he brought his lips to her ear. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she replied quickly, too surprised by his question to think of a lie. Lucien groaned softly, his breath warm on her neck. It took her back to the night with the puca when he’d held her shiftless. Her heart sped up at the memory and arousal washed over her.

Lucien let her go as though she’d burned him.

“You’re human,” he told her, his words an accusation.

Elain frowned. “That’s not a secret.”

He turned his back to her, running a hand through his hair. “Tamlin’s human.”

Embarrassment began to sting in her gut and Elain spun on her heel before Lucien could do or say anything that would make her regret the dance they’d just had. She wasn’t Tamlin’s anything.

She’d almost gotten to the doors when he caught her around the waist, spinning her so she faced him and backing her hard against a wall, one hand braced around her body.

“I’ll scream,” she whispered, her heart in her throat when she saw how dark his russet eyes were. His gold eye whirred slowly, looking her up and down. What did it see, she wondered?

He let out a shuddering breath. “There’s no one but me to rescue you.”

 Elain pressed her palm to his chest, intending to shove but Lucien pushed against her touch, and she realized, perhaps a moment too late, that he was holding himself together by the barest of threads. He wasn’t the only one. It was intoxicating to think she had any effect on him at all.  

“I’ll run,” she whispered, delighting silently when he closed his eyes as though her words pained him. His nostrils flared and she knew he could smell her. It should have disgusted her, but she found it all strange and erotic in a way she didn’t really understand. She was playing with fire, and she knew it; he was stronger, faster, and had years of experience. If he decided he tired of holding himself back he could just take her and no amount of screaming of begging would stop him.

That, too, ought to have frightened her but it didn’t. Elain licked her lips and took a breath. “What are you thinking about?”

He opened his eyes, that russet eye a sizzling flame looking back. She lifted her free hand and ghosted it along his jaw, tracing the hard line to his ear and then travelled down, her fingers softly wrapping around his neck. She could feel his pulse, hammering hard.

Lucien pushed off the wall, putting too much space between them. “Go, Elain,” he told her, his voice ragged. She bit her lip, wishing she had the courage to tell him no. She paused for a moment, their eyes locked but she didn’t protest.

She turned her back to him, wishing disappointment didn’t burn quite so badly. She could feel her hurt in her throat, threatening to well into her eyes. What was the point of all that, she wondered?

His hand curled around her upper arm, and he yanked, stopping her when her fingers brushed the gold of the doorknob. Elain turned, spinning back into his chest like they were dancing.

Their lips met a moment before the rest of them did. They crashed together with what should have felt like violence, but his hand caught the back of her head gently and his lips were impossibly soft. She’d kissed other men before, a handful in her life and it had all been nice but the moment her and Lucien touched, something hot erupted in her chest and raced through her blood. Her arms immediately tangled around his neck and his free arm wrapped around her waist, hauling her against him so he could deepen the kiss. She gasped when she felt his tongue along her lips though she opened her mouth for him, only for her body to erupt all over again.

Lucien groaned, fisting his hand in his hair, his tongue brushing against her own. The kiss had lost its softness and had become edged with their want. Her hands were moving of their own accord, over his jaw and down his chest only to come back up again.

“Elain,” he gasped, breaking the kiss when her fingers curled into the neck of his shirt. “Elain.” He said her name with reverence, pressing his forehead against her own. He still had one hand on tangled in her hair, was still holding her against his hard body. His lips were swollen and bright red and his eyes wild. “If Tamlin ever learns—”

“Why would he?” She asked, annoyed Lucien had to bring Tamlin up.

Lucien closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “This is wrong.”

Of that, Elain was certain. She nodded, turning the door handle behind her. “I won’t tell if you don’t tell.”

--

Lucien woke to the smell of blood and the sound of screaming. For one moment he thought it was Elain. He threw on a shirt and flew down the stairs, nearly tripping over the human woman in the process. She was sitting on the steps in the same green and gold dress she’d worn that day crying silently, her entire body trembling. She twisted to look at him and then pointed at the dining room where the scent of blood seemed to be coming from. Dread washed over Lucien, and he stumbled in to find Tamlin carrying a wingless lesser fae in his arms.

“The table—clear it off!” Tamlin ordered and Lucien shoved everything from it in a swift motion, cringing when a vase filled with Elain’s flowers flew to the floor. Lucien stared at his friend, covered in dark blood, and the too ashen blue skin and fae screaming on the table beneath them.

“Scouts found him on dumped just over the borderline,” Tamlin explained. “He’s Summer Court.”

“By the Cauldron,” Lucien choked out just as the faerie cried out for. Their wings again. Lucien remembered this kind of cruelty, his gold eye practically burned in his skin at the memory. Part of him wanted to demand to know why this happened but Lucien knew; Amarantha had done it because she could. This was her way of reminding Tamlin they were rapidly running out of time.

Time slowed and Lucien backed from the room, his stomach betraying him. He didn’t want to go back to that place, back to the woman who had laughed while she carved out his eye with her fingers and then stomped on it with the bottom of her shoe.

He vomited into a vase on his way outside though he didn’t stop running until he couldn’t hear the slowed, beating heart of the fae inside. Couldn’t hear the screams…though he could still hear his own screams, his own words when Tamlin had found him.

She took my eye.

He pulled his knees up to his chest, ashamed he’d left Tamlin to bury that person by himself. Lucien should have helped. A tear slid down his cheek in spite of himself and he wiped it away angrily though more kept coming until he buried his face and cried silently beneath the moonlight.

He didn’t hear the sound of her feet on the grass or her soft breathing but he did smell her. Elain always smelled like honey. She nudged a bottle of whiskey towards him before sliding a hand beneath his arm to pull him against her.

 “What happened?” She asked after a moment.

“Blight,” Lucien choked out.

Elain nodded and then, with surprising clarity, said, “I didn’t realize the blight had hands…or a gender”

His neck practically snapped to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“Does the blight have teeth?” She pressed. “Or anything that could rip…He kept saying she took his wings.” Her voice caught at the reminder of the ripped wings. Lucien strained his ears for the sound that the fae may have lived but the estate was quiet again. Gone, then. Absently, he reached for his scars, his remind replaying the moment Amarantha had him held down by her cronies so she could hover over him and gouged out his eye. He shivered.

Elain twisted, her fingers tracing the scars beneath his mask. His skin was still wet from his crying and he meant to pull from her touch but Elain didn’t let him. She pressed the pads of her fingers into the three scars and Lucien knew she was putting together what had happened. Her beautiful face, illuminated beneath a crescent moon, suddenly twisted angrily.

“Did the blight do this to you, too?” She murmured, her voice despite the hatred burning in Elain’s eyes.

“Yes,” he choked out, though he knew he shouldn’t. Elain was on dangerous territory; she wasn’t supposed to know. Amarantha forbade them from sharing but Elain was observant. She’d piece what was happening together and then what? Would she fall into Tamlin’s arms in order to break the curse? He’d have to watch his mate love his best friend and for what? So Amarantha could shred her to pieces in the end? He choked on his air and was about to demand Elain flee, was about to throw caution to the wind and help her when Elain said, “Sometimes I imagine what you look like beneath the mask.”

He looked down at her, glowing beneath the moonlight like the sunlit princess she’d once wanted to be. “Oh? What do I look like, Elain?” He asked with way too much vulnerability. Her thumb brushed along his jaw.

“I just know you’re beautiful,” she murmured before dropping her hand. He wanted to say something thoughtful back, something that would convey what her words meant to him. He couldn’t. He was still too raw from the bleeding Fae who’d died on Tamlin’s dining table.

“I could have told you that,” he teased, his voice too edged for his liking. Elain hopeful expression drooped into disappointment, `and he felt bad. She could have gone to bed or stayed inside the estate but instead she’d come out with him. The least he could do was be nice to her.

“Hey,” he murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “This mask’ll come off one of these days and you’ll see just how wrong you are.”

Elain reached for a blade of grass. “You promised to show me the Autumn woods.”

“You want to go now?” He asked incredulously.

“How much longer until dawn?”

“A while…it’s a long walk.”

Elain pulled herself to her feet and then offered him her hand. “I’m not sleeping tonight. Are you?”

He took her hand if for no other reason than to touch her. She helped haul him to his feet. “I haven’t slept a minute since you arrived,” he decided to tell her. Elain giggled.

“Nesta used to complain I snored, but I didn’t think I was that loud.”

Lucien laughed too. She was funny sometimes, in her little ways. She reached between them and laced her fingers in-between his, an audacious act for any female but her. There was something so innocently human about the action that he was sure Elain didn’t think twice about it, but for Lucien, it was intimate in a way he’d never been comfortable with since Jesminda. Fucking was fine, along with everything that came with it, but true and actual intimacy was not.

Lucien poked around in Elain’s life as they walked, asking her questions about her life. He learned a lot about her sisters and fathers which, in turn, told him something he’d always known about Elain. Ever watchful, Elain knew her family better than they likely knew themselves. She spoke very little about herself in the moments she shared but he could imagine her there, smiling as she watched with her pretty brown eyes. Did her sisters see her? What would they say about her, he wondered?

What would she say about him if she ever went back?

Dawn broke over the horizon when they reached the door for Autumn. Lucien’s hands trembled at the doorknob and Elain put her hand on his wrist.

“Just the edge of it,” she whispered, his voice cracking with exhaustion. He inhaled and nodded. It would be good to go back this one time, to stand in the Autumn chill he missed so much, to look at the trees, to smell the particular scent of Autumn that often haunted his dreams.

She squeezed his hand and followed him into the dark tunnel. Lucien felt the breeze before he saw the vibrant colors, leaves of red, orange, yellow, and brown littered the forest floor beneath their feet.

Elain gasped at the sight, her mouth parting as she stared. Lucien nearly wept with joy. Home, he thought, dropping her hand so he could stagger forward just a few steps. He ran a hand over the rough bark of one of the trees as another chilly, early morning breeze ruffled his hair. He wanted to keep walking the familiar path back to the Forest House, to throw himself at Beron’s feet and beg his father to take him back. For a minute he told himself he’d rule whatever shitty territory Beron demanded, marry whatever female, anything to come home.

He knew he wouldn’t. He knew he’d chafe the moment his father actually picked out a female, one he was certain he’d hate, or demanded he go oversee the village Jesminda had come from, which Lucien knew Beron was cruel enough to do. He missed his place, these woods, the people, his mother…but he did not miss being Beron’s son.

“Will you get caught?” Elain whispered, putting a steadying hand on his arm. Lucien turned and reached for her. She looked perfect, illuminated by the early morning light. An Autumnal Goddess. He wanted her. He pulled her against him a little too roughly. Elain stiffened; her eyes wide.

“Lie to me,” he begged, the wind catching her hair. “Tell me you want me.”

Elain hesitated for a moment, her back up against the bark of the woods Lucien had run through as a boy. “I want you,” she whispered, closing her eyes as though she could stand to look at him while she said the lie.

“Tell me you want only me,” he pressed, his lips brushing against her own.

“Only you,” she agreed breathlessly.

Lucien cupped her jaw with his hand, marveling for a moment at how small she seemed in comparison. He angled her head and she let him; her lips parted. He’d kissed her already. He knew how it felt, knew how she tasted, so why was he so damned nervous?

He pressed his mouth to hers and Elain sighed softly into his mouth. He thought he’d never be tired of this, of kissing her, even if it was soft and slow like they were doing now. He didn’t have the energy for unrestrained passion, not in that moment. Not when the weight of Amarantha was baring down on them or his fears of what would happen if Tamlin couldn’t break the curse. Elain might need to pretend she liked him, really liked him, in order to keep her own guilt at bay for kissing the man who’d passively allowed her to be kidnapped but Lucien needed to pretend they were just two people who could be kissing with abandon in the Autumn woods. There was no one to catch them; Beron was under the mountain as he ran his hand up the side of her dress.

She twined her arms around his neck. It was easy to pretend she liked him, really and truly liked him. That given the chance between going back to her former life and him, she’d pick him. He wanted her to, wanted her to choose him first even when he knew it’d get her killed.

He was selfish and he knew it.

Her tongue brushed against his own and Lucien groaned, breaking the kiss before his cock could take off his better nature. Her first time ought to be anywhere but against a tree.

“Do you like Autumn?” He asked, daring to open his eyes. Her lips were bright pink and swollen, her usual soft brown eyes half-lidded and dark.

She bit her bottom lip. “I do.”

He brushed phantom hair from her face. In truth, he just wanted another excuse to touch her. “We should go back.”

Elain nodded, looking over her shoulder. “Before you’re caught?”

“Yes,” he agreed.

The wind whipped around them, bringing dead leaves with it, and Lucien didn’t tell her that there was no one left in Autumn to catch them.

Everyone else was gone.

Chapter Text

Elain ran hard, listening for the predator behind her. She could hear her own breathing and her shoes flying across the bed of fallen leaves on the forest floor but the thing that tracked her was utterly silent. That worried her. She veered quickly, her arm catching on a nearby thorn bush. She hissed in pain though she’d only sustained surface level scratches. She glanced down at her skin which turned out to be a mistake. She slammed into a chest of solid muscle and nearly went careening back to the ground. Lucien steadied her with his broad hands, eyes on her arm.

“Blood is easy to scent,” he chided, his lips puckering into a frown.

“How am I supposed to know where every thorn bush is?” She complained though she knew it had been a sloppy mistake. He merely stared as though to remind her that she was the plant expert.

“You panicked even though you knew it was just me behind you,” he continued, dropping her arm. He was apparently satisfied she wasn’t injured worse. His concern touched her in a small way.

“Because you’re fast, and you told me to pretend I didn’t know it was you,” she complained.

“You shouldn’t panic at all,” he argued. Elain blew out a loud sigh. Easy for Lucien to say. He was six foot four at least, with a body made of hardened muscle. He was fast and strong and, beyond all of those things, had been swinging a sword around longer than she’d been alive.

As if reading her thoughts, Lucien began, “I can train you to—”

“No.” Elain did not want to be a solider, didn’t want to ever hone herself into someone that could ever be good at killing. She never wanted that instinct. Lucien had offered before, and Elain had agreed to the basics. She’d let him teach her to keep herself alive, to defend herself so she didn’t end up totally helpless beneath another naga, but that was as far as Elain was willing to go.

Lucien looked like the forest fae she’d been warned about as a little girl, striding through the trees in his laced-up hunter green shirt and his cream-colored pants. She supposed that made her the human maiden that had been stolen away. Why were there no stories of human women who decided to stay? Of Fae lords who were kind and witty and human women that found peace in the woods the Fae haunted?

Her eyes drifted towards his powerful, muscled thighs flexing beneath the fabric while he reached into a shiny black boot for something. A dagger, she realized. It was beautiful, it’s polished silver hilt gleaming with orange and red gems shaped like falling leaves. “Take this, at least,” he told her, tossing the blade so he held it by the knifes edge. She reached for the hilt, surprised by the weight.

“I don’t want a dagger, Lucien,” she protested.

“Put it under your pillow, then, if you won’t wear it,” he pleaded gruffly. “I sleep better when I think you’re safe.”

She suppressed an eye roll. “You’re right down the hall, remember?”

Lucien’s movements were too fast for her to track. One moment he was in front of her, the next he had a broad hand pressed over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. His other arm pinned her to his chest, holding her arms at her sides.

“Scream for me, Elain,” he whispered against her neck. She shivered despite herself. He was trying to scare her but being so close to him was having the opposite effect. Her body molded to the shape of him, leeching his heat.  “Come on. I’m right down the hall. Scream so I’ll come and rescue you.”

She shifted her body and reached up for his hand, her fingers curling beneath his grip. She offered a half-hearted tug but he held her there.

“I can’t come for you if I don’t know you’re in trouble,” he continued, unaware of the arousal that was uncoiling itself in her belly. Elain closed her eyes, unable to focus. She could practically feel his lips on her ear and the roughness of his hand on her face wasn’t doing anything to help.

“I gave you a weapon Elain,” Lucien murmured softly, indicating the dagger hanging limply in her hand. “Twist your wrist and—”

He stopped abruptly when a breeze blew by, ruffling her hair in his face. Lucien’s breathing quickened and she knew he smelled her. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, and she wiggled to get out of his grasp, but Lucien held her.

“Tell me which part you like,” he demanded roughly, his nose trailing through her hair. His hand slid down her mouth though only to rest loosely around her neck.

“What do you mean?” She asked breathlessly.

“Do you like the thought of being alone in bed, helpless as I hold you down?” He asked, his words utterly scandalous. Her knees nearly buckled. “Or the thought of stabbing me?”

“Neither,” she gasped as his free hand splayed across her stomach.

“Tell me,” he ordered, tilting her head so their faces were mere inches apart.

Was it magic, that forced the words out of her mouth? She’d never said anything so bold in her entire life. “It was this, your closeness, you—”
He groaned, cutting her off to spin her around, his mouth already over hers. The dagger dropped from Elain’s hand so she could sink it into his thick, long hair. Elain spent all her time, it seemed, daydreaming about creating unmanageable tangles. Lucien walked her back quickly, his tongue dancing along her own, only to press her against a nearby tree. It was the Autumn Wood all over again, though without any of the softness.

She should care, she told herself. This wasn’t how she’d ever imagined courting. Elain had imagined poetry and flowers and well-mannered men who kissed hands and cheeks. Not men who kept slamming her up against hard surfaces and kissing her like they were a hair trigger away from kidnapping her and tying her to their bed. There was a hunger between them that was building; Elain wanted to wrap her legs around him and rub until the ache between her thighs abated.

No one had ever told her the way a woman might want a man. She’d always heard the inverse, of wild, out of control men and that was certainly Lucien, if the frantic, hot kisses were any indication. She was surprised by her own desire and how badly she wanted so much more than to just touch outside of his clothing or how she wanted to feel his mouth on the rest of her body.

No one told her men could taste good. All the men in the village looked unwashed and gave the impression they cared little about their own hygiene. Lucien, though, somehow tasted better than he smelled, and he smelled like a bright apple orchard in them middle of Autumn. More magic, she decided. Perhaps he’d used some sort of spell on her.

She’d always imagined she’d save herself for her future husband but ever since Lucien had kissed her in the ballroom, all she could think about was what it would be like to be beneath him, to see him naked, to feel him inside her—

She suspected sleeping with him would ruin her for human men, and the thought scared her. Lucien would eventually tire of her, would look for Fae women who would live longer, who were more like him and she’d wither away but Gods she thought it would be fun until then. The thought terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

When his tongue licked hers and she heard the soft moan escape her throat, she decided that, like all things that came to Lucien, she just didn’t care. She might have let him continue to kiss her like like an animal, as though they were two villagers about to take a tumble in the woods, had his hand not grazed her breast.

She bolted, suddenly terrified. Lucien stared, his mouth bright red and swollen and his once perfect hair a mess around his masked face. “I…” He trailed off, clearly at a loss. Elain, too, didn’t know what to say. She knew she must look just as wild as him. She almost told him to take her back to the house, but she sensed he would feel betrayed if she did. Lucien was still her only ally and, beyond that, the only friend she’d had in years. She had to tread carefully.

She looked down at the ground as shame filled her chest. She heard him crunch towards her, felt his finger beneath her chin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and when she looked into his strange russet and gold eyes, she believed him. “You told me you were untested and I…”

She blinked and tried to look back down at her feet, but Lucien kept her face as it was, forcing her to look at him. “I got carried away.”

Elain nodded. There was nothing else to say. What could she tell him? That she wasn’t really upset that he’d done it so much as surprised? That if he did it again, she might let him? That if she wasn’t careful, one of these days he’d strip her up against a tree and she’d let him? As she searched his face, there wasn’t a hint that suggested he knew any of the things she was thinking.

The dagger he’d offered her lay a few feet away in the grass, reflecting beams of sunlight into the forest. Elain pulled from his grasp and walked for it.

Lucien watched her pick it up and bring it back to him. “I trust you’ll come if I need you,” she said, pressing the weapon back into his hands. She could see he didn’t like it, but Elain was no warrior. “Run me through the drills again. I won’t snag on a bush this time.”

His eyes drifted towards her arm. His seriousness evaporated and Lucien slid the dagger back into boot with an easy grin.

“You better run, Elain. I’m only giving you until the count ten.”

And when she took off running, she already felt better.

**

Dinner was quieter than usual. Elain ate nearly everything on her plate, not that Tamlin noticed. All three of them were lost in thought. Lucien wondered if she was thinking of him like he thought of her. All he’d thought of was how she didn’t fight him when he kissed her, and how despite knowing that, he continued to slam her up against trees. Elain had jumped when he’d tried to touch her breast and Lucien felt like an ass at the memory. His mother had certainly taught him better than to take a nice female into the woods and treat her like common trash.

She’d never taken a human, never allowed anyone to touch her. He needed to do better if he wanted to touch her at all.

Lucien was the first to excuse himself, catching the look of betrayal Elain gave him. He didn’t want to leave her, but Lucien had business to attend to before he could slink into her bedroom and pretend to be a gentleman. He’d need to touch himself more frequently, he decided. He was a well-bred male, after all, who’d been taught to court a female. He could do that for Elain…just as soon as got a grip on his own desire.

He stripped himself of his pants nearly the moment his door was shut behind him, though the shirt went immediately after. He sat on the edge of his bed, already hard from the memory of Elain pressed against him in the woods. He hadn’t meant to kiss her then. He’d been trying to impress upon her why she should consider taking him up on learning to use a weapon.

Lucien gripped himself in his hand and let himself consider what it would feel like for her to touch him like this with her soft, petite hands. He wanted her to want him even half as bad as he wanted her. He didn’t care that she was human anymore. He could put all that off for another day. He wanted her now.

He wanted to know what she sounded like when she was truly undone. Wanted to hear her breathy little sighs, to see her undo the laces of his pants, to beg him for more, harder. Lucien stroked roughly; his breath jagged as he thought of her taste in his mouth. What would she taste like between her thighs? He wanted to know.

He was close; it never took long to finish himself. The quicker he finished, the quicker he could bathe and walk across the hall to Elain where he’d be the absolute picture of a courtly gentleman. Just like the fictional men she liked to read about so much.

The door pushed open softly and Lucien’s hand froze as he and Elain locked eyes. Her eyes drifted down his face to his cock, still straining in his hand. He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing. She’d walked in without knocking, after all. She should have expected something like this.

Except, it was clear she hadn’t. Her mouth dropped open and Lucien felt a small prick of satisfaction that his would be the first she ever saw.

And last.

He buried that thought deep down, waiting for her to scurry off. It was another thing he’d have to get on his knees and apologize for. Elain swallowed audibly, eyes snapping back to his face and then she slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She kept her back pressed against the door and one hand on the handle of the door and then, with the barest of nods, gestured for him to continue.

She wanted to watch?

Luicen didn’t think he had the stamina for that. He kept his eyes on her, memorizing her expressions while he dragged his hand painfully slow up the length of him. He could hear her heart pounding and thought he would have been able to even if he hadn’t been Fae.

Elain’s free hand travelled up her chest, settling between her breasts. He was tempted to say something, to demand she reciprocate but there was no fucking way Lucien would break the spell that had settled around them. He stroked again, pleased when her eyes went back to his cock. She bit her bottom lip as the scent of arousal flooded the room.

As he worked himself with a slowness that was certain to drive him mad, Lucien reclined back on the bed. Her eyes traveled again, a brand on his body. He could feel her gaze on his thighs, his abs, his arms. What did she like, he wondered absently?

Her hand tightened on the door handle behind her, clearly anchoring her in spot. Was she as undone as he was? She didn’t seem like it, arousal notwithstanding. Lucien began twisting his wrist when he reached the head of his cock, catching how her eyebrows furrowed at the motion. He could teach her how to please him, he decided. He didn’t need her to touch him if she wasn’t ready. This was certainly better than nothing, though he would have preferred if she closed the distance between them and wrapped her lips around the hardness of him.

Elain laid her head against the door, letting it loll to one side of her body, her hair falling around her wildly. He wanted to say fuck it and grab her. She was right there, practically begging him to take her. He couldn’t contain the soft groan that escaped his lips.

He pumped again, his control slipping. He was close to begging her to walk across the room so she could touch him herself. This was pure torture; in all his years, no female had ever watched him the way Elain did. He might have believed she was purely studying had her eyes not been so dark with want.

Fire burned through his limbs, settling in his lower belly. Lucien was close; everything tightened. His breathing became ragged though he never took his eyes off her. He would burn this moment into his consciousness just in case it never happened again. He was going to come; he could feel himself just at the ledge.

“Elain—” He gasped, though what he meant to say, he didn’t know. “Come here.”

She did, shoving off the door softly. She stood over him, his goddess, and plunged her hands into his hair so she could kiss him. It was inelegant and messy but he didn’t care. Lucien broke the kiss, his forehead pressed against her own and one hand on the back of her head, holding her exactly where she was between his thighs. He could feel the fabric of her dress brushing against the burning skin of his cock. He took himself with his free hand, throbbing painfully with need, and while they both watched, mere inches apart, Lucien stroked three times, roughly, his hand tight, until he came over his hand.

She exhaled, her breath creeping through the mask he wore. He wished, in that moment, he could peel it from his face and actually feel her over all of him. Instead he swallowed, still reeling from the aftershocks of what had just happened.

“I wanted to court you,” he confessed, his voice rough.

“In the morning,” she whispered.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded, refusing to let her go. She closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to lie?”

“Would you have to?” His heart sank.

“No.”

“Then say it.”

“I want you, Lucien.”

He shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. He dropped his hand, then, well aware he was close to getting come on her dress and he was naked while she was still clothed. Elain brushed her hand over his jaw, tracing the bone. He caught her wrist and kissed her palm.

“I’ll wait,” he spoke into her skin. “I’m patient, I have all the time in the world.” It was a lie, but she didn’t need to know that.

The look burning in her eyes told him that whatever words were about to grace her lips would wreck him. “If you tried anywhere besides the woods, you might have better luck,” she murmured.

He let go of her hand and Elain slipped out, her words a haunting melody. As he stood to clean himself up, Lucien smiled towards the silken sheets rumpled on his bed.

If she wanted soft, luxurious blankets and a warm, quiet bed, he could give her that.

He could give her whatever she liked.

Chapter Text

Elain had always assumed Lucien strutted about because he was handsome, a fact he was very much aware of. She’d figured, with a body like his and the face she imagined he must have, it had given him the ego she so enjoyed poking fun at. She understood, now, that Lucien walked like he did, talked like he did, acted like he did because of what was hanging between his legs. It was the first she’d ever seen and while she had nothing to compare it to, Elain was certain they weren’t all that big.

She was avoiding him, not because she was ashamed of what they’d done but because she was certain they couldn’t go further. There was just no way he was going to get that into her body.

There was two places Lucien never came looking: the kitchen and the garden. For whatever reason, Lucien outright refused to spend time with her if he saw her baking and avoided her cooking like the plague. She’d made a really lovely loaf of bread and attempted to serve him and Tamlin  a few nights before the incident with his penis, but Lucien had declined. It had offended her at the time but now she was grateful for his refusal to eat her food.

As for the garden, she supposed she’d scared him off when she had him put his hands in fertilizer. It’s where she found herself that morning though she knew Alis was trying to get her to do anything else, if the long white and green gown she wore was any indication. The skirt trailed softly behind her and featured off shoulder, long trumpet sleeves that made gardening difficult but not impossible.

“If you dig any further, you’ll have reached the center of the world,” Lucien drawled from behind her. Elain twisted to look up at the man, heat creeping up her neck. “What are you doing, Elain?”

“Another grave,” she murmured. Lucien scowled, crouching beside her.

“I mean, why are you avoiding me?” He asked, hands clasped in front of him.

“Why do you think I’m avoiding you?” She asked, looking back at her useless, distracted hole.

“Are you claiming you aren’t avoiding me, then?” He clarified, forcing her to look back up at him. Mistake, she realized too late. The sun bounced off his bronzed mask and honeyed skin and his elbows rested against his muscular thighs, hidden now in black pants.

“I’ve been busy,” she said lamely, well aware he knew exactly what she was looking at.

“Mm, yes, you do have a very full social calendar,” Lucien agreed sarcastically.

Sometimes he made it so easy to hate him, she thought, standing suddenly. Lucien was always so quick to call her on her lies. Elain dusted imaginary dirt from her backside, irritated that Lucien rose to his feet with a slowness that forced her to take in the largeness of him. She wanted to tell him that she knew. Lucien was tall, he was broad, and all of him was big.

Lucien took a step towards Elain, towering over her. His red hair, half pulled from his face, draped around her shoulders and like always, she itched to touch it.

“Did I—”

“Don’t move any closer to her,” a familiar voice demanded from behind Elain. Lucien’s eyes flicked up, his hand moving to his sword.

“How did you get here?” He asked. Elain whirled to see Feyre pointing an ash tipped arrow directly at Lucien’s chest.

“How did you get here?” Elain repeated, taking a step between the two of them. Feyre irritation was obvious.

“I’ve come to take you home,” Feyre told her.

“Oh have you?” Tamlin asked, walking quickly from behind Lucien. Feyre adjusted her stance, though she kept her arrow directly on Lucien’s chest. A smirk tugged at his lips. The three of them knew Tamlin was the real danger, but Feyre didn’t. “Have you forgotten the Treaty, human? This is her home.”

“Where is Nesta?” Elain asked, inching towards Feyre and ignoring Tamlin. A small part of her worried Nesta was lurking somewhere in the forest.

“Home,” Feyre replied curtly. “Get behind me, Elain.”

Tamlin laughed dryly. “Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t.”

Feyre scowled but Elain nodded softly. “Feyre, don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”

“Like they’ve hurt you?” Feyre demanded with anger. Both Lucien and Tamlin blew out noises of protest.

“I think it’s been the other way around,” Lucien chided, still making his jokes in the wake of potential death. Elain didn’t find it amusing. Feyre had felled one of their friends; she might very well take Lucien, too before Tamlin got to her.

“Get behind me, Elain,” Feyre said again. Elain took another step closer to her youngest sister.

“If you shoot one of them, Tamlin will kill you, Feyre,” she murmured, putting her hand on the tip of the arrow. Both Lucien and Tamlin surged forward, as though Feyre might shoot Elain. Dramatic, she thought irritably. “No one has hurt me. Look, I was gardening, see? If you come inside, I’ll show you the muffins I made for breakfast yesterday.”

“Those are gone,” Tamlin told Elain gruffly. “Bron took them to the border this morning.”

“Elain,” Feyre replied with hurried impatience, “You’re their sex slave—”

All three of them made noises of protest this time.

“Sex slave?” Tamlin wheezed, his eyes the size of saucers. Lucien’s anger melted into amusement as he began to laugh, one hand on his stomach. Elain pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Feyre, I swear I’m not a slave,” she insisted. “Will you please but your weapon down so we can talk about this rationally?”

“Sex slave,” Lucien gasped, as though Feyre had told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “What is wrong with humans?”

“There are no slaves here, human or otherwise,” Tamlin added, eyeing Lucien with irritation. Feyre lowered her bow, slinging it over the long-sleeved brown tunic she wore. Elain relaxed enough to really take in Feyre’s appearance. She’d braided her long, honey colored hair down one side of her shoulder and her face seemed fuller. Her clothes were finely made, at least. Elain noted Feyre’s boots seemed new and not yet broken in.

“You weren’t supposed to remember,” Tamlin growled softly. Feyre rolled her eyes.

“That glamour was a joke. Nesta and I have known the entire time. Only father thinks his ships were miraculously found.”

“Father is a merchant again?” Elain asked softly, attempting to imagine their father with purpose again.

“It’s like the cottage never happened,” Feyre told Elain, her words hardened. Elain almost asked Feyre if the cottage was so bad, but she knew the answer. It was. At no point had any of them been happy. It was disappointing that her father had never managed to make anything of himself without the help of Tamlin.

Elain turned to look at Tamlin who had an I told you so look about him.

“Did Nesta marry Tomas?” Elain continued, turning back to Feyre.

“No.” There was clearly more to that story, and Feyre very obviously did not want to tell it. Elain gestured for Feyre to follow after her, catching an exchanged glance between Lucien and Tamlin. She couldn’t read it.

“So they really haven’t hurt you?” Feyre asked, looping her arm with Elain’s. Elain smiled, her mind replaying a week before when she’d watched Lucien stroke himself towards completion.

“Unless my feelings count, no.”

“Then what was that man doing in the garden?” Feyre asked. Elain inhaled softly, well aware Tamlin was right behind them.

“Hurting my feelings,” she said easily without a glance backwards. “He imagines himself an expert on a wide assortment of topics.”

Feyre chewed on her bottom lip. “When that faerie took you, Nesta and I just assumed…we’ve thought…”

Elain glanced over her shoulder at Tamlin, who had the good sense to at least look ashamed. “How did you get past the wall?” Elain asked, recalling her run in with the naga.

Feyre opened her mouth to respond but stopped in the foyer of Tamlin’s massive estate, her lips parted in awe.

“That’s the response I was looking for,” Tamlin muttered to Elain, striding past both of them. Elain rolled her eyes. She hadn’t forgotten how beautiful she’d found the estate the first time she’d come in, too. It had been different for her. She’d been kidnapped and less inclined to say anything nice to Tamlin.

“Should I offer your sister something to eat, or will she dump it to the ground like you did?” Tamlin continued, his voice echoing around the room. Feyre turned to look at Elain with surprise and Elain merely shrugged.

“You have your weapons and I have mine,” she offered softly, earning a soft chuckle from Lucien as he followed after Tamlin.

“I suspect Tamlin would prefer the bow and arrow to your words,” Lucien told her with a sideways glance. Their conversation wasn’t finished. It would never be finished, at least not yet. Not until they were done with…whatever was happening between them.

“Where is the beast?” Feyre whispered when both men had vanished through the same set of double doors.

“That’s Tamlin, er—the blonde man. He’s the High Lord so just…be careful where you point your weapons, okay?”

“And the red head that was threatening you in the garden?” Feyre continued.

“Lucien, his emissary. As far as I can tell, it’s just them here though I know there must be other servants.”

“We could turn around right now,” Feyre said suddenly, grabbing Elain’s arm. “We could run—”

“Even if we could outrun them, I am not going back into that forest,” Elain told Feyre, carefully sliding her arm out of her sister’s grip. “You don’t know what lurks in there.”

“You’re not even going to try and escape?” Feyre demanded.

“I’m begging you not to!” Lucien’s muffled voice shouted through the walls. “Three times was enough, I am so old, Elain. So tired.”

She’d kill him, she promised herself. “There is no escape, Feyre,” Elain told her with certainty, ignoring Lucien’s theatrics.

Elain walked Feyre into the dining room for lunch. Feyre took Elain’s usual place at the end of the table facing Tamlin, leaving Elain to take the chair at Tamlin’s left so she could face Lucien. Tamlin and Feyre stared at the other while Elain and Lucien reached for food without acknowledging the tension at all.

She glanced up at Lucien, relaxed in his chair, wine glass in hand. She always left him out of her musings on Tamlin, but Lucien helped. Lucien was the one who was good at courting, at wooing with his silver tongue and quick wit. He knew Tamlin’s secrets…he followed Tamlin’s word to the letter.

“Will you be…staying—”

“Let Elain go and take me instead,” Feyre interrupted, earning a brutal scowl from Tamlin. Lucien smirked softly, sensing the coming fight.

“The Treaty had been satisfied,” Tamlin told her flatly. “You can stay as my guest, or I will arrange for you to go home in the morning.”

Feyre hesitated. Elain could see this wasn’t going how Feyre had imagined it.

“A week,” Feyre said, her eyes flickering towards Elain. “I’ll stay as a week…as your guest.”

“Don’t make me regret this hospitality,” Tamlin all but growled. “You can ask Elain what happens to people who try to escape. I believe she still bears the scars.”

It was Lucien’s turn to scowl at the reminder, the expression swallowed up by his cup. “It’ll be nice to catch up,” Feyre lied. Elain would need to explain about the Fae and all the myths they’d grown up to believe but for the moment, Elain just ate and stayed silent.

Something about Feyre’s presence made her feel better. It was a gut feeling she couldn’t explain, just a sense that things were right now.

Elain offered Feyre a soft smile. She’d keep an eye on her younger sister and Tamlin. Tamlin had no sense for courting and Feyre had no expectations of how a man should treat her. Elain worried if Tamlin offered her the bare bones, Feyre might think it was romance.

She glanced towards Lucien, suddenly stricken.

Was that what she was doing, too?

**

Feyre’s arrival revived a frustrated and irritable Tamlin. Feyre could not have been more different from her sister if she’d tried. Elain fought her battles with her sharp tongue and carefully timed glances. Elain could sketch out a bow to Tamlin without saying a word and ruin his entire day. Lucien knew as he’d seen her do it. Elain, much like Lucien, had been trained for court warfare. She understood how to play the game. It was one of the things he’d always liked so much about her.

The first real day Feyre spent in the estate exhausted Lucien even to think about. Elain was a lady, and her antics predictable. Feyre was unpredictable at best and ran wild. Elain might have been the Lady of the estate, but Feyre would be High Lord if Tamlin wasn’t careful. Lucien might have found Feyre’s presence sweet revenge for Tamlin dragging Elain to Prythian and then attempting to isolate her into loving him, but Elain was still in danger and Tamlin was still insistent he would not send her back.

Both women were pawns, now. As long as Elain remained, so would Feyre and they all knew it. He knew they were comparing notes, though. Feyre had very casually asked Lucien was his magical power was, reminiscent of Elain when he’d taken her out on the horse ride before the bogge. He’d been trying to poke Elain towards asking more pointed questions, but Elain hadn’t been interested in Prythian or magic or Amarantha.

Feyre was, though. Of course she was. She was the savior to the curse though she didn’t know it. To Lucien, it seemed almost fated that Feyre would immediately begin asking questions about the blight and if it would affect the humans. He’d told Feyre exactly what he told Elain, alluding to the Surial and unlike Elain, who’d alluded to wanting to drown him, Feyre picked up on what he said almost instantly.

She’d been there five nights, her time ticking towards a close, by the time Lucien decided to stake out Elain in her bedroom. He was taking a huge risk. Tamlin might be thinking about Feyre but Lucien knew both human women were off limits. He turned her little lamp off by her nightstand then waited, dressed in only white shirt and trousers.

It took Elain forever to come back to her room. He could see her fumbling in the dark, clutching a book. She took a step towards her lamp the same time Lucien stepped into a beam of moonlight.

She gasped. “You scared me,” she hissed.

“You’re still avoiding me,” he accused, closing the gap between them. Elain let him rest his hand against her cheek, his fingers playing in her hair. “What did I do wrong?”

“Why do you assume you did anything wrong?” She asked with a breathlessness that made his whole body tight.

“Why else would you avoid me?” He countered. She sighed, her hands running up his chest.

“Oh Lucien,” she murmured. He shivered despite himself. He was addicted to the way she spoke his name. He wanted to feel her touch his face so badly he thought he might peel the mask off his skin. “I uh…”

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You what?”

For one terrifying moment, Lucien expected Elain to tell him she was jealous of the attention Feyre was getting and realized she cared for Tamlin. His heart pounded painfully in his ears, so loud he nearly missed what she said.

“—Really big,” she whispered with a swallow. “And you won’t fit so I thought it might be better to put distance—”

He put a finger to her lips to stop her as his mind processed her halted, embarrassed words. Won’t fit?

She was talking about his cock, he realized with immense male satisfaction. She thought him too large. It was wrong how hard her words made him, but he could feel himself rising in his pants. He hadn’t thought about what she’d think of him…he’d just assumed she would like what she saw.

He laughed softly, pulling her into his chest. In all his centuries of fucking females, no one had ever once worried about such a thing. She tilted her chin upwards to look at him. She was so beautiful, he thought, catching how the moon reflected off the soft brown of her eyes.

“You’re laughing,” she whispered.

“Because you amuse me,” he replied. She moved to shove herself out of his embrace, but Lucien held her. “In the best way, Elain. It seems forever since I’ve been genuinely surprised. I told you I had patience, did I not? Did you think after that night I meant to flip up your skirts and—”

“Don’t be crude, Lucien,” she whispered, tucking her head back into his chest,

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We will fit.”

“How can you be so sure?” She murmured.

Because you’re my mate and we were made for each other.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, well aware she had plenty of reasons not to.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. I won’t hurt you, but we will fit when you’re ready.”

She blew out a little sigh.

“Stop avoiding me,” Lucien instructed. “I’m bored.”

“You’re arrogant is what you are,” Elain replied primly.

“Ah, but who’s fault is that? Did you not spend nearly two weeks hiding because of the largeness of my c—"

“You said you wouldn’t be crude!” She hissed.

“So I did. Tell me one thing,” he begged her, tilting her chin so she had to look at him.

“Don’t make me stroke your ego, Lucien,” she whispered. He shivered again.

“Did you like what you saw?” He asked, brushing his lips against her own.

She swatted at him softly. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious.” And he was. For whatever reason, Lucien needed to know that some part of her was as drawn to him as he to her. That she’d seen him, and something clicked in her brain, made her feel possessive, needy, anything outside the ordinary.

“You don’t need me to tell you that you’re beautiful,” Elain told him, her lips inches from his own. She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly. It was utterly chaste, and Lucien thought he might crave this form of intimacy more than anything else. He swallowed his guilt; he wouldn’t think of Jesminda right then, he told himself. She could haunt him later, when he was alone.

“I want to hear you tell me, though,” he admitted. Her eyes opened, wide with surprise.

“You’re beautiful,” she said as though it were the easiest thing in the world. “And I liked everything I saw.”

It was too much. He knew he’d ruin the moment with a smirk and sarcastic comment. He buried a hand in her hair, inhaling the smell of her. “Not half as beautiful as you,” he whispered, needing to say it at least once. Just so she knew there was more than physical attraction between them. Half of him wanted to go to his knees right then and there and confess the bond to her. He couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not when Jesminda had died in service to a mating bond that would never exist between them as Lucien’s mate wasn’t even alive. His guilt was gnawing at him. He’d let her die and for what?

He pulled out of the embrace, then, booping her nose softly. “Don’t make me stake out your room again, hm? You can just tell me you think I’m the best-looking male you’ve ever seen.”

She scowled. “Go to bed, Lucien.”

“Dream of me,” he ordered with the cockiest grin he could manage. “I’ll be dreaming of you.”

That, at least, was true.

Lucien decided to skip breakfast the next morning in favor of cleaning his weapons and reflecting on his conversation with Elain from the night before. It was the most honest they’d ever been with the other. The bar was low, though. They’d know each other a little over two months and were careening at the other like waves upon rock.

Lucien heard Elain bound for the breakfast table. Tamlin had gone down moments earlier. It was cruel to force them to eat together, given how little Elain liked Tamlin, but Lucien could hear Feyre pacing. She was waiting. He stayed in his chair, an array of weapons lain on the table before him. It was too early to be truly dressed and in truth, Lucien knew Tamlin planned to head out later that afternoon and Lucien, in turn, hoped Elain might seek him out. Lucien ran one hand down the white shirt he wore, half tucked into his trousers as he cleaned a hunting knife.

Lucien heard her feet creep towards his door and smiled.

“Come in, human,” he called before she could knock. He liked that little trick, liked seeing her wariness as she opened his door and stepped inside. Feyre swept her eyes around the room, taking in the colors of it before her eyes landed on his blades.

“I haven’t seen you around,” she told him, shutting his door to lean against it. Lucien didn’t bother to tell Feyre that to him, it seemed all he did was see her. Every minute he was around, there was Feyre. Perhaps, he reasoned, humans had a different concept of time and space.

“I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border—official emissary business,” he replied easily. He had done that the night before last, though he’d been back for breakfast. Amarantha liked to cause trouble and Lucien would never tire of sending her back limp bodies and severed heads as repayment for his eye.

Feyre gave Lucien a long look and he wished she wouldn’t make him dance around to get what she wanted. He already knew the question she had. Unlike her sister, who could have gotten him to admit any number of secrets with a few carefully chosen words, Feyre was clumsy in her approach.  

“I suppose I can thank you for ruining what should have been a peaceful lunch yesterday?” He continued, meandering his way closer to what he knew she wanted to say. Feyre and Tamlin had argued in the garden that morning and Tamlin had been in a foul mood because of it for the rest of the day. “Thankfully for me, there’s been a disturbance out in the western forest and my poor friend has to go deal with it in that way only he can. I’m surprised you didn’t run into him on the stairs.”

“What sort of disturbance?” She asked. Lucien assessed her for a moment. He didn’t think she really cared, which meant this was more of her circular talk. He nearly asked her to get to the point.

He shrugged, well aware that Elain and Feyre were comparing notes. “The usual sort: unwanted, nasty creatures raising hell.”

Feyre’s whole body sagged with relief. So much for subtlety. “I’m impressed you answered me that much,” she attempted casually. Lucien suppressed another roll of his eyes. The idea that one little human, nineteen years old at that, could outplay him in verbal manipulation was outright amusing. Did she not realize he’d lead her exactly to her own question? “But it’s too bad you’re not like the Surial, spouting any information I want if I’m clever enough to snare you.”

Lucien blinked his mouth curling to a smile. He hadn’t expected her to know so much. Clever girl.

“I suppose you won’t tell me what you want to know.” A statement, not a question. Feyre didn’t trust either of them and for good reason.

“You have your secrets and I have mine,” she replied, her blue eyes very much making it clear that she suspected at least one of his secrets. Lucien stared back, silently daring her to ask if he was courting her sister. “But if you were a Surial…how, exactly, would I trap you?”

Lucien looked down at his nails, debating the wisdom of this plan for a moment. The last time Elain had gone into the woods, the naga had nearly killed her. Feyre was perhaps more capable but still human. There was a lot of risk…the Surial had its own reputation for brutality. Feyre was their own true shot at salvation, though…and between Amarantha’s gag and Tamlin outright forbidding him from telling the sisters any useful information, this was the best Lucien could do.

“I’d probably have a weakness for groves of young birch trees in the western woods, and freshly slaughtered chickens, and would probably be so greedy that I wouldn’t notice the double-loop snare rigged around the grove to pin my legs in place.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised he’d given her the information rather than immediately tell Tamlin. She really should work on her expressions, he thought. Her face gave so much of her position away.

“Hmm,” she murmured. Lucien waited for another question but Feyre, instead, said, “I somehow prefer you as High Fae.”

He smirked though her comment and willingness to take so little information only highlighted how poorly thought out this entire plan was.

“If I were insane and stupid enough to go after a Surial, I’d also take a bow and quiver, and maybe a knife just like this one.” Lucien sheathed the hunting knife he’d just finished cleaning and set it at the edge of the table as an offering. Elain would never forgive him if Feyre died.

“And I’d be prepared to run like hell when I freed it—to the nearest water, which they hate crossing.”

Feyre took the knife casually. “But you’re not insane, so you’ll be here safe and sound?”

It was the least he could do.

“I’ll be conveniently hunting on the grounds, and with my superior hearing, I might be feeling generous enough to listen if someone screams from the western woods. But it’s a good thing I had no role in telling you to go out today, since Tam would eviscerate anyone who told you how to trap a Surial; and it’s a good thing I had planned to hunt because if anyone caught me helping you, there would be trouble of a whole other hell awaiting us. I hope your secrets are worth it.” Lucien grinned as he spoke, trusting Feyre understood his warning.

“It’s a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut.
Lucien snorted, though he didn’t trust Feyre at all. Not yet. “I think I’m starting to like you—for a murdering human.”

Feyre slipped out, his knife in hand. Lucien blew out a breath of relief.

If Feyre asked the right questions, she’d understand how important it was for her to stay.

Lucien didn’t trust Feyre to do that.

Chapter Text

Elain woke the sound of her door opening. She gasped when she realized it wasn’t Lucien but Tamlin quietly creeping inside. Their eyes met as he gestured for her to follow. Elain grabbed a robe, grateful she’d worn a long, shapeless sleeping dress and not one of the shorter, clingier ones that Lucien always seemed to catch her in. Elain crept out of the room, following just a hair behind Tamlin towards a balcony on the second floor she occasionally would read on. Tamlin held open the door and Elain ducked beneath his arm, holding the seams of the robe closed tightly around her.

Outside, bright wisps of light darted through the inky night sky. Rays of moonlight poured across the silent grounds and despite the company she was with, Elain sighed at the beauty of Spring.

“Will o’ the wisps,” Tamlin murmured, walking to the marble railing. Elain went with him, though she kept her distance. She watched the light dance in elaborate patterns, her fingers gripping the railing tightly.

“Would you like to go home, Elain?” Tamlin asked after a long moment of silence. She inhaled sharply, looking up at him.

“Home?” She repeated dumbly, not convinced she’d heard him.

“Your sister has offered to take your place,” he murmured. “And I…you seem unhappy here.”

“You want me to leave?” She asked him, heart racing. Tamlin shook his head, his blonde hair falling around his face.

“No. You may stay the rest of your life, just as a I said but if you want to go home…I will take you back tonight.”
“And Feyre?” She asked, the hope blooming in her chest withering quickly. “She stays?”

Tamlin nodded. “She’s agreed—”

“Feyre always does,” she interrupted impatiently. “I’m not leaving her by herself.”

Tamlin nodded. Elain turned to leave, heart still wildly out of control, but paused just at the doors. “She’d never ask, but Feyre deserves someone kind.”

Tamlin offered her a tight nod in response. She left him there, with his wisps and his regrets, whatever they were, but she didn’t go back to her room. Elain decided to pull a Tamlin and slid into Lucien’s bedroom before Tamlin could catch her. Lucien was asleep, his room nearly pitch black with the curtains closed, making it difficult to walk smoothly towards him. She banged her shin into the side of the bed. The noise and her sharp inhale of air woke him instantly. She felt hands on her upper arms, dragging her onto the bed and then cool, jagged steel pressed against her throat. She ought to have been scared; some small part of her was, but Elain’s breathing quickened at how close he was. She could feel his hair tickle her face, could see the intensity of his gaze while he tried to work out who he was on top of.

She brushed her thumb over his lips, the dagger still pressed to her throat.

“Elain?” He whispered; his voice thick from sleep. She heard the blade clatter to the floor.

“Elain,” she agreed. Lucien closed the tiny gap of space between their bodies, slanting his mouth over hers hungrily. She’d assumed he was teasing when he demanded she dream of him but given how quick he was to respond when he realized it was her beneath his blade, she guessed he really was dreaming of her.

She squeaked in response to the scorching kiss, opening up to meet him. Lucien shifted his body weight, bracing himself on one arm, his other seemingly everywhere at once. She felt hesitant to touch him back, unsure where to even start. His hair was always a safe bet, she decided though on her way up, her fingernails grazed over the pointed lobe of his ear.

Lucien groaned in response, his kiss shifting deeper, more demanding. His tongue was making promises in her mouth the rest of her body was eager for him to fulfill. She did it again, heat blooming in her stomach at the sound he made. She felt strangely powerful, being able to elicit that type of response with just a quick touch of her fingers.

She wanted to know where else he liked to be touched, besides the obvious. It was hard to think; Lucien’s tongue swept against her own, his teeth biting and nibbling her lips and Elain was hot between her legs in a way she’d never been in her entire life. Her body had taken on a life of its own, arching into the hard planes of his chest and the leg he’d settled between her thighs. She ran her nails down his back and he broke the kiss to curse softly against her skin, his free hand turning her head roughly so he could trail kisses down her neck. She felt breathless, her heart pounding in her ears.

“Let me touch you,” he begged, one hand on the ties of her robe. “Please, Elain—”

“You can,” she choked out, unsure of what, exactly, she’d agreed to. He pulled the robe apart roughly, ripping some of the seams in his eagerness to get it off her. He sat up on his haunches to watch her shimmy out of it and Elain realized Lucien was naked. She could see him in the faintest glimmer of starlight peeking into the room, erect just between his thighs. He caught her gaze.

“Not tonight,” he promised though something burning in his eyes told her he would have agreed if she’d asked. She went to lay back, but Lucien shook his head, his glorious hair wild around his face. “Take it off.”

She looked down at the night dress and almost told him no. No one but herself and maybe her sisters had seen her naked. It terrified her to think about her body beneath his hungry gaze.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the hem. She knew she didn’t have to. If she told him no, he’d back down and she knew it. He always had. She was in control, despite how out of control she felt, and that helped. She shucked the night dress over her head, tossing it to the floor. Lucien laid her out, then, his broad, calloused hands sliding softly down the sides of her body. He parted her legs with one of his knees, careful not to touch her with his own erection, and buried his face between her breasts.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his breath tickling her chest. He kept one hand on her hips, but the other was cupping beneath her breast and when his thumb grazed the pebbled peak, Elain gasped. White hot need streaked from her breast to her sex. Lucien did it again, eyes watchful through the mask. She needed to grind against something to relieve the pressure building but there was nothing to touch. Her hands fisted in his sheets as she sighed with both desire and frustration. He switched his hands, his ministrations just as careful, though this time instead of the soft rubbing, he tweaked and pulled gently.

She didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted, both afraid to say it aloud and unsure of the words even were. She was vaguely aware of his other hand slowly drifting beyond her hips, his long, clever fingers drawing idle circles along her skin. She couldn’t concentrate on both hands at the same time, so she chose to focus on her breasts.

It was a mistake she realized too late. He ran a knuckle along the length of her and Elain arched hard into his hand. Lucien kissed the side of her neck softly as he did it again with a deliberate slowness that promised to unravel her. Lucien’s breathing was ragged, uneven and to hear him, Elain might have thought it was her touching him.

She was close to begging. He still toyed with her breasts, switching between them. She opened her mouth, deciding to just ask him to finish what he’d started when the pad of his thumb brushed her entrance. They both hissed at the same time.

“So. Fucking. Wet,” he ground out, bringing his hand to his mouth to taste her. It should have disgusted her; it certainly fascinated her but at a deeply personal level it only served to further arouse her. He acted as though he’d never tasted anything better in his life and Elain smiled in response.

He shifted, then, crouching between her legs, his hands pushing apart her thighs so he could look at her. She felt utterly exposed; her knees attempted to snap together to keep him from staring, but his grip kept them open. He reached beneath her, hooking her knees over his shoulder while she watched, waiting to see what he’d do next. Lucien, too, seemed to be waiting for silent permission. He pressed his mouth against the inside of her thigh, and she squirmed at the heat and how close he was to where she wanted him to be without actually touching her.

She understood what he wanted. She knew that she should tell him no. Someday she might want to get married and her future husband would expect her to be untouched. She’d have to explain she’d been thoroughly debauched by not just any man, but a faerie man.

Their eyes met and Elain, unable to say anything at all, laid her head back against the mattress with silent permission to continue. She was tired of being proper, especially for some future man that may or may not be waiting on her. Lucien was here, and every single thing about his touch on her skin felt right.

His tongue replaced his finger. With one quick swipe of his mouth, Elain nearly came off the bed. She gasped, her heart pounding almost painfully in her sex. Lucien groaned again, forehead pressed against her thigh.

She was going to come apart if he didn’t finish. “Don’t stop,” she whispered softly, trying to get ahold of her breathing, of her body.

“As if I could,” was all Lucien said in response.

**

Lucien pressed his forehead against Elain’s inner thigh trying desperately to get a hold of himself. He was a fraction of a moment away from damning the consequences and plunging himself inside her and they had barely even started at all. All he could smell; all he could taste was her and it was driving him wild. Instinct was screaming at him to claim her, to make her his, to cover her in his scent, to fill her with his children and after that, to kill anyone who so much as dared to look at her.

He was wild, practically feral.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed overhead, her head thrown back and eyes closed. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

“As if I could,” he ground out, spreading her out again. Her cunt gleamed with her arousal, inching him closer to insanity. He needed to focus. She was untouched until this moment and he wanted the experience to be good. He wanted her to think about him constantly, to crave his touch the way he knew he’d be craving hers. He wanted her to invite him into her body and to do that, he needed to make promises with his own body for what was to come later. He licked, again, biting back the urge to be loud. He wondered if she would have tasted half as sweet if she weren’t his mate though it didn’t matter. Lucien knew how to drag this out and for once, was absurdly thankful for his long life filled with pleasuring females. Elain writhed overhead, her hips undulating against his face, urging him to move faster, to concentrate on the little nub of flesh just beneath a soft thatch of soft brown curls.

She keened softly when he pulled away, delving into her wet heat, clearly disappointed and though Lucien was still hanging by that fragile thread, he chuckled all the same. There was no rush, as far as Lucien was concerned. He had all night and maybe most of the morning, too. He could keep her there begging for as long as he liked; he could die exactly here he was with minimal regrets.

She was close, he could feel her body clenching and her hips drove a near erratic rhythm. It would be torture to know the tightness of her, to know just how hot and wet she was, but Lucien was a glutton for punishment. He ran his tongue in broad, quick circles over her nub just as she slid one finger slowly into her body. His cock throbbed in response though it was nothing compared to Elain. She clapped a hand hard over her mouth, biting back whatever scream had been building. Her hand fisted in his hair roughly, holding him in place. She squeezed tightly against his finger, dooming him to days of thinking about her body clenched like a vice around his cock.

She stayed like that, half frozen, for good half minute and then fell apart beneath him, panting softly. He stopped when she pulled on his head, tugging him upwards with more than a little disappointment.

“Again,” he demanded, pressing a wet kiss against her mouth. She didn’t flinch from the taste of herself on his lips which did little for the painful erection he was currently pressing into the mattress.

“Again,” she agreed. He went to reposition himself, but she caught his bicep, holding him. “In a minute, Lucien,” she giggled, eyes wide in the dark. “Let me breathe.”

“No,” he growled though he didn’t move from his position. Her little fingers were drawing absent shapes along his chest, moving lower and lower down his belly.

“Am I allowed to touch you?”

He thought he might burst into flame if she did. “Yes,” he choked out when the pads of her fingers brushed against the base of his cock. He’d let her do whatever she liked for as long as she liked. Lucien was well aware he was completely at her mercy.

“Will you lay down like I did?” She asked shyly. He nodded, shifting so he wasn’t overtop her any longer but splayed out on his back like she’d been. He propped his head up on one arm, determined to watch. She sat up, tucking her knees beneath her ass to survey him. The tips of her hair covered her breasts and Lucien was tempted to brush them away so he could stare at her, too.

She crawled between his legs, then, surveying his cock with what seemed like academic interest. Lucien bit back a million sarcastic and witty comments. He could see her through the darkness, and he wished he could hear her thoughts. Was she still worried about the size of him?

“I’m not sure…” she began, biting her bottom lip.

“Nothing you do will be wrong,” he promised. She ran a finger up the length while he sucked in a breath.

“Lucien?” Her shyness was back.

“Hm?”

“Do all men…are they all…?”

His laugh was strangled; she’d gripped the base of him, clearly thinking about the night she’d watched. “No. They are all far, far smaller… just in case you’re thinking of leaving me for someone else.” It wasn’t a lie; he couldn’t help but notice her own hand couldn’t fully curl all the way around him. That satisfied him. If she was ruining him for other females, he damn sure would ruin her for every other male that might ever think to look at her.

She stroked up him slowly, her hand a vice. “Leaving you?” She asked, her voice breathless. He’d given himself away, he thought, swallowing hard. His heart seemed to be pumping in time with one, singular thought. Mine. She was his. He chose not to respond to her comment and offered her a soft moan of approval instead. Her hand was so soft against him. This was what he’d wanted the night she’d watched him though he hadn’t imagined she would be working him while the taste of her burned in his mouth.

He closed his eyes, focusing on her warm hand and the rhythm she’d set. He was straining against her, throbbing painfully; his release would not take long, despite having taken himself in his hand before he’d gone to sleep.

Lucien nearly lost himself when he felt her wet tongue lap across the head of his cock. He grabbed her hair, half-sitting as wildness started to overtake him. She immediately ungripped him, eyes wide.

“Don’t stop now,” he begged. She moved with excruciating slowness, her hand re-fisting his cock. Their eyes locked as she dropped her head though if she meant to entice or ask for permission, he didn’t know. Lucien didn’t let go; his sac tightened against his body at the sight of her hand wrapped around the length of him. His eyes practically rolled back into his head when her tongue darted out of her mouth a second time, licking a bead of precum from the tip of him.

She put the head of him in her mouth, going no further though it hardly mattered. Her hand did the bulk of the work for her. She was unpracticed and unsure of herself, and Lucien was utterly beside himself. Heat burned everywhere, though it was concentrated at the base of cock. He was going to explode; he was going to evaporate into space. Her tongue swirled around his head experimentally and Lucien was done.

He pulled her head off him moments before he came. She gasped a little, lips swollen, eyes wide while she watched the come sliding down his shaft and onto her hand. Lucien could do nothing but watch, still gripped by wave after wave of his release. He was certain nothing had ever felt so good in his life and was suspicious that anything could, after.

She let him go when his body relaxed, her hand flexed in the air, still covered in his fluids. He would never tell her, but Lucien was quite fond of her marked with his come. It was like a brand, a warning to any male who might think to claim her. She’s mine. He slid from the bed, his legs wobbly, and found a towel to clean himself up with. She was right at his heels, her nightgown pressed against her chest with one hand. She slid her hand beneath the sink to wash herself, allowing Lucien the chance to snatch the night dress.

“I need that,” she protested.

“Not here you don’t,” he responded, tossing it over his shoulder. “Not in my bed.”

“I’m not staying in your bed,” she replied though he heard the question under the statement. Am I?

“Of course you are. I’m not kicking you out of my bed,” he told her with easy confidence.

“What about…?” She whispered.

Tamlin.

He didn’t bother to respond. Lucien grabbed her around the middle and hauled her over his shoulder. Elain giggled quietly, her legs flailing next to his face. If she wasn’t careful, she’d catch him upside the jaw. He dropped her back to his bed, nearly slicing his foot on his discarded dagger.

“I’ll wake you early enough to slip back into your room,” he promised, yanking the blankets over her body. Lucien wrapped an arm around her and dragged her against his chest. Elain was pliant and soft. Her cool skin felt good against the constant fire humming beneath his own.

“Besides,” he murmured into her hair. “You promised I could taste you again. Awfully hard to fulfill that promise in separate beds.”

She swatted at his chest, a wordless admonishment. Lucien rested his chin atop hers with a smile.

Mine.

Chapter Text

Fire Night. Lucien had practically gone to his knees that morning and begged Elain not to leave the estate. He’d instructed her to lock her doors and keep them locked no matter who was on the other end of them, promising he’d return later that night. Elain knew enough to understand the warning. She saw real fear in Lucien’s eyes looking back at her. She didn’t know what Fire Night was, exactly, but she knew if Lucien was serious that it meant someone might come looking that she didn’t want to find her.

Lucien vanished with Tamlin not long after that and while Feyre was restless and irritated, Elain was content to wait until Lucien returned. The estate was empty, truly empty for the first time since Elain arrived and while Feyre complained about the lack of information or speculated wildly about what might be happening, Elain decided to bake. It had been a long, long time since she’d had a fully stocked kitchen and she still wasn’t used to it.

Feyre watched, perched on the counter, growing moodier with each passing hour. Elain understood her irritation; the drums in the distance had grown louder and more insistent as the sun began to set. They seemed to beckon her to leave, to give in to whatever primal urge had lodged itself inside her ribs, tugging her out into the hills.

Feyre left to go outside, swearing she wouldn’t actually leave, not that Elain believed her younger sister for a moment. If there was one thing Feyre was good at, it was finding trouble. Elain wasn’t sure if she wished Feyre would come back or stay gone; the drums were starting to drive her a little mad. She could feel the beat pulsating between her thighs.

Tamlin stepped in at sunset wearing nothing but his bandolier of knives across his chest. The pommel of his sword peeked over one bare shoulder and, in his hand, he carried a bow. “Where’s Feyre?” He asked, watching Elain carefully measure her flour.

“In the drive. You should explain to her what’s happening out there,” Elain replied without taking her eyes off her ingredients.

“And you?” He asked, his voice rough. She didn’t dare look at him again.

“I’m fine where I am.”

“When the drums stop, go to your room,” he told her. “Lock your door.”

She nodded even as the tugging intensified, urging her to follow it into some foreign unknown. Elain planted her feet where she was, content to continue as though nothing was amiss. Tamlin vanished, she assumed to warn Feyre of the same thing because a few minutes later Feyre stomped back in livid with rage.

“Why can’t they just be straightforward? Why does everything have to be so cagey?” Feyre demanded. Elain shrugged, carefully mixing her wet ingredients with her dry ingredients.

“You don’t want to know what’s happening out there?” Feyre pressed. Elain finally looked up at her sister. She wasn’t willing to admit that she was afraid of what she’d find if she went out there.

“I’ve had enough of Prythian and the dangerous things that lurk in the night. I’m fine right here.”

Feyre snorted. “Who says it’s dangerous?”

“Why else would they ask us to lock our doors? Do you suppose they’re being cruel and trying to lock us in? Or are they attempting to keep something out?”

“How will you know if you stay here baking?” Feyre asked, hopping off the counter.

Elain didn’t answer. She still remembered what it felt like to be dragged off by a man twice her size, to be afraid of what he’d do to her. To have only been rescued because Nesta happened to see her taken.

“Don’t go, Feyre,” Elain urged but she could see Feyre had already made up her mind.

“Come with me, Elain. Do something spontaneous for once.”

Elain resented that. She thought of Lucien’s eyes, normally teasing, so impossibly serious. “There are far worse things than naga, Feyre.”

Feyre shrugged. “That’s why I keep a knife.” But Feyre didn’t understand what Elain meant and vanished before Elain could try and explain. Elain didn’t bother to try and keep Feyre inside. That was a losing battle. She’d finished her cookies when she heard Feyre leave for the night, following the pounding drums that Elain, too, longed to walk towards.

Elain trudged upstairs, her blood practically boiling beneath her skin. She rubbed at her ribcage, frustrated with whatever magic was pulling her. She went to her bedroom and fished the key to her door out of the jewelry box, locking it from the outside and then made her way down the hall to Lucien’s room. No one would be looking for her there and if they were bound and determined to get in, to break down her door, and then after all that, to hunt her down, at least Lucien’s room was well-stocked with weapons. He kept begging to teach her how to use a blade, but Elain was pretty sure in the heat of the moment she could poke the stabby part into skin.

She sat at his window, staring out at the burning fires in the distance long enough for Feyre to be dragged back. She heard her sister shouting with Lucien downstairs. The pulling in her gut lessened a little, she supposed because Lucien made her feel safe. That feeling didn’t last long. She watched him take off for the hills again, back to the magic that called him. She supposed if it pulled her, it must have screamed to him.

She heard Feyre rattle her doorknob, curse softly, and then go to her own room. Elain had meant to stay up all night; she changed from her dress into another of Lucien’s billowing shirts, dragged his blanket off his bed, and pressed her face against the window to watch. She tried to imagine what was happening; Tamlin had left with weapons, so perhaps a fight? A hunt? The drums promised something beyond just death; life, too, seemed intermingled in their steady, thrumming beat.

 At some point she must have fallen asleep because she woke to the bedroom door being locked loudly. The drums were still going, the noise pure chaos to Elain’s untrained, human hears. She could practically taste the magic swirling in the air, metallic and sharp in her nose.

Elain looked up from her spot on the cushioned window seat. Lucien stood against the door, bare chest heaving and slick with sweat. One of his large hands held the doorknob as though it were the only thing anchoring him in place.

“Lucien are—”

“I came for you,” he told her hoarsely, taking a step closer. “Hours ago, I came but your door was locked.”

“You said to lock it,” she reminded him, her voice a whisper.

He nodded. “Have you been here the whole time?” He asked. She could see a muscle straining in his neck, as though it was taking great will to stay where he was.

Elain pushed off the blanket to stand. When he saw her, he took four steps and then halted again, sinking instead to his knees. Elain rushed to him, but he held up a hand, his face hidden behind his hair.

“Go,” he told her.

“Are you sick?” She asked, ignoring his warning. She dropped to his side and parted his hair. He turned his head and she found a burning wildness looking back. She hesitated. He wasn’t telling her to go because he was unwell. He was telling her to leave because he was nearly feral.

“Should I be afraid of you?” She asked him, caressing his face softly.

“Not nearly afraid as I am of you,” he replied easily. “If you stay…”

His words choked off, but she understood. If she stayed, he’d undress her and have his way with her. He was giving her an out. She stood and Lucien heaved out a sigh.

“Walk slowly,” he told her.

“I’m not leaving,” she replied. He looked up with his scorching eyes and stood, every inch of him a predator. He gripped her shoulders and lifted her, so she was perched on the edge of his bed.

“It won’t be like before,” he warned her, his deep voice dropping an octave. “I want all of you.”

It was dangerous to give in. She couldn’t take this back. They’d only just begun touching each other. She pressed a hand to his chest. Lucien trembled.

“Then have me,” she whispered with as much daring as she could muster. Lucien snarled, pushing her back onto the bed without so much as another word. His hand ran up her bare thighs, stopping abruptly when he realized she had nothing on beneath the shirt. He stared down at her, his mouth half open, as though words truly eluded him. That, she thought with a giggle that escaped her throat, would be a historical first for him.

He ripped the shirt apart like it was made of paper, letting the pieces flutter to the floor, and then stood, positioned between her legs that still hung halfway off the bed. She was tempted to ask him if he liked what he saw but she was nervous and still unsure of what, exactly, she should be doing. It was nerve-wracking to be beneath his gaze like a piece of art he was scrutinizing. She wondered how she compared to the other women, the Fae women he’d been with.

He didn’t give her another moment to think about it. With one, strong arm, Lucien had her fully on his uncovered bed pinned beneath his half naked body and his burning mouth. This was easy; she knew what he liked, knew exactly where to put her teeth, how to move her tongue. Knew if she dragged her nails along his scalp, he’d grind into her and if she nipped along his neck and earlobes, he’d groan softly in response.

He didn’t ask for permission to touch her this time. He didn’t need it and they both knew it. Lucien was in control; she was pliant in his hands. She’d do whatever he wanted so long as he kept his hands on her.

Lucien slid down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She arched off the bed, hoping he’d reach for her breast again. She gasped when she felt his mouth latch softly around her, his tongue lavishing attention to her aching nipples.

He didn’t stay long; she could feel how hard he was in the trousers he wore and hadn’t yet removed. Her fingers tugged at them, but Lucien swatted her away.

“Not yet,” he practically gasped, trailing further down. He yanked her body against him, her knees draped over his broad, muscled shoulders. He’d gave her no time to catch her breath before he slid a finger into her body. She gasped, reaching for his hair and by the time he’d slid in the second, all she could feel was his tongue circling wildly along the bundle of nerves at her apex, somehow in rhythm with his hand. She was falling apart, building too quickly, hotly, towards oblivion.

Elain buried her face in one of Lucien’s pillow, unable to bite back the scream as she came. Her whole body bowed off the bed as though pulled by strings. Blackness overtook her vision as she attempted to come down from the high and for a moment, she lost track of where Lucien was or what he was doing.

She found him when her body loosened. He’d removed his pants and was pressed right against the slickness of her. She could see his face mere inches from her own, could feel his trembling arms. She ran a hand up his chest, settling his along his jaw. Her fingers pressed against the mask hiding so much of his face from her and with more bravery than she felt, Elain lifted her hips in permission.

She couldn’t take this back.

She knew she’d never want to.  

**

For one wild moment, Lucien thought this was more magic. She’d been practically haunting him since the drums began and it was only centuries of practice that kept Lucien from turning around before the ceremony ever began. He’d planned, originally, to wait until Tamlin chose his Maiden and then circle back. Tamlin would be at it for hours, offering Lucien the perfect set-up to go back to the estate and have some of his way with Elain.

Feyre had thrown a wrench into all of that when he caught her close to the cave Tamlin would choose, reeking of other Faeries and her distinctive, human scent. Lucien had assumed Tamlin would go wild when he scented it and attempt to hunt her down and he’d been right. Lucien had only just contained Tamlin and convinced him to choose another. Feyre would never know how close she came to Tamlin breaking down her door and dragging her into the cave kicking and screaming.

He’d gone back, after that, for Elain but her door had been locked, her room silent. Just as he’d told her to do and yet he was disappointed. He’d gone back to the ceremony to keep an eye on the borders, but things devolved, as they always did, into a loud, outdoor orgy and Lucien couldn’t stand it. He was losing his shit.

To realize Elain had tucked herself away in his room was driving him mad. She was in his shirt, wrapped in his blanket. The smell of him was all over her and it made him possessive with need. He’d never felt the bond stronger than he had this night; the drums made it pulse in his chest and he’d spent the day pulling, hoping she’d feel something too. Maybe, he reasoned, she had. Maybe that was what drove her to his room and was driving her now. They weren’t being quiet; if Feyre hadn’t heard Elain’s muffled screams it was only because she’d snuck out or slept heavy. Tamlin, at least, wouldn’t be back for hours which was about how long Lucien planned to be at this. His problem was the overwhelming drive to take her without restraint. He had the smallest shred of sanity left reminding him that she was nervous and didn’t deserve to have him unleash himself on her as her first time.

He adjusted his leg, allowing his cock to slide along her wet folds. She gasped a little breathy sigh that stole another thread of his sanity. He arched his neck back, notching the crown of his cock back at her entrance. He waited another moment, long enough for her to tell him no. She wasn’t overtly sexual; she didn’t have the language for it, not yet, which required him to read her body. She dug her nails into his bicep and so, so gently, pulled him just a little closer. He slid himself in by an inch or two, stopping when she sucked air in sharply. He wondered if it was better to go slow and letter her get used to him or to go quickly and get the pain over all at once.

He braced his body weight on his forearms and held himself still, trying to ignore how hot and tight she was against him. He pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck which did little to help; her scent was so strong there.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, her nails scratching along his scalp. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned loudly, biting back the need to snap his hips forward and bury himself in her. He’d wanted this since he’d first seen her, since he’d first felt that pull. The magic was heavy around them, pulsating through his veins. He gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t always be like this, he reminded himself, sliding forward with a hiss of air. Elain ran her hands up and down his ribs, eyes closed.

With one last push, Lucien was buried to the hilt. Elain inhaled again, her eyes flying open, and he knew she felt it, then. He reached for her, kissing her with all the pent-up heat coursing through his body. He could soothe her through the ache he promised silently, his tongue caressing her own. It took her a moment before she wiggled softly beneath him, squeezing her body around him tightly. He broke the kiss to exhale, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers.

“I’m fine,” she told him again. “I’m okay.”
He slid out just a little, eyes rolling back into his head at how good it felt to be inside her. He thrust forward again, careful not to hurt her. She sighed, her back arching just a little; the sight was enough to make Lucien a religious man.

Elain watched him through heavy lidded, dark eyes and like the night before, Lucien found it hard to believe she didn’t have some idea of what she was doing to him. Her hips rose to meet him like waves to the shore, angling herself so he drove deeper still. Her walls fluttered as she moaned his name softly. He could feel sweat dripping down his back, could feel the burning, overwhelming urge towards release.

He slid one hand between their bodies, found the nub between her thighs and rubbed quick circles as he thrust. He needed to see her fall apart again, needed to feel her come around him. Her breathing quickened; her body tightened.

“That’s right,” he whispered, wishing he could press himself against her. His hand kept him from laying skin to skin with her. “Come for me.”

“Lucien,” she whispered back, his name a prayer on her lips, his bed a church. He felt the exact moment Elain came. Her walls clenched hard, squeezing like a vice, her back arched as goosebumps erupted all over her skin. She was covered in a soft sheen of sweat, her hair wild around her face.

She scrambled for him, dragging him down to her for a burning, breathless kiss. “You can come,” she told him, whispering the words into his mouth. He chuckled.

“Oh no,” he replied, snapping his hips forward with a little more intensity. “Not yet.”
She brushed his hair from his face, her body still rippling with the aftershock of her orgasm. “You’re holding back,” she murmured.

“You’re untried,” he reminded her though his pace quickened. He wanted to come, wanted to roar out his release, wanted to roll off her knowing he’d marked her with his come and yet Lucien was loath to leave her. She didn’t know, but he knew they were mates, knew it like he knew his own name and her body had been made for his.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Don’t hold back.”

He groaned again, half a growl, driving himself into her like the magic demanded. He could almost relax and just be. Elain continued to meet him, her hips undulating with a fluidness that promised to make him weep. Lucien was close; he could feel his own release building. He might have completely let himself go but Elain moaned softly, and Lucien refused to ever let it be said that he was a quitter.

“Are you going to come for me again?” He murmured, nipping along her neck.

“I want to,” she breathed back, her voice high and needy.

In that moment, Lucien would have given her anything she’d asked of him.

“Fuck,” he growled, counting in his head in an attempt to prolong his own release.

“Don’t stop,” she keened, her hips bucking erratically beneath him. Lucien ground against her, mere moments away from finishing. All control he’d had evaporated and what was left was pure, animalistic need. It was pure luck that she came a second before he did. He buried himself in her as deep as he could get, his forehead pressed to her own. He swallowed his need to shout it, to shake the foundation around him. Elain arched upwards, her teeth sinking into his shoulder where she poured her own scream, her own release back into his body. He could feel her quivering around him, and he knew he’d never have enough of her.

It should have terrified him but for one blissful moment, Lucien was just happy. He was careful not to totally crush her with his much larger body, but he didn’t want to withdraw himself from her, either. He braced some of his body weigh on his forearms so he could nestle his face in the crook of her neck.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked. Elain giggled then, the sound vibrating straight to his cock still twitching softly inside her body. It was Elain who pushed herself upwards, forcing him out of her though he knew she didn’t know how badly he ached to stay. She pulled her knees up to her chest and reached for the lamp on his bed-side table.

His heart sank at the sight of the blood stain on his sheets. “I did hurt you.”

Elain bit her bottom lip. “I thought you’d like seeing that.”

“Why would I like…that?” He demanded, gesturing towards the small stain. More proof he’d been too rough, too selfish, too—

“Because now you know I wasn’t lying when I said no one had ever touched me,” she replied softly. Lucien stared for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with what she was saying.

A human man would have cared.

“Come here,” he demanded. She did as she was told, crawling into his lap. Lucien held her fiercely, chin atop her head. He decided, right there, that he’d keep her with him for as long as he could. Perhaps Feyre would break the curse and free them all. “I wouldn’t have cared if you lied or had hundreds of men or thousands…impressed, maybe, but not angry and I certainly never would have thought any differently of you.”

It didn’t matter either way, not really. No one would ever touch her again. Of that fact, Lucien was certain.

She exhaled a soft breath. “You didn’t hurt me,” she told him after a beat, reclining into his chest. “If you let me sleep, we could do it again before dawn.”

“Insatiable thing,” he murmured into her hair.

Elain twisted a little to look at him and not for the first time, Lucien wondered what she saw. He was too afraid to ask.

“We could just tell Tamlin—”

“No,” he said flatly, cursing himself for forgetting to light his candle. Tamlin knew he had female company but didn’t realize it was Elain; Lucien had been burning clove and cinnamon scented candles nearly non-stop in an attempt to drown out her smell. “Not yet…not until he’s walked your sister down the aisle.”

Elain scoffed, turning back so he couldn’t see her pretty face. “Fae and humans can’t marry.”

Oh how wrong she was, he thought, a smile creeping up his face. He was tempted to say nothing at all and let her figure it out after he’d tricked her into being his wife, but Lucien never could resist teasing her.

“Of course humans and Fae can marry,” he replied, his heart hammering because Lucien knew he couldn’t leave her, knew he was falling face first into something he couldn’t back out of but he had no idea how she felt at all. She’d given him no indication, outside of the sex, that she felt anything for him at all. Like everything else, Lucien was too afraid to ask.

Elain rested her head against his shoulder, his eyes glazed over. She was exhausted, he realized. He repositioned her onto the bed, padded across the room for his discarded blanket that still smelled of her, and brought it back to the bed.

She was pliant; he dragged her into his body, tucking her into his chest. “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” he told her, kissing the top of her head.

“Don’t threaten me,” she murmured.

Lucien knew, in that moment, he was utterly fucked.

Chapter Text

Elain was back in the garden with renewed vigor, and she wasn’t the only one. Tamlin and Feyre were walking through slowly, half bantering, half talking. Elain was pretending that she wasn’t their chaperone when she absolutely was. The whole situation was laughable considering Lucien had left early that morning for the village claiming if they wanted to keep sleeping together, he’d need a lot more candles.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what Lucien told her after they’d slept together the first time.

Of course humans and fae can marry.

He’d been talking about her sister and Tamlin but Elain was thinking about herself. She’d held out for so long looking for burning, passionate, all-consuming love and then, in a moment of burning, all-consuming passion, given that all up for Lucien. She couldn’t rationalize it, couldn’t make it make sense other than she had feelings for him she was too afraid to acknowledge. It had been all of three months but to her, it felt like an eternity. He was all she thought about now, even when she wished she could think of anything else. She wanted to know what he thought, what he was feeling, but Elain was terrified if she asked, he’d laugh and think her silly.

Elain ripped out a weed with unnecessary violence. She felt stupid, sitting in the garden imagining some bright, happy future with an immortal man. Whatever feelings she had, she needed to bury them deep, deep down. Not everything had to be forever, she reminded herself. Her mother’s voice echoed through her mind, cruel and cold. It was a conversation she shouldn’t have heard, one she tried not to think of.

Elain will marry for beauty and love.

She yanked another weed. “Will I?” She asked to no one in particular. What would her mother think now, seeing Elain sleeping with a man deeply scarred and missing an eye? It gave her more than a little satisfaction. She’d marry whoever the fuck she wanted to, she thought savagely.

“Elain,” Tamlin’s voice cut through her anger.

“What?” She asked, just a little too irritated.

“Hide with Feyre. Right now.”

Elain looked at her sister crouched behind a bush. Elain followed, well aware from the look on Feyre’s face that she planned to follow Tamlin the minute his back was turned. Unlike Fire Night, Elain had every intention of going with her.

“Come on,” Feyre whispered when Tamlin vanished out of the garden. Elain picked up the hem of her skirt and followed just behind Feyre. They crept quietly along the gravel path towards the house, ducking behind a hedge when they caught sight not just of Tamlin, but Lucien too.

“I know what day it is,” Tamlin said. He wasn’t looking at Lucien when he spoke. Neither of them looked at the other…they were looking at nothing at all. It was as if a third person stood in front of them that her and Feyre couldn’t see.

“Your continued behavior is garnering a lot of interest at court,” a deep, disembodied voice hissed. “She had begun wondering—wondering why you haven’t given up yet…and why nearly eight naga wound up dead not too long ago.”

“Tamlin’s not like the other fools,” Lucien snapped, squaring his shoulders. He’d drawn himself up to his full height and looked like the warrior she remembered that had slaughtered all the naga the voice was so concerned about. “If she expected bowed heads, then she’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

An angry hiss responded. “Speak you so ill of she who holds your fate in her hands? With one word, she could destroy this pathetic estate. She wasn’t pleased when she heard of you dispatching your warriors. But, as nothing has come of it, she has chosen to ignore it.”

Elain and Feyre exchanged a glance. She, Elain mouthed. They both knew something very much had amounted to Tamlin’s dispatched warriors; Feyre had killed Andras.

They’re connected.

Tamlin growled and Elain expected him to shout, to threaten but his voice was calm when he said, “Tell her I’m sick of cleaning up the trash she dumps on my borders.”

The voice chuckled. It sent a chill up Elain’s spine. “She sets them loose as gifts—and reminders of what will happen if she catches you trying to break the terms of—”

“He’s not,” Lucien snarled, interjecting so suddenly Elain knew he’d done it to keep them from overhearing. “Now, get out. We have enough of your ilk swarming on the borders—we don’t need you defiling our home, too. For that matter, stay the hell out of the cave. It’s not some common road for filth like you travel through as they please.”

Tamlin growled with agreement. Elain forgot that Lucien functioned as Tamlin’s emissary, but she saw it now.

“Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin, you certainly keep a host of fear inside it. Don’t worry, High Lord. All will be right as rain soon enough.”

“Burn in hell,” Lucien replied. The thing laughed, flapped it’s loud, invisible wings which brough the foulest stench of death with it.

Elain turned to Feyre. “We need to—”
“It’s gone,” Tamlin said, standing directly in front of the pair of them. Both Elain and Feyre jumped backwards.

“What did you hear?” Lucien demanded; his arms crossed over his chest as he walked around the corner. Elain opened her mouth to tell him she’d heard everything, but Feyre answered first.

“Nothing…I…nothing we understood.”

Lies, Elain though. Lucien’s eyes were burning a hole into her skull.

“Who—what was that?” Feyre continued, clearly a lot more shaken than Elain felt.

Tamlin paced. “There are certain faeries in Prythian who inspired the legends that you humans are so afraid of. Some, like that one, are myth given flesh.”

Elain gripped Feyre’s wrist instinctively, a wash of dread settling over her. She couldn’t explain the sudden cold or the fear; perhaps it was the shock of the moment wearing off. Feyre, too, seemed to feel the same thing if her pale face was any indication.

“It the Attor saw them—” Lucien began, eyes still locked on Elain.

“It didn’t,” Tamlin interrupted.

“Are you certain it—”

“It didn’t,” Tamlin growled. He pressed his lips in a tight line and looked over Feyre’s body as though he needed to be certain she was safe. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Tamlin turned on his heel, leaving the three of them just beside the hedge. Elain turned to Feyre but it was Lucien who stopped her.

“You,” he barked, pointing directly at Elain. Feyre was already trudging towards the house. “With me.”

Lucien stalked far from the estate, one hand gripping the pommel of his sword as though he expected to find adversaries everywhere he looked. They didn’t stop until they’d crossed rolling hills, leaving the estate a mere speck in the distance. There were no trees to slam her up against, so Elain assumed she was about to get one of Lucien’s trademarked lectures.

“What did you actually hear?” He demanded, slowing his steps. She was panting beside him; the height difference had never been so noticeable until now. She’d had to practically run to keep up.

“Break the terms of what?” Elain asked quickly, resting her palms on her knees.

Lucien swore, turning his back.

“You’re keeping secrets,” Elain accused him, running around his body so he had to look at her. “Why?”

He looked pained.

“I want to tell you,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I can’t.”

“Because you don’t want to, or you’ve been forbidden to?” She clarified. One was acceptable to her and the other would drive her out of his bed.

Lucien closed his eyes. “I want to tell you,” he replied.

“If I figured it out—”

“Don’t do that,” he interjected. “Just…I’ll keep you safe.”

If she trusted nothing else, she’d always trust that.

**

Tamlin was taking Feyre to the singing willow which gave Lucien the perfect opportunity to do something soft and romantic for Elain. Tamlin had already taken Feyre to the starlit pool so there was absolutely no reason why Lucien couldn’t take Elain.

Tamlin paused at the foot of the stairs, waiting on Feyre. Lucien hadn’t said he planned to take Elain, who was back in the garden doing more weeding. “Do you want to join us?” Tamlin asked though it was clear to Lucien Tamlin would be better served alone with Feyre. Tamlin was about as smooth as sandpaper when it came to females and yet somehow, against all odds, Feyre was still interested.

“Do you need me to join you?”

Sometimes Tamlin asked Lucien to come along for help or a buffer. Tamlin pursed his lips.

“What do you plan to do today?”

“What I do best,” Lucien replied with an easy grin. Normally Tamlin would have smiled back and let it go but Lucien could see Tamlin was struggling with a question Lucien desperately did not want him to ask.

“I asked Elain to come, and she said no,” Tamlin told Lucien instead. As if that was shocking. People could say what they liked about Elain, but the woman could hold a grudge. She was polite, at least, and managed to look Tamlin in the eye but they’d never be friends. Lucien knew Elain didn’t trust Tamlin around Feyre, either, putting the pair further at odds. Not that anyone would ever know it. Elain preferred to fight her battles with that quiet softness he was so fond of. Tamlin didn’t recognize her tactics, as a male bred for war and often landed directly in her little traps.

Lucien merely shrugged in response. As if Elain would give up time she could spend alone to spend it with Tamlin.

“You two will be here alone,” Tamlin finished. Lucien was tempted to ask his friend what, exactly he was getting at.

“We’re often here alone. You and Feyre leave quite often,” Lucien said instead, careful to keep his tone reasonable.

“I offered to take her home,” Tamlin said suddenly. Lucien’s stomach dropped. She was leaving? She hadn’t said a word. He almost left Tamlin right there, gave up his entire ruse, to beg her to stay. “The week Feyre arrived. I offered to send Elain home that night. She never made her dislike of being taken a secret…with Feyre I just thought Elain would leap at the chance.”

“She stayed for her sister?” Lucien guessed, warmth flooding his body again.

Tamlin looked to Lucien, then, his pine-colored eyes filled with accusation he couldn’t bring himself to make. They’d been friends, brothers even, for a century. Lucien had never defied Tamlin, had always served Tamlin, even at the cost of his eye and to admit that in this moment, crucial as it was, Lucien had taken the female Tamlin wanted would be a betrayal that would end their friendship.

Feyre spared Lucien from having to answer.

“Are you coming?” She asked, looking Lucien up and down. Tamlin watched, jealousy still radiating from his body. Lucien almost laughed. Did Tamlin think he’d take both sisters?

“Nope. I have very boring emissary business to attend to.”

Lucien strutted away, his heart pounding. Tamlin had been given everything, practically on a silver platter. Any female, any thing, and he still wanted more. Wanted everything. Elain could live a thousand years and she’d still look at Tamlin with those same guarded eyes. Lucien’s presence wouldn’t have changed that. Being her mate wouldn’t have changed that, either.

He was simmering with anger by the time he found Elain in the garden. She wasn’t weeding at all; she was sitting beneath a peach tree, her white skirt fanned out around her. She had woven pink and blue blooms through her hair with more twisted into a crown in her lap. She was reading another of her absurd romances.

“On the Wings of Love?” He asked, some of his anger tempered by amusement. Elain didn’t slam the book shut this time. Her eyes drifted upwards to look at him, book still perched in front of her. The look stole all the rage he still felt and replaced that feeling with awe. She was radiant; he hadn’t noticed, but the last three months had been kind to her. Gone were all the sharp planes and angles, the dark circles and haunted look. Her face was full, her eyes bright, and her body softly curved. He supposed he ought to have noticed, given how often he had her pinned beneath him, but it had been so gradual he’d never stopped to notice.

“What do you want, Lucien?” She asked sweetly. He extended his hand, hoping the gesture felt reminiscent of whatever hero she was reading about. She didn’t hesitate to take it, marking her spot with a pink petal before tucking the book beneath her arm. She placed the flower crown she’d made atop his head and though it was stupid, he felt like an actual king in that moment.

“Lead the way,” she gestured, letting him tuck her hand into his arm.

Elain wanted to talk about Autumn Court and what it was like to grow up the son of a High Lord and Lucien obliged her…with one notable and glaring omission. He’d never told her about Jesminda. Elain still thought he just chose not to compete to be High Lord and was chased out because of it, not that he’d left after watching the female he’d planned to marry get butchered by his father.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her and he didn’t know why. Lucien knew Elain would be sympathetic, that there would be no jealousy or hurt on her end, assuming she felt possessive about him the same way he felt about her. Elain, the only person who’d ever sympathized over having to kill one of his brothers, would sympathize with this, too.

The memory was personal and he wasn’t ready to let her in and let her see that outside of being the High Lords seventh son, Lucien Vanserra was a whole lot of nothing. She still looked at him like he was worth something.

All those thoughts were banished from his mind when she saw the starlight pool. Elain’s eyes went wide, her lips parted in wonder and Lucien felt peace for a moment. He hadn’t felt that in centuries.

“What is this?” She asked, walking quickly towards the pool, her skirts trailing behind her. She knelt, dipping her hand into the sparkling blue and silver water. She gasped when she felt it, looking over her shoulder at him. Spring had been made for someone like Elain, he thought with satisfaction.

“It’s starlight,” he replied, practically stumbling towards her.

“How is that possible?” She asked him, breathless with wonder. He grinned.

“Look around you, Elain. Everything is magic.”

She should have looked around the glen, at the green treetops gently swaying in the breeze or the glittering golden sun dancing overhead. She looked only at him, a smile blooming across her face.

She stayed, he reminded himself. She could have gone but she stayed, and he wanted to believe some part of her had stayed for him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beneath the scrutiny of her eyes.

And as she slid her feet into the waiting pool, Elain sighed softly, resting her hand over top his.

“I’m starting to think so, Lucien.”

Chapter Text

Feyre plopped down at the dinner table in periwinkle colored dress, arms crossed over her chest. Elain thought it strange to see her younger sister in dresses though she knew the reason. Tamlin, with his expectations of what a woman ought to be and what he wanted from a partner, was subtly influencing Feyre. He might not have outright said the words, but a gentleman would have replaced the gowns in her room with the clothing she liked and instead, Tamlin continued to send only for gowns. Elain wanted to find a way to bring it up to Feyre but didn’t know how.

“I see you’re setting up for another party,” Feyre told the table. Lucien and Tamlin exchanged a glance.

“We’re nearing the Summer Solstice.”

Feyre and Elain shared a look this time. Had it really been so long? Elain counted the months in her head but if Elain was honest, the time had melded together into one soft blur. She went back to her food. She didn’t want to think about how quickly time was passing. It only served to remind her that every day she grew older and every day, Lucien remained exactly as he was.

“I suppose we’re not allowed to come?” Feyre pressed, her eyes wholly focused on Tamlin.

“Of course you can,” Tamlin replied easily, the barest hint of a smile tugging his lips.

“Not that an invitation stopped you before,” Lucien reminded Feyre pointedly. Feyre immediately looked down at her plate, giving Elain an opportunity to ask a question.

“What, exactly, is the celebration for?”

“Solstice celebrates when the sun outshines the night. As the longest day of the year, it’s a time when everyone can take down their hair and simply enjoy being faerie—not High Fae or faerie, just us, and nothing else,” Tamlin told the table, his voice reverent.

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien added, a grin spreading across his face. “And dallying.”

Elain didn’t dare look at him, terrified she’d give herself away. She speared a piece of broccoli with vengeance, though she was very aware of who Lucien would be dallying with. She wasn’t upset about that, just angry with herself for not being able to muster the courage to just ask him what she really wanted to know.

How do you feel about me? What does this mean to you? What do I mean to you?

Every night she replayed all the possibilities and every night Elain got stuck on his potential rejection. She let herself imagine having to live just down the hall from him, knowing they’d once been something.

Elain waited for Feyre to finish and caught up with her little sister. “I like your dress,” Elain told her, looping her arm through Feyre’s.

Feyre looked down at her dress, touching the fabric. “You like it?”

Elain did, just not on wild Feyre. Elain had accepted that someday she’d be kept inside her future husbands’ home, and she’d find contentment there, but Feyre would always need room to run free. Tamlin would never give her that. Tamlin didn’t know the first thing about Feyre and Elain wasn’t sure Tamlin was even trying.

“What made you choose it?” Elain pressed, taking the stairs up slowly. Feyre frowned.

“I suppose I wanted to look…” beautiful. Feyre didn’t finish the statement.

“You already were,” Elain murmured, head down, eyes on the white and black checked floors.

“I keep thinking about what the Surial said, about staying with the High Lord and living to see everything righted, and how I wasn’t really trying—”

“Was Tamlin?” Elain interrupted quickly.

Feyre frowned. “He’s kind, Elain. He gave me all that paint, and he’s given you his garden…can’t you try to get along with him?”
Ouch, she thought.

“The Attor said—”

“I know he offered to take you home,” Feyre accused, turning on her heel. “And you turned him down. Why?”

Elain looked at Feyre, halted at the top of the steps. “Courts are filled with people, but this place is desolate, there’s only Tamlin and Lucien. If I left, who would you have as a friend? You’re isolated here.”

Feyre huffed out a sigh. “I’m not like you. I don’t need to be surrounded by people all the time.”

Feyre turned to leave Elain, but Elain caught Feyre’s wrist gently. “All you need is Tamlin? For the rest of your life?”

Understanding bloomed across Feyre’s features. “I…he’s kind and right now… that’s enough.”

Elain nodded. She couldn’t stand to fight with Feyre when Feyre was clearly feeling vulnerable. Tamlin could be kind all he liked, but he could not be the kind of man that would make Feyre happy for the rest of her life and Elain knew it.

Lucien found Elain in her bedroom brushing out her hair in front of the vanity. “You’re making me wait tonight?” He asked, leaning against the closed door frame.

“Hardship is good for you,” Elain murmured, a smile spreading. Lucien smiled, too.

“Would you like me to get on my knees and beg?”

“I would very much like you to get on your knees,” Elain told him, turning around on her stool to see if he’d do it. Lucien cocked his head, hair spilling around his face as he considered.

“Am I allowed to stay in here?” He husked, glancing around her pristine room. Lucien had never been granted true access to her bed; Elain couldn’t risk his scent all over her things.

“Nope,” she practically whispered, popping her lips on the last syllable.

“Then I suppose, if you want to see me get on my knees and beg, you’ll have to come to me.”

Lucien vanished, leaving Elain frustrated and wet between the legs.

“Rude,” she whispered, standing quickly and flinging open the doors to her armoire with a flourish. If Lucien wanted to play games, so could she. She dug for the silky night gown she’d been ignoring ever since she arrived. It was clearly meant for the High Lords hands. There was something delicious about slipping the pale pink, absurdly short dress over her head. It just barely covered her ass and with the deep v neck, attached to spaghetti straps, offered the best view of her breasts anyone would ever get, save for actually seeing her naked.

She let Lucien sweat for ten minutes before she snuck down the hall to his room. In true fashion, Lucien had tricks of his own. He laid on his side, head propped up on his elbow, absolutely naked.

Elain burst into giggles the second she saw him, stunned at his audacity. Lucien never failed to surprise her.

Lucien grinned, clearly aware of the absurdity of his actions. He was half erect when he gestured down his toned, tanned body. “That’s right. Take it all in.”

She pressed her fingertips into her eyes.

“Are you shy all of the sudden?” Lucien asked, his grin evident in his voice.

“You’re just so dumb sometimes,” she whispered, still half-giggling.

“If you want well-educated, you’ll have to come back during the daylight.”

She opened her eyes to find him inches from her face. He braced his arms on either side of her body, looking her up and down.

“You’re laughing at me, but there is no laughing at you,” he murmured, bringing one of his hands to the strap of her nightgown. Her breath caught in her throat as he tugged, tearing it easily.

“What are you doing?” She whispered when he ripped the other. Broad, calloused hands slid the ruined, silky gown down her body torturously slow. Lucien went down with the dress until it fell to her ankles, and he was on his knees.

“You asked me to get on my knees, did you not?” He murmured, pressing a kiss along her inner thigh. Elain sighed, unable to take her eyes off him. His mouth moved slow, trailing up one thigh and then over to the other, his hand rubbing indolent circles on whichever leg his mouth wasn’t on. She was practically burning with need when he reached her cunt. Lucien, ever the animal, inhaled before he buried his face between her legs.

The position they were in was not going to last long. She was on her tiptoes, her legs shaking as his tongue moved over her lazily like he had nowhere to be and nothing better to do. Still, she very much liked the sight of him down on his knees.

He pulled up quickly and scooped her up. Elain almost begged, then, when she felt the loss of his mouth. They didn’t go far. Lucien dumped her on the edge of his bed so her legs hung off the side. He draped them quickly over his shoulders, still on his knees, and was back to work as though he’d never stopped.

Elain squirmed, desperate for Lucien to finish her, in part because she knew what happened next. He’d bury himself inside her swiftly and without asking until they were both sweaty and exhausted. Lucien, though, was never in a rush and seemed to take great pleasure in torturing her.

She reached for his hair, half an excuse just to touch it, the other to urge him to please go faster. Lucien’s soft laugh reverberated through her and just for her trouble, he offered a series of languid licks that made her want to scream in frustration. This was his game; one she could repay in kind of she ever thought to get on her knees in the same fashion.

She felt his finger slide slowly into her body, pressing against her entrance before lodging itself fully in her. It was exquisite torture, she though, arching into the touch. Her hips ground into his face and finally, Lucien began to move his tongue with purpose. She repaid him with the softest sounds of pleasure she could muster despite her overwhelming urge to scream. Delicious heat burned through her, sparking up her limbs as he teased and suckled her closer and closer towards oblivion.

“Please,” she whispered, well aware he could hear the plea. Lucien obliged, his hand and mouth falling into an easy rhythm. She crested and then fell, her thighs clamping hard around his face. Lucien didn’t stop, kept licking and fucking her with his hand, riding her through the high of her orgasm. Only when her body began to unlock did he withdraw himself long enough to spready her wider and slide himself fluidly into her still pulsating cunt.

He groaned softly, as though he finally felt right. He held both her legs around his waist, snapping his hips into her roughly, his passion near animalistic. “Fuck,” he whispered. Elain crossed her ankles around him, holding him where he was with just enough give to slide out to the tip, but not so he could leave her entirely.

Their hips met with a fury of flesh. Lucien looked inhumanly beautiful, glowing softly in the darkness lit only by one flickering candle. She wanted to touch him, wanted to feel his body pressed up against her own. One hand slid up her leg to her still quivering clit and rubbed fast circles, driving her utterly wild with need.

One day they wouldn’t need to be so quiet, she promised herself, twisting the upper half of her body to softly scream into the blanket. Her release came harder than the first, centering her entire world solely on the man inside of her. Lucien was right behind her; there would be no long, drawn out fucking tonight. He came quickly and just as hard; his abs tightened, his fingers digging near painfully into her flesh as he tossed his head back, mouth open, and came with a silent roar.

“Kiss me,” she demanded the moment she felt him relax. He leaned over her, his hair a curtain around them shielding them from the rest of the world. His mouth was soft, undemanding, against her own.

“Stay here with me tonight,” he asked, his sweaty forehead pressed against her own.

She nodded, though some small part of her wished he’d ask her to stay forever with him.

**

Lucien jolted awake to the sound of knocking on his door. Elain was still draped over him, her leg resting between his own, her head on his chest with one arm flung over him. The blanket covered her lower half, and her hair covered her back. She looked so beautiful that for a moment he considered rolling her over and taking her right then and there. Had there not been someone just outside the door, he might have confessed everything to her right then and there, flinging himself at her feet and begging her for mercy.

“Lucien!” Feyre called from the other side of the door. Elain’s eyes fluttered open. They’d fallen asleep and he’d forgotten to send her back to her room. “Can I come in?”

“Not unless you want to see me naked,” he called back, his voice still lazy from sleep.

Feyre grunted, clearly uninterested in that prospect. Elain looked up at Lucien with those wide, fawn-colored eyes and he felt no regret, even if it meant a sound beating from Tamlin as punishment.

“Everyone is gone,” she complained. “Tamlin left for Solstice, and I think he took Elain. Get up and have breakfast with me.”

Elain scowled at the thought of going anywhere with Tamlin.

“Stay here,” he whispered, sliding out of the warmth of his bed and the comfort of his female to appease the bossy human at his door. He dressed himself quickly, flung the blanket over Elain’s body, and then opened his door where Feyre waited in a lovely, mint colored gown.

“All I wanted was to sleep in,” he told her, grateful she didn’t bother to look in his bedroom. He led Feyre down the stairs, catching the sound of his door opening and shutting, and then Elain’s door closing. Safe and sound.

“Since when do you sleep in?” Feyre demanded. Lucien shrugged.

“I have been known on occasion to sleep well past dawn. I am busy, you know.”

“Busy chasing women, you mean,” Feyre muttered, dropping into her chair. Lucien grinned, wondering how that became his reputation. He’d spent more time than, perhaps, Tamlin had but not so much time that it was all he ought to be known for. Lucien propped his head up on his fists, staring right at Tamlin’s pretty human.

“What?” Feyre asked with suspicion, her eyes narrowing to slits.

Lucien grinned. “If I offered you the moon on a string, would you give me a kiss, too?”

Feyre scowled darkly, clearly irked that Tamlin was sharing details of their little trysts. It was all so charmingly innocent, especially Tamlin, who had never put half the energy with other females that he was putting into Feyre.

They ate in silence; Elain never came down to join them. Instead, the pair found her walking out of the garden, a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“There you are,” Feyre muttered, trudging after her sister. Elain spared him a brief glance to which he smiled back. Clever thing. She’d walked to the opposite end of the estate and taken the stairs directly to the garden. Thought they’d nearly been caught, Lucien had no regrets waking up beside her.

He didn’t see either of them again until sundown. Lucien strolled through crowds of people dancing and laughing and talking like everything was normal. The world almost felt unchanged, though he knew it was. Streamers blew in the wind and somewhere, a fiddle played an upbeat tune meant to force people to their feet.

Feyre stood at one of the long tables filled with food, pouring herself a glass of faerie wine. Lucien groaned to himself. Leave it to Feyre to find trouble. Lucien peered over Feyre’s shoulder into the glass of pale, sparkling wine.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you,” he warned.

Feyre turned, her eyes a challenge. “Oh?”

“Faerie wine,” he prodded. Where was her sister, he wondered absently?

“Hmm,” Feyre responded, inhaling the wine. Lucien resisted the urge to roll his eyes

“Remember what happened the last time ignored my warning?” He asked, poking her in the neck. Feyre scowled at the memory.

“I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself,” Feyre reminded him. Lucien smiled at the memory, even if it had earned him a trip into the reflection pool, clothes and all.

“Well, in the meantime…” He tried to take her cup, but Feyre shifted it out of his reach. Lucien sighed with impatience. “Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” Feyre replied, rather unfairly in his opinion, before chugging the contents of the glass. The effects were near instant. Her eyes widened as she looked around, looked at him, and immediately began laughing. She could see him, then, without the glamor.

“Human fool,” he complained with no real malice.

“I’m going to paint you,” Feyre giggled, having swallowed a second cup on the time it took to blink.

“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered. Feyre immediately took off, wilder than usual and clearly looking for trouble. Lucien was torn. On the one hand, he liked Feyre well enough and didn’t want to see her hurt. On the other, he kept picturing Elain drunk on faerie wine and lost somewhere in the hills. She seemed like the type of drunk who would wander. Lucien decided to follow after Feyre, preventing her from falling face first into a rock and several nearby dancers. She was following the music like it was a pull and for one wild moment, Lucien wondered if Feyre and Tamlin weren’t mates too, tied by the same string.

Tamlin fiddled with the band, his eyes on them the moment they came into view. Lucien silently cursed. Still, Lucien fled the first moment Tamlin gave him permission to go, ignoring Feyre’s should behind him.

“I don’t need a keeper!”

She certainly needed someone looking out for her best interests, he thought darkly, stalking after Elain. He could at least follow her through the thin thread that connected them. He found her sitting by herself close to the woods, elbows resting on her knees. He plopped to the ground next to her. She turned her head and gasped, just as drunk as her sister.

“Do you always look like this?” She asked him, her fingers suddenly hovering by his face.

“Always,” he agreed, letting her pick up strands of his hair.

She sighed softly. “You’re so beautiful,” she told him.

“How much faerie wine did you drink?” He asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Just one,” she promised, putting her head on his shoulder. “Everything got brighter and louder and…”

And lively, outgoing Elain had gone looking for a quiet place to shake off the effects, he thought.

“Do you want to go back and dance?”

“Part of me does.”

“And the other part?” He prodded.

“I want to run through the forest barefoot and get so lost no one would ever find me,” she replied with a dreamy sigh.

“I’d find you,” he told her. She scoffed.

“Of course you would. You cheat.”

He chuckled. “How, exactly, do I cheat?”

She laid back in the grass to look up at the fading blue sky overhead. “I don’t know how you do it…how do you always know where I am?”

He laid beside her. “Good luck?”

She sighed without challenging him and Lucien wondered how much she’d guessed. His heart pounded painfully in his chest at the prospect that some small part of her felt the bond between them, too.

“I wish I didn’t know,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Know what?”

“How beautiful you were, you actually are. One day I’ll be old and—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, rolling to his side so he could brush hair from her face. “Don’t think about that, not now.”

“Then when?” She demanded, twisting to look at him. Lucien cupped her chest, his thumbs rubbing soft circles.

“When you’re sober and thinking clearly. In ten years perhaps you’ll tire of me,” he added, confessing just one of his many, many insecurities. She smiled at that, as though the idea was so impossibly absurd to her it was funny.

“My hair might be gray,” she warned him, giggling softly. He wondered how much of this she’d remember in the morning.

Lucien scoffed. “At thirty? You imagine your beauty has a shelf-life?”

He almost told her then what he’d been privately thinking for weeks, maybe months. Almost confessed he was in love with her, that he might have been that first night when she tried to dump a plate of food to the floor. Or, perhaps it was in the garden, when she’d so sweetly promised to dig his grave. Certainly by the time she’d been nearly mauled by naga.

He couldn’t, though. Couldn’t tell the world, couldn’t tempt fate any more than he already had.

“Kiss me,” he demanded of her when she didn’t respond. Elain rolled to her stomach, her hair hanging around his face.

“What shall you give me for it?” She asked, her lips inches from her own. Lucien went hard and soft all at once. He bit his bottom lip.

“Anything you like,” he replied.

“That seems like a dangerous bargain,” she teased.

“Foolish, too,” he agreed, lifting his head just a little. She pulled back.

“Don’t put the glamour back on. I want to see you as you are,” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“Done,” he agreed with more than a little pleasure. He’d have given her anything she wanted though, had she thought to ask for it. She lowered herself to him, ghosting the softest kiss across his lips before she finally kissed him fully. She tasted like faerie wine and somehow, the sun dipping overhead. He wondered what kind of magic created someone like her.

“Come on,” he murmured, breaking the kiss softly. “We’ll miss the sun set.”

He pulled her into his lap, his legs and arms wrapped around her as she pressed her back into his chest.

As they watched, Lucien reflected that in that moment, he’d never been happier in his life.

Chapter Text

Elain wasn’t listening to the breakfast conversation between Tamlin, Feyre, and Lucien. She understood the gist well enough. Lucien was lying about how he spent his evening and Feyre and Tamlin were practically eye-fucking each other across the table. Elain ought to have been happy but anxiety had bloomed in her chest that morning and she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something was off. She kept looking around, expecting to find the source of her anxiety. With the glamour off, she could see all the hidden servants she’d once suspected.

Tamlin, too, was more beautiful than he’d ever been before. She could grudgingly admit that, even if it was Lucien, with his molten hair and fiery eyes, that drew her gaze and held it far longer than it should have. If she’d thought him crafted by the hands of a loving God before, she was certain of it now.

Elain was lost in thought, trying to work out how she’d tell Lucien how she felt and hope for the best. She was dying to tell him, if only to know where he stood. She’d started to the night before, brave after drinking the wine but Lucien had told her not to think about it. As if she could think of anything else.

Beside her, Tamlin cocked his head. Elain shook her own, coming out of her own thoughts to join the conversation. Stillness had settled around them, reminiscent of when the Attor had come. Tamlin flew out of his chair so quickly it flipped over. Claws poked from his knuckles and his canines elongated. Lucien swore a moment later, unsheathing his sword.

“Get Feyre to the window—behind the curtains,” Tamlin ordered Lucien. Lucien nodded, reaching for Feyre as Tamlin practically lifted Elain out of her chair. “You, too. Don’t make a sound,” he ordered the pair of them. Elain wrapped her arms around Feyre’s body, settling her chin on her younger sister’s shoulder. Feyre reached up, holding Elain’s arm steady, her breathing quick. Lucien’s body pressed the pair of them as fair into the window as he could possibly get without actually crushing them. A moment later, magic lodged itself up Elain’s nose, metallic and sharp.

Tamlin picked up his chair, sheathed his claws and teeth, and sat back down. His baldric of knives had appeared across his chest though he didn’t draw one. Instead, he examined his fingernails as though nothing was happening at all. Elain imagined the Attor, trying to picture what it might look like as Lucien pointed his sword at the floor and glanced casually out the window.

The sound of even, casual steps echoed from outside the room coming towards them. Tamlin’s eyes slid towards Feyre and Elain, invisible behind Lucien. Lucien pointed his sword at the floor, relaxing as best he could though she could see his pulse jumping in this throat. The sound of boots on the marble echoed through the silence, meandering casually towards them.

She’d expected a monster, but it was a Fae man who walked through the door. She’d never seen him before, but knew he wasn’t part of Spring; he wore no mask over his cold face. He was dressed nicely in a tunic of black and silver that seemed to swallow the light in the room. It matched his near blue-black hair.

“High Lord,” he crooned with a mocking bow towards Tamlin. He was one of them, she thought. Another Court, certainly, but it was clear he’d been bred to be a courtier at best.

Elain could see Tamlin from where she stood. He looked utterly bored. “What do you want, Rhysand?”

Rhysand smile was feline as he gazed at Tamlin. He’d stopped halfway in the room, far enough from Lucien that he wouldn’t be able to smell them. “Rhysand? Come now, Tamlin. I don’t see you for forty-nine years, and you start calling me Rhysand? Only my enemies and prisoners call me that.”

Rhysands’ eyes shifted towards Lucien. “A fox mask. Appropriate for you, Lucien.”

“Go to hell, Rhys.”

“Always a pleasure dealing with the rabble,” Rhysand smiled, as though the whole thing were funny. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“We were in the middle of lunch,” Tamlin replied, not a lie though it seemed a million years ago.

“Stimulating,”Rhysand mocked.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Tamlin demanded, his voice dripping with authority. Elain had never heard Tamlin sound so much like a High Lord as he did in that moment. Even his posture, slouched as it might have been, oozed his status.

“I wanted to check up on you. I wanted to see how you were faring. If you got my little present.”

Elain frowned, unsure what he meant.

“Your present was unnecessary,” Tamlin bit back. The head, she realized. The head Feyre had found piked in the garden. She trembled a little.

“But a nice reminder of the fun days, wasn’t it? Almost half a century holed up in a country estate. I don’t know how you managed it. But, you’re such a stubborn bastard that this must have seemed a paradise compared to Under the Mountain. I suppose it is. I’m surprised though: forty-nine years and no attempts to save yourself or your lands. Even now that things are getting interesting again.”

Rhysand would give her the last piece, Elain realized. There was something glaringly obvious that she didn’t know that would explain why she’d been brought to Pyrthian, why Lucien was currently guarding the pair of them with his life, and how it connected with the she that they called the blight. Elain hugged Feyre a little tighter.
“There’s nothing to be done,” Tamlin told him, his tone implying he’d all but given up.

Rhysand walked towards Tamlin, his steps predatory.

“What a pity you must endure the brunt of it, Tamlin,” Rhys whispered softly, though his violet eyes sparkled with delight, betraying how little he meant the words he spoke. “And an even greater pity you’re so resigned to your fate. You might be stubborn, but this is pathetic. How different the High Lord is from the brutal war-band leader of centuries ago.”

“What do you know about anything? You’re just Amarantha’s whore,” Lucien spat.

“Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons,” Rhysand told Lucien reasonably. “At least I haven’t bided my time among the hedges and flowers while the world has gone to Hell.”

“If you think that’s all I’ve been doing, you’ll soon learn otherwise,” Lucien threatened, raising his sword ever so slightly.

“Little Lucien. You certainly gave them something to talk about when you switched to Spring. Such a sad thing, to see your lovely mother in perpetual mourning over losing you.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” Lucien snarled, pointing his sword directly at Rhysands chest. Everything froze for a moment, though she heard Rhysand laugh and ask Tamlin something. All she could think of was Lucien and his sword, staring down this High Lord who very clearly was not concerned about killing in the slightest. What would stop him from turning Lucien to dust, she wondered? Or piking his head in the garden. She almost reached for him, before reminding herself that, for however powerless Lucien was, she was doubly so.

Rhys turned, his words still garbled. It seemed as though he was leaving. Elain cleared her head, swallowed, and exhaled silently. The worst was over, she told herself.

“Where is your guest?” Rhysand demanded, his eyes flickering towards Lucien. He held Feyre’s cup to his nose, inhaling as he looked around. His eyes darted to Lucien and a moment later, Rhysand was inches from the pair of them and the glamour was clearly gone. “You dare glamour me?” He demanded; his rage practically palpable. Lucien pressed Feyre further into the wall.

“I remember you,” he told Feyre, his fury bubbling just beneath his calm voice. “It seems you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble. I don’t remember you…I presume this was the friend you were looking for?” Rhysand arched a brow at Elain, implying he was aware Feyre had lied to him.  

When had they met, Elain wondered wildly?

“Who, pray tell, is this?” Rhysand asked Tamlin, every word a blade.

“My betrothed,” Lucien answered quickly.

“Oh? Here I was, thinking you still mourned your common lover after all these centuries.” Rhysand grinned, leaning a little closer to inhale. His violet eyes landed on Elain and somehow she knew he knew. “Which one, exactly, is your betrothed, Lucien? No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet, for all the good it did. Lucien held his sword at Rhysands approaching chest.

“You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially it’s darling lady.”

Lucien’s tanned face paled at the threat.

“Put your sword down, Lucien,” Tamlin demanded, finally stepping in. Elain waited for Tamlin to do something that would protect Feyre but he stayed where he was.

“I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash,” Rhysand taunted his eyes drifting back to Elain. ‘The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

Rhysand beckoned Elain to step away from Feyre with two fingers. Elain felt tied to strings; her arms dropped Feyre’s trembling body and she stepped forward. Lucien slapped the broad side of his sword against Elain’s stomach, stopping her from walking any further. Rhysand merely smiled.

“She smells of you,” Rhysand taunted, one hand tangling in Elain’s hair. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to move at all.

“Get your filthy hands off her,” Lucien snarled.

Elain felt something touch her mind, a claw caressing the edges of her though. She concentrated on breathing through her mouth.

“Tsk, tsk, Lucien,” Rhysand purred. “Keeping secrets from your High Lord?” Rhysand tilted Elain’s head, his thumb brushing over her jaw.

He paused, withdrawing his presence from her mind. Elain gasped loudly and Feyre reached for her, yanking her back to the window.

“Leave, Rhys,” Tamlin commanded, for all the good it did. He was on his feet at least, stalking towards Rhysand. Rhysand raised his hand and with a flick of his fingers, sent Lucien flying across the room. There was nothing between him and Feyre except air. Elain held Feyre tighter though it didn’t matter. Rhysand tossed her, too, like she were little more than trash. She slammed into Lucien’s body, already on his feet. Lucien wrapped one hand around her arm, pressing her back against his chest, his other still on his sword.

 Rhysand was going to kill Feyre, Elain thought wildly, watching Feyre raise a knife she’d stolen from the table. Rhysand smiled, prying it from her hand.

“That won’t do you any good, anyway,” Rhysand crooned. “If you were wise, you would be screaming and running from this place, from these people. It’s a wonder that you’re here, actually.”

He cocked his head, reading her confused expression. “Oh, she doesn’t know, does she?”

Tell her, Elain begged.

“You have seconds, Rhys. Seconds to get out.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t speak to me like that.”

Feyre suddenly went ramrod straight, her eyes wide as saucers. Elain knew he’d gone into her mind just as he’d done Elain. Tamlin commanded Rhysand to let Feyre go while Rhysand taunted Tamlin with all of Feyre’s private thoughts. Tamlin, to his credit, pleaded though it did no good. Elain had never hated Tamlin more than she did in that moment, and when Rhysand made him bow to the floor, she almost thought it was satisfying.

“What’s your name Rhysand asked suddenly, gripping Feyre’s chin lightly.
“Elain,” Elain said before Feyre could lie. Rhysand turned, his eyes flickering from her face to the hold Lucien had on her. She thought she saw something akin to regret, though it happened so fast she was certain she’d imagined it. “Elain Archeron.”

“And you?” He pressed, very much implying he knew she was not being honest. Elain said nothing else, waiting for Rhysand to call her on the lie.

“Clare Beddor. Her name is Clare,” Feyre gasped out. Rhysand looked between the two of them for a too tense moment.

All at once, Rhysand let Feyre go. Feyre reached for the wall, though she kept herself on her feet.

“Well this was entertaining. The most fun I’ve had in ages, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing you four Under the Mountain. I’ll give Amarantha your regards.”

Rhysand vanished into nothing, then, leaving the four of them in still, trembling silence.  

Lucien:

Elain slipped into Lucien’s room without any of her usual care. She was still dressed from the morning. “You’re going to let him send me away?” Elain asked, her bottom lip trembling. Lucien crossed the room, yanking her roughly into his chest. Rhysand knew Elain and Feyre were there, knew why; he’d likely told Amarantha by now. She’d come, maybe not tomorrow or the next day but Amarantha would come to kill them both. He and Tamlin were going Under the Mountain and unless Feyre told Tamlin she loved him sometime in the night, none of them would ever leave.

He’d never see Elain again. Lucien had been trying to convince himself that just for once, the Cauldron had been kind instead of cruel, giving him this time with her.

“There was never really a Treaty, was there?” Elain asked him, stepping out of his embrace. “We’re here…we’re here because of her, Amarantha, aren’t we?”

He couldn’t answer. Elain was so close it might make him physically sick. She could tell Feyre if she just put all the pieces together. The problem was Elain’s willingness to see the best of everyone. It would never cross her mind that they’d been taken for such selfish reasons. She’d blame it on Amarantha before she ever blamed Lucien or Tamlin.

Perhaps one day she’d figure it all out and realize, what, exactly, Tamlin had meant when he took her. Maybe it would harden her heart and she wouldn’t think of him anymore.. Lucien liked to picture Elain happy somewhere in the countryside, with a huge garden and a family and—

“You’re crying,” she whispered, catching a tear that dripped from his chin. He hadn’t noticed.

“It’s not safe for you to stay—”

“I don’t care,” she replied stubbornly.

“Didn’t you listen to Rhysand? Didn’t you hear the promise he made—Elain he has your name. He killed all those younglings he…he does her bidding. He’s vile, he’s cruel, and I can’t watch another woman—”

He gasped then, unable to get the words out. He couldn’t watch Rhysand repeat Beron’s cruelty and kill Elain for sport.

Elain bit her bottom lip. “What did he mean…keep your…away from your father?”

Fuck Rhysand, Lucien thought bitterly.

“I was engaged once,” he said, his voice more ragged than he meant. He swallowed his grief. She needed to know, needed to understand why tomorrow morning, Lucien would put her in a carriage without another word. “Her name was Jesminda. I believed her to be my mate—” He laughed then, too bitterly to sound really amused. “What a joke that turned out to be. She was lesser Fae and I was the seventh son of the High Lord. His unwanted seventh son, but his son, nevertheless. There were expectations of me and when he learned I planned to marry her he outright forbade it.”

“What happened?” Elain whispered, her eyes wide and horrified.

“I said fuck it and planned to leave. I was never going to be High Lord, never wanted to be High Lord. I planned to marry her and leave for another Court. I don’t know how he ever found out, but he dragged her from her village in daylight and dropped her right in the middle of his Court. My elder brothers held me down, made me watch and he…” Lucien couldn’t finish. Elain took a hesitant step forward, but Lucien held out his hand.

“You will get in that carriage tomorrow and you will forget about all of this,” he whispered, breaking his own heart. “Let Tamlin take your memories.”
“And you? Will you be wiping your memories, too?” She demanded, wiping her own face of tears.

“No,” he snarled because, despite everything, Elain was still his mate.

She breathed out a shaky breath. “Did you always know I’d have to leave?”
He shook his head. “I hoped you’d stay—”

“And what, Lucien?” She demanded. “A lifetime of hiding from Tamlin? Pretending nothing is happening until I’m withered, and you get bored—”
“I would have bound my life to yours and gladly followed you into death!” He all but yelled. “I would have made you my wife, I would have—”

She was openly sobbing then, her heart thoroughly broken because he’d have done those things without any regret and now he couldn’t. He reached for her again and she let him. She buried her face into his chest, soaking his shirt. He let her stay like that until her crying slowed; he scooped her up and brought her into his bed, pulled the blankets over their heads, and let himself cry with her.

“I don’t want him to take my memories,” she hiccupped some time that night, her body intertwined with his. Lucien kissed the top of her forehead.

“What about the rest of your life, Elain?” He asked, brushing hair from her face.

“There are other things,” she told him, her voice wavering. “I don’t want to forget that I…”

Everything hinged on one mortal woman telling one Fae male that she loved him and the wrong woman was about to tell the wrong male. He might have laughed at the irony of it had she not been ripping his heart out of his chest.

He kissed her mouth to stop her from saying the words. “I know,” he told her instead, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I know.”

There was no hiding what was going on between them when dawn broke. Rhysand had already shattered that illusion.  Elain, in one last quiet moment of defiance, refused to leave for her bedroom and Lucien didn’t have the strength to send her. Alis came in without a word and Elain offered no excuses. He wondered how long the servant woman had guessed. Lucien had to watch as Alis dressed Elain in the most absurd garb he’d ever seen; too frilly, corseted too tightly at the waist, with a little angled hat atop her beautiful hair and lace gloves covering her hands.

“You didn’t have to be kind,” Elain told Alis when her hair was finished. Alis clicked her tongue.

Alis brushed a finger over Elain’s cheek and then turned to look at Lucien with pitying eyes. “Make the most of your freedom, girl. And no more overturned plates, hm?”

Elain offered the ghost of a smile at the reminder.”

They’d made it all the way down the stairs when she whirled on her heels and kissed him hard. “I hate you,” she whispered.

“Liar,” he replied, kissing her again. He could hear Tamlin outside saying similar goodbyes.

I love you, Tamlin told Feyre. Lucien waited, wishing, but Feyre said nothing in return. Lucien caught Elain again, kissing her once more, lifting her off her feet to do so. Her beautiful face was drawn and pale, her eyes red and swollen. Tamlin watched, his own face drawn. Elain and Tamlin faced each other down and Lucien wondered if Elain might cut Tamlin down with a look or a word but instead she let him take her hand and ghost a kiss along the glove.

“Stick together. Keep each other safe,” he told her. Elain swallowed and nodded, allowing Tamlin to lead her to the carriage. Lucien stayed where he was; he’d cave if he had to look at her in that carriage and tell her goodbye again.

Tamlin joined him once the door was shut, standing shoulder to shoulder as the carriage left for the woods. “They’ll sleep through the journey,” Tamlin murmured.

The two watched the carriage depart for the forest, neither speaking to the other. There would be time for it another day. Lucien knew he’d have to answer for what Rhysand had revealed about Elain.

For the moment, though, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Chapter Text

Elain jerked awake moments after Feyre when the carriage lurched, nearly sending her flying to the floor. Feyre was rubbing her eyes furiously. “What was the point of that?” She demanded.

Elain didn’t know. Elain settled on the soft fabric seat across from Feyre and tried to get her bearings. They were going back home. Once that would have excited her but now…now it felt hollow. Home wasn’t a place anymore and her home was back in Prythian, his fate unknown to her. They’d never see each other again…Elain couldn’t bear to think of it. Instead, she looked out the window to view the scenery. They were pullin up a smoothly paved drive lined with rows of cone shaped hedges and softly swaying white irises. Feyre didn’t seem surprised at what she was seeing.

“Is this…?”

“All fathers ships were found off the coast of Bharat,” Feyre told Elain dully. The manor was sprawling, nearly as large as Tamlin’s and set atop a rolling green hill. Elain marveled at ivory pillars and emerald roofs, guilt pricking at her gut. She’d been so openly cruel to Tamlin when he’d done all this for her family.

The carriage jolted to a stop. Feyre got out first, taking a footman’s hand and Elain followed suit, shrinking away from the restless, jittery servants watching them. She’d become so accustomed to the stillness of faeries that their constantly movements set her on edge.

“Move,” a familiar voice ordered. Nesta strode towards them, looking healthier than Elain had seen her in a long time. She’d forgotten just how lovely Nesta was, with her tall, graceful body that curved and sloped to form a woman’s body. Nesta pushed her way from the door towards the two of them, her expression unreadable. Elain and Nesta faced off and for a moment, Elain thought Nesta might reject her or snap at her. Nesta grabbed her, pulling her into a fierce hug.

“You’re back,” she whispered, breathing in Elain’s hair. Feyre watched from the outside, like she’d always been. Elain opened her arms and motioned for Feyre to join. She’d been just as guilt of excluding Feyre in the past. She knew Feyre was hurting just as badly as she was, and Elain didn’t want Feyre to internalize her pain. They were all together, again. They could start over, Elain reasoned. Feyre took a hesitant step, joining in the hug. Nesta let her, pulling Feyre in too with a fierceness that surprised Elain.

“Aunt Ripleigh is dead, then?” Nesta asked the two of them flatly, glancing towards the servants with shrewd, calculating eyes.

“She left Elain her fortune,” Feyre replied quickly. Elain supposed that was her cover, the explanation for why Elain had just up and vanished.

“Come inside,” Nesta told them, looping her arm with Elain. Elain grabbed Feyre’s and hooked her arm, too, before Feyre could slip off. She’d be the glue between Nesta and Feyre if she had to, but Elain couldn’t come home to more misery. She’d need their company, their conversation, if she was going to get through being home again.

The inside of the house was just as lavish, something from a dream. Ivory pillars accompanied marble floors and gilded walls covered in beautiful artwork. Servants scurried about, all dressed in matching uniforms of blue and white, their eyes never quite looking upon the three sisters. Gorgeous, hand-carved furniture and plush rugs covered the floors and in too many rooms to count, Elain saw floor to ceiling bookshelves. If she’d never left, Elain knew she would have been happy with the turn of events but all she could think about was Spring and Lucien and how her home was behind the wall.

“When you didn’t come back, I just assumed…” Nesta trailed off, her question unspoken. Feyre shrugged her shoulders and Elain could see them sliding back into their old dynamic.

“I was in love with him,” Elain said, her voice barely more than a whisper. Both Feyre and Nesta stopped dead in their tracks at the confession. Elain had always been good at being vulnerable in a way that Nesta and Feyre were not. She could admit she’d loved Lucien, that she still did love him, and maybe would until she died. She should have just said the words to him and demanded he say them back.

I would have bound my life to yours and gladly followed you into death! I would have made you my wife, I would have…

He would die beneath the mountain, she thought dully. Maybe she hadn’t said it because she couldn’t face the prospect of knowing what might have been, if life had been even a little fairer.

“With who?” Nesta demanded but Feyre’s blue eyes softened.

“Come on, Elain,” Feyre murmured. “Let’s fine a bedroom.”

“There are so many, you could sleep in a different one each night for a week,” Nesta muttered. Nesta wasn’t wrong and Elain chose the one closest to Nesta’s just to have someone she knew close by. The room was bright and feminine, draped in soft pinks and greens and the bed was big and draped in gold. It was too big, and Elain was hit with a waving of longing not for Spring, but for their old cottage. It had been small and cramped and broken, but they’d all been together.

Elain avoided dinner to cry in bed that night. She’d face their father and the rest of the world in the morning. She shed herself of the ugly clothes Alis had given her only to find an entire wardrobe of similar dresses. In a fit of fury, Elain burned the dress from Spring, raging around her room silently as she threw each piece into the fire one at a time, watching until it was all ash.

Feyre crept into Elain’s room later that night when all the fight was gone from Elain, her hair loose around her shoulders. Elain pulled back her blanket and Feyre climbed in. Elain let Feyre wrap her arms around Elain’s body. “I loved him, too,” Feyre whispered into the darkness. Elain rubbed Feyre’s arm soothingly, wishing she knew what to say. All her thoughts were plagued of Lucien and the riddle they hadn’t quite been able to put together.

“Do you think if we figured it out, we could go back?” Feyre asked Elain.

No, she privately thought. Who was she to steal Feyre’s hope? “Maybe.”
The door opened again and Nesta came in. Elain moved to the center of the bed, knowing Nesta wouldn’t take the spot next to Feyre. Nesta slid into the bed with the two of them, draping her arm around Elain. Elain was surprised to see Feyre and Nesta lock hands, their fingers interlaced.

“Father is counting all the jewels in the carriage you came in,” Nesta whispered to the two of them. “It’s going to be more money than any one person could spend in two lifetimes.”

“I don’t want it,” Elain told her. It was the truth. What did she need all that money for? All it did was put a huge target on her back for men who’d be looking for a wife that might benefit them financially.

“What if we left?” Nesta continued, ignoring Elain’s statement. “What if we just left this place and went to the continent?”

Feyre sucked in a breath. “All of us?” She asked, her voice just a touch too vulnerable, as though she expected Nesta to say Feyre couldn’t come. Elain waited, too—they would go together or not at all.

“All of us,” Nesta replied fiercely. “We could start over, be whoever we wanted to be.”

There was only silence at Nesta’s suggestion as Elain and Feyre chewed it over. Leaving, traveling…these were things they’d always wanted to do, things they might have done, had they had the means. It also meant leaving Tamlin and Lucien to their fates.

“Okay,” Feyre agreed, her voice quiet.

Elain nodded. What was waiting for them in his place? She didn’t want to start over, didn’t want to be forced to complete a season where she’d meet suitors hoping for a chance to know her. She’d told Lucien there would be other things besides romance and though she knew he didn’t believe her, she’d meant it. He’d promised her he would have made her his wife, if things were different and Elain had to believe that in another life, they would find each other. That things would work them. Not here, though, and Elain didn’t want to move on. She was content with what she’d had.

“As long as we stay together,” Elain agreed softly. There was more silence though Elain knew none of them were asleep.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Nesta whispered, a quiet command and Elain remembered that her and Feyre had both tried to get Elain back.

Elain’s body rebelled and for a moment she almost told Nesta no. She wanted to keep him a secret, wanted to keep his memory just for herself. Elain blew out a breath, and then began.

Days passed in a blur. Father’s joy at seeing Elain pained her. His leg was better, nearly healed thanks to a salve given to him by a passing healer. With his improved fortunes, his spirit had also returned. Gone was the man who’d huddled over a stool in their cabin…it was as if he’d never existed at all. His eyes were clear for the first time in years.

His reaction to Feyre’s return wasn’t as joyous and Elain felt a twinge of irritation although Feyre didn’t seem to care. He wanted to throw them a ball to make up for their missed season and ignored every protest Feyre and Elain voiced. She should have loved it; she’d always wanted a life like the one their father could now provide. There was even a garden that he walked her through with pride and despite everything, her fingers itched to be back in the soil.

Every day, Elain did exactly as she was expected to do. She smiled, she bounced about, making friends while she picked up managing the things their father couldn’t be bothered to remember to do. It was like they’d never been gone, like the last eight years had never happened. Elain understood Nesta’s anger.

Every night, Nesta and Feyre climbed into bed with Elain just like they used to do at the old cottage. Sometimes they talked, always about their plans to leave, where they’d go and what they hoped to see. Other times they said nothing at all; they just held each other until sleep took them. They didn’t acknowledge this new ritual in any way. Elain suspected it was the only thing keeping the three of them from collective breakdowns.

“Do you ever miss the cottage?” Elain asked her sisters one night. It had been eating at her. They had all the things they’d wanted, back when they’d been starving and poor and yet they were still sharing a bed, still walking around just as they always had. Nesta’s anger was palpable, Feyre’s wildness still untamed and Elain continued to smile lest she disappoint anyone. Only the scenery had changed. There were more places to hide, if they’d wanted to. Elain couldn’t stand the silence.

“No,” Feyre and Nesta said in unison.

“There are days when I want to ask father if he remembers the years he almost let us starve to death,” Nesta confessed to the darkness, scooting just a little closer to Elain, as though she needed the warmth. Perhaps she did, in her own way.

“You spent every copper I could get, too,” Feyre reminded Nesta. Elain flinched. They’d been so cruel, so selfish.

“I always knew you could get more,” Nesta replied, though there was the barest hint of apology in her words. It was the closest Feyre would ever get. Elain wondered if it would be enough. “And if you couldn’t, then I wanted to see if he would ever try to do it for himself, instead of carving those bits of wood. If he would actually go out and fight for us. I couldn’t take care of us, not the way you did. I hated you for that. But I hated him more. I still do.”

Elain started to defuse what she suspected was about to be an angry fight, but Feyre asked, “Does he know?”

“He’s always known I hated him, even before we became poor. He let Mother die—he had a fleet of ships at his disposal to sail across the world for a cure, or he could have hired men to go into Prythian and beg for help. But he let her waste away.”

Feyre hesitated. “He loved her—he grieved for her.”

“He let her die, Nesta accused. “You would have gone to the ends of the earth to save your High Lord.”

“Yes, I would have,” Feyre agreed softly. Both sisters turned, their backs facing Elain, and no one spoke for the rest of the night.

Elain’s dance card was full before she ever got a chance to meet everyone. Nesta had slipped away leaving just Feyre to suffer alongside Elain. Feyre made no attempt to hide her dislike of the preening nobility, the dripping wealth, and everything that had gone into the ball. Elain couldn’t help but try, if only to please their father. She let man after man lead her through waltz after waltz. Elain found, if she smiled and let her eyes glaze over, she could pretend it was Lucien who held her, who smiled down at her, who snarked and sniped. It wasn’t, though, and when she looked up all she found were the eyes of a stranger.

One man kept coming back. Graysen was his name. He smiled wide and his eyes were kind. He was a good dancer with soft hands and a casual grace she might have found appealing in another life. He already had money and status and was exactly the kind of match she’d once wanted. She listened to him talk and asked questions, but she couldn’t get over how wrong his eyes seemed to look or the dull shade of his hair. No man would ever compare to Lucien and in every conceivable way, it was unfair to do a comparison.  He asked to call on her and Elain agreed demurely, as was expected. She knew she wouldn’t be around for him to call on.

She found Feyre and Nesta waiting for her in bed, already undressed and half asleep.

“I hate them all,” Feyre whispered, scooting just a little closer to Elain.

“So do I,” Elain agreed.

News of the Beddor fire reached the Archeron’s two days after it happened. Elain and Feyre fidgeted through the entire conversation with their father. He wanted to buy the now vacant land as an investment and build one of the girls a future home on it. Elain couldn’t sit still, could barely think as she heard the details. All the Beddors had been found dead, their bodies charred…except for Clare. Feyre had given Rhysand Clare’s name instead of her own but Elain…Elain had given him her real name. What would happen to her family when Amarantha came looking for her?

Elain couldn’t take that chance. She decided she’d go back to the old cottage and wait, hoping whatever took Clare didn’t come up to the manor but instead went to the village. She went about her day, gardening until Feyre and Nesta grew bored of watching, and then took off, walking as quickly as she dared lest any of the servants mention her odd behavior to her father.

It didn’t take Nesta long to find her on the empty, gravel path. There was nothing between the village and where they lived save for what felt like the vast, unlimited expanse of trees. Halfway to the village, Nesta caught up, her imperious face red from exertion and filled with suspicion.

“You’re acting strange,” Nesta accused.

“How so?” Elain demanded, halting her steps. Nesta crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well, first of all you’re here instead of at home,” Nesta prodded. “Why?”

“I want to see the cottage,” Elain replied a touch too defensively.

Nesta sighed with exasperation. “Why?! That place was a miserable shit hole!”

Elain opened her mouth to retort but the scent of rotting meat rushed over her. She heard flapping wings, saw the horror on Nesta’s face. Tamlin had shielded her from the Attor the first time but Elain knew this time they’d meet face to face.

“Elain Archeron, is it?” The Attor’s voice hissed. Elain turned slowly. She didn’t know why’d she’d been picturing something small, like a little vulture that perched atop the faceless Amarantha’s shoulder.

Nesta reached for Elain, wrapping an arm over her chest as they stared at the towering faerie. Black eyes peered from leathery skin. Elain’s eyes drifted to hands the size of her face, each with a long, jagged claw.

“Which of you is Elain Archeron?” The Attor asked, revealing two rows of sharpened silver teeth.

“Me,” Nesta said too quickly, shoving Elain back.

“Nesta—!” Elain protested.

 The Attor hesitated just for a moment, eyes flicking from Nesta to Elain. “She can decide which of you lies and which of you dies.”

“Please run,” Elain whispered to her elder sister, closing her eyes. She never heard if Nesta offered a response. Something heavy crashed over her head and the world spun into blackness.

Chapter Text

Elain woke to pain. Someone had woken her, as though they had come into her mind and turned on a switch. She blinked, her head aching. She was lying on cold, dark marble in a dim room. The air smelled strange, as though she were deep underground though there was a familiar tang of something metallic hanging in the air. Magic, she realized. Elain groaned softly, pushing herself upwards. She’d forgotten, for the briefest of seconds, her last moment of reality. It all came crashing back when she took a good look at her surroundings.

She was sitting in a  throne room, well-lit by a massive overhead chandelier. Strange, off-kilter music played softly in the background though in the crowd of blurry, unrecognizable faces, not one of them danced. Everyone watched her as though waiting for her to do something. She looked away, to the golden dais and the twisted black throne sitting in the middle. There, Elain finally saw the she Lucien and Tamlin had been so afraid of. She was staring back at Elain with a gleaming row of too-white teeth. Like the Attor, her eyes were wholly black and set in a face that might have been pretty once but looked as though all the life had been sucked out through a straw. Elain took in her blood-red hair, her sharp, black nails, her alabaster skin. Ugly, she thought, as if it mattered.

Beside Amarantha sat Tamlin, ramrod straight. Through his white and gold mask, Tamlin stared out into the crowd, looking at something Elain couldn’t see. He gripped the edges of his throne, his knuckles practically white.

“I was hoping you might wake first,” Amarantha crooned. “We’d taken bets on which of you would wake the quickest.”

Soft laughter floated through the room. Elain didn’t bother to ask what Amarantha wanted. Her eyes were firmly locked on what hung at the end of the throne room, staked to the wall with huge, iron nails. Clare Beddors body couldn’t have been there long, though Elain didn’t know if that was the right thing to focus on. The torture Clare had endured was impossible to comprehend. Elain could see broken bones sticking out at odd angles, patches of raw, burned skin and red crisscrosses along her naked flesh, as if she’d been brutally whipped.

“I see you’ve met our most recent guest,” Amarantha continued as though the situation were merely funny. “Poor Clare. She swore she’d never seen Tamlin before. Have you? Hm? No use lying—”

“I have,” Elain interrupted, still sitting on the floor. Tamlin’s eyes drifted towards her, so dark they hardly seemed green anymore.

“Oh? And Tamlin? Is this Elain Archeron?”

They stared at each other for a moment and Elain wondered which would damn her more, his silence or his confession. Tamlin exhaled softly but said nothing turning away like he was bored of the whole charade.  

Amarantha pouted for a moment. “He’s no fun. The Attor says you both claim to be Elain Archeron.”

“I am,” Elain all but whispered, her voice trembling. She’d been foolish to give up her name. “Please…send my sister home.”

“Home? Sweet human, this is your home,” Amarantha replied. Nesta lay crumpled on the ground, still unconscious. Elain reached out a shaking hand to touch Nesta’s face. Her skin was cold, but there was a pulse beneath, fluttering softly.

“Come here,” Amarantha demanded, crooking one finger at Elain. She had no intention of going anywhere unless she was made to. She stayed where she was until magic jerked like an invisible hook and threw her at Tamlin’s feet.

“That’s better,” Amarantha cooed. Elain was careful not to touch Tamlin; he wasn’t going to help her, and she wasn’t going to ask him for it. Not that it would have mattered. Amarantha crouched, sliding out of her throne to grip Elain by the face. She dragged her nails softly down Elain’s skin and too late, Elain remembered what those nails had done to Lucien.

“You’re much prettier than Clare. I suppose I could see what Tamlin found appealing about you. I wonder if he’d think you were so pretty if I took all the skin off your face.” Her nails dug harder, dragging a trail of blood down Elain’s cheek.

“You don’t want to beg me to spare her? Is she not the human you thought would break the curse?” Amarantha asked, still holding Elain in one hand roughly, though she’d turned to look at Tamlin. “The human you loved?” She sneered that last word, as though it physically disgusted her. Amarantha threw Elain back to the floor so hard Elain gasped. She landed on her palms and knees at Tamlin’s feet again.

“Beg the High Lord to save your life!” Amarantha demanded. “Tell him you love him.”

She’d never know what possessed her to say, so loudly it echoed around the room, “I never loved him.” It was a curse, one that made Tamlin flinch with its intensity.

“Did you hear that?” Amarantha asked, kicking Elain away from Tamlin with her boot. Elain closed her eyes against the sharpness of the pain echoing in her ribs. She could taste blood behind her teeth. Maybe, she thought, Amarantha would kill her quickly. “Humans and their inconsistent, ugly hearts.”

Blinding white pain erupted in Elain’s body. She screamed, stunned by the intensity. Burning, all-consuming heat seemed to build without end. There was the sound of cracking, though Elain couldn’t feel it over the burning. It was as though she’d been set on fire from the inside out. The pain ended just as quickly as it began, leaving her gasping and crying on the floor. More sharp pain shot up her knee and Elain knew, without having to look, that her leg was broken.

“We stripped Clare naked and whipped her,” Amarantha was saying, her voice far away. Elain shook her head no though she couldn’t move.

“Leave her alone!” Nesta’s voice floated into Elain’s awareness. There was another crunch followed by more burning. Elain arched hard off the floor, as though someone pulled at her with strings, screaming so loud she couldn’t cry, couldn’t beg.

And then, just as quickly as it had all begun, the pain stopped. She was still being tossed about the floor, though she seemed to watch from outside her own body.

I’m in shock, she thought, watching as the body that belonged to her curled up in on itself.

You’re not, a male’s voice responded softly. I’ve taken away your pain.

Her body relaxed, still twitching. She was still crying, though it all seemed outside of her control. She could hear Nesta screaming, pleading followed by an angrier, more masculine voice.

“End this!”

Lucien? she asked the disembodied voice in her head. Perhaps this was a God, come to take her in her final moments.

The voice chucked. I am no God and yes, Lucien is going to follow right after you if he doesn’t stop begging.

Elain wished she could see him. Can you ask him to? And…and will you tell him it was him that I loved the whole time?

It doesn’t work that way, the voice told her sadly before withdrawing, forcing her to come back fully. Everything hurt and she could barely breathe. Amarantha was laughing while she paced. Elain groaned again, rolling onto her side to let the blood that had been pooling in her mouth pour onto the floor.

“I miss the days when humans were slaves,” Amarantha purred. “You’re so fun to play with.”

“Bring it back!” Another masculine voice called. The sound of laughter punctuated the silence. Amarantha walked towards Elain with a slowness that could drive Elain to madness. She kicked in the back, rolling her off the dais and onto the floor. The drop took what little air was left right out of her.

“You want a pretty human slave?” She asked the crowd.

Kill me, Elain begged the voice. Please—

I’m so sorry, was all it said in return. There was real grief behind the words. She might have thought it human if she’d known better.

“Let’s start with our High Lords, hm? That seems fair. Which of you would like a pretty human slave, hm? I’ve already broken her which seems unfair.”

Warm hands touched Elain, pulling her off the ground.

“I’ll take her,” a deep voice intoned.

“Get your hands off her!” Nesta screamed in the distance. Elain kept her eyes closed, let whoever held her press her to his chest.

“How delicious. In front of your wife?” Amarantha asked with a cruel laugh.

“I have sons,” was all the voice replied.

“Give me the other human,” another man practically demanded. Elain wanted to turn and see who took Nesta, to see if he at least looked kind, but nothing worked. All she could do was stay as she was and breathe through the kind of pain the promised a very, very slow death.

They were walking away; she could feel each step reverberate through her bones. Other footsteps echoed nearby.

“Thank you,” a woman whispered, her voice thick with tears.

The voice grunted in response before snapping, “Eris!”

“Father?”

“You warn the rest of my court and your brothers what happens if anyone touches this girl.”

“Yes,” the voice belonging to Eris replied. Darkness was creeping into the edges of Elain’s consciousness, but she knew where she was, knew who held her.

Beron Vanserra was carrying her straight into Autumn Court.

**

Hell was a place and Lucien was its ruler. He’d told himself he could endure living Under the Mountain knowing Elain was tucked away safely. He could watch horror after horror, could tolerate being subjected to pain so long as he knew she was safe and alive. For weeks, he held the memory of her in his chest and let it glow softly, the only good thing in the sea of shit he was swimming in. Amarantha was so utterly obsessed with breaking Tamlin that it seemed she almost forgot about the rest of them.

And then…and then Clare Beddor was dragged in, sobbing and confused as she swore she’d never seen Tamlin before in her life. Of course she hadn’t; it had been Feyre who’d given Rhysand Clare’s name. Amarantha didn’t believe Clare or perhaps, just didn’t care. Lucien stood silently for two fucking nights while Amarantha tried to torture the truth out of Clare. Admit you were the girl, admit you wanted Tamlin, admit you knew him—Clare couldn’t and eventually she stopped trying. It had been a relief when she died though Amarantha, furious Clare had evaded her and angrier still that Tamlin had acted as though he’d never seen her, hung her body up in the throne room like art.

Lucien couldn’t look any more. He knew he’d have to answer to whatever Gods still existed for standing by without saying anything. He and Tamlin knew the truth, but Lucien couldn’t betray Feyre, couldn’t betray Tamlin, and above all, would not betray Elain.

There were two days of peace, or, as close to peace as they’d ever get under that fucking mountain. He’d fallen back into his usual routine with the other Spring courtiers while fastidiously trying to avoid anyone from Autumn. He could have spent a miserable eternity that way. Would have, even. All that, wrecked the moment the damned Attor slid in and dropped two unconscious women to the floor. Lucien’s entire world pinpointed on Elain, lying in a rich, purple dress that reminded him so much of Autumn it made his chest tight. Elain had given Rhysand her name and Rhysand had given that name to Amarantha.

He thought the worst thing he’d ever witnessed was watching Amarantha slowly torture Elain. The sound of her broken screams, the pleas of her sister…they’d haunt him in the afterlife. Lucien, too, broke and begged, unable to stay silent like he knew Tamlin’s gaze demanded. He’d demanded Amarantha stop, that she end her torture of Elain and with those demands, Lucien had drawn the attention of his elder brother. He hadn’t realized it at first—Amarantha paused her torture for a moment and Lucien felt Eris’ eyes watching him.

Eris always had been shrewd. How much he guessed and how much he actually knew was a mystery to Lucien. It was Eris Vanserra who called for Amarantha to bring slavery back, perhaps as a joke or because he also could not watch another human slowly die in service of Amarantha’s jealousy.  Amarantha offered Elain up to the High Lords and Lucien prayed none of them would accept, that she’d let anyone take one of the women so he could take her back to his room and heal her wounds, could apologize and beg her forgiveness on his knees.

Beron Vanserra had stepped forward before the words left Amarantha’s lips. Even Tamlin had the good sense to look concerned. Lucien watched his father, the man who’d once beheaded a woman simply for being born lesser Fae, carefully scoop Elain, the love of Lucien’s life, his mate, into Beron’s arms with care that Lucien wouldn’t have guessed his father possessed.

He’d vanished into the wing of the mountain that housed Autumn, taking Elain’s limp, bleeding body with him. Helion took an unblemished Nesta who, to her credit, fought him wildly the entire time. Lucien was certain Nesta had drawn blood, for all Helion cared. She’d come out of the Day Court the next night dressed like Helion’s personal Lady, a clear fuck you to Amarantha from one of the newest High Lords of Prythian.

Elain had not. For three nights Lucien waited. Beron came, along with his mother and brothers but wherever Elain was and if she was alive, Lucien could only guess. The bond in his chest was weak; he wasn’t certain he’d know if she died.

On night fourth, Lucien planned to swallow his pride and beg Eris for answers, even if it drew the wrong kind of attention to Elain. After all, Eris hadn’t held him down…he hadn’t been in Autumn at all. Lucien had taken all of two steps when soft hands clutched his arm.

“Don’t be stupid,” Nesta Archeron hissed. She was draped in shimmering gold with elegantly braided hair Lucien wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Helion had done himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucien sniffed.

“Oh please,” Nesta shot back with narrowed eyes. “The only person staring at Beron Vanserra more than me is you. We want the same things. There are better ways to get information.”

Lucien swept Nesta into a dance, melting into the crowd. “Go on,” he ordered.

“Which one of your brothers would be the easiest to seduce?” She asked. Lucien dropped his hands and walked off the dance floor to the table holding food and wine. Nesta came with him.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the High Lord?” He deadpanned. Nesta scowled.

“Helion? He’s busy if you hadn’t noticed.”

Lucien hadn’t, but a quick glance at the High Lord of Day found Helion lounging in a chair with a very handsome male sitting in his lap, plopping plump, purple grapes into his mouth. At his feet, an equally beautiful female ran her hands up his leg, letting them vanish into his toga. He gestured toward a bowl of fruit. “The night awaits you.”

“I’m not going to feed him anything,” Nesta hissed. “Tell me which of your brothers is stupidest.”

“They’re all equally stupid which they match only in their ability to be cruel,” he retorted, rounding on the eldest Archeron. “If you’re hoping one night in bed with them will yield you anything but months of nightmares, I would think again.”

He took his goblet of wine and planned to step away, but Nesta was dogged in her persistence. She was hovering just behind his elbow

“Do you suppose that’s what Elain got, when she slept with the youngest Autumn Court son?” Nesta needled, her eyes filled with accusation. Lucien’s hold on his temper was tenuous. “If your brothers would be so cruel to a willing woman, what do you suppose they’ll do to Elain?

The snarl that erupted from his throat drew too much attention. Half of Dawn’s courtiers were staring at them with burning curiosity. With nothing else to do beneath the mountain, gossip was at a premium. Nesta seemed satisfied with his response and unaware that they were now being watched. Lucien steered her back towards Day, far enough from Dawn that they couldn’t be heard. He needed to get a hold of himself, but instinct demanded he kill anyone who touched his mate. The urge to protect her was unyielding and Lucien was stunned at the ferocity he felt. He’d been too panicked when she was being tortured, too desperate but now…

“Eris,” he told her, gesturing towards his eldest brother. “He’s not the stupidest, but he is the most likely to tell you want you want in exchange for something.”

Nesta’s cool, gray eyes drifted towards Eris, sizing him up the way a  predator might. Lucien wasn’t sure the wisdom in sending a human to Eris and when Nesta took a step towards him, Lucien grabbed her arm. “You’re human…don’t forget that. No one will care if he hurts you.”

Nesta yanked her arm from Lucien. “How could I forget how little our lives mean to any of you?” Her words were a slap in the face…one he knew he deserved. Lucien had been just as selfish, just as greedy, to keep Elain as long as he had. He should have demanded she go home…turned a cold shoulder, been cruel, anything that might have spared her.

Nesta took off, hips swaying as she walked. Lucien wondered if perhaps it was Eris who needed the warning and not Nesta, for all the confidence she moved with. He caught Helion’s eyes drift and as Lucien sat in a chair to listen, he knew he wasn’t the only one. Helion would intervene, then, if Eris tried anything too terrible. The thought made Lucien feel a little better.

“Do you dance?” Nesta asked, her voice soft and hesitant as though she were a nervous little human working up the courage to talk to the handsome faerie lord. Eris turned, wolfish grin on his face.

“With a human? It would be a first.” He took a step forward, invading Nesta’s personal space. Nesta held her ground, biting her lower lip.

“I’ve always wanted to be someone’s first,” she told him, putting a hand on his chest. If she did that to seem wanting or to keep him from getting any closer, Lucien couldn’t be sure. He noticed Beron’s eyes cut towards Eris sharply, taking him from his conversation with one particularly nasty courtier.

“I’m flattered that in a sea of beautiful faces, you found mine worthy,” Eris all but purred, ignoring her hand so he could close the gap between their bodies. “I fear your efforts are wasted. I’m saving myself for your sister.”

Nesta’s hand shot up so fast, clearly meant to slap him, but Eris caught her before she could. “I suppose I’m not as handsome as you said. Naughty thing. Run along now, back to Helion before my good will runs out and I feel inclined to tell Amarantha how much spirit you still have.”

Eris was grinning, and Lucien knew, even without having had a true conversation with Eris in decades, that he was enjoying himself. Eris dropped Nesta’s arm and backed off, smoothing his hands down his jacket. Nesta caught him.

“Just…is she okay? Please?”

Lucien would never know what, exactly, passed through Eris’ mind as he looked down at the iron spined female pleading before him. Perhaps it caught him by surprise. Perhaps, buried beneath his layers of calculating cruelty lay an actual, beating heart.

“She was very badly injured...now she’s resting. No one has touched her, and no one will. High Lord’s orders.”

Eris left Nesta where she stood, half-hidden in the shadows of the throne room. Lucien meant to go and collect her, given how wobbly her knees seemed to be, but Helion was already there, ghosting hands down her shoulder. Nesta slumped and let him lead her back to where Day Court was congregated and Lucien, too, stayed where he was, alone in his chair. Several females wandered over and he waved them away like he always did.

Beron had Elain. Lucien had grown up in Autumn, knew his father like he knew himself. Beron might not have hurt her, but he hadn’t taken her to spare her a far more horrific fate at the hands of another, the way Helion had done with Nesta. If Beron was letting Elain heal and rest, it would come at a cost.

He wondered what Elain would be expected to pay.

Chapter Text

When Elain awoke, she woke alone. She shot up, her body ache akin to falling down a flight of stairs and not the brutal beating she’d taken in Amarantha’s Court. Her room was cavernous, windowless, and decked entirely of black. Everything, from the marble on the floor to the chandelier delicately twinkling overhead. She sighed softly and slid out of the bed, testing her legs. They wobbled a little but held. She padded to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and shed the delicate white night dress someone had put her in. She chose not to think about her naked body exposed to strangers as she surveyed the damage of her body. The old scars from the naga were still there, along with more bruising than she would have liked, concentrated along her ribs. She was alive, though, and in one piece.

Alive in Autumn Court.

Had she traded one devil for another? Tamlin had told her Lucien’s dad was as bad as his own, and Tamlin’s father had owned and tortured slaves. Beron Vanserra had murdered his youngest son’s fiancé simply because he didn’t like her. Elain rubbed her face as she thought, filling the tub with hot water.

Beron could have killed her, she reasoned. Could have let her die or saved her only to chain her up, but instead she was alone and, from what she could tell, unguarded. That didn’t mean she was safe, but it didn’t make her a slave. Elain slid into the clean water, letting herself sink until only the upper part of her face remained above water. There were oils and soaps on the shelf just above the bath; she reached for each and began scrubbing the grime, blood, and fear off her skin.

When she finished, Elain wrapped herself in a massive, black towel to watch the water drain slowly from the tub. She couldn’t be the Elain from Spring here, she told herself as she stared. She was allowed softness in Spring…she’d found love in Spring. In Autumn she’d have to be careful, she’d need to be on her guard and aware of what she was saying, as well as what was being said back. She knew faeries liked to play word games and had centuries of experience on her.

Her existence beneath the mountain was a game where the players were allowed to cheat. Elain would need to find another lady in Autumn to model her behavior from. She’d stay quiet, speak only when someone spoke to her until she understood the rules. With that decided, Elain made her way to the armoire for a pretty, grayish lavender colored gown with sleeves that draped over her arms. The fabric was clingy through her waist before flaring softly to the floor. She pictured herself running through the woods she’d once kissed Lucien in, imagined him chasing just behind. How he’d chide her for picking such an unsuitable dress only to strip it off her the first chance he got.

She was at her vanity, placing a gold circlet into her carefully curled hair so it rested in the middle of her forehead, when the High Lord himself stepped into her bedroom, one of his sons at his side.

I have sons.

Elain forced herself to remain calm, turning in her seat until she faced them. “My lord,” she murmured, sinking to one knee on the floor. Beron seemed pleased with the gesture; he motioned for her to rise. Elain dared to look at his cold, imperious face, hopeful she might find any small part of Lucien gazing back. Beron’s eyes and hair were a dark brown that seemed strangely plain against the beauty of his ruby haired, russet eyed son beside him. There was Lucien in the brother, besides just their coloring. Though Lucien was much tanner, they had the same sharp jaw, the same broad hands.

“You’ve healed nicely,” Beron told her, his voice as icy as his face. His words put her at ease; there was nothing behind them. It was just a fact to Beron. She wished she could say the same about his son smirking beside him.

“You’ve been too kind,” she offered.

“I have done nothing that you will not repay me for,” Beron informed her, gesturing for her to take a seat. Elain did, occupying one of the dark, leather chairs near the cheerfully crackling fireplace.

“I will say this only once. Do not lie to me,” Beron began, taking the other across from her. His son remained standing, one hand resting on the high back. “You are a guest in my court, welcome to my hospitality but all of that can change if I catch you lying.”

She nodded, folding her hands in her skirt.

“Were you one of the women Rhysand saw in Spring Court with Tamlin?” Beron began, his eyes boring a hole into her skull. She wondered if he could read her mind like Rhysand could.

“I was,” she agreed.

“Were you the human who killed his sentinel?”

The curse. Tamlin had bet the universe it wouldn’t matter which human he took and had cost himself the freedom of his court and everyone else in Prythian. She couldn’t be shocked by Tamlin’s selfishness anymore. She could still recall lying broken and bloodied at his feet while he did nothing. What would Beron do when he learned Tamlin had damned them all?

“No, my sister did.”

The son’s eyebrows knitted together. Beron leaned forward just a hair. “But you were in Spring.”

Elain bit her bottom lip. “We were starving and my sister shot a wolf. We…she didn’t know. Tamlin came and told us there was a Treaty drawn up centuries ago by faeries and humans…a life for a life. He’d come to collect—”

“Your sister,” the son interrupted impatiently.

“Me,” she told the two of them softly. “Tamlin took me.”

Beron’s laugh made her start. It was cold and cruel; there was no warmth in the sound. “The fate of our whole fucking world and Tamlin let his cock choose which sister he’d take.”

Elain cringed at his words.

“So you did, what, exactly, in Spring?” Beron pressed once his amusement faded.

Fell in love with your son.

 “I made Tamlin miserable and de-weeded his garden,” she told Beron instead.

“I want to know everything you heard and saw,” Beron informed her, crossing an ankle over his knee. So began several hours of what amounted to little more than interrogation. What were the names of Tamlin’s sentinels? How heavily did he guard his borders? How often did he rotate his border patrol? Where he kept his weapons, his fighting style, the layout of his estate, on and on and on. She was forced to give up information about Lucien and when she did, she was careful to mix lies with the truth so Beron wouldn’t think she was trying to protect Tamlin’s emissary.

Beron wanted to know how friendly she was with Lucien, which terrified her. Elain was proud at how close to the vest she played it. Elain told Beron a half-truth; Lucien had kept his distance and argued to send her home at every turn. She speculated he did not care for humans and wanted an actual fight.

“If you walked up to him and asked for help, would he offer it?” Beron asked her casually. Elain knew the answer like she knew her own name.

“Not if it would betray Tamlin,” she told Beron, the first outright lie she’d given.

Beron reclined in his chair. “Make me a promise, Elain, and in exchange, I promise to free you if we ever escape this prison.”

She nodded, a gesture for him to offer her the terms. “Be my eyes and ears with the other courts. Your sister is in Day Court, you have ties to Spring…I want to know what the other Courts are planning, what they’re thinking. Eris will introduce you to the other Courts…I suspect a pretty human will be interesting to a lot of the courtiers who have been looking at the same miserable faces for fifty years.”

Elain’s face must have betrayed her fear. Eris Vanserra smiled wickedly. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them touch you…unless, of course, you want them to.”

“I don’t,” she whispered.

Beron stood, leaving Elain feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. “One last thing. My wife…she asked me to spare you. I expect you will treat her with kindness while you’re here.”

Elain caught the micro expression of anger flash over his face. It was gone before anyone could clock it. She wondered what part of Beron’s request angered Eris.

“Of course,” she agreed. She’d never been rude to Lucien’s mother. Beron glanced once at his son and then left Elain and Eris to face off. She stayed in her chair, wondering if Eris was easier to deceive than his father.

“I’ll escort you to tonight’s festivities, if you like,” Eris told her, eyes gleaming with mischief. How much of his face was a mirror to Lucien’s, she wondered? Elain stood and took his arm, tucking her hand gently beneath like she’d been taught to do.

“You and I are going to spend a lot of time together,” Eris murmured, leading her down a dark hall. Elain couldn’t resist reaching out to touch the walls. Moist stone met her fingers and Eris sighed.

“This mountain was sacred, once.”

“And now?” She asked, testing the water. Eris looked down at her as though deciding if she was worth wasting his words on.

“And now it is a true Court of Nightmares. If you were smart, you’d be much more frightened.”
“How terribly unkind, Eris Vanserra,” Elain murmured in response.

“Will you tell me one thing?” Eris pressed, leading her from the hall into a vast entertaining room decked in the colors of Autumn. She had to blink in order to adjust from the sudden shift in black to the rich reds, browns, and yellows now poking out from every inch of the cavernous space. This, she knew, was where Beron held court when he wasn’t under Amarantha’s thumb.

“What will you give me in exchange?” She asked without thinking. She was studying the ladies scurrying about, all attached to a man, all dressed in billowing, breezy gowns. She could see the appeal of that aspect to Autumn; everything seemed soft though she knew it to be the opposite.

“How very Autumn of you, little human—”

“I have a name,” she reminded him.

“Elain,” Eris said, tasting the sound on his tongue. “And in exchange, I’ll give you this.” Eris unfurled his other hand, revealing a small, red stone attached to a long, silver chain. He pulled her just out of the way and Elain swept her hair to the side so he could clasp it around her neck.

“Was what you said about Lucien and Tamlin true?” Eris murmured, his fingers still touching the back of her neck. Stupid, she realized, to not ask the question he wanted to know before accepting his end of the bargain.

“What do you mean?” She whispered, though she knew exactly what he meant.

“Would Lucien refuse you help to protect his High Lord’s secrets? Would he let you die?”

“That’s two questions,” Elain practically gasped, her words breathless.

“The answer is the same though, isn’t it?” Eris practically purred.

“Why ask, if you already know the answer?” She asked, shivering against his fingers. She wished he’d stop touching her; it was making her skin crawl.

“Tell me the truth, Elain. Would Lucien refuse you to protect his High Lords secrets?”

“No,” she replied, eyes cast to the floor. All at once, Eris removed his hands and Elain inhaled sharply. Eris came to face her, his body in her personal space. He hooked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“If you crush the gem on that necklace, I’ll know you need my help. I might come to your aid, should I feel so inclined. As for that little piece of truth you offered me…that’s our little secret for now. I’ll make sure to keep an extra close watch on you when you mingle with Spring. After all, you were very clear you did not want to be touched. Hm?”

He offered her his arm again, abating the tension that had settled around them. How Eris guessed, Elain suspected she didn’t want to know. She too much of a coward to ask.

“Smile,” Eris demanded, his own face slipping into casual boredom. “Show that cunt she didn’t break you.”

And as Eris lead Elain back into the throne room his father had carried her out of days before, she wondered if she hadn’t misread Eris entirely. Wondered if it wasn’t Beron she ought to be afraid of, but his eldest son.

**

Eris and Elain swanned into the throne room like Autumn Court royalty. She looked so faerie in that moment it truly stole his breath. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed; other courtiers were eyeing Elain with clear interest. He wondered how much thought his elder brother had put into bringing Elain into Amarantha’s throne room, given how many males had been fucking the same females for decades. It wouldn’t matter if she was human; she was beautiful and new, a shiny toy to play with. It made his stomach burn.

Nesta Archeron plopped down on the arm of his chair. “Shall I feed you, my lord?” She sneered, a glass of faerie wine in hand. Lucien snatched it from her grasp.

“Only if you feel compelled to do so,” he responded with irritation before taking a long drink. He and Nesta had formed a strange friendship, bonded in their fear that Beron had done something heinous to Elain. It seemed the worst Beron had done was force her to spend time with Eris.

“She looks good, don’t you think?” Nesta asked him, dropping her icy mask for a moment. Lucien always thought Elain looked good, but he had to admit, his whole body went taut at the sight of her in Autumn Court fashion.

“Yes,” he managed, earning a hard shove from Nesta.

“Don’t be gross,” she hissed. “And don’t be so obvious.”

Lucien hauled Nesta into his lap before she could do anything to stop him. “I will kill you,” Nesta promised though she didn’t squirm or hit, which Lucien was grateful for.

“You could certainly try,” Lucien deadpanned. “Next time, I’d prefer if you brought me something to eat.”

“I’ll bring you a knife to your stomach,” Nesta replied with mock sweetness though she stayed where she was. It was a good cover for the both of them. To anyone looking, Lucien merely appeared to be attempting to seduce Helion’s human pet. It kept Nesta out of trouble and more importantly, let them speak as freely as they could, given the circumstances. Lucien and Nesta were united under one common cause: getting Elain out of the mountain.

“You know how to make a male feel wanted,” Lucien muttered, trying to hear what Elain and Eris were talking about at the far end of the room. It was near impossible, and Elain’s face betrayed nothing. She was the picture of polite interest, clearly unmoved by Eris’ wolfish smile.

“What do you think your father wanted, in exchange for her safety?” Nesta whispered, plucking the glass of wine back from Lucien’s fingers.

“Nothing that left a mark,” he replied, wondering if Elain would fare better than his mother. As if his thoughts summoned her, Elain turned her head, meeting his gaze. Lucien’s heart stopped for a moment, her eyes stripping him bare. Elain held him utterly still for a beat, her face unreadable before glancing back up at Eris as though Lucien were little more than a stranger she didn’t care for.

He exhaled softly.

“What, exactly, went on between the two of you?” Nesta asked, draining the cup of wine.

“Nothing I could talk about in here,” Lucien replied, pushing Nesta off his lap so he could stand. He needed a drink…or two, and a distraction. Nesta was right; he was obvious. His hand was on the table, cards face up and he’d damn her even more than he already had if anyone in his family discovered what had transpired between them.

Nesta melted back into Day Court, her mask of iron firm on her face. Lucien downed one cup of wine at the table before reaching for a second. Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, sidled up to him, a grin on his face.

“Fun turn of events, hm?” He asked with a smirk.

“Whore,” Lucien spat, unable to think of anything else he could say to Rhysand that would describe the absolute and utter horror Lucien felt. It was all a game to Rhysand, the only High Lord who seemed to actively enjoy being controlled by Amarantha.

Rhysand merely chuckled. Whatever he might have said died on his lips, replaced by open and abject horror no one but Lucien saw.

It took him a minute to understand. He whirled around to see what could frighten Rhysand only to watch the world slow to an utter stop. Feyre, dragged in by the Attor. Unlike her sisters, Feyre was on two feet and dressed for a fight.

“No—!” Nesta’s protest was cut off; Helion clamped a hand over her mouth before she could do anything that would damn Nesta further. Lucien understood it, though he didn’t envy Helion’s position. He wondered if the High Lord regretted taking her. Lucien chanced another look at Elain, eyes wide with horror in front of Eris, who hand both hands on her shoulders holding her in place. He sent a silent prayer that Eris would do what Helion had done if Elain attempted to interrupt what they all knew was about to happen.

Lucien slipped into the crowd, right into Tamlin’s line of sight. They were in the same position now. Tamlin had done nothing but watch as Elain was nearly killed inches from his feet. Lucien wondered if he’d speak to save Feyre.

Lucien had hope, for one shining moment, that Amarantha might just offer Feyre up to one of the High Lords. Kallias might take her…Rhysand, too, given how intently he was watching her. Lucien assumed, stupidly, that Feyre had come for her sisters. It never crossed his mind for a minute she’d come to free Tamlin.

“I came to claim the one I love,” Feyre announced to the room, her eyes firmly on Tamlin. Helion dropped his hand from Nesta’s face, letting the eldest Archeron sink into a chair, clearly stunned. Across the room, Elain shook her head no back and forth, her hand wrapped around her neck.

“Oh?” Amarantha asked. Lucien wanted to shake Feyre. Could she not see Clares body, still hanging on the wall? Did she think her sisters had escaped Amarantha unscathed?

“I’ve come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court.”

Gasps fluttered around the room while Amarantha laughed. Beside Helion, Nesta put one hand on her forehead, as though she were listening to the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Lucien was inclined to agree with her. He caught Tamlin’s eye and held his gaze as Amarantha began taunting Tamlin.

“—You let me torture those innocent girls to keep this one safe?”

Tamlin said nothing, didn’t look at Feyre at all or acknowledge what was happening. Lucien needed Tamlin to do something, anything. He could not watch another human woman tortured.

Feyre demanded Amarantha let Tamlin go, as if she had any sway.

“I’m curious: What eloquence will pour from your lips when you behold what you should have been?”

Amarantha pointed towards Clare’s body and Feyre paled, her knees wobbling. Amarantha wasn’t done. Lucien knew she didn’t realize she had a set of sisters and if Beron and Helion were smart, they’d never tell her.

“Where is Beron Vanserra’s pretty human slave? Hm? Bring her to me.”

Dread welled up in Lucien’s chest as Eris brought Elain forward for her sister to see. Elain bit her bottom lip, eyes huge, hands balled at her side.

“She’s awfully pretty now…I suppose the Vanserra boys needed her in all put together in order to enjoy her,” Amarantha continued gleefully. “A week ago, she stood right where you did and proclaimed the opposite, swore she’d never loved Tamlin. If you like, I’ll make you the same deal I made for her. Admit you don’t love him, and you can be the play thing of any number of the handsome High Lords in our midst.”

Feyre stared at Elain with open-mouthed horror. The implications were clear, though Lucien suspected untrue, given the muscle ticking in Eris’ jaw.

“Do you still wish to claim him?” Amarantha asked sweetly. Elain offered a telescopic shake of her head.

Say no, her eyes screamed.

“Yes. Yes I do,” Feyre replied. Eris pulled Elain back into the crowd and Lucien exhaled. It was wrong to be grateful that Amarantha was focusing solely on Feyre and not Elain, but if Lucien had to choose between the two, he’d protect his mate every time.

Lucien did expect Tamlin to claim Feyre back, at the very least. They all knew Feyre would not leave the mountain alive; it would be an act of rebellion to admit to Feyre’s accusations.

“What do you have to say, High Lord?” Amarantha asked.

The entire room held their breath, waiting.

“I’ve never seen her before. Someone must have glamoured her as joke. Probably Rhysand.”

Elain clapped her hand over her mouth, silent tears dripping down her cheeks. Nesta was being held by Helion, her back pressed against his chest though her fury seemed almost palpable.

Lucien barely heard the taunt Amarantha lobbied back, his mind moving quickly. If Tamlin thought Amarantha would let her go, it might have made sense to Lucien to deny Feyre, but Tamlin knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to free Elain or Nesta, and she certainly wouldn’t let Feyre walk out after the assertion Feyre made.

Amarantha was trying to break him, that was common knowledge. Feyre had unwittingly offered herself up as something Tamlin was afraid to lose. Lucien swallowed his revulsion as Tamlin’s strategy; protecting himself over Feyre’s life felt cowardly.

Amarantha offered Feyre three tasks or an unnamed riddle and Feyre, stupidly, agreed. What choice did she have, given the other alternative was death? Lucien had to admire her conviction and courage, even if he knew how this would end. Amarantha didn’t make deals that weren’t advantageous to herself; if she believed for a moment Feyre could answer that riddle or complete any of the tasks, she’d have just killed her outright.

Lucien decided he’d help. In that moment, he was resolved he’d do what he had to do, even if it lost him his other eye or a limb or the head on his shoulders. It’s what Tamlin would demand of him anyway, what Elain would want from him.

Tamlin didn’t watch the Attor beat Feyre into unconsciousness, but Lucien did. He never took his eyes off her. The Attor dragged her off to the dungeon and the music began to play as though nothing had happened. He’d bide his time until the party ended and meet Feyre in the dungeon just to get a read on her.

Across the room, both Nesta and Elain looked at him, their eyes begging the same.

Get her out of here.

He turned away.

Chapter Text

Beron curled his hand around Elain’s upper arm the minute Feyre was taken by the Attor. “Walk with me,” he murmured, as if she had a choice. Elain didn’t feel any better when Eris, ever the obedient son and soldier, fell into step behind his father. She caught Lucien’s eye for a moment, guarded behind his mask though he tracked her out of the throne room. Elain took a breath. Beron had a reputation for cruelty, sure, but he’d been relatively mild with her. Perhaps, she hoped, some of that reputation was exaggerated. Perhaps it was a façade he allowed in an effort keep his enemies and rivals on their feet.

Beron sat Elain back in the same leather chair she’d been in earlier that night. Day was creeping up, not that it mattered beneath the mountain. There were no windows and there was no sunshine. The clock was the only indicator time moved at all.

“That girl is your sister,” Beron asked, not bothering to sit. He wasn’t asking so much as just confirming what he already suspected.

“Yes,” Elain agreed, praying that he didn’t ask her anything else. Beron was silent, calculating any number of plans Elain knew she didn’t want to be a part of.

“What is her name?” He asked. It was an off-handed question. Elain knew he didn’t expect her to remain silent. It took him a beat to realize she hadn’t spoken. He turned the full force of his eyes on her face.
“Her name, human.”

Elain stayed exactly where she was, forcing her hands to stay still in her lap. She’d promised not to lie and if she offered a fake name and Feyre’s true name later came out, who knew what he might do. Her only option was to say nothing at all and hope he accepted not knowing.

“You asked her not to lie to you,” Eris reminded his father. There was no kindness, no teasing, no emotion at all on Eris Vanserra’s face. He was merely a handsome, empty slate who appeared to feel nothing.

Beron braced his hands over the arms of the chair Elain sat in, his face uncomfortably close. She pressed her back into the chair, trying to put distance between them. “Give me her name right now.”

It was clear no one denied Beron. Elain swallowed and turned her face. Beron gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. His fingers dug painfully into her skin.

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warned, his words dripping with promise. She searched his face, looking for anything of Lucien’s. Surely if Lucien had escaped his father unscathed the man couldn’t be all bad, she reasoned. Beron must have had moments of kindness, of softness.

Before she could finish looking, Beron exploded around her. Her chair went flying backwards, taking her with it though Beron grabbed her arm roughly a second before she hit the floor so he could slam her painfully against the stone wall. Her feet dangled, toes skimming the floor beneath, and Elain knew she’d need to wear long sleeves to hide the bruises she knew he was leaving on her arms.

“Did you forget I promised you my hospitality?” Beron reminded her, his eyes glittering. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Elain stayed silent, hoping whatever threat lay behind his words was one that wouldn’t kill her. Beron dropped her to a heap on the floor and turned to his eldest son, pressing his boot into her ribs painfully. She gasped, her arms buckling beneath the weight. Beron pressed harder, pinning her between his boot and the floor until something cracked. “Break her.”

The words chilled Elain, shooting pure fear straight into her stomach when Eris turned from his father to look down at Elain’s crumpled body trembling on the floor. Beron swept from the room, pausing at the door. “Make sure she can feel it in the morning,” Beron added before snapping the door shut loudly. Elain scrambled to her feet as Eris advanced, her breathing heavy, her side aching.

***

“Eris, whatever you’re thinking—” She started but Eris cut her off.

“Take off your dress,” he ordered.

“Eris,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her face. Eris didn’t budge, his body a wall between her and any possibility of escape. He looked down on her with a mixture of curiosity and distaste and she wondered if he’d enjoy hurting her.

“Take. It. Off.” He demanded. She swallowed. Was this the price she was willing to pay in order to shield Feyre from further harm? She had no doubt Beron would offer the name up to Amarantha if he thought it would benefit him. Elain knew the stories; she’d grown up with the warning to never give a faerie her name. Names had power and faeries could do horrible things with that kind of knowledge.

The fact that Beron wanted Feyre’s name so badly confirmed to Elain that the story must be true in some capacity. Elain swallowed again, fingers trembling, to reach behind her for the pearl buttons, sliding them from their clasps. It forced her closer to Eris; he smelled nice, she thought wildly. Like warm apples mixed with vanilla and something else she couldn’t quite place though it reminded her of running wild through the woods. It was earthy and felt safe, though Eris was anything but.

He watched the dress pool at her feet with unfeeling eyes and with a movement that made her scream, ripped the fabric of her shift at the side of her body, creating a small hole that exposed the side of her abdomen. Elain turned her head and closed her eyes when he put his hand through it, fingertips grazing her skin. She waited for him to remove the rest, to carry out his father’s orders.

Nothing happened. Elain peeked open an eye and glanced down at Eris’ hand. His eyes were closed and warmth pulsated from his fingertips. She gasped, pulling the material closer to her body so she could look at her skin. The ugly purple and green bruised blooming from Beron’s shoe began to fade, leaving nothing but unblemished skin in their wake. His fingertips stole the pain like it was nothing.

“What are you doing?” She asked. Was he healing her so he could hurt her again? That…that didn’t make sense, she reasoned. The whole point was to hurt her worse. Elain stayed utterly still, willing herself to stay calm as she waited for Eris to say or do anything that would explain what was happening.

Eris swallowed after he pulled back his fingers and she saw anguish looking back at her. He braced his hands on either side of her body. “Can you scream really, really loud for me?” He asked her, his cold voice at odds with his tortured eyes.

“Why?” She whispered.

“Make it believable and no one else will bother you tonight,” he murmured, counting silently on his fingers.

Three…two…one. “ERIS STOP!” Elain screamed, a sob choking the sound. She didn’t have to pretend to be frightened. Eris flinched, turning from her body to pull all the blankets from her bed violently.

“Go into the bathroom and change,” he demanded, so quiet she barely heard him. A moment later he lifted the chair Beron had overturned and threw it loudly across the room. Elain screamed again, earning another hard flinch from Eris. He was…he was faking a violent encounter between them. Elain did as he said, yanking a night dress from her armoire as she went. Her fingers shook violently as she removed the torn shift. She twisted in front of the mirror, pleased to see all the painful bruising along her ribs were gone, though the bruises on her arms were not.

She returned to find Eris holding a glinting silver dagger in his hand. “Give me that,” he hissed, tucking the dagger beneath his arm as he tore the shift to shreds and tossed it to the floor like the sight of the cloth disgusted him.

He beckoned for her to come to him with a finger and Elain obliged. He gestured for her to scream again, and she did, the noise high pitched and filled with all the fear she wasn’t faking. Eris chuckled loudly as though they had an audience just behind the door. Perhaps they did.

“Tell me how I compare to the rats in Spring,” he told her coldly though he didn’t move from where he stood. He mouthed what looked like I’m sorry.

She wasn’t faking when she asked, “Wait, what are you doing—Eris stop it!” He dragged the sharp point of his blade across her hand roughly, creating a jagged wound that screamed across her palm.

He brought his face down, pressing his forehead against the side of her hair. “Tell me it hurts,” he whispered softly.

“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered. Eris took her bleeding palm and ran it down the front of his tunic, staining the white of his shirt beneath. He gestured for her to touch his neck and she did, hissing against the white-hot sting when the wound met the salt of his skin.

Eris brought his face back to hers. “It’s okay to cry,” he offered and despite how surreal the moment was, Elain did exactly as he asked. It wasn’t difficult; the urge lived as a painful lump in her throat. She began to sob, sinking to the floor while Eris continued his work of painting a scene of unspeakable brutality. Blankets were torn, pillows destroyed and, in a moment that nearly made her sick, more blood was spread across the top sheet.

Eris crouched on the floor when he was satisfied and gestured for her bleeding hand. He held her hand in his own, closing the wound gently just as he’d done with the bruising on her ribs. She decided not to think about where all the blood would have come from and how so much would have ended on his clothes.

They didn’t move after that. Eris gestured for Elain to sit in the still remaining chair while he sank to the floor against the end of the bedframe, his head in his hands. Elain cried until there was nothing left, and Eris said nothing else. She’d nearly fallen asleep in the chair when Eris stood abruptly, head cocked to the side. He offered her a look of open apology as he mussed his hair and unbuttoned the top of his shirt before he untucked it from his pants, which he unlaced but did not remove. He did take off his boots, gathering them in one hand and, as his final, horrifying gesture, used his dagger on his pointer finger, slicing it open to smear blood across his lips. Elain should have been horrified, and part of her was. The implication of what Eris had been expected to do surpassed anything she could ever have imagined in her worst nightmares. It should have bothered her that Eris knew all the steps, even if he didn’t carry through with them but Elain was disturbed by something different.

***

Eris was clearly the son Beron trusted, considering every interaction she’d had with the High Lord was accompanied by his eldest son. He’d ordered this of Eris without a second thought. Eris knew what his father expected to see. What had he done to Eris, to all of them, if this was the first method he employed to get what he wanted?

Why hadn’t Eris just done it? Eris turned, his anguish back. He knew her secret about Lucien and Elain knew a secret about him, too. She gestured for him to come to her. Eris nearly staggered, his face too pale against the drying blood on his mouth.

“What do you want in exchange?” She asked him. Eris took her hand, sinking to one knee.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against the back of her hand. He didn’t need to ask her to stay silent. Elain knew she’d take Eris’ secrets to the grave if it kept one of his brothers from actually carrying out such a horrific act.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she murmured back, stunned by how wide Eris’ eyes were when he looked back up. As if he couldn’t believe the words she’d said. “But I forgive you.”
He stood, then, inhaling slowly. As he exhaled, the cold, smirking mask slowly replaced the Eris she’d just met. He didn’t say anything to her, just reached for his discarded boots and walked out of the door, leaving her curled in her chair.

When she was certain no one else was coming, Elain grabbed the heavy blanket from the floor and dragged it into the bathroom with her. She locked the door and climbed into the bathtub, wrapped the blanket around her, and tried to fall asleep.

She woke to the door being opened. She immediately shoved backwards, but it was merely the Lady of Autumn who slipped in. She looked haunted, like she hadn’t slept in days as she walked to the tub Elain hid in.

“For you,” she murmured, handing Elain a steaming cup she instantly recognized. She nearly laughed out loud; she’d once brought Lucien a cup of cider as apology and now his mother offered her the same. Elain took the mug and sipped, letting the warmth flood through her limbs.

She’d been the one to beg Beron to spare Elain’s life. Beron had demanded Elain treat this woman with kindness.

“Why?” Elain asked her, careful to keep her voice soft just in case anyone might be listening. “Why spare me?”

The Lady of Autumn looked down at her hands. “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Elain replied. The beautiful, red-haired woman nodded.

“That’s how old I was when I married Beron. He was over two hundred years old. We’ve been married for nearly six hundred years now and I don’t think Beron would beg to spare my life the way my youngest son begged to spare yours.”

Elain jerked her head up, heart pounding in her throat. “What?”

“Everyone was watching you, but I was watching him,” she whispered. “I wonder, had it been your sister…would he have begged for her? Even after Amarantha cut out one of his eyes?”

Elain didn’t remember Lucien begging.

“Drink that,” she told Elain, her sweet voice filled with soft authority. “No one else will come back into this room.”

She stood and Elain called out to her before she could leave. “Why…why all this…for one human?”

“I had two sisters, too. Sisters I would have died for, sisters who…” Her words trailed off, as though the memory were painful. “Sisters who died in the war to save my life.”

As if that was explanation enough. The Lady of Autumn would go to bat for one insignificant human as a love letter to her sisters who had sacrificed themselves for her.

“What’s your name?” Elain asked. Lucien’s mother paused in the doorway, as though no one had ever asked that question. How much of her identity was wrapped up in being Beron’s wife, of being the Lady of the Autumn Court? Elain wanted her name.

“Amera,” she told Elain. “My name is Amera.”

She swept out, leaving the softest sent of roasted chestnuts and warm apples in her wake. Whatever she’d done to convince Beron to leave Elain alone…Elain swore she’d repay it someday, though she didn’t know how. She knew one thing, though. If Eris and Lucien and their mother could survive Autumn with some shred of kindness left in them, Elain could too.

Beron Vanserra would not break her.

**

Lucien was slowly losing his mind. He couldn’t stand watching Elain come into the throne room with  his father night after night, hated how she winced every time he approached, how her body seemed to lock up if he came within touching distance of her. Lucien knew Beron had done something, his mind running through worst case scenarios when he lay in bed to sleep each day. His mother was the exact same way; outwardly beautiful and unblemished but nervous and jumpy whenever Beron got close.

He’d devised a plan to pull her aside without being noticed. Every night, Elain left the throne room to meet her sister in a hallway that just so happened to contain a closet. Lucien had every intention of wrecking that little meeting, assuming Nesta would understand. Nesta, at least, could speak openly to Elain. Lucien was watched much more closely by his brothers and whatever horror Beron was inflicting on Elain didn’t need to be made worse by his meddling.

All those plans were shot to shit when Feyre was brought back in so Amarantha could demand her name. Tamlin refused, as always, to say a word though Lucien agreed with him in this instance. Names were powerful among faeries and if Feyre could hold out she’d be better for it. Lucien expected someone to be tortured for Feyre’s name and prayed it wasn’t Elain. He’d confess if Amarantha drug her forward and he knew it.

Lucien’s prayer was answered, though not in the way he’d hoped. The Attor dragged him forward, forcing him to his knees. It wouldn’t be Elain, then. It would be him. He could live with that, he decided. It was his fault she was in this mess to begin with. Whatever Amarantha did, he was confident his body could withstand it.

“Hold his mind,” she ordered Rhysand. Sharp talons brushed against his mind, a razor against silk. Lucien’s spine went utterly straight, pulled by Rhysand’s invisible string.

I’m starting to think our Queen has a special place in her heart for you, Rhysand purred in his mind. Lucien locked eyes with Tamlin, promising his High Lord wordlessly to go to his death without betraying either of them.

I admire your loyalty, Lucien. I wonder, do you suppose Tamlin would do the same for you?

Lucien closed his eyes, tuning everything else out. He was ready as he’d ever be. It was true that Lucien was terrified, but he wouldn’t give Amarantha the satisfaction of seeing him break.

Your little human is about to beg, Rhysand chuckled, drawing a flurry of memories from Lucien’s mind, all of Elain. Rhysand squeezed tightly, the talons digging further and despite his promises that Amarantha would not see him break, a groan slid from his throat.

Don’t let that cunt hurt Elain, Lucien gasped, unsure why he thought Rhysand would ever do something that didn’t personally benefit him. She’s innocent in all this.

Rhysand dug a little more, blinding Lucien momentarily with the pain. He wished Rhysand would just do it quickly instead of toying with him. He nearly told the High Lord to get on with it when Feyre spoke.

“Feyre,” Feyre panted, voice panicked. “My name is Feyre.”

Rhysand held the hold on his mind for another beat and then withdrew completely. Lucien sagged to the floor; palms pressed against cool marble. He caught Tamlin close his eyes for a moment with clear disappointment. Feyre had cracked for him? After everything he’d done…his cruel remarks, his willingness to send her after a Surial…she’d still offered her name in exchange for his life. It had never occurred to Lucien that she might.

He clambered to his feet, a dull roaring in his ears. He listened to the riddle with little interest. Feyre was too stressed and overwhelmed to pick it apart and piece the answer together, and they were all forbidden from helping her. Lucien wondered if that magic extended towards her human sisters. Both Elain and Nesta stood among the crowd, eyes shining with what he could have sworn was open defiance.

What Lucien needed was quiet and safety. Neither were possible, not beneath the mountain though he still trudged into that closet anyway, bracing his back against the cool, stone wall. How he hated living in Amarantha’s court, constantly on edge, on alert for any small shift in mood, terrified of when the other shoe might drop. It wasn’t just himself he worried about. Feyre, in the dungeon, was days away from the full moon and whatever hell Amarantha was cooking up for her. Elain was trapped in Autumn, subjected to Beron’s particular brand of quiet cruelty that had sucked so much life out of his mother. It seemed impossible everyone would survive in one piece.

Lucien waited, practically holding his breath as steps neared. All alone, his Elain. His mate. He needed to touch her, to hear her tell him she was okay. With instincts honed over centuries, Lucien pulled the door open quickly and pulled her in before she could do or say anything. He clapped his hand over his mouth when the scent of her fear filled the dark space. He didn’t want her to scream.

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair, inhaling the scent of sunbaked honey mingled with the distinct scent of Autumn. She twisted in his arms and, with a soft squeak, brought her lips crashing over his. It wasn’t how he intended things to go; he wanted to talk to her, to touch her, to hear her voice but fuck if she didn’t taste exactly how he remembered. Lucien supposed he could add hauling her up against him to his ledger. He pressed her against the wall of the small closet reveling in her hands in his hair and her tongue in his mouth.

She ground against him, hissing softly when she felt his erection. Wrong, his brain screamed despite how good it felt. All he had to do was lift up her skirt and he’d be right back inside her. Lucien was tempted; the scent of her arousal floated around him, lodging itself in his brain. Urgent, unyielding. Some primal part of him demanded he have her, that he mark her to keep other males away. He’d doom her to death if he did.

Lucien dropped her to the ground, tearing his mouth from hers before he did something truly heinous, like fuck the woman he was in love with in a closet mere moments after nearly dying.

“Why did you stop?” She asked, her chest heaving. He was still touching her. It was impossible not to, not after going so long without. Lucien slid to the floor of the closet and pulled her into his lap. The space wasn’t wide enough for him to stretch out his legs and just barely big enough for the pair of them to sit together. Elain pressed her face into his tunic, arms still wrapped around his neck. It took Lucien a minute to realize Elain was softly weeping into his chest.

He held her, smoothing her hair gently. “What has Beron done to you?” He asked, wondering what kind of horror would make Elain go from tugging on his pant laces to broken sobbing in a matter of seconds.

“You almost died,” she choked out, her words nearly lost in the fabric of his clothing. “I thought you were going to die—”

“I’m right here,” he told her, stunned. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d be sobbing over him. In Lucien’s mind, the way he felt about Elain only went one way—he was desperately in love with her, attached at the soul by a golden thread only he could feel, and Elain was merely amusing herself until she was allowed freedom again. He didn’t care if it was truth or not; he’d have taken anything she offered.

“Look at me,” he demanded, well aware only he could see through the dark. She did as she was told, resting her face in the palms of his hands as he turned her back and forth. “Are you being treated well in Autumn?”

She looked down at the floor. No, her body said. “I met your mother,” she told him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “She was nice.”

Lucien had no doubt his mother was treating Elain well. He also didn’t doubt she did her best to shield Elain from the worst of Beron’s cruelty. His mother had always put her body between Beron and her children.. Shame and anger mixed in his stomach. He’d never wanted her to meet his family, never wanted her to taste what it had been like to grow up there.

“I saw Feyre,” he told her instead. “Her nose was broken…she’s okay, Elain. She’s got a good chance of getting through these trials.”

“At what cost?” Elain asked him miserably. “What if Amarantha cheats?”

“Magic is specific,” he promised. “Bargains are unbreakable.”

That seemed to comfort her. Lucien wasn’t done, though. “If you hold on just a few more days, I’ve learned the habits of the guards. You could escape—”

“No.”

Lucien twisted, trying to look at her face. “What do you mean no?”

“I’m not leaving my sisters to rot here…and I’m not leaving you here, either.” She said the last part so quietly he thought he might have imagined it.

“Please?” He pleaded softly. He’d grovel if he had to. Elain twisted again, her back no longer pressed to his chest. She touched the side of his face softly, fingers pressed against his mask.

“Tell me you love me,” she asked, her lips an inch from his own.

“I love you.” The words were a sigh. Her fingertips drifted, brushing against his his lips.

“I stayed in Spring for you,” she replied, damning them both. She kissed him gently, the way he ought to have kissed her the very first time. It was too gentle for the mountain they were trapped under and yet the caress mended something broken in Lucien’s chest. He wasn’t alone and though it was utterly selfish, he was the smallest bit relieved she wanted to stay.

Their time together was over too fast. Elain stood and offered him her hand so she could pull him up. He kissed her again, letting his hands rest against her face, fingers curled in her hair.

“Tell me you love me,” he all but begged, holding her close.

“I love you,” she murmured before she opened the door to the closet and vanished like she’d change her mind if she didn’t leave right that moment. Lucien stayed a minute longer, eyes closed, memorizing the way her voice had sounded as she said the words he desperately wanted to hear her say again.

I love you.

The mountain was a nightmare made real but Elain…Elain would be his salvation, he decided, leaving the closet before anyone found him. He strode back into the throne room for wine, his eyes searching, always looking, for Elain. She was next to Eris, eyes locked on his elder brother’s face. Eris was murmuring something and nodding towards Winter Court.

Safe. She was alive, at least, and she loved him.

“Obvious faerie is obvious,” Nesta hissed, grabbing his goblet and inhaling it quickly. Lucien scowled.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, demon.”

“After you,” she replied sweetly, gesturing for him to walk.

Lucien thought the worst was behind him. How wrong he was.

Chapter Text

Feyre and the worm was the most horrific thing Elain ever watched in her entire life. Nesta watched with what Elain imagined was the same sick expression, turning her head at times. Elain was sure she was going to watch Feyre eaten. The only thing that made knowing so many of the faeries around her had actively bet against Feyre’s life better was Lucien screaming at Feyre to look to her left; he’d saved her life in that moment.

Eris was in a foul mood when Feyre survived. Elain was too afraid to ask Eris why he wanted her sister to die. She thought he wanted to leave the mountain. Elain had hope that Eris might forego Amarantha’s nightly party to brood, giving her a moment to hide in the bathtub she now slept in nightly and weep softly. Luck did not favor Elain. Eris stormed in, perfectly dressed.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. He practically jerked her into the hall, grip tight.

“This will be a test for you,” he murmured as they walked. There was no music tonight, just a long, wooden pole with a wrought iron handle bolted in the middle. Everyone seemed uneasy, on edge as they waited, the silence tense. They were waiting on something to happen; Elain prayed it wasn’t more torture of Feyre. Her mud coated sister had been injured by the worm and Elain didn’t think Feyre oculd take any more.

“You need to stay quiet.”

“Why—”

“Bring him out,” Amarantha ordered, cutting Elain’s question short. The crowd parted for the filthy Attor, once again dragging Lucien forward. He held his head high, hands chained, eyes blazing as he walked. Unlike before, Lucien didn’t need to be dragged. The Attor looped the chain through the handle on the pole, raising Lucien’s arms high over his head. There was no give to the chain. Lucien pulled, testing the strength. Elain watched, horrified as the man she loved spread his legs slightly and squared his shoulders, once again the object that Amarantha would torture in an effort to break Tamlin.

“Is she going to kill him?” Elain asked Eris, absolutely petrified.

“Not today.”

“You never learn, do you little Lucien?” Amarantha purred from her place atop her dais. “You cost a lot of people a lot of money today with your little stunt.”

Amarantha turned to a rigid Tamlin. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say your underling is the one in love with the human, hm?”

That clearly struck a nerve for Tamlin, who somehow became more still. Say something, Elain screamed, furious Tamlin wouldn’t even try. He could beg, or just give in to spare the suffering of the people he cared about. She didn’t understand how his silence benefitted anyone but himself.

“You know, if you admit you’re the one that human worm loves, I might spare you,” Amarantha continued, eyes drifting back to Lucien. He rolled his eyes theatrically.

“You won’t talk now? How dull.”

She waved her hand and the Attor shredded the tunic and shirt he wore with one easy swipe of their claw, revealing Lucien’s tanned, muscular back. The Attor unfurled a long whip and Elain took a step back, colliding into Eris’ body. Lucien flexed in anticipation of what was about to come, his shoulders bunching with tension.

“Wait,” Amarantha ordered with a sigh. She pressed a finger to her lip as though she were considering something. Elain waited on a razors edge, terrified and desperate for the nightmare to end.

“Give the whip to Tamlin,” she demanded. The Attor grinned with sharp, yellow teeth. The whip was tossed at Tamlin’s feet. Tamlin and Lucien looked at each other and Lucien offered the barest of nods. What wouldn’t Lucien do for Tamlin? What could Tamlin possibly have done to earn such loyalty, she wondered desperately. Eris’ fingers dug painfully into her shoulders as if he could read her mind.

“You two want to protect human trash, then you’ll take your punishment together. What do you think, Tamlin? Fifty? One hundred?”

“Twenty,” Tamlin replied through gritted teeth, standing to pick up the whip.

“So he can speak,” she crooned, settling back into her throne. “Twenty it is. Make them count, Tamlin, or I might lose my place when counting.”

“I don’t want to watch this,” Elain whispered to Eris. Tamlin’s boots seemed to echo through the hall, adding another mark in her ledger against him. Eris didn’t respond, didn’t move. No one did. Tamlin rolled up his sleeves slowly and Lucien rested his head against the wood for a moment, as though gathering his strength.

In the strangest moment of tenderness, Tamlin stepped to Lucien and swept his hair up off his face with the leather band Tamlin had been using in his own hair. If words were exchanged, Elain didn’t know though Amarantha rolled her eyes at the spectacle.

“Please, you bore me,” she complained. Tamlin nodded, his eyes blazing his hatred. He positioned himself behind Tamlin, his fingers curling around the handle of the whip slowly as though testing the strength and weight of it. Don’t do it, Elain silently begged. Tell her no.

The first lash came out of nowhere, the sound snapping so loud Elain jumped in the air. Amarantha counted the blow with glee, demanding another. Elain didn’t know which was worse; prolonging the ordeal or giving them all quickly in order to get it over with. An angry red gash welted across Lucien’s golden flesh and though she knew his skin would heal, it was painful to see.

Lucien stayed silent until the sixth lash. His hands were balled into fists and his head hung. He kept his eyes closed for the seventh, groaning out his pain. Amarantha’s smile widened at the sound, as though it were music to her ears. Elain looked around, unable to standing seeing the whip slice across Lucien’s skin. She dreaded getting to twenty; already his back looked like blood-stained ribbons.

Amera wept silently beside Beron. She was shaking so hard Elain could almost hear her bones rattling. Beron didn’t seem to mind if his wife cried, though Elain had learned Beron abhorred the sound of weeping. She wondered if he’d grown used to her tears when it came to their youngest son. He kept his arm around her waist and his eyes on Lucien and though his expression was passive, she thought he looked paler than usual.

Twenty lashes took ]twenty years off Elains life. The only thing that kept her on her feet was Eris forcibly holding her. Tamlin dripped with sweat and burned with anger. He tossed the whip to the side when he hit twenty and immediately began freeing Lucien from the chain that held him.

“How touching,” Amarantha crooned. “No one is to help him,” she ordered, the metallic tang of the magic bursting in Elain’s nose. Nesta took one defiant step forward before Helion yanked her back. “And, I think, there will be no healing until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson.”

If looks could have killed, Amarantha would have been dead where she stood. Both Lucien and Tamlin glared from their place just below the dais. Tamlin couldn’t help, could do nothing but watch Lucien stagger from the hall. He managed to stay on his feet though Elain had no idea how.

Elain caught Nesta slip from the hall as Amarantha demanded music and dancing. Lucien’s blood still pooled on the floor, for all anyone cared.

“C’mon,” Eris muttered, pale faced and angry. “I’ll get you a drink.”

As though alcohol could cure everything wrong in the world.

**

Lucien didn’t know how he made it to his room. He had the vaguest sense of soft hands catching him when he stumbled down the hall. All he knew was when he woke, he wasn’t alone. He started to roll over but someone stopped him.

“You’re still bleeding,” a firm, female voice informed him. “You need to stay on your stomach.”

He groaned. “How are you here?”

The voice scoffed. “Her magic doesn’t work on humans.”

He turned his head. “Elain?” He asked, desperate to see her face. There was more scoffing.

“Wrong again.” Blue-gray eyes, hooded beneath bright gold eyelids betrayed the elder sister.

“Nesta,” he breathed, arching when he felt something cool touch his back.

“Nesta,” she agreed, pressing whatever she was holding firmly against his wounds.
“Didn’t think you cared so much,” he ground out. She was washing out his wounds, he realized.

“Stop moving,” she ordered, and Lucien did, if only so she wouldn’t leave. “I don’t know how you all work but I’m pretty sure infection is universal.”

“How long has it been?” He asked, burying his face in his pillow.

“A day and a night,” Nesta murmured, her tone softening a little. “I can’t stay for the night, but Helion pretends he doesn’t notice I’m gone all day. He didn’t understand what Amarantha meant when she offered us up as slaves.” Nesta snorted at her last sentence.

“Sure he did,” Lucien disagreed, inhaling sharply. “His father fought to free humans. He did too.”

Nesta withdrew her cloth. A moment later something tangy perfumed the air and Nesta’s hands returned.

“What are you doing?” He asked, peaking open his gold eye to look at the eldest Archeron. Her face was practically stone, though her bottom lip was cracked from being bitten over and over.

“It’s a salve Elain used to make,” Nesta murmured. “I don’t think I did it right, but I can’t ask her…your fucking brother is always hovering.”

Lucien nodded, burying his face back into his pillow. Nesta’s hands were soft and efficient, and there was something nice about being cared for in this way.

“If she catches you—”

“You’re stupid if you think she’s going to let any of us walk out of here,” Nesta interrupted, her voice cold and angry. “The minute she’s tired of Feyre she’ll kill Elain and then she’ll kill me too so who fucking cares if I don’t listen to her rules. I keep trying to tell Elain that but she…”

“Elain likes rules,” Lucien breathed, picturing her smiling face in his mind.

“Elain thinks if she plays by the rules, things will turn out fair.”

There was a lull. Lucien’s pain made everything else hazy and words difficult. Nesta hummed softly as she worked, the melody lulling him to sleep. He had the sense of someone forcing him to drink water while insulting him and dreamt of Nesta telling him to stop sleeping on his back. Nesta came back with more salve and conversation. Lucien liked Nesta; her tongue was sharp and if she couldn’t rouse him, she’d tempt him into staying awake with long, rambling stories of her, Feyre, and Elain’s childhood together.

“How long have I been here?” Lucien asked when Nesta slipped in one morning.

“A week,” she told him. “And it looks like your time is almost up. I’m going to wipe all the salve off your back and you’re going to keep real quiet about what prevented infection because, and I can’t stress this last part enough, you should be close to death by now.”

“I would never rat you out,” Lucien told her with the barest glimmer of a smile.

“I almost understand why Elain likes you,” Nesta sniffed, dipping her rag into a bowl of warm water.

Lucien caught her hand, hissing in pain with the effort. “I understand why she loves you,” he told her. Nesta blinked for a moment and then yanked her hand back.

“Don’t get soft on me now. I doubt that bitch will be satisfied until she’s burning your corpse.”

“She means to break Tamlin. Our friendship is well-known,” Lucien admitted, sucking air through his teeth when she touched a particularly painful spot.

“She doesn’t understand love,” Nesta murmured.

“Who needs love when you have blind obedience?” Lucien guessed. Nesta turned towards the door, eyes widening.

“I have to go. Remember, I was never here.”

Nesta vanished, leaving Lucien alone and awake, his back still burning and aching as though the lashes had just happened How did humans do it, he wondered? Lucien sighed when Bron and Hart came, grateful for their care as they helped him walk back to the throne room. As always, everyone was assembled. He made eye contact with Nesta, dressed in Day Court gold, practically vibrating with fury. On the other end of the hall, closer to the dais, Elain watched with wide, fearful eyes. Lucien saw Eris’ hand wrapped around her upper arm, holding her in place.

“How do you feel?” Amarantha purred. Lucien resisted the urge to spit at her feet. “You’re so dull, Lucien. Tamlin has begged me to let you heal. It was…delicious.”

The metallic tang of magic blasted up his nose and cascaded around his body. Lucien met Tamlin’s eyes and wondered what his friend had offered in exchange for the return of his magic.

“Enjoy the party,” Amarantha added, glancing down his naked chest. His upper lip curled over his teeth, as he turned, shaking off Bron and Hart as he went. His body still ached, still burned but the magic was already helping.

Nesta caught him on his way out the door, blocking the exit with her slim body. “You’re leaving?” She hissed.

Lucien gestured up and down his torso. “I need a shirt.”

“Are you coming back?” She demanded.

“Should I?”

“We were supposed to leave,” she said, her words turning colder, as though she aimed to maim. “We were going to see the continent, the three of us. Leave all this faerie shit behind us.”

“How did you end up here?” He asked Nesta gently, sweeping into his bed room and pulling a loose shirt over his head. His wounds still hurt and likely still would for days, but the worst was behind him.

“We took a walk back to the cottage.” Nesta said it dully, as though she should have predicted such a thing might happen. Lucien knew better than to touch this woman; where Elain was soft, Nesta seemed hard. “And now we’re here…so come back with me.”

Lucien watched shadows dance across Nesta’s face, lodging themselves with no small amount of permanence in her steely eyes. He couldn’t promise Nesta Rhysand wouldn’t hurt Feyre, either just like he couldn’t apologize for whatever man had hurt Nesta in the past. She wanted him to, though. She’d turned to look up at him with huge eyes, practically begging him to lie to her and tell her everything would be fine.

Lucien quirked her cheek. “Head up, Archeron,” he ordered, careful to keep his voice soft. Afterall, this was the woman who had risked the wrath of Amarantha to help him solely because her younger sister cared. Lucien wondered how he’d become so entangled in the three sisters. “You’ve got to give Amarantha hell, remember? I can help.”

She studied his face for a long moment. “Is that why you wear the fox mask?” She asked.

Lucien smiled. “That is exactly why I wear the fox mask.”

Nesta huffed out a breath but let Lucien lead her out the door. “Elain could do better,” she told him, words snotty.

“Don’t I know it,” he agreed with a grin. “Don’t I fucking know it.”

Chapter Text

Elain was going to vomit. Rhysand was parading Feyre through the throne room—again— wearing half a sheer curtain draped around Feyre’s body, the rest of her painted for Rhysand’s amusement. The cruelty of the mountain was overwhelming. Elain felt too cold and yet somehow, she burned at the same time. All she felt was never ending stress, constantly worrying about what might happen next, who she might have to watch get hurt, get killed. Beron was back to ignoring Elain after she’d given him some interesting information about the Summer Court’s interest in the Spring tunnels, though Elain was still sleeping in her bathtub, just to be safe. At least Beron didn’t require Elain to serve in his bedroom. Helion, too, seemed to be treating Nesta well, giving her unrestrained freedom to do as she liked. What was Rhysand doing to Feyre when no one was watching?

What was worse, Elain wondered? Being trapped in a cell or being made to dance for arguably the worst person beneath the mountain, save for possibly Amarantha. She couldn’t watch and yet she could barely take her eyes off Feyre’s gyrating hips and her blank expression. Eris stood beside her; face twisted with distaste.

“It could be worse,” Eris murmured, leading Elain towards a chair. Elain sat, Eris perched atop the arm, their backs to Feyre and Rhysand.

“I don’t see how,” Elain replied dully.

Eris peered down at her, his russet eyes narrowing.

“She’s not dead. None of you are. Three fucking humans are here and every single one is a live. That feels like a cauldron blessed miracle if you ask me.”

She nodded, pulling her legs up beneath her dress. She’d been spending more time asleep lately, foregoing meals in favor of being unconscious. It somehow didn’t feel like enough; she had dark circles bruising beneath her eyes and every night in the throne room dragged. Sometimes Elain found a chair near Beron and curled up. No one dared get close if Beron was in striking distance.

Eris stood abruptly, perhaps finding her company too dull. She was fine with that. Eris had been practically poking her in the face ever since she’d begun her retreat. Elain assumed he was bored; they’d become almost friends, or at least as close as a faerie like Eris and a human like Elain ever could.

It took her a second to understood what Eris meant to do. When he lifted her out of the chair, Elain began to protest.

“No, Eris—” She started but it was too late. He plopped her back down, positioning her over one of his thigh as if her weight was nothing of consequence to him. Eris draped himself over the arms, lazy smile on his face.

“If you’re going to spend the night in a sitting, you’ll sit right here,” he told her, gesturing towards a servant to bring him wine.

“I don’t want to sit in your lap,” she told him dully, pushing against his legs to stand. Eris wrenched her back.

“Would you prefer a different brother? Perhaps Cyril?” Eris suggested cruelly, nodding towards one of his younger brothers who had a green skinned woman pinned up against a pillar. It was impossible to tell if she was enjoying herself or not, though Elain supposed Cyril didn’t care either way. Cruelty was a sport in Autumn in which every member of the Court wanted to win.

“I want to be alone,” she informed him, once again attempting to leave. Eris held her firmer, his fingertip digging into her hip. His lips quirked up to the side.

“Alone? I could certainly arrange—”

“Not with you,” she interrupted before he could make some crude suggestion they both knew he wouldn’t follow up with. She still remembered his staged scene and the anguish on his face as begged her forgiveness. His bloodstained face featured prominently in her nightmares. There were nights her brain demanded they play out what, exactly, Eris would have had to do in order to get her blood on his face and neck.  

“Then you’ll stay right here,” Eris told her, his voice very much telling her there would be no argument that would get her out of his lap. The tautness in her body evaporated, taking all her fight with it. Eris’ face, visible beside her, drooped into a frown.

“If you want, I’ll take you to Tamlin. A little taunting might be fun, hm?” He offered, gaze drifting towards the man that had doomed her youngest sister to death. She said nothing, eyes glazing over, allowing her to slide back into nothing.

“I knew humans were soft, but this is just sad,” he commented, holding two glasses of wine. He pushed one into her hand, his expression urging her to drink. He had Lucien’s eyes, she thought dully. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to drink.

“If it bothers you, leave,” she replied, handing him back the cup. Eris narrowed his eyes.

“Perhaps I’ll put you in my bedroom instead,” he purred, his face too close to hers. “Autumn Court males have fire in their blood, you know. We fuck like it—”

She slapped him. She didn’t know what possessed her to do it; maybe the insinuation that he’d take her against her will after everything shared between them, or knowing that she’d once slept with his brother. It could have been the offensive words pouring out of his mouth. They both stared at each other, wide eyed. She waited for the hammer to fall but Eris merely tipped his head back and laughed and for the first time in days, Elain felt a prick of anger, mingled with her shock.

“There she is,” he murmured with a smile.

“You’re crude,” she accused.

“And offensive and vile and absurdly handsome,” he ticked off the qualities on his fingers.  “Not to mention your favorite Vanserra, which must count for something.”

Elain rolled her eyes, turning her head to look for Lucien, looking for him for the first time in days. Lucien was leaning against a pillar, one foot crossed over his ankle listening to a lion masked man speak. Their eyes met and she could see his simmering anger from across the room. She looked away. It was too painful to be so close and yet, at the same time, impossibly far. She wanted to touch him.

“I have a name,” she told him with too much anger. He merely smiled, as if it all amused him. She wondered if he knew how close she was to utter freefall, wondered if he hadn’t felt it himself, trapped beneath the mountain.

“Elain,” he offered, settling back into his chair. “If you need someone to vent your rage at, I can take it. Don’t let…don’t let her take everything, hm?”

“Why do you even care?” She asked him, her desperation evident in her voice.

Eris booped her on the nose with one of his fingers. “It’s awfully hard to torture you when you’re too busy torturing yourself.”

She tried to get up again, frustrated with his answer but Eris wrapped his arm around her waist and held her back to his chest. His lips to her ear, Eris murmured, “Don’t leave me alone in this place.”

When she turned to look at him, his face wore his usual arrogance but she thought something flickered deep inside his eyes, something he was letting her see that he wouldn’t have dared let anyone else.

“Stop threatening to do…that to me,” she told him. Eris smiled but nodded his head. He looked towards the same servant who’d brought him wine, gesturing with two fingers. The woman appeared near instantaneously.

“My human wishes to feed me. Bring her something so she may do so.”

Elain scowled, though a moment later a platter of cheese and dried meats was set on the arm of the chair and a bowl of fruit was given to Elain. Elain picked out a particularly fat grape and tossed it Eris’ face, intending to catch him off guard. Eris ducked quickly, and caught it with a smile.

“Close enough,” he grinned, gesturing at the food. “Eat something so we can wander towards the dais and taunt Tamlin.”

“Why do you think I want to do such a thing?” Elain asked, stuffing cheese in her mouth.

“I see how you look at him. Oooh, if looks could kill. You give father sweeter looks.”

Elain looked over Eris’ shoulder to Feyre, perched on Rhysand’s lap much like Elain sat on Eris’. Rhysand was murmuring something Elain couldn’t hear in Feyre’s ear, his broad hand sweeping hair off her shoulder. Feyre hardly reacted. Eris twisted too, using the opportunity to shove a bunch of dried meat into Elain’s mouth. She swatted him in the chest with the back of her hand.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Eris warned but it was too late.

“How is she so…so gone?”

Eris grimaced. “It’s all the faerie wine he’s pouring down her throat.”

“Why doesn’t that work when I drink it?” She asked, looking at the goblet Eris had resting in the crook of his arm.

“This? I’ve been plying you with regular wine. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re a prince, Eris,” she replied primly, though in truth he was, both figuratively and literally. Eris knew it, too. He gave her the cup and Elain took it, drinking deeply while Eris’ long fingers plucked grapes from the bowl in her hand.

“You have no idea.”

**

Lucien didn’t want to offer any amount of praise to Eris, but he and Nesta had been going out of their minds watching Elain arrive from Autumn night after night looking exhausted and underfed. It was impossible to get too close; Elain kept choosing spots close enough Beron could see anyone who approached, which, naturally, kept everyone else away. Elain would curl up in her chair with the deadest eyes he’d ever seen and watch Feyre dancing and grind on Rhysand, utterly miserable. Lucien thought she’d slip into herself entirely. It terrified him to the point of near intervention. Elain was all bright light and soft smiles. To see her breaking so viscerally made him sick. It was only the knowledge of what Beron might do, should he learn Lucien cared for Elain, that kept Lucien at bay.

He didn’t know what Eris had done or said, but the night after he’d forced her to sit on his lap, Elain appeared, still appearing tired but she sat in a chair far from Beron, Eris perched on the arm, and shared food with him. Eris was clearly needling her, given how often she glared or scowled, but she was alive again. Lucien was jealous everytime Eris said something that made her smile, but more jealous that Eris was the one who’d managed to bring some amount of life and light back to her face.

Alive and clearly taking notes from Eris, if her earlier escapades were any indication. Tamlin had stepped of the dais for a drink, stiff-backed and alight with rage given he was being forced to watch Rhysand manhandle Feyre night after night. Elain and Eris happened to be at the table for wine and fruit. When Eris caught sight of Tamlin he slipped to Elain’s other side.

Tamlin nodded curtly to Elain.

“Coward,” she whispered, loud enough that Lucien, who was eavesdropping, could hear and loud enough Tamlin could too. Tamlin turned, eyes wide but Eris wrapped an arm around her waist and was swanning her away before Tamlin could offer a rebuttal. It was obvious Eris didn’t want a noisy showdown between Tamlin and Elain, though Lucien didn’t think his brother needed to worry about that. Tamlin’s silence was the one thing anyone could count on.

Lucien took a step towards Tamlin, to reassure his friend that Elain was just hurt and exhausted and traumatized but in truth, some part of him that didn’t want to admit the truth of her words thought she was right. What would be enough to make Tamlin act? How could Tamlin let Feyre continue to nearly kill herself, to be the High Lord of Night’s plaything, while Tamlin said nothing?

Lucien didn’t want to think about Tamlin whipping him or having his mind nearly shattered in service to Tamlin’s open defiance. His nightmares were enough. Nesta sidled up to him, the one person he could count in the horror they were all trapped in, radiant in white if you didn’t count the open hatred on her face.

“What did Elain do?” She asked, reaching for his arm. Lucien turned, leaving Tamlin to stew in the insult. Elain wasn’t confrontational and she wasn’t cruel for cruelties sake. If she felt Tamlin was a coward and the need to tell him, perhaps she was right.

“She called Tamlin a coward,” Lucien murmured with a heavy sigh. Nesta brightened.

“Elain did? Can I? Take me—”

“I’m not going to take you to Tamlin so you can kick a male while he’s down,” Lucien told her, irritated with the whole thing. The second task was nearly upon them and what did anyone have to show for it? Three humans play pretending to be the whores of High Lords? Was Elain even pretending? Eris was awfully close with Lucien’s mate, feeding her when he thought no one was looking, taunting her when her eyes took on that dead, empty quality, and introducing her to all the interesting courtiers in the other courts when the mood seemed to strike him. The thought burned, but perhaps Eris saw in Elain what Lucien had seen. Lucien was half planning to challenge his brother for the right to have Elain back, if they all survived. Lucien was afraid Eris might take her back to Autumn.

“I don’t want to just kick him while he’s done. I’d like to punch him, too,” Nesta interrupted Lucien’s private musings. Lucien picked up her little arm dismissively, raising the limb to eye level before dropping it.

“With this scrawny thing? Tamlin was leading war-bands before you were born. Why tempt fate?” Lucien asked. Nesta held her arms against her chest.

“What good has that done him now? Elain fought harder against Amarantha than he has.”

“He’s playing a very dangerous game,” Lucien murmured, repeating what he’d told Feyre. He believed it when he’d told her in the dungeon but looking at Nesta…it was harder to lie to the eldest Archeron. Her gray eyes always seemed to cut through his bullshit.

“Wow, what a strategy,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “A man sacrificing the women around him in order to keep himself safe. What a revolutionary new concept—”

“Okay, alright,” Lucien muttered, creeping closer to the dance floor. “You’ll get your shot at Tamlin one of these days.”

“Will you still have my back?” She asked shrewdly. They hadn’t spoken of what Nesta had done for him in the aftermath of the whipping he’d received, but Lucien was well aware he might not have survived without her intervention. He certainly would have been driven mad from the pain, alone. Her conversation had given him something to think of, her presence a reprieve from his misery. Lucien thought Nesta wanted him to be angrier with Tamlin, but Lucien couldn’t. Nesta and Elain didn’t understand what it was like to spend centuries with a person. Lucien understood Tamlin, and perhaps more fundamentally, owed the High Lord of Spring his life. Nesta’s allegiance belonged to her sisters. Lucien could understand her frustrations, given that she was the only one who had been allowed any modicum of freedom.

“I will always keep you safe,” Lucien promised. That was true, anyway. He owed Nesta, too, and Lucien upheld his bargains, even if they were merely implied.

“Is there a way out of Feyre’s bargain with Rhysand?” Nesta whispered. Lucien had told Nesta the terms of what Feyre had agreed to after he’d visited, urging her to talk with Helion. If anyone would know how to break a magical agreement, it was the High Lord of libraries.

“Not that I know of, but we’ll try,” Lucien told her with confidence. Leave it to Rhysand to doom a young, mortal woman to a week with him when she was near death and in pain. Lucien wondered if Rhysand had even the smallest shred of dignity left. He was certainly not an honorable male.

“I’ll punch him, too,” Nesta announced softly but fiercely.

That Lucien would pay to see.

Chapter Text

“Second task,” Eris smiled when Elain joined him in the common area of Autumn. “What do you think—”

“I know this is fun for you,” Elain murmured, careful to keep her voice low. “But that’s my sister being tortured and paraded around every night. I’m not going to speculate what hell Amarantha has waiting for her today.”

“Stop enjoying yourself,” Beron snapped at Eris as he swanned past, a host of simpering courtiers just behind him. Eris scowled though he somehow remembered to offer Elain his arm. It had become their routine and Elain was tired of all of it.

“Aren’t there other women you’d rather be with?” She demanded. Eris’ grin turned feline.

“I’ve had most of females that interest me though, if you’re offering to help there is one I would quite like to taste.”

“You’re disgusting,” she reminded him with a sniff. “I’m not going to help you with women.”

“No? Think about it. We could be siblings—”

Elain hit Eris in the gut swiftly, enjoying how he doubled over with a loud oof. Beron turned to look at the two of them over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at his eldest sons red face.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” Elain whispered in a sing-song voice.

“I’m going to fuck your sister,” Eris shot back though his smirk had been wiped from his face.

“Nesta eats men like you for breakfast,” Elain informed him. Eris seemed to consider this as they walked into the Great Hall.

“My kind of female—”
“Woman,” Elain snapped. “Leave her alone.”

Beron turned again, his eyes alive with irritation. Both Elain and Eris went silent and still, waiting for him to look elsewhere. It reminded Elain of being a child under her mother’s gaze getting caught fighting with Nesta and Feyre. The difference, of course was Beron could kill her with no repercussions and her mother would slap her the bottom of her feet with a ruler until she couldn’t walk.

Beron turned back to Amarantha, who was taunting Feyre in her semi-sheer gown that Elain hated. Rhysand was on the outskirts, his eyes like a brand. Elain knew she wasn’t the only one who wished he’d impale himself in a pit of swords. She’d seen Nesta stalking around him every night, likely hurling insults as loud as she dared. Elain was jealous at how much leeway Helion allowed Nesta. The only time he made her sit still was when Amarantha might hurt her. Beron, on the other hand, controlled every aspect of Elain’s life down to the way she wore her hair. She wondered if he regretted his decision, anyway, given how prone her and Eris were to squabbling.

Amarantha asked Feyre if she’d solved the riddle and Feyre remained silent. Eris and Elain exchanged a glance. Eris was forbidden from sharing the answer, bound by Amarantha’s magic that held them all. Elain wasn’t, though and they both knew if she got half the chance, she’d tell her sister. Nesta, too, fidgeted beside Helion as though she were dying to blurt it out and spare Feyre the torment of what was to come.

Elain looked around the smaller, emptier room Amarantha had insisted they gather in. She thought they must be further beneath the mountain based on how stale the air felt though it hardly mattered. Feyre was being lowered into a pit slowly. Eris surged forward like he always did, leaving Elain to inch her way closer towards Nesta. Nesta, too, walked carefully towards Elain, leaving enough space that it might have been an accident they ended up next to each other.

Nesta glanced around the room as though looking for someone.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered as Feyre vanished into the floor.

“We need to get Feyre out of here,” Nesta responded without answering. “I was thinking…” Nesta trailed off, her eyes focused on the pit just below. Elain didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see the horror waiting for Feyre. She’d look at Lucien, she decided, scanning the crowd for his distinctive red hair. He typically stood with the other masked denizens of Spring.

“Lucien.” Feyre’s voice echoed beneath the floor. Elain turned almost in slow motion to look down. Feyre was trapped in a pit split in two. On one side, a riddle written in shimmering gold over three handles. On the other, Lucien chained to the floor. Over them both, sizzling hot spikes were poised to fall. Elain could guess how this would end. How many times would she be forced to watch Lucien nearly die?

Nesta and Elain read the riddle, their lips moving furiously over the words as they began to puzzle it out. The riddle required its reader to know the smallest amount of math and understand the premise of a riddle: it was a trick. Feyre stared at the words, eyes wide, as the ceiling began to slowly crunch towards her.

All Feyre had to do was pull the third lever. Elain was practically bouncing as she urged Feyre to just pull it. She wasn’t the only one. Lucien, too, demanded Feyre pick a lever. Feyre’s hand hesitated. She reached for the second and Elain opened her mouth to scream the answer. A broad, rough hand very quickly clapped quickly over her face. Elain twisted to meet the eyes of an irate Beron Vanserra. He shook his head once, ignoring the tear that slid down her face and spilled onto his hand. Nesta watched, frozen in her fury. She was torn between Elain and Feyre, unsure who she needed to offer her attention to. Helion made the decision for her. He took one look at Beron, offered a mocking bow of his head, and then guided Nesta far, far away.

Elain was forced to watch Feyre reach for all three levers, the spikes practically touching her hair, before she finally pulled the third one. No one moved, no one breathed as they waited. Chains clanked and the spikes lifted just as Elain collapsed to the floor. Beron let her, withdrawing his hand as though it had never been there at all.

Feyre and Lucien came up. Elain wanted Feyre to say something, to scream at Amarantha. Like Elain, Feyre looked as though she might burst into loud, ugly sobbing. Elain didn’t know what possessed Feyre but her sister held herself straight, stared Amarantha down, and then walked away without a word.

Beron lifted Elain to her feet instead of having Eris do it, signaling she was in trouble. “Walk,” he demanded, voice icy. She had no choice; his grip was a vice on her arm. Elain didn’t get to see Lucien unchained as she was forced out. Something inside her was rebelling. She thought she might start screaming without end, until the declared her insane and let her go.

Beron practically threw Elain into her room when they reached Autumn. Eris came with his father, his russet eyes a mixture of nervous amusement.

“What was that?” Beron demanded, advancing towards her. Elain scrambled backwards, trying to make herself as small as possible in the corner of the room.

“She nearly chose the wrong lever,” Elain sobbed, one arm hovering over her face to keep Beron from slapping her.

“And you thought to help her?!” Beron roared furiously, the back of his hand cracking against her cheek. “You would have killed us all, you stupid fucking human!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Father,” Eris warned, eyes bouncing between Elain trembling on the ground and Beron standing just above her. Beron ignored Eris, crouching in front of Elain so their faces were level.

“Was it your sister’s death that worried you or was it my sons?” Beron practically whispered with a calculating stare. “No lies.”
“Both,” she gasped, swallowing hard.

“He didn’t warn you what happened to the last girl?” Beron’s threat was deadly quiet.

“He was my friend,” she whimpered, the truth though Beron had guessed enough.

“Lucien always did like making friends with trash,” Beron told her, gripping her face roughly. She looked up at him, terrified of what might happen next.

“The last girl lost her head. Such a tragedy, to think you might lose yours, too—”

“Father!” Eris interrupted furiously. “Think of the political rammifications.”

Beron shoved her face out of his grasp, slamming her head into the stone wall. He stood to face down his son.

“There are no political ramifications to killing a meddling human—”

“Her sister has completed two of the trials,” Eris reminded his father patiently. “She’s got a decent shot at finishing the third. Imagine how Tamlin would owe our Court…Autumn kept the Lady of Spring’s sister safe.”

Beron glanced from his elder son back to Elain. “Deal with her. No visible marks, Eris. Remind her what will happen if she attempts another intervention.”

Eris clenched his jaw and nodded once, the only confirmation Beron would get. Beron strode from the room, likely to go back to the party, leaving Elain and Eris alone in her room.

“Stupid,” Eris hissed, pulling Elain to her feet. “So fucking stupid.”

Elain walked with Eris, out of her bedroom and down a labyrinth of empty halls, trying to memorize the twists and turns Eris navigated. Was he taking her to the dungeon? Had he finally grown tired of babysitting her? Elain was shaking so hard walking had become difficult though it didn’t matter.

“Go,” Eris snarled, shoving her towards a door. “Be back in your room before I am or there will be actual hell to pay.”

Eris turned, vanishing back the way they’d come. Elain peered into the catacomb of halls he’d lead her to, eyes wide.

He’d dropped her off in Spring.

**

Lucien didn’t know how he’d gotten back to his room, could barely remember being unchained from that underground torture chamber, or even how he’d gotten in that pit in the first place. He might have fallen to pieces had Nesta Archeron not slipped into his bedroom mere moments after he arrived to slap him hard in the face.

“What was that for?” He demanded, holding his cheek.

“Don’t get dead eyed on me yet,” she seethed, shaking out her hand as though his face had hurt her. “There’s still one last trial for Feyre.”

“Oh, my apologies. I forgot it was you chained up in that monstrosity,” Lucien shot back as he slumped onto his bed. Nesta crossed her arms over her chest.

“Get a grip, Vanserra. You’re not dead yet and that has to count for something. Someone up there likes you.”

“Sure as fuck doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered.

“Don’t leave me here by myself,” Nesta all but whispered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Lucien looked up at the eldest Archeron with her icy face and cold eyes, surprised by the ask. He started to remind her that she wasn’t alone, but it was no secret that Nesta didn’t care for Helion. Elain was being watched constantly by Beron, who might kill her if Feyre didn’t succeed, but even if he didn’t, he was never going to let Nesta and Elain spend any real time together. Who was left?

“Go back to Day, Nesta. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told her, hoping he sounded less defeated than he felt.

“With wine,” she told him primly, sailing out of the room without another room. Lucien tilted his head up towards the ceiling, eyes closed. He was exhausted in a way he didn’t think any amount of sleep could fix. Lucien could barely remember a time before the mountain or who he’d been. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was a replay of every terrible moment he’d witnessed or experienced. He didn’t think he’d escape the mountain with his life.

He heard his bedroom door open and close, letting light shutter in for a moment before he slid back into darkness. Lucien growled, pressing his palm against his good eyes.

“You don’t have to keep checking up on me—”

“Lucien?” Elain’s soft, trembling voice asked. His eyes flew open and through the dark, he saw her shaking roughly at the far end of the room. He reached for a lamp next to the bed before he walked to her. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing loudly. He thought for a moment to reassure her, but her tears brought his own, lodged hard in his throat. He merely picked her up and brought her to his bed wishing he could keep her there. He thought he could get through the mountain if he knew she was safely tucked in his bedroom.

Lucien smoothed her hair off her face, his thumb brushing over an ugly set of purple bruises along her cheek bone. He didn’t need to ask who’d done that. Lucien remembered very well how badly Beron’s slaps stung. He slid his finger over the bruises, slowly removing each one with the power Amarantha had given him back, wishing he could just as easily erase the hurt he knew she was carrying in her heart.

“Don’t cry,” he asked once her face was unblemished.

“Why?” Elain asked him. He knew she wasn’t asking Lucien why he wanted her to stop crying. He sighed, remembering how just a few nights before, Elain had called Tamlin a coward.

“To punish Tamlin,” Lucien told her, hating how moisture was building behind his eye. He didn’t want her to see him cry. One of them needed to keep it together but Lucien was so, so tired.

“Why can’t she just…punish Tamlin?” Elain demanded, nearly choking on a sob. A tear spilled from Lucien’s eye, and then another and before he knew it, he’d buried his face in the fabric of her dress while Elain smoothed out his hair. She didn’t ask him to stop or tell him everything would be okay. She just let him cry until there was nothing left.

“If we escape this, don’t take me back to Spring,” she whispered when he looked at her again. Moisture pooled beneath his mask, driving him insane and for a moment he thought he might just rip off the mask and his skin just to be rid of it all. Lucien took a steadying breath.

“Tam will need help—”

“What about now?” She demanded. “What about when I needed help? Or when you needed help, or Feyre or anyone? How could you support him?”

Lucien gathered Elain into his lap, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “One worry at a time, okay?”

“Your father hit me tonight for trying to tell Feyre the answer to the riddle,” Elain told him softly. “I can’t watch you die…I won’t. I won’t watch you die.”

Lucien frowned. “Does he know where you are right now?”

Elain bit her bottom lip, looking away. She was hiding something.

“How did you get here?” He pressed, panic rising in his chest. Had she snuck out? What if Beron caught her and realized where she’d been?

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.

“Protecting someone?” He whispered, knowing full well that if Elain was keeping anyone’s secrets, it was Eris. He’d seen the two of them in the throne room, constantly touching, always next to each other. Jealousy flared in his chest. Eris was unmasked, wasn’t scarred or torn up like Lucien was. Eris would be High Lord someday…it made sense to Lucien that Elain may have realized she could do better.

“When we get out of this, I’ll tell you everything,” she promised, dragging his face towards hers to kiss him. The gesture was reassuring. She smelled of fear, but not another male. Perhaps, as unlikely as it seemed, Elain had managed to become friends with prickly, icy Eris.

“You can’t trust anyone in Autumn,” he warned her, but Elain only kissed him again, clearly unwilling to argue. “Keep your head down, Elain. Just a month left.”

Elain didn’t argue; she said very little as she fussed. She pulled him out of his clothes and tucked him into bed, sliding beneath the blankets with him. He held her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair. In the dark, he could almost believe they were back in his bed at home and that nothing had changed at all. It was only when he woke in bed alone hours later did Lucien remember where they were and what was at stake.

He sighed. Only one task left.

The fate of his world rest in the hands of one human woman and whatever horrific nightmare Amarantha had left.

Chapter Text

The final night of Feyre’s trials was a nightmare. In some ways, nothing seemed different. Everyone danced and sang and talked. Feyre wasn’t present for it which made Elain nervous. She’d danced, too, for the first time since she arrived. Eris had practically demanded it, moving her through a minuet that was entirely inappropriate for the sultry song that played. She wondered if Eris wasn’t trying to distract the pair of them the only way he could think to do so. Elain was given permission by Beron himself to leave early. She’d stayed out of his way and he hadn’t made good on his threat to let his courtiers use her like she was a whore. Elain took one last look around, eyes fixing on Tamlin, Nesta, Lucien. She wondered what would become of them all tomorrow.

She couldn’t think about it. Even in her bedroom, Elain huddled in the bathtub and imagined every possible scenario. There were so many to consider. Feyre might solve the riddle and not have to go through with the third task. She might complete the third task but Amarantha cheat and kill her. She might fail the third task and Amarantha would kill her. She might complete the third task and Amarantha free Spring though to what end, Elain didn’t know.

Her door cracked open late in the night and Eris slid in, still dressed in his fine gold jacket and his crisp, black pants. He hesitated at the door, eyes crinkled at the sight of her bundled beneath a blanket in the large bathtub.

“What are you doing?” She asked. Eris crossed the room and sat on the floor, long legs stretched in front of him.

“I just…I need some fucking quiet,” he told her, throwing an arm over his eyes. Elain drew her knees up to her chest. Despite his cruelty and conniving, Elain had never truly been afraid of Eris. She still wore the necklace he’d given her that first day, still remembered the words he’d spoken. They’d sniped and argued but Eris had defended Elain when Beron threatened to hurt her, even when it might have benefited him not to.

“If your sister fucks one little thing up,” Eris whispered into the darkness, his words almost a prayer. Eris turned his head to look at Elain. The candlelight reflected off his hair, making it gleam like firelight. “I want to go home.”

Elain nodded, hugging her knees closer to her body. “What if Feyre…” She couldn’t say the words.

Eris paused for a moment. “If your sister fails, I’m going to smuggle you out,” he finally said, all of the mocking gone from his tone.

“What about—”

“Nesta is Helion’s problem,” Eris interrupted, his voice firm. “Father risked taking you on the off chance it would pay off. How lovely to tell the territory we border that we kept the curse breakers sister safe and unharmed, hm? That she was treated as one of his own children,” Eris laughed at that, though there was no mirth to the sound.

“He couldn’t have known—”

“You’re right. And he didn’t. It was a gamble and he acted on hunch. You don’t remain High Lord for eight hundred years without being shrewd. If you’d been worthless, he’d have killed you long ago. If Feyre dies you will be worthless.”

“I won’t leave Nesta,” Elain told Eris, her bottom lip trembling.

“You will,” Eris replied firmly. “You will run far, far from Prythian, from the wall, from all of this, and you will pray to whatever Gods you hold dear that Amarantha doesn’t find you.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Elain demanded, suddenly aware that it was Eris, the favorite to the High Lord, laying across her bed confessing his unfiltered thoughts.

“Because I know you won’t betray me…even though you should. And perhaps someday I might need something from you, Elain.” He grinned the last part of his sentence, though it didn’t meet his eyes.

“You could just ask, you know. You don’t have to bargain,” she told him. Eris sighed.

“I know. Get some sleep, Elain.”

Eris didn’t move, though, and neither did Elain.

The mood in the throne room was tense. No one played along this time. Even Rhysand seemed serious, all his usual irreverence gone. Beron didn’t seem to care what Elain did or where she went, leaving her to walk to Nesta. Nesta looked imperious and cold, her hair braided and coiled around her head like it so often was. She was still bedecked in gold that seemed to suit her so well. Nesta always had seemed destined to be a Queen.

Elain clasped her sisters’ hand, the two shoving towards the front. They wanted Feyre to see them, to know they were supporting her, rooting for her. That they would stay with her until the bitter end. Elain tried to catch Tamlin’s gaze but he never looked at her; it seemed he only had eyes for Amarantha.

Across the room, Lucien stood with Spring Court, arms crossed over his chest. He did look at Elain, face still hidden behind his fox mask. She held his gaze for just a moment too long, hoping desperately that she’d see him again outside of this mountain. That they’d walk the hills of Spring again, or anywhere, just so long as they did it together.

Feyre was brought out in the same tunic she’d come in wearing. It was a small mercy, in Elain’s opinion. Feyre looked like herself and not the human plaything of the fae. Nesta squeezed Elain’s hand and Elain knew that she hoped for the best.

Their hopes died the minute Amarantha brought out three hooded prisoners and three ash daggers. Feyre had gone pale, had begun to tremble.

“Your final task, Feyre. Stab each of these unfortunate souls in the heart. They’re innocent—not that it should matter to you since it wasn’t a concern the day you killed Tamlin’s poor sentinel. And it wasn’t a concern for dear Jurian when he butchered my sister. But if it’s a problem…well, you can always refuse. Of course, I’ll take your life in exchange, but a bargain’s a bargain, is it not? If you ask me, though, given your history with murdering our kind, I do believe I’m offering you a gift.”
Elain almost screamed at Amarantha to shut up. She held her hand over her mouth, unwilling to mess this up for Feyre. Feyre stared and Elain didn’t think Feyre could do it. She remembered telling Lucien, all those months ago, that Feyre hadn’t been out killing wolves for sport. She’d done it in service of their hunger. Feyre wasn’t a killer.”

The first Fae was unhooded. Elain pressed her face into Nesta’s shoulder when he began pleading. She couldn’t watch Feyre, couldn’t see her younger sister break or worse. Nesta, though, never took her eyes off Feyre though her body shook violently from the horror of it all.

The please was cut short by the sound of steel cutting into flesh and the last, dying gasps of a person. The dagger clattered to the floor and Elain peered up and Feyre, openly sobbing just like her and Nesta. All three cried silently, taught in this miserable, horrible place what their tears were worth.

The second, a woman, began praying softly. The dagger trembled in Feyre’s hands and Elain almost wished Feyre would say no. That some other solution would present itself and save them all. Elain grasped Nesta’s hand so tight she was certain it must hurt. Elain watched this time, willing herself to be brave. Feyre plunged the dagger into the second woman’s heart. She slumped to the ground quickly, spared an agonizing and drawn-out death.

One more, Elain silently encouraged, swallowing hard. The hood was pulled, and Elain almost vomited on the floor. Tamlin, bound and on his knees, looked up at Feyre with defiant eyes. Feyre stumbled back. “Not fair,” she protested, her breath coming in panicked pants.

Elain couldn’t hear the taunt Amarantha lobbied at Feyre. Blood roared in her ears, almost as loud as her pounding heart. Beside her Nesta had gone deathly pale. Elain didn’t know how either of them stood, given how hard they shook. Bile rose in Elain’s throat. A devil’s bargain; Feyre’s life for Tamlin’s, or Tamlin’s for Feyre.

Choose yourself, Elain begged. There was no relief when Feyre reached for that dagger. Elain didn’t think anything would undo what was about to be shattered in her sister.

“I love you,” Feyre told Tamlin, who’s expression almost seemed to dare her. Elain turned away the moment the blade plunged into Tamlin’s chest. There was utter silence and then—

“She won,” someone from the Summer Court dared, taking a step forward.

“Free them,” another courtier from Dawn demanded. Elain looked up, wiping her face as Feyre stared Amarantha down. It seemed impossible that one human woman could have beaten the magic Amarantha wielded and yet—

“I’ll free them whenever I see fit. Feyre didn’t specifiy when I had to free them—just that I had to. At some point. Perhaps when you’re dead. You assumed that when I said instantaneous freedom regarding the riddle, it applied to the trials, too. Foolish, stupid human.”

Feyre stepped backwards down the steps of the dais as Amarantha rounded on her. Her ugly features were twisted into something monstrous, nearly inhuman. “And you. You. I’m going to kill you.”

Feyre went flying to the floor with a scream. Nesta and Elain echoed it, both surging forward at the same time. Arms wrapped around Elain like a vice, holding her with impossible force. Eris Vanserra, his handsome face a mix of outrage and horror, pinned Elain’s body to his chest, despite her furious flailing. Beside Elain, Helion had Nesta though she didn’t think he’d have her for long. Nesta fought like a hellcat, scratching and kicking.

“Admit you don’t really love him and I’ll spare you! Admit what a cowardly, lying, inconstant bit of human garbage you are!” Amarantha demanded over the sound of Feyre’s bones breaking.

“Stop it!” Elain screamed, digging her nails into Eris’ arms though her voice was lost to Rhysand shouting Feyre’s name.

“Please!” Nesta begged, her braid nearly undone from her fighting. “Let her go!”

Tamlin, too, had gone to his knees to beg Amrantha for all the good it did. Feyre kept going limp only to be brought back. She would endure this torture until Amarantha finally killed her. Elain twisted in Eris’ arms, half sobbing pleas that fell on deaf ears. No one could take their eyes off Feyre.

Rhysand reached for one of the ash daggers and lunged for Amarantha. It was so stunning that for an entire moment, Elain quit fighting Eris to see if he’d succeed. Rhysand, who’d haunted her nightmares, who seemed to be Amarantha’s staunchest supporter, meant to end her life right then and there. Amarantha turned from Feyre, letting her body fall to the floor with sickening crunch so she could blast Rhysand backwards against the wall. Blood pooled in Feyre’s mouth as she reached out her hand. “Please,” she gasped. “Stop.”

Tamlin’s blood still poured from his chest, healing slowly and he still crawled. Amarantha turned back to Feyre, screaming her insults. Demanding Feyre admit she didn’t love Tamlin. Elain kicked Eris in the stomach, nearly freeing herself. He tackled her, bringing them both crashing to the ground.

“You’ll get yourself killed!” Eris hissed in her ear even as she squirmed against him. Elain didn’t care. One of them had to get to Feyre and Helion’s grip still held Nesta. Eris righted them both, pressing one of his arms against her neck.

“Say it you vile beast!” Amarantha screamed.

Feyre’s body arched in an inhuman way. “Love…the answer to the riddle…is love.”

There was a brutal snapping sound and Feyre went limp and the light flickered from her eyes. No one moved or seemed to breath in the silence that followed.  Eris dropped his hold on Elain and backed up, letting her run for Feyre’s body. Nesta beat her only by a second, grabbing her and holding her against her chest.

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” Nesta sobbed, sitting Feyre up just enough so she could hug her. “I’m sorry, Feyre, come back, don’t go, I’m sorry—”

Elain wrapped her arms around Nesta, cradling Feyre’s body between their own. It was almost like being back in bed, back in the cottage when it was just the three of them fighting for blankets and space. Nesta and Elain’s foreheads met and Elain stroked Feyre’s hair.

“You did it,” Elain whispered to her sister, though Feyre couldn’t hear her. “You…you were always better than the rest of us. You did so good, Feyre. I love you, Feyre, I love—”

Golden light exploded just feet from the three of them. Elain and Nesta both moved to cover Feyre’s body as though she were merely hurt and not actually dead. Tamlin, Elain realized. He had his powers back and was putting them to good use. From behind them, Elain heard Lucien shout for Tamlin and throw him his sword. Elain couldn’t watch and neither could Nesta. Elain thought if they just held her and kept talking, Feyre might come back.

Amarantha’s screaming ended abruptly to a near dead silence. Tamlin slid across the floor on his knees, reaching for Feyre but Nesta held her.

“Stay away from her!” Nesta choked out. Elain moved a fraction, letting Tamlin touch Feyre’s hair, hold her hand. He sobbed with them, his face unmasked. Elain couldn’t look; everything about Tamlin’s presence, his grief, made her feel sick. Nesta looked up, a predator guarding her prey, as a hand touched Elain’s shoulder. Elain looked up at Beron, who was staring at Tamlin with a clenched fist. Tamlin nodded and Beron opened his hand, dropping a small, orange spark into Feyre’s chest. Beron offered Elain a nod that seemed to say remember what I did for you, before he melted back into the crowd. Helion came next, dropping a similar, yellow spark into Feyre. The High Lords followed, each offering Feyre a tiny piece of magic. Rhysand was last.

“For what she gave, we will bestow what our predecessors have granted few before,” he murmured, looking from Nesta to Elain as though that explained anything.

“This makes us even,” he added, before he dropped his violet spark into her chest.

Tamlin was last. Elain slid beside Nesta, then, to watch Tamlin press his hand against Feyre’s heart.

“I love you,” he told her.

Feyre shimmered in Nesta’s arms, her body shifting. Nesta’s eyes widened but it was too late to do anything, and in truth, Elain thought they’d have let the High Lords do it all over again, if the choice was death or being made fae.

Feyre came back to life with a gasp of air. She shot out of Nesta’s grip like she’d woken from a bad dream, looking around wildly.

“It was the only way we could save you,” Tamlin said softly from behind Feyre. She was looking up at the dais, at Amarantha’s mutilated body. She turned to look at Nesta and then Elain, both still trembling, their faces tear stained, their bodies coated in Feyre’s blood. Elain reached for Feyre’s terrified face, stroking her thumbs over her cheek.

“Are you—” Feyre swallowed, half turning to look at Tamlin. Nesta bristled, hackles raised.

“See for yourself,” Tamlin told her. Feyre looked them and Elain wondered if she liked what she saw. Tamlin was handsome, beautiful even, but to Elain, and she knew to Nesta, too, all they saw was a coward looking down at their sister. He’d be remembered as a hero for doing nothing, but not to Elain and not to Nesta.

Tamlin reached for Feyre but Nesta shoved, keeping her hold. “She needs to rest,” Nesta hissed, clambering shakily to her feet. Elain came, too, helping Feyre up. Feyre groaned and allowed her sisters to brace her body against their own. It didn’t matter how much Nesta hated Tamlin; he came with them, leading them towards the familiar rooms of Spring.

It was only when she’d left the throne room that Elain realized she’d never turned to look at Lucien.

Elain would never know how they’d managed to shoo Tamlin from his own room. They’d helped change and bathe Feyre in silence. Elain had tried once to talk to her sister, but Feyre had merely shook her head and climbed into bed with still wet hair. They left the lights on so Feyre wouldn’t wake to darkness alone before they left. Exhaustion had crept into Elain’s body.

“I want to thank Helion,” Nesta told Elain, holding her arms around her body tightly. “Will you come?”

Elain nodded numbly. She supposed she ought to thank Beron as well, cruel as he’d been. She wanted to say goodbye to Eris, at least. He’d been almost like an older brother, in a weird way, and she didn’t think she’d have survived her time Under the Mountain without him.

Nesta found Helion first, grinning as he strutted towards her. Nesta, too, offered him a shy smile as she approached. Their goodbye left Elain a moment to slip back into Autumn, where people were packing to leave. She found Amera first, fluttering around as she checked on everyone.

“I came to thank Beron,” Elain told her, earning a soft smile of approval from the Lady of Autumn.

“You’re always welcome in our court, Elain,” she said, a sentiment all three of the younger Vanserra’s echoed when she offered them her thanks. Beron stood just outside the door she’d once slept in, hands behind his back.

“I wanted to thank you,” Elain murmured. Beron turned to look at her, towering over her. “For both your kindness to me and what you did for my sister.”

He nodded and, to her surprise, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She had to work not to openly flinch beneath the touch. “Good luck, Elain Archeron. Try and keep yourself from trouble.”

He left her with little else, though she supposed hoping for any more kindness from Beron would have been foolish. He’d gotten what he hoped to gain from shielding her; Feyre would owe him, should he ever need anything, and Tamlin would be the one obligated to pay that debt.

Eris lounged in his room; his long legs stretched out in front of him. He stared at the fireplace and as she came in, Eris flicked his hand at the hearth, causing flame to lick up the chimney.

“Haven’t been able to do that in years,” he told her, standing to his feet. “I heard you’re making the rounds and saying your goodbyes.”

She nodded. Eris offered her his hand and Elain accepted, though she used it as leverage to pull him into a hug. Eris was infinitely stronger than her; he could have stood his ground had he wanted to. Instead, he allowed her to hug him and, after a moment, even hugged her back.

“I couldn’t have survived this without you,” she told him with as much honesty as he’d offered her the night before. She pressed her face into his tunic and inhaled the crisp scent of Autumn air that seemed to follow Eris everywhere. She knew she wouldn’t miss him, even as sad as she felt to send him back. Eris could survive in Autumn.

“Sure you could have,” Eris replied gruffly, a lie and they both knew it. “Come to Autumn sometime…maybe for Samhain. I think you’d like our holiest of holidays.”

The grin on his face told her that she would very much not approve of whatever activities went down.

“Someday, maybe,” she agreed.

Eris released her. “Take care of yourself, little human. I did enjoy our time together…troublesome as it was.”

Elain was almost out the door when Eris called, “Don’t forget that necklace I gave you.”

She started to pull the chain from her neck, but Eris held his hand up. “Keep it. I suspect you’ll need it someday.”

“And you’ll just come, if I call?” She asked, half teasing. Eris’ smile was genuine. He snapped his fingers.

“Just like that.”

She left him without comment, though it warmed her a little that Eris Vanserra cared for her in his own, strange and perhaps twisted way. She wondered what it took for Eris to survive in his father’s court; what he’d had to do, the lies he’d told, the personas he’d adopted. She liked to think that the real Eris was the man who’d allowed her to keep the necklace she wore while asking for nothing in return. The man who’d kept her secrets, even when divulging them might have aided Amarantha in torturing Tamlin.

Elain was so lost in thought that she almost missed what was staring her right in the face. Her eyes slid over Lucien as she pushed into Spring to check on Feyre. She’d gotten so used to seeing him with his fox mask on that even in her dreams, she pictured him with it. She’d tried a million times before to imagine what he’d look like without it, but everything came up hazy.

She stopped dead in her tracks three paces forward and spun quickly. Lucien leaned against the door frame, one broad hand resting on the sword he’d given Tamlin to kill Amarantha. Elain’s lips parted in shock. The side of his face that housed his golden eye was brutally scarred, though somehow it only added to his beauty. His features were sharp, elegant, and his smile seemed familiar in a far-off kind of way. She recognized his sharp jaw, the strong chin, his full lips. His straight, proud nose, his high cheekbones and even his well-groomed eyebrows though…those were all unfamiliar.

Whatever she’d imagined paled to what she saw. Her heart pounded at the sight of him. He was so incredibly beautiful in an ethereal kind of way. He didn’t look as though he should exist at all. “Have I disappointed you?” He asked when she didn’t move, fear crossing his gloriously perfect face. She closed the distance between the two of them, intending to kiss him. There had always been his hard, bronze mask in the way, pressed against her face and she imagined his skin felt much better but her brain stopped her. Her fingertips touched his cheekbones, tracing the shape of them beneath the pads.

If Lucien breathed, Elain couldn’t tell. She didn’t know what to say to him. She thought she lacked the right words to properly convey just how lovely he was. Her exhaustion hardly helped. She surged upwards on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, still holding his unmasked, beautiful face in her hands. Lucien wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, smiling against her lips.

She couldn’t help it. Elain began laughing, softly at first until it bloomed into near hysterics. Lucien tightened his grip, one hand sliding up her back and into her hair to press her face into his shoulder. Elain’s laughter turned to tears. She let go of his face to clutch the lapel of his jacket, sobbing softly as he held her.

“Shh,” he soothed into her hair. “We’re going home tomorrow.”

Home. What did that even mean to her anymore? Was Spring her home anymore? Feyre would go with Tamlin, she thought, and so would her and Nesta. Just until they knew Feyre was settled…that she was okay. Elain thought Nesta would go back to the mortal lands and she…she’d stay with Lucien.

Nesta strolled in, smiling softly to herself. Elain wondered what Helion had said to her and what that goodbye meant to Nesta. Nesta frowned when she saw Lucien and Elain and Elain braced herself for Nesta’s tongue to cut Lucien into ribbons.

“You’re almost passably handsome now,” Nesta told Lucien, her smile morphing into a smirk. Lucien grinned. “What’s your excuse, then? Hm?”

Nesta jutted her chin in the air as though his words didn’t faze her at all. “Poor genetics.”

Lucien burst out laughing but Nesta wasn’t done. “We’re the same, you and I. I saw those brothers of yours. Looks like you got the short end of the stick.”

“Don’t say that,” Elain cut in, wiping her face. Both Nesta and Lucien immediately became contrite. “Eris asked me what it would take to get you in his bed once.”

Nesta arched a brow. “What did you tell him?”

Lucien looked down, clearly curious as well. “That you ate men like him for breakfast.”

Nesta seemed pleased by that. “Want to check on Feyre…and then try and get some sleep?”

Elain disentangled herself from Lucien with a nod. Her and Nesta looped arms, the only humans left beneath the mountain. Elain wondered what it meant for Feyre to be made faerie.

Nesta opened the door to the room they’d left Feyre in. The bed was mussed but the room was empty. Nesta and Elain both frowned. Elain slid in quickly before Nesta could panic.

“Feyre?” She called, knocking on the bathroom door. “Feyre, are you okay?”

No answer. Nesta barged in and jiggled the handle. “It’s locked.” Nesta immediately began pounding on the door with her bare hand. “Feyre! Feyre open the door!”

Lucien was behind them, eyes guarded.

“Open this door,” Nesta demanded. Lucien turned the handle with brutal force. The lock crunched loudly and then the bathroom was available…and empty.

“Where’s Tamlin?” Nesta snarled. Her answer arrived in the form of the blonde High Lord, apparently summoned by their yelling. Nesta pushed past Lucien, slamming her hands into Tamlin’s broad, unmovable chest.

“Where is Feyre? I told you she needs rest, not your fucking co—”

“I don’t have Feyre,” Tamlin told her, eyeing Nesta with distaste. Cold washed over Elain at Tamlin’s assertion.

“What do you mean you don’t have Feyre?” Nesta demanded.

“Oh no,” Elain murmured, reaching for the wall before she fell to the ground. Lucien caught her arm, steadying her. Nesta turned almost in slow motion.

“Tamlin,” Elain all but gasped, her heart pounding. “Find Rhysand.”

A snarl ripped from Tamlin’s throat. “I’ll kill him.”

If Rhysand took Feyre, Elain didn’t think they’d ever get her back. No one went into Night territory and came back out with their memories intact. Elain wanted to believe all the horror was behind them, and all that lay ahead was healing…was peace.

For Feyre, she suspected the nightmare had just begun.

Chapter Text

Lucien was roused awake by Tamlin sometime early in the morning. They were one of the few courts still beneath the mountain. Both Nesta and Elain were asleep in his lap, finally out after running on nothing but fumes for who knew how long. Lucien carefully moved the women onto the bed he was lounged on to talk with his friend. Friend, he reminded himself even as the sound of whip cracking across his back flashed through his memory. They’d all been made to do terrible things…but in most of his memories, it was Tamlin who was torturing him.

“Did you find him?” Lucien asked. Tamlin looked over at Nesta and Elain.

“He’s gone and so is she,” Tamlin replied, practically vibrating with fury. “We can’t go to war, not yet. Not after…all this.”

Night had not been hit as hard by Amarantha…Lucien had never seen one of the rumored Illyrians beneath the mountain, either. It made his stomach churn to imagine fighting a bloody war with Night Court when Spring was exhausted and overtaxed.

“What do you need?” Lucien asked. He wanted Feyre back just as much as Tamlin. Tamlin looked over at Elain and Nesta again.

“Did Feyre ever tell you about the bargain she made with him?”

“One week of her life every month in exchange for keeping her from dying,” Lucien cringed, silently furious at his inability to help Feyre.

Tamlin considered Lucien’s words. “Perhaps he decided to call in his first week now?”

“Without telling her sisters goodbye?” Lucien challenged, glancing towards the sleeping forms of Nesta and Elain.

“Rhysand is a monster. I doubt he considered anyone but himself when he abducted her.”

Lucien could agree with that sentiment, at least.

Tamlin continued, “We’ll appeal the traditional way while we gather our strength and if he won’t relent well…” Then they’d march to war.

“I still have contacts in Hybern—”

“Are you insane?” Lucien hissed. “After all this? We don’t need to involve Hybern. We’ll appeal to the other High Lords and threaten civil war. The internal pressure will force Rhysand to return Feyre.”

Lucien wasn’t entirely sure of that, though there was no use voicing his concerns in the moment. Everyone was tired and wrung out and what they all really needed was one week of quiet before they jumped right back into solving the world’s problems. Lucien had little hope that Nesta or Elain would consider resting while their sister was being held hostage in Rhysand’s Court of Nightmares.

Tamlin glanced back at the sleeping humans on Lucien’s bed, his pine-colored eyes narrowing for a moment. “How long?” He asked after a protracted period of silence. Lucien had avoided this conversation in the aftermath of Elain’s departure but now…

Lucien blew out a breath. “It just—”

“From the beginning?” Tamlin pressed, anger rippling over his features. How long did I try to court her while you undermined me? Lucien understood what Tamlin was trying to ask. Lucien could have confessed to Tamlin, told his friend that it was the first time he’d really looked at Elain and sensed what existed between them—a mating bond so weak it couldn’t be scented, could barely be felt. He could have admitted he’d tried to stay away, but couldn’t just as surely as she couldn’t, either.

“After the naga attack,” Lucien decided, his voice wearier than he meant to sound.

Tamlin nodded. “So a week after she arrived.” His tone was pure condemnation, openly implying Lucien was a poor friend for the affair.

Lucien only nodded, willing to accept whatever punishment Tamlin deemed appropriate. He would not give her up, not pretend this go around. She was his, and he’d been separated from her for too long.

“Good thing Beron never discovered her secret,” Tamlin commented, sweeping his eyes over the sleeping humans. Lucien swallowed his rage. Tamlin had poor social skills and just…said…whatever he thought without considering who he said it too. “Wake them. We leave in a couple minutes.”

“Nesta wants to return—”

“No.”

Lucien turned to Tamlin, bewildered. “What do you mean, no?”

“Feyre will want to be with her sisters. Separating them gives Rhysand an opportunity to quietly take all three to his court—”
“So you mean to use Feyre’s sisters as bait?” Lucien challenged. Tamlin arched a brow.

“They will be perfectly safe. We will confine them to the estate, I will assign guards to watch them…”

Lucien didn’t need to know either Archeron at all to know they were going to hate Tamlin’s demands.

“They’ll fight you,” Lucien warned.

Tamlin’s eyes glittered. “Good thing they both like you so much. I trust you will explain the necessity of such caution.”

Lucien swallowed his resentment to nod. Tamlin stepped out, leaving Lucien to explain the restriction of Spring. He turned, gazing down at Elain, her face hidden beneath a tangled mass of hair. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing the curls from her lovely face. Did any of it matter so long as they were together again? They’d get Feyre back…and then what? Elain didn’t want to stay in Spring and had made her hatred of Tamlin no secret. She’d want to leave and Lucien had no idea where they’d go. He didn’t belong in the mortal lands anymore than she really belonged in Prythian, but Lucien was selfish. He wouldn’t give her up.  

He bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek, reveling in how good it felt to feel the skin of her face against his own. After fifty years in a mask, Lucien still couldn’t believe he was free.

Elain turned, sleepy smile on her face. She reached up, eyes closed, and brushed her fingers along his cheekbone.

“Is everything okay?” She asked. Beside her, Nesta began to stir.

“We’re going home,” he told her, pulling her up into his arms. Lucien held her tight against his chest while Elain struggled to rouse herself.

“It’ll be nice to sleep in a bed again,” she murmured with a soft sigh.

“Where were you sleeping?” Nesta asked beside her, stretching out her limbs.

“The bathtub,” Elain admitted. “Better to sleep behind two locked doors…”

“Did they—” Nesta asked, her eyes finding Lucien’s. He knew he looked just as panicked. Elain twisted in his embrace to look at her sister.

“No…no they were all perfectly nice…for Autumn, I suppose.” She murmured, perhaps too aware of what a low bar her words were.

“I want to go back to the mortal lands,” Nesta said quickly. Elain looked up at Lucien and he wondered if she didn’t agree with her elder sister.

“You’re staying in Spring…just until Feyre is brought back,” he amended quickly before Nesta could stab him with the knife he knew she had hidden beneath her dress. “Tamlin doesn’t want to risk Rhysand kidnapping you in the night.”

“Like Amarantha did?” Nesta reminded him. Elain scooted a little closer, holding one of his arms close to her body.

“Yes, Nesta. Exactly like Amarantha, only with a very different form of torture.”

Elain shivered in his arms. “You’re going to find her, right?” Elain whispered. Both Archerons turned their gazes to his face and Lucien nodded, unable to let them down. Feyre, too, was his friend. He didn’t want to think of what unfathomable horror she was experiencing as they sat there.

Coming back to Spring was surreal considering how they’d left. Lucien could still see him and Tamlin marching into the mountain at the point of a sword, both certain they’d never see rolling hills or blue skies ever again. Lucien certainly believed he’d never see Elain again and yet there she stood, dressed more for an Autumn chill than a pleasant Spring day but she was there, holding his hand tightly in open defiance of Tamlin.

Tamlin strode ahead, conversing with his sentries and generals despite their agreement that they’d try politics before war. All Tamlin understood was war; Lucien knew the diplomacy would fall directly on his shoulders. He wondered if he might bring Elain with him and teach her the politics and major players in Prythian society. He thought she might enjoy seeing the other Courts, though he genuinely wanted to show her that part of his life.

Lucien had meant everything he told her the night before he sent her home. He wanted to make her his wife, to bind his life to hers so they’d live one mortal life before dying together. Marrying her was easy enough. All he needed was a priestess. It was the binding that was trickier. It had been centuries since someone had tried, at least to Lucien’s knowledge. He’d need a little help from Helion in order to manage it. He wasn’t worried. Lucien had time now.

Tamlin offered Nesta any room she wanted and made it clear to both women they were not to leave the estate for any reason unless they were accompanied by one of his guards. Lucien didn’t bother contradicting Tamlin though he could see that Elain and Nesta were not taking the order seriously.

While Elain showed Nesta upstairs, Lucien met with Tamlin and several of his generals. “I say we forego diplomacy and go straight to Hybern,” Avis, a traitor who’d shipped his wife and daughters off to Vallahan at the first whiff of trouble, argued.

“And start another war?” Lucien countered. “One we are ill equipped to fight as is? What do you imagine Hybern will ask us in return for it?”

“My daughter has contacts in their court. I’m certain she would be willing to see if we might be able to come to a mutually beneficial relationship in exchange for placement in one of Spring’s temples.”

“Your daughter is a priestess?” Tamlin asked dully. Lucien couldn’t remember anything about Avis’ daughters though it was clear Tamlin did.

“The youngest in centuries,” Avis replied, beaming with pride.

“Tam, this is a mistake. Appeal to the other courts first, try and avoid more death—”

“Offer her position in my Court as a precaution. We’ll try Lucien’s way first.”

Lucien sighed with relief. If Tamlin gave him time, he was sure he could apply enough internal pressure to force Rhysand to return Feyre. After all, Night was dependent on the other territories for food and other supplies. If Lucien could cut them off, Rhysand would have to choose between letting his people starve or one female who didn’t even want him.

“Get some sleep, Tam,” Lucien told his friend, putting his hand on Tamlin’s back as they walked further into the estate.

“I keep thinking about everything she went through,” Tamlin admitted, his voice cracking. “All that torture just to…just to prevail and then…and now who knows what Rhysand is subjecting her to.”

Lucien suppressed the urge to vomit as he imagined how Rhysand might try and break Feyre. “Trust in her, okay? She’s strong, she’ll…Rhysand is in for hell if he thinks she’ll go easily or quietly. We’ll get her back. You’ll get her back.”
Tamlin swallowed whatever was threatening to spill. “I’ll kill him, Lucien. I will kill him for his audacity.”

Lucien nodded, though Tamlin’s words hung thickly in the air between them. I’ll kill him for his audacity to touch what’s mine.

Lucien shook his head. Wouldn’t he feel the same, if it were Elain?

“You’ll get your chance,” Lucien promised, certain of the truth of his words. Rhysand might have been untouchable during Amarantha’s reign but Amarantha was dead, and he would have to answer for his numerous and unspeakable atrocities. Lucien knew Winter Court would be first in line to see Rhysand suffer, given how many of their young Rhysand had killed.

Lucien was considering his strategy as he made his way up to his bedroom. He could start with Winter and Summer and Day. They’d allied against Amarantha and, as consequence, lost the most. Helion was also the best positioned to apply pressure as he shared Night’s border. He could close it from his side, effectively cutting Rhysand off from the rest of Prythian.

Lucien didn’t see Elain until he practically on top of her. She was tucked into his bed, her arms wrapped around one of his pillows.

“Feels weird to sleep in a bed,” she whispered, her voice apologetic. Lucien sank on the end of the bed to kick off his boots. He reached over and ran a hand over her face, trying to decide how, exactly he wanted to ask.

“Tell me what Beron and my brothers did to you.” He needed to know and suspected she needed to share, if only to heal.

“Nothing,” she murmured.

“Why are you protecting them?” He asked, his question harsher than he’d intended. Elain looked away, frowning as she considered her words.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she offered and Lucien thought she was right. He couldn’t believe she’d experienced any measure of kindness, not after a lifetime of Vanserra cruelty and yet…and yet she’d gone back to say goodbye.

“Eris kept me safe,” she told him softly. That was a statement Lucien never expected to hear.

“In exchange for what?” He pressed. Elain pulled back an ear of the blanket, gesturing for him to climb in beside her.

“Keeping his secrets.”

Lucien gathered Elain against his chest, wondering what she must have stumbled upon to make such a bargain. He kissed the top of her head.

“You’re safe now,” he promised. Elain looked up, her chin digging into his chest.

“Are you?”

Lucien couldn’t answer.  

Chapter Text

Elain and Nesta sat on the steps just inside the estate, hands in their laps, like petulant children. Elain didn’t bother reminding Nesta that they’d done the exact same thing every time their father left on one of his trips. It was how they silently marked their displeasure. Ladies weren’t allowed to scream and cry, so they had to find other means to express themselves. In Spring, Elain and Nesta were required to remain ladies, despite the fact that Tamlin’s court only barely respected them for being human.

Elain didn’t know what she’d thought might happen after they came home. She’d hoped Tamlin had some kind of plan to get Feyre back. Tamlin, instead, threw furniture and wrecked whole rooms and just barely governed. Lucien had stepped in to help, but it was nearly impossible given Tamlin’s violent and unpredictable moods. Elain had spent the previous night sitting against her bedroom door listening to Tamlin bark out orders to Lucien while berating him quietly. Lucien hadn’t come to bed that night. Lucien rarely came to bed anymore.

Tamlin was welcoming some continental priestess that apparently knew Rhysand and wanted to help return Feyre to Spring. To Elain, it seemed like more court maneuverings. With Lucien occupied as often as he was, Elain had begun to study the politics of Prythian. She thought if she knew who the key players were, outside of just the High Lords, she might have an idea as to how to get even a letter to Rhysand.

Tamlin stepped into the foyer, guiding in a blue hooded blonde woman. Elain supposed she should stop being surprised at how young and beautiful everyone was, but when the woman lifted her hood with delicate fingers, Elain was particularly impressed. Ianthe practically glowed with some inner light, perhaps blessed by the cauldron herself. Long, blonde hair shone like soft sunlight and made the cerulean of her eyes all the more striking. Her body was tall and willowy though she was curved nicely in all the places a woman might want to be.

Across her forehead sat a stone nestled into a circlet that vanished into her hair, a lovely silver across fair skin. She was exactly what Elain imagined when she thought of fae women. Beautiful in an ethereal sort of way.

“This is Ianthe,” he told the two of them, drawing himself up to his full height. “She’ll be with us for the foreseeable future. It is my hope the three of you will get along.”

Beside Elain, Nesta was scowling but Elain stood and offered Ianthe a curtsey.

“Humans,” Ianthe murmured, her voice like a bell. “How quaint.”

Elain was so used to comments like Ianthe’s that she no longer took it personally. After all, Ianthe had curtseyed back and was smiling warmly which was more than Elain could say for a lot of Tamlin’s court.

“Elain is the Lady of Spring until her sister returns,” Tamlin all but ground out. “And the only person on good terms with Autumn.”

Ianthe turned her brilliant eyes fully to Elain. “So not just any human. Come, let’s talk.”

Nesta turned before Tamlin could introduce her and went back to her bedroom with a loudly slammed door. Tamlin growled softly, turning on his heel and storming out

“Is she okay?” Ianthe murmured. Elain sighed. She didn’t want to betray her eldest sister and share secrets, but Elain felt so isolated, even with Nesta just a few doors down. Everyone was stressed, constantly worried about Feyre but it was made worse by Nestas hatred of all things faerie. Living Under the Mountain had traumatized Nesta in a way Elain wasn’t sure she could comprehend, despite having been there right alongside her. Unlike Elain, Nesta could not play pretend.

“She’s worried about Feyre,” Elain told Ianthe honestly. Ianthe nodded, walking Elain towards the garden.

“As she should be. I met Rhysand…long ago. He is…he is not a good male.”

That’s what Elain was afraid of. She kept having nightmares of Feyre in her sheer dress being made to dance, to sit on Rhysands lap while they were Under the Mountain. If he could do all that with everyone watching, what would he do when no one could see?

“Do you have a contact in his court?” Elain asked, too hopefully. Ianthe, who was a few inches taller and incredibly slim, glanced down at Elain.

“Unfortunately I remember very few people I spoke with. I know he had a cousin…Morrigan, I think? Tamlin says you’re on good terms with Autumn, you might ask Eris about her.”

That was the first helpful lead Elain had gotten since they’d left.

They stepped into the cool, spring air right into the path of Lucien. He paused, surprised to see them both. Elain watched him look Ianthe over, wondering if he found her beautiful. He’d be stupid not to, she thought with a touch of insecurity. Lucien had stopped coming to her room, stopped teasing, stopped everything. It worried her.

“Who is this?” Ianthe asked, eyebrows raised. She offered Lucien her hand with a demureness that made Elain too resentful. Lucien took it, ghosting a kiss across her skin.

“Lucien Vanserra, seventh son to the High Lord of Autumn,” he told her, dropping her hand quickly as though something about her bothered him.

“This is—”

“I know Ianthe,” Lucien cut Elain off, his golden eye narrowing just a tick before his russet. “Or, I knew your father…fifty years ago. How was Vallahan?”

Ianthe merely dipped into a serene bow. “I’m looking forward to serving Spring however the Lords deem necessary,” she told him, her voice full of promise.

“Hm. I’ll see you at dinner, Elain?” Lucien dismissed Ianthe with barely more than a second glance. Elain raised her eyebrows. She was almost tempted to point to her chest and ask if he was talking to her, given how little she’d seen of him.

“If you’re there,” she replied. Color crept up his neck, half hidden in his stiff coat. What had happened to the man who’d traipsed all over the grounds with her? Lucien was utterly formal now.

“I will be,” he replied easily, shooting Ianthe another glance that looked very much like dislike. He very pointedly offered Elain a deep, sweeping bow and then was gone. Ianthe looked down at Elain, her eyes a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“I’m sorry…he’s usually much kinder,” Elain apologized. Ianathe tugged Elain’s arm closer with a smile.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s struggling. We all are,” Ianthe offered sympathetically. “I imagine it must have been difficult for you…given you were a human…”

And Elain didn’t know why, but she confessed everything to Ianthe that afternoon. She supposed she just missed having a close girlfriend. Ever since Tamlin had taken her, Elain had been surrounded by men or her sisters, who, while people she loved, were not always the easiest to talk to. It felt good to Ianthe everything, starting from the beginning. She left pieces out, like her romance with Lucien. She wasn’t sure where the two of them stood to start with, but with how precarious Tamlin was, Elain didn’t want to give him anything else to lash out about.

True to his word, Lucien was at dinner. Nesta sat beside him like she always did, gripping her crystal glass with a near death grip. Tamlin wasn’t much better though he was clearly trying for Ianthe’s sake. It left Elain, at the opposite end of Tamlin, and Ianthe, across from Lucien and Nesta, to carry the conversation. Tamlin seemed to relax the longer Ianthe and Elain spoke while Nesta and Lucien grew more and more tense.

Lucien skipped after dinner wine, citing an early morning. Nesta stayed, though she refused to contribute anything to the conversation. When Tamlin finally retired, Nesta snatched Elain away, dragging her up the stairs roughly.

“You can’t be friends with her,” Nesta whispered, gesturing towards the door as if Ianthe stood, ear pressed, on the other side.

“Why not?” Elain demanded, crossing her arm over her chest.

“She’s…there’s something wrong about her,” Nesta replied. “Something about her sets my teeth on edge.”

“What would you have me do, Nesta?” Elain asked, but she knew what Nesta would have her do. Nesta wanted to leave and stayed only because Feyre was still missing.

“Stay with me?” Nesta asked, vulnerability cracking her words. “Until I fall asleep?”

Elain nodded. Elain wrapped an arm around Nesta, thinking that the bed felt wrong without Feyre on the other side. She swallowed her urge to cry and instead sent up the same, soft prayer that somehow, Feyre was safe.

Elain woke to the sound of a loud thud. Leaving a softly sleeping Nesta, Elain slid from the bed and opened the door. Ianthe was standing in the hall, adjusting her dress. Her hair was mussed and her circlet askew. Across from her was Lucien, his hair just as messy and his shirt ripped open.

“Elain,” Ianthe murmured with a soft smile. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

She didn’t know what to say so she merely shook her head no, even as dread crept through her chest and up her neck. Lucien had the decency to at least look horrified, for whatever that was worth. It wasn’t terribly surprising, she reminded herself numbly. Elain merely nodded and then went back into Nesta’s room. She pressed her back against the door and waited. She could hear the two of them murmuring, their words impossible to hear, and then Ianthe’s soft steps vanishing down the hall with the jangle of her silver belled bracelets. There was another, sharper, slam of a door—Lucien’s, she assumed, and then quiet.

Only then did Elain flee Nesta’s room, scurrying down the hall to her bedroom at the far end of the hall. Ianthe didn’t know, she reminded herself, pacing back and forth across her bedroom. Lucien though…

She braced her hands on her desk, willing herself not to sob. Ianthe didn’t know. Lucien had given no indication there was anything between them and even if he had…maybe he preferred a faerie woman to a human. If he wanted to be done with her…she wasn’t going to stop him, she thought angrily.

But she certainly wouldn’t stay in Spring.

She ripped out a piece of parchment and began writing, begging Eris Vanserra to intercede on her behalf. If he knew Morrigan like Ianthe said, then Elain asked him to deliver a message for her begging the High Lord of Night to allow Elain and Nesta to visit, instead of returning their sister. She thought, wiping her face, that she might have better luck if she stopped asking Rhysand to bring Feyre home and instead asked him to let her and Nesta visit. Afterall, that’s what Tamlin was so afraid of, right? That Rhysand would snatch them away and Tamlin would lose all his leverage?

She sealed the letter the moment Lucien stepped into the room, his hair wild. He radiated fear.

“Elain—” He croaked but she strode across the room, well aware he could see she’d been crying, and shoved the letter into his hands.

“Use your magic and send this to your brother,” she ordered.

“Elain—”

“Send the letter!” She all but screamed, stamping her foot. Lucien closed his eyes, clearly pained, and sent the letter with a flick of his wrist.

“Get out,” she whispered, pointing at the door. Lucien took a step towards her, his expression shifting.

“No,” he replied, locking the door behind him.

**

“What do you mean, no?” She asked, stumbling backwards. How easy it was to step back into his old, familiar role as her adversary, he thought with some disappointment? This wasn’t how he wanted things to go between them.  Tamlin was running him ragged and when Tamlin didn’t have him in a hundred places at once, his nightmares kept him from really sleeping. How often had Elain woken to an empty bed? As often as she fell asleep in one, he thought, advancing towards her.

“It’s been a long time since we were together,” he reminded her with another step towards her. Elain narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t seem to be hurting for it,” she shot back, her beautiful face twisted with hurt and anger. Lucien chucked darkly, promising Ianthe nothing but pain for the confusion she’d caused between him and his mate. He knew Ianthe was aware of what existed between him and Elain; he’d been there when Tamlin explained why the human women lived in Spring after dinner. He’d told Ianthe himself that Elain would remain in Spring with him until she died.

“Did she look well fucked, or did she look like a conniving, cowardly female who was thrown out of my bedroom a minute after she stepped inside?” Lucien demanded softly as he took another step. Elain shivered beneath his gaze.

“She’s very beautiful—”

“She’s disgusting,” Lucien interrupted, pushing Elain against the edge of the bed with his own body, his words a curse. Elain’s eyes widened with surprise, and Lucien realized Elain believed he could turn his attention so quickly from herself to another female because she found Ianthe beautiful. “I told her this evening you were my female—”

“Woman,” Elain snapped out of habit. Lucien bit back the urge to roll his eyes. He reached between them cupping her face so she was forced to look up at him. He decided, in that moment, he’d have her so loudly there could be no mistake what was going on between them. He brushed his thumb over her lips.

“You think so little of me you imagine I’d jump into the bed of another female after promising my life to you?” He asked, dropping his face inches from her own.

“You don’t come to bed anymore…you barely look at me…what was I supposed to think?” She whispered, one hand resting on his chest. She was so close; it was torture just to stand there.

He curled his fingers in her hair. “It’s the nightmares,” he admitted, brushing his lips over her own.

“Why would you keep that a secret?” She murmured, her breath sweet against his face.

Because I keep seeing you die in my sleep. Because every time I hear the snap of Feyre’s spine all I can think about is how Jesminda died and there was no one to bring her back. Because I still wonder what Beron did to you that you won’t share. Because sometimes I can hear Tamlin counting as the whip cracks across my back, can still feel the heat of the spikes about to crush me to death—

“I don’t want to worry you,” he replied, pulling her closer.

“I want to help,” she told him earnestly. Of course she did. Elain was too nice for her own good, too willing to see the best in others even when they didn’t deserve it, evidenced by her continued friendship with the literal worst person he knew, Eris.

He didn’t know what to tell her. She couldn’t help him, not in the ways she wanted to. Lucien thought he might be irrevocably broken and knew without a doubt she could do much better. Not that he had any intention of ever letting her know that. He’d keep her with him, just like he told Tamlin and Ianthe he would. Elain was his, the responsibility for her safety fell to him, and Lucien had no intention of being honorable and letting her leave.

The thought made him furious. He was done talking, he decided, hauling her against him so he could kiss her with all the hungry desperation he’d felt for weeks.

Elain surged upwards on her tiptoes, her anger forgotten, pulling him closer by his neck. This was what he needed, he decided. If he couldn’t tell her what he was afraid of, he’d pour it all into loving her and hope everything evened itself out.

He wasn’t elegant; she made noises of protest when he ripped her dress down the middle, unwilling to fiddle with the millions of buttons that accompanied everything she wore. “No time,” he lied, hoisting her up by her waist so she was on the bed. Lucien kicked her own clothing off just as messily, not that Elain seemed to care. She watched with dark, half-lidded eyes. She reached for him as he came, dragging him against her with a soft noise of need. He was tempted to let her, but Lucien wanted to taste her and he knew if he let his cock anywhere near her thighs, he’d lose his ambition. He settled her on top of him, her legs draped around his chest so he could pull her right up against his face.

“What are you—” She started but Lucien wasn’t interested in a conversation. He licked up the center of her, groaning at the sweet, musky taste. He’d forgotten just how lovely she was, wet and writhing against him. He felt her grip the headboard to steady herself with one hand, her other tangled in his hair. Good, he thought, holding her hips as he began his life’s work of making her come on his tongue. He knew exactly what she wanted; he circled her clit in long, broad strokes before plunging into her warm heat, over and over until she began rolling her hips against his face, silently begging him to move faster. He could hear her heart pounding, could hear her soft pants in between near silent pleas consisting of just his name. He wanted her to scream so loudly there was no mistaking what female belonged in his bed, but Elain wasn’t him. She was classy, a lady and when she came it was frantic, begging for him not to stop.

She tried to slide off his face but Lucien wasn’t finished. He flipped her on her stomach before she could get too far, pulled her up by her hips, and buried himself in her still quivering cunt before she had a chance to catch her breath.

She gasped and Lucien exhaled. All his anxiety vanished. Lucien pressed his forehead against her back as he held himself inside her. Home. She was his mate, his home, everything that mattered to him. He snapped her hips against him, groaning loudly. She was so tight, so slick that Lucien knew he’d be quick of the mark if he didn’t pace himself.

“I love you,” he groaned again, sliding slowly in and out of her body, hoping to work her back up into a noisy orgasm. “Only you,” he added with a snarl. She hung her head, her hair spilling around her.

“Lucien,” she begged softly, arching into his body when he reached for one of her breasts bouncing beneath her with each thrust. She sighed.

“Louder,” he growled when she practically whispered his name.

“Lucien,” she replied, still too soft.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, release pooling at the base of his spine. She was clenching rhythmically around him, the scent of her arousal perfuming the air around them.

“You,” she whispered again, moaning softly into the blanket.

“Say it louder.”
“I want you,” she repeated, loud enough anyone walking past would hear. It wasn’t good enough. He wanted her to wake up the entire house. He wanted no mistakes, no misunderstandings as to what existed between them.

“You’re mine,” he told her, projecting his voice.

Elain twisted to look back at him, eyes dark with lust. “And you’re mine,” she replied. She slid her hand beneath her body to grip his thigh, pulling him harder into her cunt.

“Say it again,” he begged, over the sound of their bodies meeting.

“You’re mine,” she panted, hands fisting in the sheets. “Lucien, I’m going to—”

She buried her face in the blanket, screaming and though it was muffled, she was loud enough. Lucien said a soft prayer to the Gods above, spilling hard into her body with a roar he knew he’d have to answer for in the morning. He didn’t care; he felt good, sated and boneless as he waited for his own release to fade. His entire body was throbbing even as he slid out of her to flop onto the mattress.

“You woke the whole estate,” she giggled from beside him. Lucien pulled her against his chest.

“Good,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head. “No more secrets.”

She smiled sleepily, nestling her head into his chest. Lucien stroked idly up her back. “You’ve never slept in here before,” she reminded him. “But if you’re having nightmares…maybe sleeping in my bed will help?”

“Sleeping next to you always helps,” he replied. It wasn’t a complete lie; he always felt better when he woke and she was curled beside him, her own dreams seemingly unbothered. He knew she was plagued by the occasional nightmare. She’d woken up sobbing more than once, though her nightmares seemed to revolve around him or her sister. Never herself. He wondered if she truly didn’t worry for her own safety, or if she’d somehow managed to bury her own fears for herself deep within her body so she could project an image of soft, serene calm. Lucien wasn’t the only one overtaxed and overburdened. Lucien had never seen Nesta smile but certainly not in Spring, and sometimes the only time she came out to socialized at all was when Elain dragged her. Elain kept Tamlin’s courtiers from full on revolt, organizing nice dinners and weekly events in the evening despite being a human who was poorly respected among them.

She did everything with a smile on her face. She knew the names of all the servants and their children. She spent time in the kitchens baking, still worked in the gardens. Lucien thought she needed a break.

“Come to Summer with me,” he urged, his voice breaking the peaceful silence that settled around them.

“I can’t leave Nesta,” Elain murmured, kissing the bare skin of his chest softly.

“We’ll bring her with us. She might like the heat…the water…Tarquin, their High Lord, is quite handsome and progressive, too.”
“I remember him,” she said with a sigh. “He is handsome. I’ll ask. She might say yes just to get away from Tamlin.”
“Good,” Lucien replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You need to get away for a little while.”

She smiled without response, her breathing evening out. He stroked her hair as she slept, nowhere close to tired, not yet. He began planning his soft Summer getaway with Elain. No brooding Tamlin, no meddling priestess, just him and Elain on a beach, pretending everything was fine if only for a day or two. She’d come back well-rested and assured of his affections and he’d come back to do what he should have done the moment they left that mountain.

He’d make her his wife.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, no?” Nesta seethed, pacing the floor of Tamlin’s study. Elain sat as still as she could manage in the chair facing his desk, eyes cast to the floor. In the doorway, Lucien stood with his arms crossed over his chest and beside Elain, Ianthe sat, serene as always.

“You’re not leaving,” Tamlin repeated with less patience than before.

“Nesta, consider you—” Ianthe began.

“I don’t recall asking you,” Nesta snapped. “In fact, I don’t recall asking any of you when I was dragged her. I want to go to Helion’s court.”

“You’re not going,” Tamlin told Nesta through his teeth. “To Summer or Day or anywhere until Feyre is returned.”

“You assume she wants to come back,” Nesta hissed. Tamlin snarled in response. Elain held her hands up, attempting to defuse what promised to be a knockdown, drag out fight.

“Let Nesta go,” she murmured, hands twisting in her lap. “I’ll stay in Spring—”

“Am I not being clear? Neither of you are leaving Spring and if I have to lock you in your rooms to achieve that, I will.”

“So we’re your prisoners?” Nesta demanded.

Tamlin rubbed his eyes. “You are being unnecessarily difficult when I am trying to keep you from become a whore in the Illyrian camps.”

Elain’s stomach dropped. She glanced over at Lucien, aware he was not pleased with Tamlin’s decision. He’d promised to take her to Summer Court with him and in one fell swoop, Tamlin had blown their plans out of the water. It didn’t help that Nesta had gone around Tamlin and begged Helion for sanctuary. Helion had agreed to take both Nesta and Elain and while Elain had agreed to stay in Spring, Nesta was ready to leave. Elain understood why—she hated Tamlin, too. Hated every conversation, every forced pleasantry, every stupid interaction in which he made unilateral choices about their lives in the name of safety after how little he’d cared Under the Mountain.

“I’ll take my chances,” Nesta snapped, unwilling to take no for an answer.

“You don’t mean that,” Ianthe crooned. Nesta rounded on the priestess, her eyes livid.

“What would you know about what things mean, given how you openly disregard the feelings of anyone who tells you no?” Nesta accused, her eyes sliding from Ianthe to Lucien. Ianthe’s pursuit of Lucien was bordering on criminal and Nesta was itching to do something to the priestess.

“If you don’t let me go—”

“You’ll do what, exactly?” Tamlin asked, rising from his chair. Ianthe, sensing the tension, quickly skittered from the room, ducking under Lucien’s arm as she went. “Make my life hell? I’m already there.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed and Elain knew she was about to drive the knife right into Tamlin’s gut. Nesta understood how to cut people to ribbons. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps Feyre decided to leave of her own accord after how little you helped her Under the Mountain?”

“Nesta—” Elain began but Nesta wasn’t finished. Elain watched Tamlin’s claws punch out from between his knuckles. They were in dangerous territory.

“I think Feyre likes where she’s at. I think she isn’t coming back—”

Elain screamed as the room exploded into splinters around them. She dropped the floor, arms covering her head for all the good it did. She felt glass and wood slice into her skin before a warm body flung itself over her own. Elain peered up from Lucien’s grip to see Tamlin standing, eyes wide as his chest heaved and Nesta curled on the floor trembling.

“What’s wrong with you?” Elain demanded, shoving Lucien away from her to scramble towards her sister. Nesta’s face bled, her arms scratched and cut, though that seemed to be the worst of the damage.

“I want sentries on them at all times. They don’t go anywhere without me knowing,” Tamlin half whispered, his own hands shaking. Elain helped Nesta to her feet, bile rising in her throat.

“You’ll regret this,” Nesta whispered, her words both a promise and a curse. Tamlin didn’t respond, though Elain could see some part of him already did. Elain looked to Lucien as they left, her eyes begging him to intervene. It was as if the first six months she’d spent with the two of them had never happened; those men had vanished Under the Mountain and returned as strangers. Tamlin had outright bragged to Rhysand he didn’t enforce rank and it seemed now that was all he did.

Nesta shut Elain out of her bedroom, Elain assumed so she could rage or cry in peace. Ignoring her own wounds, Elain half ran down the steps of the estate towards the stables. The only letter she was certain anyone had received was the one Lucien sent to Eris on her behalf. She’d go to Autumn, she thought wildly. She’d beg Beron for his assistance if only to get Nesta out of Spring.

Bron and Hart were waiting in the stables. “Lady Elain,” the both murmured. She hesitated, her shoes crunching on stray bits of straw. Had Tamlin’s orders been given so quickly?

“Am I not allowed to ride unsupervised any longer?” She asked.

Bron looked at his feet, his silence her answer. She glanced at the swords hanging on their belt. Could she outrun them to Autumn? Would they stop her if they realized where she was headed?

No and yes.

She spun on her heel, furious to see Ianthe and Lucien walking towards her. Lucien’s golden skin was pale, his expression tight.

“Don’t,” she whispered, glancing towards Ianthe. She couldn’t fight with him in front of the busybody priestess.

“It’s for your safety,” Ianthe reminded her gently. “Humans are so fragile.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing Tamlin blew up his study then,” Elain replied too primly, surprised she’d said such a thing at all. It was the sort of come back Nesta would have dreamt up. Ianthe’s eyes went wide, stunned Elain hadn’t immediately acquiesced. Lucien, beside her, smiled softly.

“Come inside,” he gestured, offering her his hand. “Your forehead is bruised.”

Elain accepted, already running through a million arguments in her head she knew would never work in real life. Lucien had tried time and time again to convince Tamlin to ease up and what had he gotten for his efforts? Pain, though he never told her what, exactly, Tamlin did in those quiet little outbursts.

They’d taken two steps when Lucien froze, his head cocking to the side like a predator listening. A moment later, the air around them split, like two boulders crashing together. Lucien drew his sword, pushing Elain behind him as Tamlin came sprinting from the estate, a still-bleeding Nesta just behind him.

It was Rhysand who emerged out of nowhere, darkness roiling off his back in waves. He wasn’t alone. Two men flanked him, holding curved swords and wicked smiles on their tanned faces. Huge, black wings peeked over their battle armor, curved at the very top with sharpened talons.

“Where is Feyre?” Tamlin demanded, his claws retracted.

Rhysand grinned as if the entire scene amused him, picking lint of his fine black and silver tunic. “She’s…tied up. I’m not here to talk about Feyre, though. I came for sweet Elain Archeron.”

Tamlin and Lucien turned, looks of horror on their faces.

“You got my letter?” She asked from behind Lucien’s shoulder. Rhysand chuckled.

“Is that what you want to call sending Eris Vanserra into my Court of Nightmares? He was…quite persuasive. Swore you wanted a visit…so here I am, to take you to see your sister.”

“Absolutely not,” Tamlin said flatly.

Rhysand tutted as the men at his sides shifted their weight. Elain caught the larger one with the long hair, half pulled from his face, staring almost hungrily at Nesta. Had she miscalculated? She didn’t need to know a lot about Prythian to know these were the Illyrians Tamlin had threatened would use them as whores. Nesta seemed to be weighing the same consideration in her mind.

“Tell me, Archeron’s…your bruises look awfully new. Clumsy humans or…cruel High Lords?”

The man with the shorter hair jerked his head to the side when he caught Elain’s attention. Lucien was so focused on Rhysand he wasn’t watching the others. There was an opening…if she ducked to the side, Lucien wouldn’t be able to stop her. She bit her lip and dropped her hand from Lucien’s arm.

“You’d know all about cruelty!” Tamlin growled. “Bring back Feyre or—”

“Or what?” Rhysand demanded. Elain looked back at the Illryian, nodding microscopically. Eris could get into Rhysand’s court…if things went too terribly wrong, she’d trust the elder Vanserra to get her out. She lunged at the same time Nesta did, just out of reach from Lucien and Tamlin. Strong hands caught her arm and whirled her behind dark yet somehow silky looking wings.

“I’m sorry,” Elain told Lucien when she was on the other side, her head peaking around his large body. “I have to see her.”

“You return her!” Lucien demanded. Rhysand laughed.

“Little Lucien. I don’t need to be in your head to know you haven’t told your human the truth. Perhaps she’s tired of waiting around, hm? Azriel will keep her well occupied in your absence…”

“He won’t,” Elain snapped, wiping the smirk of Azriel’s face. “And you won’t make that threat again.”

Rhysand looked over his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll return your little humans, safe and sound…the moment they ask me to.”

Rhysand didn’t give Lucien or Tamlin a chance to respond. Darkness gobbled them up, pushing in from every direction. Elain opened her mouth to scream but before she could draw a breath her feet were standing on a paved street outside of winding stairs.

“We have to fly up,” Rhysand explained, all the cruelty gone from his expression.

“You take me,” Nesta demanded, pointing at Azriel. The man behind her chuckled and Elain wondered what he’d said to get under her skin. Elain shrugged, switching winged Illyrians with her sister.

He held out large, muscled arms and Elain hesitated. “You won’t touch me?”

He grinned. “Not unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t,” she promised. He nodded, bending his knees so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

“I’m Cassian,” he whispered, his wings unfurling fully.

“Elain,” she replied a moment before cold wind whipped at her face. She buried her head into his tunic, her fingernails digging into his skin. The whole thing was over in a moment though it somehow felt like the longest second of her life. Cassian set Elain gently to her feet just before Azriel dropped a scowling Nesta. The smirking, cruel men from Spring were gone, replaced by a goofy smile on Cassian’s face and exasperated amusement on Azriel’s. Rhysand came a moment later, dusting his shoulders and tucking his wings close to his body.

“Where is Feyre?” Nesta demanded angrily.

“Here,” Feyre said from behind them. Elain and Nesta whirled, stunned at the woman looking back at them. Feyre wore a long knitted white sweater and black leggings and her hair was loosely braided over one shoulder. She was pale and maybe a little thin but compared to how she’d looked the last time Elain saw her, dead-eyed and withdrawn, her appearance was an improvement. Nothing about Feyre’s appearance suggested she’d been treated poorly at all. In fact, it occurred to Elain that between the three of them, her and Nesta were the ones who looked as though they’d been passed around an Illyrian camp and Feyre the serene Lady of Spring.

Elain practically sagged to the floor with relief but Nesta’s eyes burned with fury. “You’ve been fine this entire time?”

Feyre bit her bottom lip nervously.

“Nesta,” Elain warned but Nesta had clearly burned to the end of her rope.

“We’ve spent months locked up in that miserable estate terrified you were being…that he was…and you couldn’t send a letter saying you were safe?
“I…it was my plan to come back,” Feyre replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“We’re just happy you’re okay,” Elain interrupted, catching the scowl on Rhysand’s face. Feyre seemed to catch the tension among the Illyrians behind the three of them, too. “Come on,” she gestured. “I’ll get you two settled and—”

“No.” Nesta intoned flatly. Elain suppressed an eye roll, wishing she could ask Nesta why everything had to be a fight. “I want to go back home.”

“You just left—” Rhysand began smoothly. Nesta cut him off.

“Home, before your little cronies snatched up Elain. To the mortal lands, away from all this. I’m not going back to Spring.”

Elain wrapped her hand around Nesta’s arm. “Lets talk somewhere else.”

“What happened to your faces?” Feyre whispered.
“The love of your life happened,” Nesta snapped, wrenching her arm from Elain’s grasp though she mercifully followed after Feyre,

“Tamlin did that?” Feyre asked, her eyes wide with grief. Elain took Feyre’s hand quickly.

“You need to explain to him what’s going on,” she assured her sister. “He’s ready to go to war over you. He thinks you’re being hurt…if you’re not planning to come back…are you going back?”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. “I wanted to at first but…”

“But you realized Tamlin sat by for three months while Amarantha openly tortured you?” Nesta deadpanned. Elain didn’t bother to chastise Nesta. Feyre looked down at her feet.

“I’ll write him, I’ll explain,” she promised. “And you two can, too. You don’t have to go back to Spring…” Feyre looked at Elain, who felt torn. She wanted to be with Lucien but she, too, did not want to go back to Spring.

“Lucien could come here,” Feyre whispered, walking them up a flight of steps towards bedrooms. “I know Rhys would be okay with it.”

Nesta and Elain exchanged a look though they didn’t ask the question they both wanted to know. Was Feyre in love with him? Something was clearly going on between the High Lord of Night and Feyre, if Feyre felt comfortable enough to say Lucien could just abdicate to Rhys’ Court.

“He’d never leave Tamlin,” Elain told her sister.

“Because he’s stupid,” Nesta added.

“Write him, at least,” Feyre urged with hopeful eyes. Elain nodded though she suspected Tamlin and Lucien wouldn’t believe they were safe unless they saw both women with their own two eyes.

“Fuck Lucien,” Nesta said suddenly, rounding on her sister just outside a white paneled door. “He’s immortal. At best you have, what, ten years before he’s still young and your hair is turning gray? What about a family? A husband? Children? He can’t give you any of that, no matter what he’s said. Come back home, leave this wretchedness where it belongs and start over. You’ve given this place enough, Elain. Those men will take, and take, and take until there’s nothing left of you—”
“Nesta,” Feyre whispered. Elain wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself tightly. She didn’t want think about her future with Lucien or their lack of one. She loved him down to her bones. Starting over didn’t feel possible, no matter the truth of Nesta’s words. She knew they were on borrowed time, knew one day he’d grow tired of how she aged, of her limitations.

“Come on,” Feyre murmured, gesturing towards her sisters. “Let me fix your wounds, at least.”

Elain was curled up in the library when she heard him approach. She kept her eyes on the book she was reading though she had no idea what the book was about. Azriel sat on the edge of the two-person sofa, peering down.

“Prythian history?” He asked quietly.

She closed the book, using her finger to mark her place. She wasn’t sure why she chose to do that, given she’d absorbed nothing that she’d read. 

“Hiding from Nesta?” She asked.

“From Cassian, actually,” he replied with a soft smile. “Who is taking great pleasure in harassing your sister.”

Elain thought about how he’d stared at her when they arrived in Spring. It reminded he a little of Helion beneath the mountain. She wouldn’t have been surprised at all to hear Nesta had a line of faerie admirers. She nodded, her eyes drifting back to her lap. Azriel was lovely to look at, more so than Cassian and Rhysand, but there was a darkness to him that made her uncomfortable.

“I know it’s not up for a vote, but I came to throw my support behind not returning to Spring,” Azriel continued, his eyes fixated on her cheek where her largest cut had been. “And I thought I’d warn you about the Vanserras.”

She sighed softly. “I know all about them…I spent three months Under the Mountain with them.”

Azriel nodded, his expression tight. “Eris is not a good male.”

Elain merely watched Azriel without comment. Whatever he knew about Eris, whatever he’d been told…it wasn’t the Eris she knew. She trusted Eris with her life.

“Feyre is going to talk to you about all of this later but I thought I would ask…what have you heard about Hybern?”

“Why?” She asked quickly. It was Azriel’s turn to study her and she realized he hadn’t come to offer friendly advice but to study her. She recognized the look in his eyes.

“Amarantha was one of their Generals,” he offered softly. She didn’t imagine she’d get any more information than that.

“Tamlin has a priestess in his employ who I guess has ties with Hybern’s Court, but I think you already knew that.”

Azriel confirmed with a nod. “And Tamlin does, too.”

Another nod.

“The High Lord doesn’t share anything more with me.”

Azriel assessed her, every inch a warrior despite his laid back, black tunic. “Does his most trusted warrior?”

“If he did, why would I tell you?” She asked softly, willing herself to look steely and not nervous.

Azriel stared for just a moment too long. Cold seeped into Elain’s bones. “What, exactly, do you do here?”

Azriel stood without answering her question. “Talk to Feyre.”

“No,” Nesta said the moment Feyre explained what she’d been doing in Night. Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his violet eyes narrowed. Elain was frustrated with the entire thing. Rhysand was the villain to them, and just because he’d been kind to Feyre didn’t mean they had just forgotten three months of cruelty. Elain didn’t know if she could forgive him giving up her name to Amarantha. Rhysand certainly didn’t seem inclined to apologize. Now they wanted her and Nesta to host a bunch of human Queens for their half of a magical book instead of just leaving them be. Elain didn’t blame Nesta for saying no. Anyone with eyes could see what Nesta needed was calm and quiet, not more faerie drama.

Elain put her head in her hands. “I think this is a bad idea.”

“Can you think of a better one?” Rhysand asked, one eyebrow raised. Nesta scowled, her palms pressed against the woodgrain of the table.

“It’s just…we’re just asking to use the house,” Feyre murmured. “That’s it.”

“No, that’s not it,” Nesta retorted, ignoring how deeply all three men scowled at her. “You’re faerie now but we are still human…I haven’t forgotten what happened Under that Mountain—”

“You sure suffered in Day Court,” Rhysand interrupted with an eye roll. Elain pressed her back further into her chair, well aware of the explosion that was coming.
Nesta’s eyes burned with rage. “You stood there after giving up Elain’s name and watched her torture my sister,” Nesta hissed furiously, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. “She spent three months with Beron Vanserra. What do you think happened? Hm? I may have gotten lucky with Helion but not all of us did. Are you going to swoop in and rescue us this time, if your plan falls apart or should Elain and I expect the same treatment?”

Rhysand paled while Cassian’s upper lip curled.

“All this from the woman who let her youngest sister go into the woods alone to hunt while you did nothing. You let a fourteen-year-old go out into the forest, so close to the wall and the people you so clearly hate. Feyre died for my people while you got drunk with the High Lord of a good time.”

“Stop it,” Elain whispered, her entire body shaking. “What, exactly do you need us to do?”

The silence was unbearably tense. No one could look at anyone else, not with all the accusations that had been flung so carelessly.

“I’ll write the letter,” Rhysand offered, eyes softening when they met Elain’s. “Just to meet. Nesta can stay in the mortal lands to intercept a response and Elain…you’ll go back to Spring and keep an eye on the priestess—”

“She’s not a spy,” Nesta interrupted.

Elain bit her bottom lip. “It’s to keep the humans safe? To…to keep the wall?”

Azriel nodded encouragingly.

“It’s not safe,” Nesta almost pleaded, silently begging Elain to come with her.

“Lucien won’t let anything happen to Elain,” Feyre told Nesta confidentially.

“He begged Amarantha to spare you,” Rhysand added. Elain opened her mouth to respond when something suddenly clicked in her mind.

I’ve taken away your pain.

Lucien is going to follow right after you if he doesn’t stop begging.

I am no God.

“You were the voice,” Elain accused, eyes locked with Rhysand. “When she was torturing me…you were the voice in my head.”

He looked so sad in that moment, so at odds with the mocking, cruel High Lord she’d come to know that it nearly stole all her breath.

“I wanted to take your pain.”

She slid her shaking hand across the table and took his freezing one in her own. “You did. I’ll go to Spring and watch Ianthe.”

“Bring Lucien if you have to,” Feyre added, clearly confused though she didn’t ask for any clarification on what had passed between Elain and Rhysand. Elain let go of his hand with a soft exhale of air.

“Tell him nothing,” Rhysand added. “At least for now. Not yet. We’ll need him if it comes to war. He’s the most likely to convince Tamlin to side with us. When we get a response, I’ll come back to Spring for you.”

“You’ll need her,” Nesta grumbled, ignoring how Cassian grinned.

“Tell them nothing true when you return,” Rhysand added. “Except that Feyre isn’t coming back.”

“They won’t expect me to know anything,” Elain murmured, ignoring the pointed look Nesta gave her. She was exhausted and more than anything, wanted to be back in her own bed, tucked in next to a peacefully sleeping Lucien.

She wasn’t certain he wasn’t furious with her. After all, it was her fault her and Nesta were gone and Rhysand would take her at least one more time. She was keeping secrets, sucked right back into the very mess she’d just escaped. What would happen when he realized she’d been helping Night Court at the expense of Spring?

They stayed a week, hammering out the finer details while being too aware that Feyre and her friends were keeping large swaths of information secret. Elain thought it was for the best. She liked the idea of plausible deniability if only to keep a truly heinous fight from erupting between her and Lucien in the future. She wasn’t entirely sold on the Night Court as a whole; they were secretive and too involved in the politics of every other court but Feyre was her sister and Elain would do a lot for both of her sisters.

Even keep secrets from the man she loved. Elain planned to tell Lucien well before Rhysand gave her permission. After all, Lucien hated Ianthe too, and cared about his home. He’d want to help. Lucien was the master when it came to playing politics and Elain knew if things went truly south, the more Lucien knew, the better.

She wondered what hell awaited her in Spring the morning of her return. Rhysand took Nesta home first, the two utterly stiff-backed. There was no love lost between either of them. Nesta hadn’t made it a secret she thought Elain was betraying her by staying in Spring and had spent the night before reminding Elain of all the reasons Lucien was a poor choice in a partner, despite being his friend.

“I wrote to Tamlin explaining everything,” Feyre promised Elain when it was her turn to go back. “I can’t go back there.”

“Because you’re in love with Rhys?” Elain asked out of earshot of the High Lord.

Feyre’s face flushed. “He’s just a friend. This is my home, though…and I’m happy here.”

Lie. Maybe Feyre didn’t even know she loved Rhys. It was clear to Elain Rhysand was in love with her sister.

“Tell Lucien I miss him,” Feyre asked. Elain nodded, biting back the urge to tell Feyre she should tell Lucien herself. Feyre wasn’t coming back to Spring. Elain wondered if her sister thought everything she’d endured Under the Mountain had been worth it. She’d died…been made…all for Tamlin, a man she didn’t even want anymore.

Rhysand took Elain alone, winnowing close enough to walk to the estate but not so close he’d be immediately seen. It hardly mattered. Elain was sure Tamlin knew the moment Rhys stepped into Spring.

“Take this,” Rhys murmured, offering Elain a folded-up piece of parchment. She looked up at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“It’s enchanted. If he puts his hands on you again…I’ll come get you,” Rhys gritted, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the whole purpose of being here?” She whispered.

“Fuck purpose. If he puts his hands on you again, all you have to do is write to me. I’ll come for you.”

She was strangely touched. “Thank y—”

He held up up a hand. “I’m sorry…for Under the Mountain.”

She nodded. Rhys glanced towards the estate. “Good luck, Archeron.”

“Hey! She called after him. “What hasn’t Lucien told me?”

Rhys’ lips curled into that familiar, wicked smile. “Ask him yourself.”

Rhys vanished just as Lucien and Tamlin crested the hill, this time accompanied by sentries. She supposed his men weren’t as scared when there was no danger. It was just Elain on that hill, dressed in Night Court black, looking back at Tamlin.

“Where’s your sisters?” Tamlin demanded as he approached. Elain didn’t answer, her stomach sinking as her eyes met Lucien’s.

He was angry.

Chapter Text

“Where is Nesta?” Tamlin demanded the second they’d reached Elain. She stood in a long, black gown, eyes wide with what Lucien perceived to be fear. “Where is Feyre?”

“They aren’t coming back,” Elain said breathlessly, her eyes locked on Lucien’s face.

“I want to know everything—”

“No.” Lucien interrupted Tamlin before he could interrogate Elain within an inch of her life. She looked frightened and tired and who knew what had happened for the week she’d been gone.

“We need to know everything that she saw while it’s still fresh—”

“I said no,” Lucien snapped, stalking forward for Elain. “You’ll talk to her after she’s rested and had a chance to catch her breath.”

Tamlin opened his mouth to issue an order Lucien knew he’d be forced to comply with. He winnowed back to the estate before Tamlin could finish, bringing Elain with him. She let him drag her up the stairs without protest, allowed him to lock her into his room and practically shove her on the bed so he could examine her face, her neck, and every other inch of skin visible through her dress.

“No one touched me,” she whispered when he’d taken a step back. Had Rhysand played with her mind? Would she even remember if someone had? Lucien strode to her again, running his nose up the column of her throat, into her hair, trying to scent for another male but all he smelled was jasmine mixed with her usual honeyed scent.

“You might not remember. Rhysand can…influence memories,” Lucien replied hesitantly. Elain nodded, eyes wide.

“I know…but he didn’t, because no one touched me.”

“Then why didn’t Feyre come home?” Lucien demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Elain swung her legs like a child, her feet too small to touch the ground. Oh no, he thought with more than a little dread. “Elain…”

“She doesn’t love Tamlin anymore,” Elain murmured without looking at him. “Didn’t you get her letter?”

“We received it but…but Feyre can’t read, let alone write. No one believed a word of it,” Lucien informed Elain. She looked up at him sharply, confusion flashing through her eyes.

“What do you mean she can’t read? Of course she can—”

“She can’t. Don’t you remember the second task?” He gently reminded Elain.
“She was stressed,” Elain insisted but Lucien shook his head.

“She’s illiterate, Elain.”

“How is that possible?” Elain exploded, jumping off the bed. Lucien held his hands out in defense but Elain was clearly raging at the world. “We had governesses until Feyre was eight. How could mother…how could father not know no one had taught Feyre to read? I saw her write while I was—” Elain cut herself off, eyes wide. She’d said something she shouldn’t. Lucien raised his brows.
“So she can write now?” He gently pressed. “Is Rhysand teaching her, then?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask…I just assumed she knew how to read.”

Lucien rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. Lucien had bought time after Tamlin received Feyre’s letter, insisting Helion’s scholars were combing the libraries for a way to get Feyre back, to break her bargain with Rhysand that was keeping her hostage. He’d implied they were close to finding an answer which wasn’t true but Lucien was close to convincing Helion’s emissary to shut the border to Night and choke Rhysand of much needed supplies.

“Feyre went Under the Mountain for Tamlin—”
“And what did Tamlin do for Feyre?” Elain interrupted sharply, her eyes boring holes into his skull.

Coward, he heard her whisper. Had she guessed, was that why she called for Rhysand to let her visit instead of return Feyre? Had Feyre said something to Nesta and Elain when they’d taken her to bed?

“Is that why you wrote to Rhysand?” He asked, hating how his heart sank. He’d spent a week desperately afraid for her and Elain…Elain had shut him out long before she left. She’d kept secrets, she’d ducked away from him, had hidden behind the Illyrian for safety…from him.

“I wrote because I hoped he’d let me visit,” she offered simply, no apology in her words. “You need to convince Tamlin to let her go.”

Lucien grimaced. He knew Tamlin would never. Lucien couldn’t even blame Tamlin for that; Lucien would have acted similarly if it had been Elain. In fact, seeing her vanish was what prompted him to put pressure on the other Courts emissaries. If Rhysand could come to Spring and abduct whoever he wanted, there was nothing stopping him from invading the other courts, from stealing their females at will.

He wanted to ask her what she wasn’t telling him, but he could hear Tamlin in his study pacing and knew he was running out of time before Tamlin burst in and demanded she divulge what she knew. Elain paused, sensing the shift.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She murmured, taking a hesitant step towards him. Lucien was scared, terrified, even, that Elain would go the way of Nesta when she learned everything that had transpired in her absence.

“Calanmai is coming up,” he began. Elain’s eyebrows shot into her scalp. Calanmai had been their first night together.

“A year?” She asked, stunned at the progression of time. Lucien, too, could hardly believe his words.

“A year,” he agreed. “Tamlin refuses to participate this year.”

Her brows knitted together. “Doesn’t he have to?”

“He can choose another…in his stead…”

She took a stumbling step backwards. “No.”

“My hands are tied—”

She came to him, fisting her hands in his tunic, her face inches from hers. “Feyre said you could take refuge in Night, if you needed to. Lucien, we could leave, you don’t have to—”

He pulled back, outrage bubbling in his chest. “Leave? For Night Court? You think I’m a traitor?”

Elain rubbed her hands over her face. “I think if you participate in Calanamai you’ll sleep with Ianthe,” she whispered furiously. Lucien paled, his stomach dropping. He was afraid of the same thing. Ianthe had been in the room when Tamlin made the demand, wolfish smile on her twisted, ugly face.

“I won’t.”

“You can’t control it, right? The magic robs you of your ability to think rationally. How do you know?” She demanded. Lucien opened his mouth to confess, to tell her about the bond that would force him to find her, no matter where she was. There could be no other; instinct would drive him to her.

The door flung open and Tamlin strode in, looking more animal than male. “She looks fine to me,” he declared.

“Feyre patched up my face,” Elain told him, jutting her chin in the air just a touch. Tamlin paled. Lucien wondered if Tamlin remembered Lucien’s fury at his violent outburst. Tamlin had begged Lucien to forgive him and Lucien had though Lucien could see Tamlin had no intention of begging Elain her forgiveness. What was Lucien’s forgiveness worth, in the scheme of things? He hadn’t been injured and even if he had, he was faerie. He’d heal. Elain was human. She could have died. The memory burned in his throat.

“I want to know everything you saw,” Tamlin beckoned Elain to follow him to his study. She did, sandwiched between the High Lord and Lucien,  anger pulsating softly off her. Lucien stood behind her chair, hands gripping the leather tightly, while Tamlin grilled Elain for the better part of three hours. Elain told him the blandest, most boring tale of long days reading in a grand library, playing board games with Cassian and Azriel, and catching up with her sisters. She admitted she hadn’t seen the Court of Nightmares, only a mountain top residence, and outside of Cassian and Azriel, had met no other members of Rhysand’s court. To hear Elain tell it, Rhysand’s court was little more exciting than Tamlin’s own. Every word from her mouth only served to convince Tamlin that Rhysand had tampered with her mind. Lucien didn’t need to hear Tamlin admit it to know Tamlin’s stress and frustration.

Elain insisted that he hadn’t, and Lucien was inclined to believe her, even if her story itself was unbelievable. There were no gaps in her memory, no moments of confusion. She spoke with clarity and if she didn’t know something, like who composed Rhysand’s guard, for example, she said so. Why would Rhysand give her that information, knowing she’d return to Spring? He’d have to be stupid to offer details of his security and yet Tamlin seemed to think because he hadn’t, he’d played around in her mind.

Elain insisted Feyre, too, was fine but Tamlin openly disagreed with Elain’s assessment, despite Elain having nearly twenty years of lived experience with her sister. Lucien was torn on that front. Elain made good points when she stated that while Feyre had given everything, including her life for Tamlin, all Tamlin had given Feyre was silence. He knew first-hand what he’d risk for Elain, even at the expense of his life. However, it was impossible to ignore the fact that Rhysand had taken her when she was utterly vulnerable and brand new to being fae. Even if he hadn’t tampered with her memory, perhaps the constant proximity had made her more sympathetic that she otherwise would have been. Lucien struggled to understand how Feyre could forget Tamlin in the span of two and a half months. He struggled more to understand how Feyre could forgive Rhysand at all…though…Lucien remembered how Rhysand had tried to come to Feyre’s aid with a knife at the very end. Tamlin had crawled but Rhysand…had Feyre known the entire time?

Tamlin dismissed Elain, asking her to change her clothes. Elain scampered away with only a look back at Lucien, her eyes easy to read. Tell him you won’t do it.

“War is not avoidable,” Tamlin murmured, closing his study door. “Look at her…after everything she saw of Rhysand during Amarantha’s reign…she feels sympathy. She claims Feyre is happy…Lucien, I know you want to play politics but the longer Feyre stays, the more danger she’s in.”

“This is a mistake, Tam,” Lucien said but he knew there was no reasoning with Tamlin. Not anymore. Tamlin looked wild, his terror palpable.

“We’re out of time. I’m sending Ianthe after Calanmai to discuss what Hybern might be willing to trade. I’d like if you accompanied her—”

“No.” Lucien crossed his arms over his chest. He’d been saying that word a lot lately. Tamlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Can’t you just…deal with whatever your problem is with her?” Tamlin asked, his voice a growl.

“If she acted half as bad towards you as she did to me, she’d be gone,” Lucien retorted, his anger nearly getting the best of him. He had to swallow his resentment. What were centuries of unwavering loyalty worth to Tamlin? All Lucien had asked, in his centuries of service, was for Elain’s protection and, unspoken but perhaps assumed, he’d hoped for the same loyalty from Tamlin. It seemed Tamlin would forsake their friendship to get what he wanted. The knowledge burned Lucien.

“She doesn’t understand your fascination with Elain,” Tamlin told Lucien with a sigh. Lucien closed his eyes to prevent him from losing his shit.

“Who asked her to?” Lucien replied quietly.

Tamlin assessed Lucien for a long moment. “Have you considered that you might be making all the same mistakes with Elain you made with Jesminda?”

Lucien couldn’t control the rage that rippled off him.

“If you want Ianthe around so badly, you fuck her.”

He turned his back to storm out.

“You will complete Calanmai. That’s an order, and not a request,” Tamlin murmured softly. “I don’t give a fuck who the magic makes you pick. You will complete it to keep Spring from falling.”

Lucien didn’t respond verbally. He slammed the study door loudly behind him and strode to Elain’s room where she was half naked in front of her armoire

“I have to participate in Calanmai,” he told her when the door was locked behind him. “I can’t disobey…the magic prevents me.”

Her back stiffened. Lucien walked to her, resting his hands on her upper arms. “The magic will choose you no matter where you are. I…I want you to be prepared for it. There will be no locked doors this time.”

“How can you be so sure?” She murmured, looking over her shoulder. Lucien rubbed her arms, kissing the top of her head.

“No amount of magic could make me choose another,” he replied simply. “You’ll see.”

She twisted in his arms, dress forgotten, to kiss him with a wildness that stole his breath. He knew what she couldn’t say, could only communicate through her kiss. If he chose another, she would leave him. Had he been better, he’d have told her why he wasn’t worried he’d pick her. The same magic that would drive him to choose at all would force him to her with a violence he suspected would give him away to other faeries who knew what to look for.

Lucien didn’t know if she’d be happy to know they were mates or if she’d be angry he’d kept the secret for so long. Calanmai was a month away, yet. There was time to figure everything out, he swore to himself as he hauled her into her bed.

It wasn’t the choice that worried him.

It was everything that would come after.

Chapter Text

Elain wished she had Lucien’s confidence when it came to Calanmai. Tamlin had outright forbade Elain to participate and had attempted to lock her back in the estate. Elain pretended not to notice how Ianthe swanned through the manor practically gloating that week. She was so sure Lucien would choose her. Elain wished she were Nesta, wished she could tell the priestess that a feral man unable to tell you his own name picking the easiest woman in the room because magic compelled him to wasn’t choice, it was proximity. Elain wasn’t certain Ianthe knew the difference.

Several of the servants had agreed to watch over Elain so she could participate without getting in the way. It was how Elain found herself sitting on a red checkered blanket staring up at the rapidly darkening sky overhead. She’d brought regular, non-faerie wine and a bad attitude despite the kindness of Tamlin’s servants.

Tamlin was nowhere to be seen, likely holed up in his study destroying whatever was closest to him. He outright refused to acknowledge Feyre was not coming back, refused to believe Elain’s memory was whole or that things might be more nuanced that Rhysand being the villain and Tamlin the hero. Tamlin certainly didn’t feel heroic to Elain now, as she watched a shirtless Lucien take down a white stag with empty, emotionless eyes.

Women had been lined up outside the cave practically all day. Elain hadn’t bothered to look and see where Ianthe stood. If she wasn’t the first in line Elain figured whoever was would suffer some kind of tragic accident. For a priestess, Ianthe sure wasn’t very moral. It was hard to take the concept of a magical cauldron blessing certain individuals when Ianthe, supposedly cauldron-blessed herself…was so awful.

Lucien walked right past them without a second look, striding towards the cave. He radiated feral energy that made Elain shiver. She still had Rhys’ piece of parchment. She could go back to the house and ask him to get her. She didn’t have to stay here and watch this. He’d be at her feet the next morning begging forgiveness when he should have just said no. She’d spent a month at his feet begging him not to.

Elain stood quickly. She didn’t want to hear him with Ianthe. She wanted to go back to her room. Maybe Rhys would come tonight. The borders of Spring were open, after all. He could send Azriel or Cassian for all she cared. She’d go to the mortal lands and lick her wounds. Maybe Nesta had been right and her time with Lucien had always been borrowed.

Elain had made it all of four steps when she felt arms around her waist hauling her roughly into the air. She screamed, terrified for a moment some other faerie had decided he’d have a human. She slapped her hands against her abductors back, touching damp, blue paint. She twisted but thick, messy red hair draped across her face. Lucien.

“Lucien,” she whispered as he walked. He didn’t acknowledge her at all. It wasn’t until Ianthe demanded he set Elain down did he offer up a counter argument in the form of a vicious sounding snarl.

He dumped her in the cave inelegantly, right atop a bed of furs. Ianthe was standing outside the cave entrance with huge, blue eyes. Elain wondered if they didn’t look the same in that moment.

“Lucien,” Ianthe tried again sweetly as he stalked towards her. “Give the human back—”

Ianthe skittered backwards when he lunged at her, a predator defending his territory. She watched him jerk his hand upwards and smelled the overpowering metallic tang of magic. Everything outside went silent, including the pounding, insistent drumming. He yanked back leather flaps and then spun. Elain backed away slowly.

Lucien had tried to warn her what to expect but she didn’t think even he knew what would happen. There was no kindness in Lucien’s face, no concern or understanding or any of the things she loved so much about him. All softness had been replaced by unyielding, animalistic hunger.

“Lucien,” she whispered, holding up one hand as he approached. “It’s me. Elain.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her wordlessly. Could he speak, she wondered? He didn’t move, head cocked to the side, eyes of metal and russet focused solely on her. She scooted forward an inch, smoothing the hair from his face.

“How did you find me?” She asked him. He wasn’t going to answer her. She supposed he’d followed her scent though she’d gone nowhere close to the caves as Tamlin had forbade her. Maybe the wind carried her smell to him?

Maybe he was following something more primal than scent, she reasoned. After all, he’d been absolutely sure it wouldn’t matter where she was or where she tried to hide; he’d sworn up and down he’d find her, locked door or not. She wished she understood the magic that made it all possible.

Lucien reached for her; his nose buried in her hair. Very quickly, before he began shredding, she began undoing the buttons on her cream-colored dress, sliding the thick straps down her shoulders while he inhaled the scent of her. He’d ruined too many nice things in his haste as just a normal man, and there was no way she was walking out of this cave naked.

While Lucien was preoccupied, Elain took the opportunity to look around. There was a stone altar in the middle of the cave that seemed functionally useless given what Lucien had brought her in to do, and a flickering torch that just barely illuminate the space. How much of it mattered, she wondered?

Lucien slid his hand into her messy, thick curls and tilted her head until the column of her neck was exposed. He growled at the sight, running his nose up the length and then licking his way down until he reached her collarbone. She sighed, relief flooding through her. He’d chosen her. She’d been so wrapped up in how that she’d forgotten just how relieved she was that he’d found her at all.

“Don’t hurt me,” she murmured, caressing the side of his face. How much he understood or heard, she’d never know. The fact that he hadn’t just ripped her clothes off and immediately began fucking her had to count for something, right? Lucien seemed to be thinking along the same lines as he shoved her back to the floor, hovering over her now naked body with that same hungry look he’d had earlier.

Lucien slid down her body, his nose dragging a trail between her breasts, down the plain of her stomach, all the way to her cunt. Elain exhaled softly, strangely nervous. She felt like they were having sex for the first time all over again. Lucien seemed to be obsessed with the way she smelled and she squirmed when he inhaled again, his face buried between her thighs. What did he smell, she wondered?

She thought, given how nothing had happened, he’d start slow and build himself into whatever was happening with him. She was wrong. Lucien grabbed her legs, hauled her against him, and began licking as though he was desperate for the taste of her. She squealed, reaching down for his head and pushing but Lucien snarled and Elain dropped her hand with a sigh. It was too much, she thought wildly, heat building quickly in her core.

She was certain he could smell how close she was, given how much quicker his tongue was moving, alternating between broad, fast circles around her clit before dipping into her body, fucking her the way she wished he would with his cock.

“Lucien,” she gasped, arching hard off the floor. She’d lost control of the situation, if she’d ever had any to begin with. He didn’t stop, even when she screamed, lost to the roiling waves of pleasure consuming her or when she came a second time, harder than the first, practically begging him to let her go. Only then did Lucien pull himself away from her pulsating cunt and bury himself to the root without so much as thank you very much.

Not that she cared. She exhaled as Lucien immediately pulled himself out only to snap back inside her, growling as he did. She supposed that was the most coherence she’d get, and interpreted the sound to mean he thought she felt good. There was a brutality to his thrusts that caused her pleasure to be edged in pain. She’d never admit it to anyone but Lucien…but Elain liked the way he was touching her with a mixture of animalistic need and religious reverence.

Elain came again but Lucien did not. Despite the sweat dripping from his face and coating his bare chest, making an absolute mess of the blue paint whorled across his skin, Lucien seemed to have boundless stamina. He merely flipped her to her knees and continued, utterly loud and unrepentant as he drove himself into her.

Elain understood why humans didn’t participate in the rite. She was exhausted, and knew in the morning she’d still be able to feel his cock fucking her. There was something utterly delicious in that knowledge, something so utterly indecent in knowing she’d be boneless and sated and bruised because he wanted her so badly he’d stalked her across the grounds to find her. That when he knew nothing, he still knew her.

Elain could die happy knowing nothing but that fact.

**

Lucien wasn’t sure when he started coming back. His knees ached and he was so sweaty it bordered on uncomfortable. He had Elain in his lap, clenched tightly around his cock, her forehead pressed against his shoulder. He could feel her warm, sweet breath on his skin as he lifted her into the air, her thighs holding tight around his waist. His memories came rushing back. Walking down to the cave and inhaling the strange scents of arousal, the way his mind had rebelled. Wrong. They smell wrong. How he’d followed the thread between the two of them, dragged her into the cave, warded the entrance against Ianthe, who Lucien was proud to know he always hated, even when he wasn’t himself…and then taking Elain.

For hours.

She had to be exhausted, he thought, his own pleasure no longer stilted by the magic. She was so wet, so tight and Lucien was closer than he thought. He could come, he thought.

“Are you close?” He asked, his voice hoarse. Had he been yelling?

Elain shook her head back and forth, eyes still closed. She smelled like him, her skin smeared with the blue paint he once worn. It was everywhere: on her face, her breasts, her stomach, her hair…He could feel it on her back, on her thighs. What had he done to her? Flashes of memory, of taking her on her back, her stomach, against the altar, and everything in between urged him closer to the precipice. He wanted to spill inside her, to paint her with his come. He wanted there to be no misunderstanding when they emerged that she was his.

“Come,” he demanded, teeth against her neck. He wanted to feel her while he was semi-coherent. She sighed softly, pressing a kiss against the base of his neck. She slid a hand between their bodies to touch herself but Lucien batted it away.

“That’s mine,” he informed her, nipping the skin of her throat hard enough to leave a series of small bruises. Her breath hitched and he felt a gush of wet, warm liquid slide between her cunt and his cock. What kind of magic was that, he wondered a moment before his own release overtook him? He had been yelling, he realized, roaring his climax so loudly everyone—asleep or awake—would hear it.

Elain was panting like she’d run a marathon, her honeyed curls damp around her face.

“Are you back?” she asked breathlessly. He wanted her again but he could see by the way her entire body sagged to the furs on the floor, that she needed rest. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see dawn breaking over the horizon.

“Have we been at this all night?” He asked, laying her down. She nodded, biting her bottom lip.

“I didn’t know you had that kind of stamina,” she whispered, curling her body beside him. Lucien smiled at the compliment, not bothering to tell her what the frenzy would be like. Not tonight, he lied to himself. He’d tell her tomorrow, he swore, well aware he’d have another excuse why he should wait.

“I told you I’d find you,” he murmured, grabbing her discarded dress from nearby. Elain only smiled, drifting into sleep. She didn’t protest as he quietly dressed her or himself, or when he hauled her up into his arms to carry her back to the estate. Lucien was impressed with the ward his subconscious had created; it took him a good couple minutes to get it down.

Tamlin was waiting when he walked in, his green eyes brimming with disapproval. Lucien dared Tamlin to say something. After all, they both knew it was the magic who chose, and not Lucien. Had Lucien cheated, knowing even the magic of Calanmai could not drown out the scent of a mating bond? Yes.

Ianthe watched from the bottom of the stairs; her blue eyes narrowed. Lucien smiled as he passed, his mate sweetly sleeping in his arms. He was tempted to say something to her, just to rub her failure into her face. Later, he promised himself, taking Elain to his bed. He left her tucked into the sheets while he bathed. Lucien joined her, surprised by how quickly he fell asleep.

He woke to sound of males arguing. Elain was sitting on the edge of the bed, knees tucked up to her chest. His dreams were a chaotic swirl and what was fact and what was fiction was almost impossible to distinguish. He woke to the sound of water filling the bathtub and a soft knock on the door. Lucien stumbled out of his empty bed, yanked on the first clean pants he found, and flung open the door.

Ianthe stood with a tray of food and a demure smile. “A peace offering,” she murmured when he tried to slam the door in her face. “I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“Whose fault is that?” He muttered, taking the food and again, tried to shut the door on her face. Ianthe caught it, forcing her way inside.

“Everyone shares blame,” she suggested, one hand on the doorknob. She watched him like a predator, her eyes tracking him through the room. Lucien hated how she looked at him. “You’re angry I didn’t suffer with you Under the Mountain and so you hope to make me suffer here…now.”

“I assure you that’s only partially true. I don’t care if you’re suffering now,” Lucien shot back with an eye roll. “Not get out of my room.”
“You can’t even thank me for providing food for you and your mate? Seems poor manners…even for you.” Ianthe purred. Lucien rounded on the priestess.

“You deserve none of my good graces and—and…what did you call her?”

Ianthe grinned wolfishly. “Who, Elain? Your mate, of course. That’s what she is, right? I’ve been puzzled what could make a male like yourself so utterly obsessed with one plain, inconsequential human and then…and then I watched you spurn a line of females hoping to bed you to track her down. You couldn’t smell her, Tamlin made sure of that…how did you find her, Lucien?”

“Get. Out. Of. My Room,” he whispered, his voice deadly quiet. Ianthe only smiled wider.

“How tragic, to learn your mate wasn’t your former lover but a fragile little human.”

Lucien snarled, barring his teeth. He’d kill her if she said another world. Ianthe laughed, the tinkling sound setting his body on edge.

“You males are so pathetic. If it were me, I’d run far, far away in the other direction.”

Lucien advanced on Ianthe. “It could never be you,” he told her, grabbing her arm painfully in his hand. “A mate requires an equal. Horse shit has no equal, and neither do you.”

She looked up at him through dark lashes. “We’ll see, Lucien.”

Lucien shoved her out of his room before Elain realized she was there or what was being said. He’d underestimated just how smart Ianthe was and now he wasn’t sure what he should do about the knowledge she possessed. There was no way Ianthe intended to keep it to herself. It was only a matter of time before she attempted to black mail him or just flat out told Tamlin and Elain.

Lucien was halfway toward the bathroom when Tamlin burst in, frazzled and more exhausted than Lucien had ever seen him in his life.

“Rhysand and his warriors are back for Elain,” Tamlin told Lucien without preamble.

“Tell him no—”
“Ianthe is leaving for Hybern in the morning…let him take her, so long as he’s willing to return her. Convince her to explore, to listen—”

“She’s not a spy!” Lucien hissed. Tamlin stared back blankly.

“We’ve all become things we once thought we never were,” Tamlin replied tonelessly. “Get her ready.”

Lucien didn’t have to. Elain had heard his conversation with Tamlin and emerged in a dress of robins eggs blue. She had soft bruises up and down her neck, proof they’d spent the night together though Lucien only remembered a good third of it. He ignored Tamlin, who turned to leave disinterested, and ran his fingers over the little love bites.

“It’s just a couple days,” she promised him, arching her neck to give him better access. “I’ll be safe.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head no but Lucien knew she’d never admit if he had. “I’ve been keeping secrets,” she admitted, running her fingers through his hair. “When I come back, I want to tell you everything…and while I’m gone, I want you to consider leaving Spring.”

He nodded, wondering what kind of secrets Elain could have been keeping. “You’re not pregnant—”

“Of course I’m not,” she interrupted quickly with a scowl. “It’s about Night Court. Rhysand didn’t tamper with my memories but I have been keeping a secret. I don’t want there to be anything between us, not after…everything we’ve been through. When I get back I’ll tell you everything, I swear it. Just…promise you trust me.”
He nodded. There wasn’t anything she could have kept secret that would make him think of her any differently. He knew she had them, given how close her and Eris still seemed to be. He’d confess when she returned, he decided, walking her from his bedroom.

Lucien kissed her in front of the grinning Illyrians, more to make a point than anything else. He was letting her go, well aware no one could come within five miles of her without scenting him on her.

“Possessive,” Elain whispered with a smile, her nose brushing his.

“Entirely,” he agreed. “Be safe.”

She smiled. “Of course. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Famous last words, he’d recall later.

Chapter Text

“This is ridiculous,” Nesta complained, walking Azriel through yet another room so he could mark out the exact setting of each piece of furniture. Elain followed behind the spymaster, avoiding the tendrils of darkness—his shadows, he’d explained—with careful steps. The Queens had agreed to meet with the Night Court on several conditions, one of which was a detailed map of the estate Nesta currently was inhabiting. They’d asked for the exact geographical location as well, along with what Elain imagined was a laundry list of items Feyre and Rhysand hadn’t deigned to share.

“It’s a formality,” Elain assured Nesta, though she, too, found the whole affair absurdly tedious. She didn’t like having Azriel with them. He saw too much, things she didn’t want him to see. Nesta was quieter than usual, too, though Elain had to admit that Nesta looked well for the first time since the mountain. There was color along her cheekbones, her face had regained some of its fullness and her eyes, still cold, seemed brighter. She wondered, once their meetings concluded with the mortal Queens, if Nesta wouldn’t go see the continent like the three of them had once planned.

“How many more rooms?” Azriel asked tightly, clearly just as frustrated with the task.

“Just two,” Nesta replied without looking at him. Elain stayed though she was better than useless until Azriel and Nesta were finished with the tour, to see Azriel out. He promised to be back with the rest of the Night Court a little before eleven and Elain agreed before firmly closing the door in his face.

Nesta collapsed into a chair by the fireplace in the drawing room. “Let’s rearrange,” she said after a moment, a wicked gleam in her eye. Elain laughed, sitting in the chair beside her.

“That would be funny, wouldn’t it?” She agreed, knowing full well neither of them would move anything even a hair from where it currently sat. “Do you think tomorrow will go well?”

“No,” Nesta said without thinking. “But that’s not our problem, is it?”

Elain didn’t like the way Nesta was looking at her. “Say it,” she demanded. Better to get all of Nesta’s unfiltered thoughts out of the way upfront, lest she spoil what Elain hoped would be a quiet, Ianthe free week.

“You look exhausted,” Nesta began, her icy gray eyes narrowed on Elain’s face. “I could guess why. Tamlin didn’t buy one word of Feyre’s letter and why should he? Rhysand has been the villain for more than fifty years, a mask of his own making and now he wants to turn around and just demand the rest of Prythian know it was all for show? Tamlin won’t believe Feyre is gone until he sees it with his own eyes and what happens before then? You know just as well as I do that Tamlin is prepared to march to war. War with Hybern, I might add... I know you’re keeping all Lucien’s secrets, too, but fuck, Elain, you’re only human. All this faerie bullshit will get you killed if you don’t walk away. No matter what any of them say, they can’t protect us. If we were smart, we’d get through tomorrow’s meetings, pack our things, and get as far away from here as we could before we pay for their arrogance with our lives.”

“Nesta…” Elain chided but Nesta wasn’t done. She jumped from her chair to pace.

“Feyre is their emissary to the human lands but does she know the Queen’s names? Does she have any leverage that could convince them to hand over some ancient half of a book? This is a half-cocked plan at best, poorly thought out at worst. The best-case scenario is no one offends any of these Queens and the worst is the wall comes down and all this was for nothing. Elain, I know you’re thinking it too. I know you—”

“Did you know Feyre couldn’t read?” Elain interrupted, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“Bullshit.”

“Lucien told me she was illiterate…that she never learned. It’s why she nearly failed the second task Under the Mountain, why Tamlin thinks the letter is faked. They knew she couldn’t read.”

Nesta ran her hands roughly over her face. “Why wouldn’t he teach her? How could father be so negligent he wouldn’t know his youngest daughter couldn’t read?”
Nesta screamed her frustration loudly, startling several roosting birds from a nearby window. “We saw her write that letter…so I suppose Rhysand taught her. She needs to go face to face with Tamlin before—”

Nesta cut herself off, an unreadable expression streaking across her features. “No. I don’t care. I don’t care what happens in Prythian, I don’t care about Tamlin. If Rhysand and Feyre and their whole court want to play immature, poorly conceived plans, I don’t fucking care. I’m leaving. Come with me. Leave Lucien to Ianthe and come with me before he gets you killed.”

“We should eat something,” Elain said instead, gesturing for Nesta to follow her to the empty kitchen. The servants wouldn’t return for another day and Elain was the only one of them who could cook. Nesta was stressed out and working herself up. Elain could calm her down, could talk her off the ledge.

They fell asleep in a good place. Nesta had conceded that perhaps Feyre was the best suited for the task at hand given she’d once been an average human and was now Fae. Nesta had also begrudgingly admitted that no one but the Night Court was concerned with Hybern and while Elain thought Rhysand had the luxury to look outside his borders, given that Night hadn’t been hit as hard as the other six courts, someone had to be in charge. Why not Rhysand?

She’d helped Nesta choose a gown that marked them as women of status without being obnoxious about things and then waited.

Feyre brought everyone, dressed finely if a bit scantily. Elain kept her opinions to herself as everyone positioned themselves around the rooms waiting for the mortal Queens. Elain thought about what Nesta said, how Feyre didn’t know their names. Elain knew…she’d stayed up and learned what she could just in case. There was Vassa and Briallyn, both young and, if the texts were true, beautiful. There was Eyfa, Betan, Sioned, and Dyllis. Elain wasn’t sure what named belonged to who and wouldn’t until she saw them and could match names with the descriptors.

The Queens winnowed in with a guard, forcing Elain and Nesta to move from their place by the window. Only five came, instead of six, and Elain thought it was Vassa who was missing. Vassa, ruler of Scythia, and her fiery red hair was explained as absent due to illness, though never outright named. Still, Elain was certain that must be who wasn’t there.

Elain noticed that Feyre didn’t ask their names, even when they confirmed her as the emissary and Feyre offered it or when Rhysand introduced himself and Morrigan. Elain flinched, though said nothing. Feyre lacked the social grace that Elain thought was necessary for this sort of meeting. She’d skipped all pleasantries, all flattery, and jumped right into negotiations.

Elain realized it wouldn’t have mattered. She realized their names weren’t important, that flattery was wasted, the moment Eyfa, the oldest of the Queens, said, “Then let the High Fae of Prythian defend them.”

Silence settled heavy around the room, perhaps heaviest on the shoulders of Nesta and Elain, the only two humans in the room. No one had dared look at them as they talked about the potential for war.

It seemed Nesta meant to fix that. “We have servants here. With families. There are children in these lands. And you mean to leave us all in the hands of the Fae?”

Eyfa’s expression softened though not enough to impress Nesta. “It is no easy choice, girl—”

“It is the choice of cowards,” Nesta retorted before Feyre interrupted, recognizing the danger in letting Nesta continue.

Elain could see nothing they said would convince Eyfa, who clearly held the power. They had nothing to offer in exchange and were asking mortals to do the one thing they’d been trained from birth never to do: trust the words of a Fae.

Still, when the queens vanished, Elain didn’t feel bad for murmuring, “I hope they all burn in hell.”

Elain wasn’t sorry to see Feyre and her friends leave though she caught how Nesta’s eyes lingered on Cassian and how Cassian turned back to look at Nesta before taking to the sky. Elain thought better of asking her eldest sister what, exactly, was happening between the two of them. She didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to romance with faerie men and she thought if Nesta cared for Cassian, it might keep her around. Elain was selfish; she wanted her sister in her life.

“This is for you,” Nesta told Elain, sweeping towards her sister in the hall. Elain recognized the flowing, lovely script instantly, her stomach flipping with dread.

Lucien. He knew, then. Knew she wasn’t really with Rhysand in his Court of Nightmares and, perhaps, had guessed what secrets she’d been keeping from him altogether. Nesta left her, unaware of Elain’s fear, to read the letter alone.

Elain,

I have been called away from Spring for the moment. Enjoy some time with your sisters while I am away. I will come for you, should you write and agree, when I return. Just as you have promised to divulge your secrets, I hope to do so as well. Let there be nothing else between us—just love.

Faithfully,

Lucien

Elain blew out a breath. It could have been worse, she decided, folding the letter into quarters and tucking it into her pocket. He wasn’t angry. Perhaps someone like Lucien could appreciate keeping a few secrets, even from their better half. She wondered what had taken him from Spring and, to that end, if he hadn’t known before he’d sent her off with Rhysand. There had been no fight this time, no threats, just one too-long kiss and a lot of open glaring.

Had he somehow followed them? Did he have a magical tracking ability she didn’t know about? It occurred to her much, much later that she’d need to actually write him on the same cherished piece of parchment she’d been carrying around and agree to let him come collect her when he was finished with his secret business. She’d scrawled yes of course and I love you too before watching the parchment vanish into his waiting hand, taking his lovely words with him. She went to bed hoping he’d tucked the paper into the pocket at his breast, secure in the knowledge that she loved him, if nothing else.  Maybe he needed to see it more than she did, she reasoned.

“You’ll stay with me?” Nesta asked that next morning when Elain requested to stay longer than she’d intended.

“For now,” Elain replied as a new idea began to take root in her mind. Perhaps Lucien’s secrecy, his departure, was in service of leaving Spring. She knew how tense things were between him and Tamlin, could see the cracks in their friendship that had begun forming well before they’d ever gone Under the Mountain. It would make sense, she mused, for him to keep things quiet until he knew with certainty where they’d go. She hoped somewhere warm, like Summer or Day. Maybe even Dawn; she knew he had quite a few friends there.

Nesta nodded, chewing her breakfast with slowly. “Do you want to invite some of your old friends over? Maybe…maybe have a gathering? Father won’t be back for another two months and I don’t expect you to garden the entire time…”
“You want to have a party?” Elain asked incredulously.  Was this Nesta’s attempt at keeping Elain from going back?
“If you want to host a party, I would love to help,” Elain admitted with a thrill of excitement. Nesta was right; Elain didn’t want to spend however much time she had with her sister moping in the garden and thinking about how much she missed Lucien. Nesta stood and let one of the servants know so invitations could be drawn up and sent out, setting a date two nights from then. All the planning and prepping kept Elain busy from sun up to sundown. She’d forgotten, after almost a year in Prythian, how good it felt to be in charge of a household again. People respected her, they listened to her, and maybe most importantly, they valued what she had to say. She’d become so used to be brushed off with a condescending “little human” that she’d almost forgotten what real respect felt like.

“Excited?” Nesta asked, smoothing her hands over a rich blue gown that made her blue eyes seem bright by comparison. Elain was; she was practically bouncing from foot to foot in the ballroom, waiting for the guests to be let in. Elain knew Nesta hated everything happening around them and had only offered to do any of it for Elain but that didn’t make the gesture any less meaningful or damper Elain’s excitement in any way.

“Yes,” Elain agreed, looking over her lavender gown one last time. Guests began pouring in before Nesta could say anything else, leaving Elain to greet them all. She should have known that Nesta was up to something when she’d agreed that hosting a party might be fun. There were all the usual crowd; Elain’s friends, her acquaintances, people she remembered from before her fathers fall from grace and people she’d met when she’d returned from Prythian…and men. Lots and lots of young, single, eligible men. All of whom wanted to dance with her.

Nesta vanished not even ten minutes into the night, citing a painful headache and leaving Elain to manage the guests. She didn’t mind, not really…but she did mind the open, blatant attempt to set her up with a human man. One, in particular, with familiar brown eyes that remind her of the spots on a puppy, continued to return every few dances.

“You’re becoming awfully brazen,” she teased when he cut into the dance of another man with nothing but a roguish smile.

“I can be that way when I’m after something I like,” he replied, his eyes focused intently on her face. “What happened to you? You just…vanished at the end of the season last year. I came to call and your father said you and your sisters had gone to care for a sick aunt?”

A lie, she reflected with a pinprick of guilt. They’d all been trapped beneath the mountain, each tortured in their own specific, unique way. She couldn’t tell him that, of course. She didn’t even remember his name, though he clearly remembered enough about her to come running the moment she invited people back to the house.

“I was unaware of your affections,” she admitted. That was the truth, at least. She’d been mourning Lucien and planning to flee the continent altogether in an effort to escape his memory. He wouldn’t have had any luck if he tried then.

And now?

“Well, now you are,” he replied, smiling sweetly. He really was handsome, she thought traitorously. Handsome in a bland way, in a typical sort of way. “And I intend to dance with you until you allow me to call on you again.”

“Forgive me, but I fear I cannot recall your name,” she murmured, wondering if that might dampen some of his ardor.

He merely grinned. “Graysen Lockhart.”

Lockhart…why did that sound so familiar to her? She stared up at him for a moment, allowing him to guide her through the dance with a flourish before she pieced it altogether. Lockhart. Lockhart. His family famously hated the Fae…and had a reputation as Fae killers, not that Elain could believe that. Did he know, she wondered? Was that why he wanted to call on her? He knew where she’d been…who she’d been with?

Or, perhaps more horrifying still…did he just so happen to like the only woman in the room who was in love with a Fae man?

The dance ended and Graysen bowed, his hand extended.

“Another?”

“I shouldn’t,” she replied hesitantly. Graysen glanced around as if to prove there was no one else waiting. He was a Lord…who would attempt to undermine him when they were not as well titled?

“You should,” he insisted. Elain took his hand, cursing Nesta internally. Her sister, perhaps, hadn’t intended for this specific scenario to occur but Elain was now trapped within it, unsure how to politely decline.

She couldn’t tell the Fae killer she would remain only until her lover, a Fae man, returned for her. Dread began to settle in her stomach.

Lucien intended to come to her.

She’d have to warn him.

Chapter Text

Lucien hadn’t sent word for two months. Elain told herself it would be any day, but each night she fell asleep and woke to nothing made her just a little more anxious. What if he was dead? What if he’d changed his mind? There was no way for her to know without crossing the wall, and no way for her to cross the wall without help. All Elain could do was wait and hope whatever was keeping him was coming to a close.

It didn’t help that Graysen was bound and determined to make her his wife. He came calling nearly every day, forcing Elain to offer him tea and polite conversation. Graysen had no end to his stories of war and valiant heroics and didn’t seem put off that she shared so little. Every evening culminated the same way; Graysen asked to come again, Elain agreed certain Lucien would come only to repeat the night all over again.

“Will you walk through the garden with me?” Graysen asked her, brown eyes glinting in the light. He was better dressed that evening, in a gray jacket and camel-colored pants that made him look every inch a Lord. Elain nodded, ready for Graysen to leave so she could retreat back to her bedroom and stare at her desk hoping for a letter.

“I sense you don’t feel as strongly for me as I do you,” he stated bluntly the moment the warm, mid-Spring air caressed her face. Elain didn’t bother to argue. She suspected Graysen had considered her argument and had a rebuttal ready for her. “I aim to change your mind.”

“Oh?” She murmured, rounding the path towards the rose bushes. Overhead, a brilliant sky of stars twinkled softly. Everything was beautiful, felt right…except for the man she was with.

Graysen dropped to his knee in front of her, holding a small, black velvet box. Elain froze, utterly terrified.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“Let me spend the rest of my life convincing you of us. We belong together, of this I am certain. I’ve known it since the first time I saw you. There can be no one else, Elain.”

He opened the lid of the box to reveal an ugly, iron circlet. Was…was that the ring he hoped to entice her with? “I…”
“Don’t say anything now,” he urged, standing quickly. She felt as though she were watching the events around her unfold, no longer a participant in her own body. Graysen slid the ring on her finger before pressing a soft kiss against her mouth. It was the feeling of his face so close to hers that prompted her to act. She took a step back, practically shaking.

“Sleep on it. I’ll return in the week for your answer but Elain…I know it must be yes, and I suspect you do too. Whatever…whoever you’re waiting on…consider that I would never abandon you.”
Graysen left her in the garden with a useless, iron ring on her finger and the assurance he’d never leave her. She almost ran after him and told him the man she was waiting on was the very kind he’d sworn to kill, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to share something so personal. She turned back for the house, where Nesta was waiting in the foyer.

“Did he propose?” She asked the minute the door closed behind Elain? How badly she wished she could be excited, that she could jump for joy and cry and start planning. Everything was all wrong, she reflected dully, showing Nesta the iron ring.

“Ugly,” Nesta confirmed. “He came by yesterday looking for father…wanted to ask for permission. He got me instead.”

“You gave him permission?” Elain asked, suddenly furious Nesta would do such a thing.

“Of course not,” Nesta scoffed. “I told him he was wasting his time but I don’t think the Lockharts have a very high opinion of women…so he went ahead without any approval at all. I suppose he’s resting on father just loving a Lord as a son in law.”

“He didn’t give me a chance to tell him no,” Elain admitted, yanking the ring off her finger.

“Graysen is pretentious and snobby and boorish,” Nesta agreed. “But…you might consider a different—”

“Don’t,” Elain held her hand up, stepping around Nesta.

“It’s been two months, Elain. How long will you give him? What is two months to an immortal man, anyway?”
“Is that what you tell yourself about Cassian?” Elain shot back. She’d heard him flapping overhead more than once, caught the two of them whispering softly in Nesta’s room. As long as Nesta said nothing about Lucien, Elain had nothing to say about Cassian.

Nesta looked truly wounded and Elain immediately felt guilty. “Sorry. Nesta, I’m sorry I—”
“You don’t know anything,” Nesta snapped, stalking away before either of them could say anything else. Elain sighed, waiting for the sound of Nesta’s slammed door before trudging up sweeping, marble steps to her own bedroom.

There was a letter waiting, but not from Lucien. The Queen’s wanted to meet again, which mean Elain had to write to Rhysand, clear out the estate, and hope things went better than the previous encounter. She was better prepared; she’d ordered a particularly lovely tea blend from the continent, she’d ordered nicer clothes for her and Nesta, and had even spent a day reading up on each Queen’s territory, their most pressing issues, and how they were working to resolve them. Not that she expected to be consulted but…just in case.

Rhys wrote back that morning confirming the day and time and his apology for the late response. Elain didn’t particularly care for Rhys and couldn’t decide if she believed his sincerity. Nesta certainly didn’t but Feyre did. Elain, as usual, was somewhere in the middle looking for the truth. She dressed in gold while Nesta wore slate gray looking more a Queen than any of the Queen’s themselves could ever hope to be. Elain knew better than to drag their argument from the night before back into Nesta’s consciousness. Better to pretend nothing happened at all, to play nice. She busied herself convincing the servants to take a day to rest, to prepare tea and cake and then, when that was finished, to fuss with the furniture until Nesta demanded she stop.

Feyre and Rhys returned with Morrigan, Cassian, and Azriel. Feyre held Rhysand’s hand almost defiantly, as if she were making some sweeping statement. Elain caught Nesta’s scowl at the sight, her revulsion rippling through the room. Nesta would never forgive Rhys for his cruelty beneath the mountain and, like Tamlin, might never believe in the earnest love Feyre was now silently proclaiming they felt.

Elain only felt jealousy even if the thought of being with Rhysand made her a little queasy. At least he was there. Elain swallowed her disappointment in time for three of the Queens arrive. Eyfa, Sioned, and Dyllis were the only three who came; Eyfa gleefully blamed Nesta’s assertion they were cowards as such a grievous insult the other three refused to come at all. Elain very much doubted that.

The meeting went poorly and yet, somehow, Dyllis left the other half of the book anyway. What would that cost Feyre, Elain wondered, when Eyfa learned of the deception? While Feyre looked over the half, Cassian stepped closer to Nesta with clear intentions though Nesta kept her eyes on Rhysand, two predators watching the other, waiting to see what might happen.

Rhysand spoke first. “It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here or come with us. You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation should you choose to stay. Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, I’d just suggest packing now.”

Elain and Nesta’s eyes met. Elain knew Nesta didn’t want to go back to Prythian while Elain desperately did. She knew Nesta would go if she asked, would live in Feyre’s starlit city if Elain decided to go.

“I can’t,” Elain decided for the two of them. Both to keep Nesta from ripping any more of herself apart but also because Lucien promised he’d come back for her here, in the mortal lands. Rhysand nodded, his violet eyes narrowing though his face remained open and kind. He promised unfelt sentries would guard them, protect them from any potential attack on the human lands. Elain nodded, stepping away from Nesta so she could speak softly to Cassian. Feyre found her cleaning up the tea—untouched—in the kitchen.

“I saw Lucien,” she said frankly, blue eyes icy with anger. “In Night territory.”

Elain’s hands shook. “What?” She asked, setting the tray down gently on a white marble countertop.

“He was with the other sentries…said he’d been looking for me for two months—”

“They think you’ve been brain washed,” Elain tried to explain, for all the good it would do. Feyre looked so upset that no one had taken her at her word, refused to believe that there was any good reason why they shouldn’t. “They still think you’re illiterate, that—”

“I told him to go home but you’re still here,” Feyre interrupted. “So I guess I’ll tell you. If he comes looking for me again, I’ll kill him.”

“Feyre!” Elain gasped, both hurt and furious. “He’s your friend!”

“Is he?” She challenged.
“He risked his life for you more than once Under the Mountain!” Elain accused, her voice rising angrily. “He helped you when no one else did,” she added, satisfied when Feyre flinched from the memory.

“Then why is he helping Tamlin—”

“Because he believes Rhysand has your mind!” Elain repeated, unable to keep the anger from her voice. “You were in the dining room that day Rhysand came, you heard the threats Rhys made! We all saw him Under the Mountain and whether that was a performance or not, how is Lucien supposed to know that? He cares about you! You could have explained…you should explain before Tamlin starts a civil war.”

“I don’t owe Tamlin anything,” Feyre snapped. “And if Lucien decides to side with Tamlin, I don’t owe him anything, either.”

“You owe him your life,” Elain argued, at an impasse with Feyre. “Threatening to end his because he doesn’t have the information you have is cowardly. If you don’t want to talk to Tamlin fine, but you know the second best way to get Tamlin to leave you alone is to explain everything to Lucien.”

“Did I not offer him refuge in my city?” Feyre demanded. Elain resisted the urge to laugh.

“You knew he’d never accept.”

“I thought he might if you came…but you stayed too.” There was a note of disappointment in Feyre’s voice, and a question. Why?

“Just…if you see him again…don’t hurt him. For me,” Elain added, unable to keep her desperation from her voice.

“You could do better than little Lucien, you know,” Rhysand said from the doorway, startling them both. Elain crossed her arms and remained silent though she thought, what would you know about it?

There was a rumble of laughter from Rhysand and too late she remembered he could hear her thoughts.

“Everything,” he replied, reaching for Feyre. “If you change your mind…”

“I know,” she offered with a sigh. She let them leave, hiding in the kitchen until she was sure they were gone. She found Nesta sitting in a high-backed chair with a blank expression on her face.

“Are you okay?” Elain asked even as the urge to cry began to creep up on her.

“No,” Nesta replied. “I think I’m going to go to bed…early.”

Elain nodded. The sentries wouldn’t arrive for a while and the servants were gone for the day. It was just them alone in the too big house with nothing but their own fears taking up space. Feyre had seen Lucien, Elain told herself, plodding up the steps. He was alive and likely roughing it which meant he couldn’t write.

The thought didn’t offer any relief. Though she meant what she’d said to Feyre, she wished so badly Lucien was looking for a new High Lord and a new place to live, not killing himself to do Tamlin’s bidding.

She busied herself until night fell and she could change into a long, white night dress and climb into bed. She flipped out all the lights except the one by her bedside table, Graysen’s iron engagement ring in her hand. She slid it back over her ring finger, imagining what life might be like as Graysen’s wife. He lived in a fortress, surrounded by thick, stone walls. He was kind…and intolerant. How could she reconcile those things?

Elain didn’t have a chance to find out. She heard wood creak softly and when she turned to look for the cause, blackness overtook her.

She awoke bound and gagged in a dungeon.

**

Lucien was exhausted. Tamlin had sent him after Feyre when word spread she was in Rhysand’s Court of Nightmares as his whore. Tamlin had become frantic and Lucien, too, was more than a little concerned. Two months spent tracking her down culminated in finding her with huge, dominating wings and a warning that she’d kill him if he came looking for her again. Rhysand stood behind her, smiling cruelly. Lucien had no doubt Rhysand had her mind…though telling Tamlin had been a different kind of nightmare. He couldn’t bring Elain back to Tamlin’s rage and slept better knowing she was safe, at least. He was starting to go a little crazy at the separation. He wanted to see her, to touch her, to talk to her, even for a minute. He’d planned to go see her in the human lands but Ianthe never returned from Hybern despite the letter the King had sent with a very tantalizing offer.

Access to Spring in exchange for Feyre’s return. Tamlin had learned, through his correspondence, that Hybern planned to bring down the wall and believed he could play double agent while getting exactly what he wanted. Lucien could not be the voice of reason, not this time. No matter how many times he reminded Tamlin that a magical bargain was specific and unbreakable and no matter how often he explained that Hybern would likely destroy all of Spring if Tamlin betrayed him, Tamlin refused to hear him.

His desperation for Feyre had turned the once reasonable leader of Spring into an impulsive male willing to risk everything for one female. Lucien stood with Tamlin in the sparse throne room in Hybern, waiting anxiously beside his friend for Feyre, who Hybern swore would come. A multitude of High Fae bodies occupied the room, their eyes drifting towards the onyx, empty dais and the black, iron doors. Lucien felt uneasy, one hand resting on his sword as he waited with the rest of Hyberns Court.

 Feyre would have to be stupid to fall for Hybern’s trap and yet it was hardly noon when those black, iron doors flung open and in stalked Feyre, with Rhysand just beside her. Lucien recognized Morrigan, though they’d never formally met. The winged Illyrians were just behind, their blood dripping as they walked. Tamlin took a step forward when he saw Feyre but Lucien pulled him back with a hand on his shoulder, catching the earnest look of horror on Feyre’s face.

What if he didn’t have her mind? He asked himself, recalling how Elain had sworn Feyre was fine. Her emotions seemed too raw to be controlled, her eyes clearer beneath the bright light of the throne room than they had been in the dark forest.

“No,” Feyre breathed.

“What was the cost?” Rhysand asked Tamlin softly, his mask of indifference slipping for a moment.

Tamlin turned to Hybern. “You have my word,” he promised, sealing their bargain, though Lucien noted Tamlin had been careful not to promise anything specific. Lucien wasn’t certain it would matter at all, given that Tamlin’s word had promised help…the loophole, of course, being that Tamlin never promised not to betray Hybern. Hybern was too busy gloating to notice.

All of Tamlin’s plans fell apart almost instantly. Feyre was powerful, more powerful than any of them had ever dreamed. If her sisters knew, they’d certainly never shared that information. When Tamlin moved to drag Feyre back, she became mist and shadow and wings and talons, somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once. Lucien kept his position and his hand on his sword but had no intention of fighting Feyre or any member of the Night Court. He’d come to bring her home…and Feyre was telling Tamlin no.

Feyre…Feyre was bonded to Rhysand. They all realized it at the same moment. Hybern reacted with glee but Tamlin seemed to think it more trickery. As Hybern leashed Feyre’s power, more interested in the ancient book of breathings, Lucien began considering how to get them out of Hybern’s castle alive. The wards were intricate and solid, too powerful to be broken by himself and yet not so powerful they couldn’t be shattered without a little maneuvering.

His attention slid back to Feyre when she threatened to destroy Tamlin’s court if he dragged her back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tamlin dismissed, causing Lucien to cringe. How could Tamlin still believe her controlled by Rhys?

Hybern jerked his head towards the doors as he dismissed the whole scene. “No—she doesn’t. There will be no destroying because you will find, Feyre Archeron, it is in your best interest to behave.”

The four mortal Queens poured in with hungry expressions, walking past the bemused faces of Hybern’s gathered court. Their shoes echoed loudly on the stone; their noses upturned as they swanned past Feyre. She watched with open mouthed horror, but it was what came next that made Lucien nearly vomit. Eight soldiers dragged two bound women forward, each struggling violently to escape. Nesta, he realized…and Elain, right behind her. Both women were in night dresses, now torn and dirty, betraying they’d been held for longer than a night.

How long, he thought angrily, ignoring how Hybern continued to taunt Rhysand over the fucking book. Elain sobbed softly, her gag soaked with tears while Nesta still fought, her hair unbound and tangled. They were supposed to be safe. Hidden. How had Hybern found them?

Nesta stared at the cauldron perched in the middle of the room, as if she knew what was coming. Elain kept her eyes on Feyre, unaware he was in the room at all. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“Show us. Demonstrate it can be done, that it is safe,” the eldest, ugliest Queen demanded.  

Hybern nodded. “Why did you think I asked my dear friend Ianthe to see who Feyre Archeron would appreciate having with her for eternity? Oh, I asked them first,” Hybern added gesturing towards the Queens who watched Feyre uncertainly. “They deemed it too…uncouth to betray two young, misguided women. Ianthe had no such qualms. Consider it my wedding present for you both.

“What?” Tamlin asked in disbelief. Nesta and Elain both whipped their heads to the side when they heard his voice. Nesta screamed beneath her gag with unmistakable rage but Elain had found him, her betrayal written all over her face. Did she think him complicit in this? Was he? Should he have tried harder to stop Tamlin? Self-loathing and anger warred in his chest as he held her gaze.

I will get you out of this, he promised, looking back to the shimmering wards holding them in. He only needed to destroy one for a moment. He could winnow them out.

“I think the High Priestess was waiting until your return to tell you, but didn’t you ever wonder why she believed I might be able break the bargain? Why she had so many musings on the idea? So many millennia have the High Priestesses been forced to their knees for the High Lords. And during those years she dwelled in that foreign court….such an open mind, she has. Once we met, once I painted for her a portrait of a Prtyhian free of High Lords, where Priestesses might rule grace and wisdom…she didn’t take much convincing.” Hybern taunted Tamlin, unaware of Lucien’s thoughts.

Lucien was going to be sick…he was going to kill Ianthe and then Tamlin. “She sold out—she sold out Feyre’s family. To you.”

“Sold out? Or saved from the shackles of mortal death? Ianthe suggested they were both strong-willed women. No doubt they’ll survive. And prove to our queens it can be done if one has the strength.” Hybern asked with a gleaming row of too white teeth. His black eyes glittered with amusement, as though this were nothing more than a friendly conversation.

“Don’t you—”

“I would suggest bracing yourself,” Hybern interrupted Feyre’s threat a moment before the room exploded in white light. While Feyre and Rhysand moved towards one of the Illyrians, wings shredded and bleeding, Tamlin lunged for Feyre.

Elain screamed to Feyre a warning just in time. Feyre launched a knife at Tamlin with the kind of accuracy that came from training; it wasn’t a lucky shot. Lucien went to dart around Tamlin, to get Elain if no one else and to get them out but everyone froze, eyes on Hybern, who was taunting Morrigan with a pulse of bright, burning magic. Lucien turned to look at Elain, her eyes boring a hole into his skull. There was no love in her gaze, no life, just pure, undiluted fear.

She was going to die and he didn’t think he could stop it.

“Put the prettier one in first,” Hybern ordered dismissively.

“Stop this,” Lucien ordered, pulling out his sword.

“This wasn’t part of our deal,” Tamlin added, taking a step forward.

“I don’t care,” Hybern told the two of them.

 Lucien took two steps, sword raised. “That is enough!” He roared, planning to cut everyone down, to die right there on that throne room floor, only to find himself bound by that same magic that kept Morrigan on the floor, hands pressed to the Illyrian’s bleeding wounds. He was forced to his knees, gagged, his throat burning from the metallic coated magic.

Lucien had never, in all the years he’d served Tamlin, ever told the High Lord no. He’d done everything Tamlin demanded without complaint, had been willing to give up his life to serve Tamlin, had lost his eye, had been whipped and nearly killed more times than he cared to count. Lucien could see every choice, ever selfless, stupid action he’d ever offered, too grateful for Tamlin’ sanctuary and friendship, flash through his mind as Elain kicked and fought her way to the cauldron.

Hadn’t Lucien begged Tamlin to stop, not to ally himself with Hybern? Lucien had told Tamlin over and over Hybern could not be trusted, that whatever deal made would benefit Hybern much more than Tamlin. How willing Tamlin was to sacrifice everyone to get one female who was mated to another male, who didn’t even want him, back.

Mate. My mate, he thought desperately. Sacrificed on the altar of Tamlin’s desperation and pride. He burned with hatred almost as surely as he writhed with fear.

Feyre began to beg as Elain was lifted, her foot pressed against the side of the cauldron. Lucien kept his eyes on her, reliving Jesminda all over again. He couldn’t stop this, couldn’t save her and now he’d watch another female he loved die. He struggled violently, desperate to prevent the outcome he knew was coming.

 Elain screamed as one of the Queens called Feyre a liar and a thief. Elain was being punished for Feyre’s actions and Lucien decided he hated her, too. Hated everyone, including himself, for letting this happen. He struggled, fighting the binds as Elain let out a bloodcurdling scream. A guard pushed her beneath the water, cutting off her scream and leaving nothing behind but the sound of softly sloshing water and eerie silence.

Nesta began sobbing with rage, the sound muffled by the gag and the Illyrian with the ruined wings lurched forward, though Lucien couldn’t say if he moved towards Nesta or the Cauldron or the King.

Seconds ticked by and then Hybern, utterly amused, waved a hand. “Behold,” he told the eager, rat-faced Queens huddling together before he tipped the Cauldron on its side. Black, smoke coated water poured onto the stone tile, bringing Elain’s soaking, lifeless body rushing to the floor. She didn’t move, though her hands were unbound and Lucien swallowed the urge to vomit as he fought harder, determined to get her off that filthy fucking floor, to tell her he was sorry, to kill Tamlin and Rhysand and Hybern in no particular order—

Elain gasped loudly, sucking in air as she pushed up onto her elbows while Lucien choked on his relief. Alive, she was alive, she was…

Elain turned, wet hair clinging to her ethereal, glowing face…Beautiful, he thought, momentarily stunned. For as beautiful as she’d been human, Elain was somehow magnified, the sun personified in hell itself, staring at Feyre with a Fae face. Fae. She was Fae. He could hardly breathe as he absorbed what he was seeing. Feyre couldn’t, either. She sank to her knees and began sobbing at the sight of Elain’s delicately pointed ears peeking from beneath soaked hair.

“The hellcat, if you please.”

Elain reached for her gag as Nesta was dragged forward, suddenly silent at the command. Several things were happening all at once. The Illyrian, with his shredded, ruined wings, groaned, clearly trying to get to Nesta. The guards beside Elain were laughing, inching closer to peer at her body, completely visible through her nightdress. The Illyrian, with his shredded, ruined wings, groaned, clearly trying to get to Nesta. Irrational, furious anger flooded Lucien and without knowing how, exactly, he broke the bonds holding him to right himself and shrug off his jacket.

“Don’t just leave her on the floor,” he snarled, pulling her shivering, wet body against his own while draping his jacket over her body. She didn’t stop him from holding her, but she didn’t relax, either. She trembled, crying softly as she watched Nesta flip the King of Hybern off just before she was shoved beneath the water.

“We’re going to get out of here,” he murmured into her hair, hoisting her out of the way to avoid the Cauldron, once again tipped over, spilling that inky, smoky water to the floor. Elain only nodded, head turned to watch Nesta, to ensure Nesta was alive, was safe.

Nesta emerged completely untied, unbound, and furious. She looked around the room with fiery blue eyes radiating power so strong Lucien shivered.

“Get off of her!” Nesta screamed, shoving Lucien with immortal, unyielding strength. He stumbled backwards, too stunned to keep his hold on Elain just as she turned her head to look up at him.

He exhaled roughly, his chest expanding and tightening all at once. Gone was the soft, near invisible thread he’d been clinging to for the year he’d known her. He saw the question in her eyes, felt her pull on the cord now tied between them, confirming every suspicion he’d ever had, every promise he’d ever made her. He inhaled just as the bond snapped almost painfully in his chest, lodging itself unquestioningly between them.

What’s happening? She didn’t have to verbally ask; he could feel her now, feel the rush of terror and confusion and nausea that welled up on her end. He wanted to fall to the floor, to sob his relief for real.

Her mouth fell open, realization dawning over her features. Everything seemed frozen, time moved impossibly slow. She pulled again and Lucien finally answered her.

“You’re my mate.”

Chapter Text

It might have been years that Elain spent submerged in the too-cold water of the Cauldron. She inhaled a lungful of water when she went under, screaming as though that might somehow stop her impending death. She’d been certain she’d drown. Perhaps she was right.  Nothing but pure darkness greeted her as she fell into the depthless bottom.

This wasn’t how I wanted to die, she thought desperately, twisting in an attempt to find the surface or light or anything that might save her.

You’re not going to die, a voice answered. She couldn’t tell where the words came from or who spoke them. She couldn’t breathe, her lungs burning and still she remained in that limbo where time ceased to mean anything.

Take care of my sister…of Nesta, she pleaded in her mind, deciding she’d lean into the madness. After all, she’d been locked in a dungeon for days with no food, no sunlight, just the endless monotony of time. Perhaps she’d lost that shred of sanity days ago. Perhaps she was already dead.

Am I allowed to care for you?

Elain twisted again in the water, reaching out for anything she might touch. Warmth replaced the cold, enveloping her like a blanket.

Thank you, she offered, though the warmth was little comfort when she couldn’t breathe. Why hadn’t she suffocated? She should be dead.

I promised to care for you, the voice purred. Little bubbles pulsated around her body, illuminated by the dark, endless ocean she was floating in.

Does death hurt?

The voice chuckled, bringing more bubbles. She reached out, momentarily mesmerized, and tried to capture one. They were just out of reach, floating upwards towards a surface she’d never see again.

I have a gift for you.

Elain twisted again, certain whoever spoke must be just behind her. Nothing but the little luminescent bubbles looked back, their glow comforting in the dark.

You don’t have to give me anything.

There was more laughter, the sound clear and beautiful, like the tinkling of a bell. She sighed, exhaling the last of her air. The purring grew louder, the bubbles intensified, and Elain had the sense she was rapidly floating towards the surface.

She closed her eyes, her terror overtaking her calm and when she opened her eyes she was back in the nightmare she’d just escape. Alive, she realized, gulping down air quickly, the voice of the Cauldron still singing in her ears.

I have a gift for you. I have a gift for you. I have a gift for you.

She looked down at her hand, the one that still wore the iron engagement ring Graysen had given her. Her stomach lurched. She didn’t recognize her skin, not the texture or the color…it was Lucien’s skin…Tamlins…Feyres after the mountain. She turned, hair stuck to her face, to look at Feyre. She needed to compare, to know if she was dreaming or if what she suspected was real.

Feyre stared back, blood flecked along her cheeks, her blue eyes perfect circles of horror. Elain swallowed and Feyre sank to her knees, sobbing at what she saw.

Fae. She wasn’t human, not anymore. Time began moving again and Elain pulled the gag from her mouth while Nesta was dragged into the Cauldron after her. She couldn’t watch, not when she knew what was waiting for Nesta beneath the placid, dark water. She wanted to scream. It was clear to the room, she’d only been gone a moment but to Elain it felt like hours.

She could hear too much. Ragged breathing, pounding hearts, someone sighing softly. She began trembling, unsure how to handle the influx of sensation. Something warm draped over her body, arms lifted her off the floor as the scent of sunwashed apples floated around her. She knew that smell, knew the hands that touched her.

Lucien.

Lucien…Lucien and Tamlin, standing beside the King of Hybern, who’d come for Feyre. Had they known? Guessed? She wanted to turn around and demand he answer every question she had but the Cauldron tipped and Nesta came tumbling out, awake and furious and…and Fae.

“Get off her!” Nesta screamed, shoving Lucien off Elain. Elain didn’t fight Nesta or cling to Lucien though she wanted to see him. She wanted him to see her.

She turned, looked into his familiar russet and metal eyes and…and everything stopped. Her heart leapt into her throat to see him through new eyes, to truly take in just how beautiful he was and how limited her sight had been as a human.

Her chest contracted painfully and something snapped against her ribs. For one horrifying moment she thought magic had broken something, that Hybern was doing what Amarantha had done and begun to torture her. Lucien stared back, his face going slack for only a moment before his expression was replaced with relief. Something hard, something alive was pulsating in her chest. She could touch it without moving…Elain yanked watching Lucien’s eyes go wide.

Something was coming back to her, words she’d all but forgotten.

Oh my sweet human. Of course human and fae can be mates.

Fae and humans can be mates and the fae have not forgotten it like the humans have.

Mating bonds leave a mark.

She pulled again, demanding he answer what she knew, that he admit what she suspected he’d known all along. Fear encroached Lucien’s relief as he told her, “You’re my mate.”

Nesta began screaming at Lucien, telling him Elain wasn’t his anything and Hybern mused the human Queens, traitors to all humans, made also be gifted a handsome, Fae Lord as a mate. Elain barely heard any of it, her stomach in her throat and Lucien didn’t look away, his expression an admission of his guilt.

Maybe he hadn’t known the entire time, but Elain could sense, through the bond or just by virtue of having slept beside him for the last year, that the mating bond was not a revelation to him. It was confirmation, a relief to be proven right and Elain couldn’t help herself when she wondered if he hadn’t allowed her to be thrown into that Cauldron solely to prove what he’d always suspected.

She wasn’t paying attention to the drama unfolding around her, though she was vaguely aware that Feyre was screaming again. Nesta had let her go and Lucien reached for her, pulling her gently against his body. She turned to look at Mor as something warm prickled up her spine.
“Don’t let them take me,” she whispered to Lucien, nodding to Mor. She didn’t know why she thought the blonde would take her…she only knew she didn’t want to go to Night Court.

Lucien drew his sword, holding it in front of her by way of threat. She curled her hands into his tunic and watched, eyes narrowed, her whole body tense and alert.

Mor strode towards Lucien, eyes blazing. “Lucien!” She warned, clutching him tighter. He swung his sword towards Mor’s face, spinning Elain behind him, his body a shield. Mor snarled in frustration, grabbed Nesta beside Elain and then vanished with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys.

“No!” Elain screamed as Lucien caught her around the middle, holding her back to his chest to keep her from running off.

“She’s okay,” he murmured, his lips pressed into her hair. “Turn around and look at Feyre.”

Feyre. Feyre. She did as she was told, eyes wide and locked with Feyre…who was holding Tamlin’s hand.

“What’s happening?” She asked, her head swimming painfully.

“Theater,” he replied softly, his grip softening. “Play along and we’ll be out of here in a minute.”

He was right. Elain stood perfectly still without hearing a word spoken and then, with a soft breath and blink, she was standing in Spring, just at the edge of the drive to Tamlin’s manor.

Feyre smiled when she saw the house, her fingers interlocked with Tamlin’s. Her sister turned to look at her and Elain didn’t know if it was seeing her sister look at Tamlin with a sleepy, love sick gaze or inhaling the sweet scent of roses, but she began screaming.

She couldn’t stop.

**

“Is she okay?” Feyre asked anxiously, clambering to her feet. She’d been sitting against the wall outside Elain’s old room, her knees tucked up to her chest. Lucien exhaled loudly, willing himself not to vomit.

“She needs rest,” he told Feyre. That was the least of what Elain needed. Lucien knew the trauma of the last year was only compounding whatever occurred inside the Cauldron and Elain couldn’t fake her way through her feelings anymore. He’d left her in a clean night gown sitting in the cushioned window seat staring blankly.

Feyre nodded. “I think Hybern had her for a week before…”

Lucien reached out for the wall to steady himself. He’d slept soundly believing she was safer in the mortal lands than with him. He couldn’t imagine the horror she’d been through, didn’t want to imagine her suffering, her fear.

“She needs to sleep,” he repeated. He thought she needed much more than rest, but he didn’t know how to communicate that without having a breakdown himself. His guilt was eating at him and he wondered if he’d made a mistake coming back to Spring at all. Her reaction when she’d looked up at the estate, the screaming, her pleading no no no no no no while Lucien practically dragged her inside still echoed in his mind.

His eyes glanced towards Feyre’s arm, half hidden and clutched to her chest. She’d thrown a glamour over the black ink swirling up to her elbow, unaware his magical eye could see through spells and wards, which included glamours. He wasn’t the only one sizing the other up; he could see her assessing him, trying to decide just how much of a threat he was to her.

“What are you really doing here?” He asked softly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The same as you,” she murmured, nodding her head towards Elain’s door. Lucien narrowed his eyes.

“No spell can break a mating bond,” he reminded her, careful to keep his voice easy and casual. Feyre smiled, nodding as she looked to the floor. Her eyes drifted up his body.

“Did you know humans and Faeries can have mating bonds? They’re too weak for humans to feel but the Fae can…”

Lucien didn’t move. “She’ll forgive me the deception but Tam—”

“You didn’t see that ring on her finger?” Feyre interrupted smoothly. “From a human suitor? You were gone a long time, Lucien.”

He had seen the ugly, iron ring on her finger and had ignored it, unsure what the purpose of it was or why she wore it. He froze, his heart pounding painfully as a flood of emotions rage through him. Another male, there had been another male around his mate—

Feyre smiled sweetly. “I’ll check on Elain before bed.”

“You do that,” he muttered darkly, trying to get ahold of himself and the instinct demanding he hunt down the threat to his mate and eliminate them. Feyre slipped down the steps, off to do whatever it was she’d come to Spring for and Lucien turned and marched right back into Elain’s bedroom.

His anger evaporated when he realized she hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d left her. Empty eyes stared into nothing and if hadn’t been for the steady rise and fall of her chest, he might have thought her an incredible realistic statue. He took a soft breath, walking to her slowly, to sit across from her.

“Are you hungry, Elain?” He asked, reaching for her hand. She let him touch her, let him lace his fingers through hers though she made no effort to hold him back. “Do you want to get in bed and—”

“How long did you know?” She asked, turning her eyes on him. Lucien’s stomach bottomed out.

“What?” He asked her, mouth dry.

“How long did you know?” She repeated, words barely audible.

“I…suspected the first time I we met.” He decided honestly, holding her gaze. “I knew for sure when you were nearly slaughtered by naga.”

Something sparked in her gaze, anger or betrayal or maybe some other emotion entirely. She merely offered him a nod before turning her head back to the window. He squeezed her hand.

“Yell at me,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you hate me, hit me, do anything—”

“How long was I in the Cauldron?” She whispered, closing her eyes.

“Seconds,” he replied quickly, tugging on her wrist, dragging her into his chest. She didn’t fight him; she let him hold her against his chest, settled between his legs, arms tight around her ribs.
“Seconds,” she repeated softly, turning slightly so her nose was pressed to his tunic. “Hours.”

Hours. What happened to her in that time, lost in a Cauldron of water. Lucien peered into her end of the bond, trying to find what she needed but all he found was a sea of nothing, threatening to take her completely. Sweet, vibrant, funny Elain had been hollowed out, her humanity stolen.

“You were there,” she interrupted his thoughts, her body stiffening in his arms. “Did you know…did…did you plan—”

“No,” he replied desperately, hooking his finger under her chin to force her to look at him. “Never. I would never risk your life.”

He meant what he said. He would never have risked her mortal life on the gamble she’d become Fae but Lucien couldn’t pretend Elain being made didn’t solve a lot of his problems surrounding her. There were no barriers to being with, no need to mess with a binding spell, no more worrying about her aging or accidentally dying from any of the many human diseases that so easily took down their fragile bodies.

She knew it, too. “You’re not sad,” she accused without emotion.

“I love you,” was all he could think to say in return. Elain shifted and though outwardly she didn’t betray how she felt, anger sparked brightly through their mating bond.

“You left me.”

His eyes drifted towards her hand, the iron band still stark on her ring finger. “Is that why you got engaged to another male?” He asked, unable to keep his own anger from his words.

She looked down at the band, holding her hand up to examine the iron. “He told me to think about it…that he wouldn’t abandon me.”

“I didn’t abandon you, I—”
“Was hunting Feyre for Tamlin,” she finished tonelessly. “And now I’m not human anymore.”

Her hand drifted towards her neck where a delicate silver chain hung, vanishing into the neckline of her dress. She ran the pads of her fingers over the necklace as though needing to check and verify its presence.

She let him slide the ring off her finger, let him grip it in his hand so tightly he knew he’d bent the iron out of shape, rendering it unwearable. He didn’t want to see another male’s claim, real or imagined, touching his mate.

You are mine and I am yours.

He could feel she was close to a different sort of break. She was still numb, still in shock but emotions were coming just as surely as the sun rose each morning. Lucien hefted her into his arms, hating how pliant she was. He wanted her to fight him, to scream at him, to do something other than exist softly in the shell of the female he loved.

He set her in her bed, tucking her against his body. “I let you down,” he whispered into her hair, his chest caving. “I failed you. Tell me how to make things right. What do you need—”

“I want to leave Spring,” she told him, twisting in his arms. “Tamlin will kill you if you stay.”

“What about Feyre?”

Something ugly streaked across her face, gone as quickly as it came. “She won’t stay.”

Lucien suspected as much. Feyre’s presence made him nervous, especially given the premise on which she’d come back. She’d outright told Tamlin Rhysand had taken her mind, held her prisoner, and sexually assaulted her. Lucien could see the tattoo on Feyre’s hand…he remembered her in the forest, shrouded by wings as she promised to kill him if he came looking for her again. She had powers he couldn’t conceive of, perhaps rivaling those of Rhysand himself.

“When Feyre leaves, so will we.”

Her bottom lip trembled. Lucien worried he’d said the wrong thing and she wanted to leave right that moment.

“Swear,” she whispered.

“On my life,” he replied without an ounce of hesitation. He knew people in Dawn, had contacts in Winter. He could take her somewhere else, somewhere bright or warm or quiet, depending on what she needed.

She nodded, buried her face into his chest, and began to sob. He wasn’t forgiven and he knew it, but the show of emotion filled him with relief.

He could get her through this. She was his mate.

Chapter Text

Elain sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase, Lucien at her feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Feyre had her hand on the wooden railing, her white knuckles the only thing that betrayed her rage. Waiting, they were waiting on Ianthe, allowed back into the manor to explain her betrayal. Feyre had agreed when Tamlin asked, when he’d practically pleaded with the three of them to at least hear her out. Elain had opened her mouth to tell Tamlin no, Lucien’s rage so hot she could taste it in her mouth, when Feyre overrode them and said yes with that same fake simpering voice Elain had grown to hate. Feyre was Lady of Spring…not Elain, and Feyre got the final say.

They all felt Ianthe’s presence at the same time, like a haze that spread thickly through the foyer. Lucien glanced down at Elain, his expression tight and offered her his hand. She accepted without hesitation, pleased when Feyre took the other he offered. Friends…they were friends. Elain didn’t know why Feyre had come back, what she really wanted in Spring but she knew the three of them were united in the hatred of the place, of the estate…of Tamlin.

Lucien walked them into the dining room, setting Feyre at the head of the table where Tamlin typically sat, a clear statement. Elain went to Feyre’s right and Lucien perched himself on the arm of the chair, one elbow resting against the back, the other hand resting on the sword on his hip. A moment later, Tamlin, clad in green and brown, walked Ianthe in. Elain’s stomach flipflopped seeing the blue robed priestess, her teal eyes lowered in mock deference. As if she were sorry. She had her pale hood over her long, blonde hair, pulled out to hang like liquid gold around her face. Elain glanced up at the silver circlet with its blue stone centered perfectly on her forehead.

Ianthe took the seat at the far end of the table, where Feyre had once sat when she was human. When they’d both been human.

“I wish to begin by saying how truly sorry I am.” She looked up at Elain for a moment as she carefully chose her words. Elain knew what would come next, how she’d defend selling her and Nesta out to Hybern, to allow them to be an experiment.

“I acted out of a desire to…to grant what I believed you perhaps yearned for but did not dare voice, while also keeping our allies in Hybern satisfied with our allegiance.”

Behind Elain, the wood groaned in Lucien’s grip.

“Why would you believe my sisters would wish to endure that?” Feyre asked for Elain when it was clear Elain would not dignify Ianthe with a response. Gone was her placid softness, replaced by trembling cold. Feyre had a tight leash on herself and it was slipping. Ianthe looked from Feyre back to Elain.

“So the three of you could be together forever. And Lucien…discovering his mate beforehand, a human…I thought…I thought the two of you were devastated to only have a few decades together.”

Elain was shaking so hard she knew Ianthe could see it. Lucien spoke, his words an unabashed, angry snarl. “If you expect gratitude, you’ll be waiting awhile, Ianthe.”

Tamlin looked sharply at Lucien, his eyes flashing with warning. Elain hated him for this, for allowing her to come back after everything else.

“No,” Ianthe breathed, her eyes still on Lucien’s furious, yet beautiful face. Temper flared in Elain’s chest. “No, I don’t expect gratitude in the least. Or forgiveness. But understanding…This is my home, too.”

Burn it to the ground, Elain thought, surprised by how vicious her thoughts had become. Lucien seemed to sense her mood. He put his hand on her shoulder, steadying her though he was unable to squash his own fury pulsating between them. “We have had to make alliances we didn’t believe we’d ever forge—perhaps unsavory ones, yes, but…Hybern’s force is too great to stop. It now can only be weathered like any other storm. We have worked so hard to prepare ourselves for Hybern’s inevitable arrival—all these months. I made a grave mistake, and I will always regret any pain I caused, but let us continue this good work together. Let us find a way to ensure our lands and people survive.”

“At the cost of how many others?” Lucien demanded, unaware of the look of warning Tamlin levied at him. Elain nearly barred her teeth, wanted to scream at Tamlin for daring to look at Lucien at all. “What I saw in Hybern…any promises he made of peace and immunity…We have to be careful.”

“We will be. But we’ve already agreed to certain conditions. Sacrifices. If we break apart now…even with Hybern as our ally, we have to present a solid front. Together,” Tamlin told the room, his every word a warning.

We. She’d certainly agreed to nothing.

Ianthe smiled, eyes cast downward. She was the model of piety. “I will endeavor to be worthy of my friends.”

Elain stood suddenly, knocking Lucien backwards as he scrambled out of her way. Feyre, Lucien…they fought with weapons but Elain only knew how to fight with words, with icy glances and cold shoulders. Elain suspected it was a battlefield Ianthe was well versed with, but it didn’t matter how well Ianthe could play the game because Elain intended to play it much, much better. There would be no unified front, no pretend friendships, no strength in Spring. Not while Ianthe occupied the same air Elain breathed.

All eyes turned to her, waiting for an outburst. Elain sketched out a bow, catching how Tamlin’s teeth immediately set on edge. He remembered her little games, then. Good.

“Ianthe,” she breathed, working hard to keep her words earnest. “There is something sticky in your hair.”

Elain watched Ianthe rake her fingers through the ends of her hair, eyes wide, and then stepped out. Let Lucien and Feyre play whatever game they’d clearly decided on. Elain made a beeline for the kitchen. She’d been human long before she’d ever been Fae, and because the High Fae thought themselves better, Elain had made friends with the staff and their children.

Their happy chattered died when she walked in. She knew it was manipulative, but she wiped her face as though she’d been crying. “Ianthe is back,” she told the women. “She’s not even sorry…she…I—” She stopped herself, as though realizing how uncharitable she was being. “I shouldn’t thing such cruel thoughts. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“It’s no bother!” One of the younger lesser Fae, with her lavender colored skin and buttery yellow hair, insisted. “It is nice to see you out in Spring again.”

“The children have been missing you in the garden,” another older woman added. Elain nodded.

“I should make them cookies,” she offered, pleased when counter space was offered up. She was a lady, now, and Elain knew it meant something to them to have her roll up her sleeves and work alongside them. They continued their chatter, gossiping about the other nobles like they’d always done when Elain was human and what she thought didn’t matter. It did matter because if Tamlin couldn’t be challenged physically, he certainly could be tried in the court of public opinion.

If Tamlin wanted to conspire with the man who’d shoved her gleefully into a Cauldron and the woman who’d told him just how to do it, Elain would strip him of his social standing, of the good opinion his friends might have of him. She’d have his reputation if she had nothing else.

She did allow herself to run through the garden in an elaborate game of high and seek. The children were much better than her, given that most of them had garden colored skin, textured to look like grass or tree bark or the petals of flowers. She envied their innocence and was grateful they still wanted to play with her despite her no longer being human. She’d forgotten her anger when she came stumbling back into the estate, giggling loudly, two tiny girls tucked beneath her arms.

She walked straight into Ianthe, clearly waiting on her. The children froze, clinging to Elain’s neck with fear. Traditionally, the High Fae had never been kind to the lesser, and that was certainly true of Ianthe. She wore a fake smile as she looked from one face to the other and then, in a syrupy voice, said, “Why don’t you two go find your mommies?”
“It’s fine,” Elain murmured, setting them to their feet. They took off running, brown curls flying behind them. Elain straightened.

“Cute younglings,” Ianthe crooned.

“What are their names?” Elain asked smoothly. The smile slid of Ianthe’s face.

“You’re angry,” Ianthe declared, softening her voice. Elain resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew the ploy; make yourself soft, sweet, to seem innocent by comparison.

“Angry?” Elain replied, playing dumb. Ianthe would be forced to either give up her ruse and acknowledge Elain was also acting, or accept the act and do nothing. Elain yanked on the mating bond as she waited, just in case Ianthe decided on the former. She wanted a witness.

“About the unfortunate incident in Hybern,” Ianthe decided to call Elain out. Elain put a hand around her throat, made her eyes big and innocent.

“Don’t talk about that,” she whispered, not pretending she didn’t still have nightmares.

“Oh grow up,” Ianthe started a moment after Lucien stepped into the open, checked marble space.

“Ianthe!” Lucien growled; expression furious. He crossed the distance between them, wrapping an arm around Elain. She let him play the part of her hero, let herself be the damsel.

“I still have nightmares about that,” she whispered. “I’m not angry, though…I forgive you.”

Ianthe’s fury was palpable. She fixed her expression, nodding as she slipped back into piety. “You’re too kind Lady Elain.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Lucien added, not bothering to school his features at all. “You don’t need to add to her suffering.”

Elain allowed Lucien to sweep her away though she couldn’t resist turning her head, smile on her face, and meet Ianthe’s gaze.

Elain: 1. Ianthe: 0.

**

Lucien was exhausted, unraveling at the seams. He was used to court politics, used their machinations, the scheming, the backstabbing. He could play with the best of them, slipping in and out of personas as necessary to extract information, make favorable deals, or sometimes just mess up an annoying alliance. He relished those kinds of games; it was what made him a good emissary and a better politician.

He didn’t know how to play when he suspected he was a pawn in two competing games happening around him. Elain was very obviously messing with Tamlin and Ianthe, using the rules that governed court manners against the two of them, occasionally roping him into whatever humiliation she was trying to inflict. Lucien didn’t begrudge her revenge; she’d been using those rules against Tamlin since she arrived, after all. After three weeks of watching Elain stare blankly for hours, he’d have handed her his sword if she’d asked, not caring who she ran it through so long as something in life was motivating her again.

On the other side of the giant chessboard that was now Spring lay Feyre, still scenting of her mating bond with Rhysand, still tattooed though no one but him could see. Lucien wasn’t stupid. Feyre had promised to destroy Tamlin if he took her back to Spring, had only relented to save her sisters, and Lucien very much believed Feyre meant to take Tamlin down.

He’d warned the High Lord only once, the day before he announced Ianthe’s return. Tamlin had ignored the warning and while Lucien was exhausted trying to keep himself from being dragged down with Tamlin, he no longer held any loyalty to his once friend. He might have forgiven allowing Jurian to come, along with whoever Hybern planned to send. Tamlin’s bargain hadn’t been specific enough to keep him from betraying Hybern, though Lucien suspected it would shatter Spring in the process. That was Tamlin’s problem now. He was High Lord, he made decisions without considering the harm Ianthe had done, and he clearly no longer valued Lucien’s counsel.

Jurian was coming that afternoon and Lucien was dreading his arrival. Elain was almost back to her old self. He was terrified she’d slide back into her catatonic stupor when she saw his face or realized the once human general would not break as easily as Tamlin did. He knew Elain didn’t want to abandon Feyre but Lucien thought it might be best to bail before they were all in too deep. He’d been writing with one of his contacts in Dawn, ensuring that, if nothing else, Elain would be given sanctuary in Thesan’s Court if he couldn’t come with her. He was still working out the details but hoped to have his plans together by the end of the week.

He swung his legs out of bed to dress himself. Elain shifted from the loss, eyes open and tracking him across the room. “Come back,” she urged sleepily, eyes drifting down his naked torso. They hadn’t touched since she’d left with Rhysand, not intimately, anyway. He was giving her space to figure out what she wanted, how to be Fae, and how she wanted to approach the mating bond, which she hadn’t asked about since that first day back.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up even as he immediately did as she asked. Elain draped her arm over his chest, her chin pressed against bone. “What happens if I accept the mating bond?” She asked after a moment of easy silence.

He hated how his breath hitched at the question. He wanted her to accept so badly it made his teeth ache. “We’re bonded for life…it’s unbreakable.”

She nodded, her gaze faraway. “That’s it?”

“Ah…not exactly.” He cleared his throat. He didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable telling her about the accompanying frenzy. They’d had sex plenty of times before, always when she was human…never as Fae. She looked up with such sweet eyes, eyebrows raised.

“Should I be worried if you don’t want to tell me?” She asked him. He was momentarily distracted. One of her hands was splayed on his bare stomach, close enough that his cock could feel the warmth of her body and rising with interest.

“There’s a uh…a frenzy of mating in the aftermath. It’s supposed to be intense and it can last for days…weeks, even.”

Her hand slid an inch. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she murmured as though she were lost in thought. Lucien lay exactly as he was, terrified if he moved an inch she’d startle like a baby deer caught on the receiving end of an arrow.

“I’m told it steals a male’s rationale,” he continued, swallowing hard. Still her hand moved lower, her fingertips brushing against his erection.

“Oh? How so?” Her breath was warm against his neck. He wanted to flip her over, wanted to take her in the early light of dawn, wanted to feel her quivering against him—

“They uh—He sucked air between his teeth when she gripped the length of him, her thumb rubbing the sensitive underside of his head. “Become possessive. Aggressive.”

She stroked the length of him with excruciating slowness, not acknowledging what was happening beneath the blanket just out of sight. “And you think that would happen to you?”

Cauldron she was killing him. He exhaled slowly, trying to ignore her hand working him, so at odds with the wide-eyed innocence looking up at him. “I’m sure it would.”

“Hm,” she murmured, head dipping to press a kiss on his bare shoulder. Beneath the blanket she began twisting her wrist when she reached the top of him, her thumb rubbing along his slit, dragging precome along his shaft. “Will I become possessive?”

How he hoped. He could dare to dream of a snarling, snapping Elain anytime a female approached him. He was quite taken with the image of her jealousy, however misplaced it might be.

“Males are more territorial— fuck Elain,” he gasped as she sped up. Pleasure pooled in his belly; if she didn’t stop he’d come all over her hand.

“Do you remember the first time you ever did this?” She asked softly and though he understood what she was asking, he needed to calm himself down.

“No…that was a long time ago,” he gritted out, the worlds tensest joke. She didn’t take the bait.

“I wanted to touch you then,” she murmured, her words setting his blood aflame.

“I would have let you,” he admitted. “I was thinking about you.”

She hummed with approval.

“Elain,” Lucien begged, well aware he could take her hands off him if he wanted. The problem was he didn’t want her to stop touching him, he wanted permission to touch her. “Let me touch you.”

“Why? I’m having so much fun.” Lucien groaned, hips bucking into her hand. “Are you not having fun?”

He shook his head no, an obvious lie she saw straight through. “Not fun…it’s not fun if I can’t touch you back.”

She withdrew her hand without warning. He growled as he came down from the edge, arousal aching in his cock. “What if it’s different now?” She asked. Lucien turned on his side, hovering over her.

“What if you don’t like me like this?” She continued, gesturing down her body, hidden beneath a shapeless not dress. He buried his face in her breasts.

“That’s not possible, Elain.” He slid his hand up her thigh, sliding his fingers along the tell-tale wetness pooled there. “I wanted this,” he slid the pad of his thumb into her slick entrance. She swallowed hard. “On my face the first night I met you.”

“You’re vulgar,” she accused without malice.

“I’m consistent,” he insisted, pulling out his thumb so he could rub lazy circles around her clit.

“And if everything is different?” She gasped, rolling her hips in an attempt to increase the contact between them. Lucien was cruel; he took his hand from her just as she’d done to him. Her eyes flew open, a whine slipping from her throat. He let her watch him slowly lick the taste of her from his fingers.

“Tastes the same to me,” he promised. Elain grabbed his arms, dragging him towards her. Lucien was all too happy to oblige, parting her legs quickly with his knee. She pulled him down, their bodies pressed together, for a scorching kiss the same moment he sheathed himself into her body. They groaned in time.

“Just like I remember,” he ground out, holding himself inside her. She arched her hips, wiggling with want beneath him. He wouldn’t make her beg like she’d done; he didn’t have the willpower for it. His body seemed to obey a will outside of his own, thrusting into her with sheer desperation. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this closeness until he was in the middle of the act. He wasn’t going to last, not for long, not when he was already so close before.

“Love you,” he told her, dragging his hand back to her clit to catch her up. “So fucking much.”

She nodded, fingers fisted in his hair, a whine escaping her parted lips.

“Lucien,” she begged, betraying herself. She was close, too. Thank the Cauldron, he thought, trying desperately to coordinate his movements without crushing her.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he demanded, his pace quickening, his vision blurring around the edges. He was building up, up, up, his chest tight, his breathing practically non-existent.

She shattered a half-second before he did, bowing off the bed, thighs clamped around his waist while she quivered rhythmically against him. They weren’t quiet; he was sure her scream woke the house. He didn’t care, had never cared but especially not now.

“You were perfect,” he promised her, coming down from his high, peppering kisses against her collarbone. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Chapter Text

Fucking Feyre. Lucien was going to outright murder her. He’d walked her back to the estate after her little show at Solstice, leaving Elain to run through the hills with a gaggle of children that worshipped the ground she walked on. He didn’t have to watch her so closely now that she was Fae, though he found he didn’t like the way Jurian watched her, like he knew something secret about her. Elain had a bad habit of collecting acolytes in the form of deranged psychopaths if her ongoing friendship with Eris and Rhysands Illyrians were any indication. He didn’t need to add Jurian to the list.

If the worst Feyre had ever done was convince him to bow, Lucien could live with that. After all, infuriating Ianthe was one of his favorite past times. Watching her lit up like a newly made Goddess and stealing Ianthe’s show had been well worth falling to his knees. It was her little scheme after, in her tiny night dress and him in half-buttoned pants, manipulated into comforting her as Tamlin and Elain walked up the steps to see the pair of them holding the other, respectively. Elain had looked from her sister to Tamlin, her face sheet white with fear, eyes focused on the claws punched from Tamlin’s knuckles.

Lucien and Tamlin stared at each other for a minute before Elain scurried between the two of them, looked over at Tamlin with big eyes, and then closed the door behind her. Lucien immediately put his hand over her mouth to keep her from saying anything, her back pressed to his chest, so he could listen for Tamlin. Tamlin stood just outside the door, his heart pounding furiously, for five minutes. Lucien knew those five minutes were spent debating whether Tamlin would kill him, whether Lucien had decided he’d have both Archerons…and if Tamlin truly thought Lucien could pull such a thing off in the first place.

After all, Lucien had betrayed Tamlin once already by taking Elain right under his nose. Lucien had been saved by Feyre traipsing into Spring and again, beneath the mountain but Lucien knew Tamlin had never truly forgiven him for the betrayal. Lucien waited until Tamlin walked away before he let go of Elain’s mouth. She twisted.

“What was that?” She asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“Your sister playing fucking petty games,” he snarled softly, angry with himself for being manipulated by a former illiterate, twenty-year-old girl. He’d made the mistake of thinking because he and Feyre were friends she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Wrong. Lucien’s resolve was strengthened. He owed his loyalty to Elain only, his priority would be given his mate and no one else.

“Did she…”

“No.”

Elain nodded, lifting on her tip toes to kiss his cheek but Lucien wasn’t done. “We’re taking Hybern to look at the wall tomorrow. Come with me.”

He knew what she’d say well before she ever said it. “No.”
“I don’t want to leave you—”
“Then don’t,” she replied, well aware he had no choice but to go. “Tamlin isn’t.”

“Because he’s sending me. Come with me.” Lucien urged a second time. Elain touched the chain hanging from her neck but shook her head.

“I’d be in your way; I’ll slow you down. I’ll be fine,” but Lucien was grabbing his shirt and his boots. He wouldn’t leave her unprepared, he decided, reaching for one of his daggers that came straight from Autumn court and pressing it into her hands.

“You’ll wear this every day I’m gone,” he demanded, digging out a thigh sheath. “Under your dress, on top of it, I don’t care. You’ll sleep with it. This weapon will be your new best friend.”

“Lucien—” She started to protest but Lucien had already ducked beneath her gown to fasten the sheath against her thigh.

“Don’t Lucien me,” he retorted, taking the silver hilted dagger, cut with orange rubies shaped like falling leaves, from her hands. He slid it into the sheath, adjusted the straps, and then stood, trying to ignore the scent of her burning in his nostrils. He’d handle that later. “If you’re going to stay, you’re going to wear it. You assured me, all those months ago, you understood how knives work.”

“Sharp point goes into skin,” she practically whispered. He kissed her forehead.

“Good girl. Now come with me.”

He took her to the study, pulled out a rolled-up map, and walked her back to his bedroom where he unrolled it.

“If you have to leave, you’ll go to Summer,” he informed her, mapping out the path from Tamlin’s manor to Summer’s border. “You’ll go to Adriata, to Tarquin, and you’ll tell him who you are in relation to me. Elain Vanserra, not Archeron. Lucien Vanserra’s mate, not Feyre Archeron’s sister. They’ll know anyway, but don’t invoke your sisters name when you ask for sanctuary. Cressida owes me at least four favors; she’ll house you until I can get there.”

“And if I can’t get to Summer?” She questioned. Lucien was unwilling to accept any other alternative.

“Then you will lock yourself in this room and pull on the bond until I can get to you,” he replied. She nodded, her fingers playing with the long, silver necklace hanging down her dress.

“Should I be worried?” She asked. Lucien sank to the edge of his bed, pulling her between his legs. He wanted to say no, that Tamlin would never punish an innocent female because he was mad at Lucien but…but he wasn’t willing to take chances. He could see Tamlin blowing up another room…perhaps striking her if she pushed him too far, furious with Lucien and wanting to physically punish someone.

“Just be careful,” he urged instead. “Or, better yet, come with me.”

“How long will you be gone?” She questioned, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Two, three days,” he murmured, leaning into the touch. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“What am I supposed to do without you?” She continued, stepping just a little closer. He smiled, hauling her up into his bed.

“The better question is what I’m going to do without you warming my bed,” he growled against her neck. She giggled.

“You always have your memories…and your hand,” she teased. He sighed before digging his fingers into her ribs, tickling her without mercy. She squealed, breathless as she tried to escape. Lucien quite liked the feeling of her squirming beneath him.

“Lucien stop,” she gasped between her laughter, wrists pinned over her head.

“Beg me,” he murmured. “And maybe I’ll consider offering you mercy.”

“Lucien please,” she pleaded. He was hard, his blood hot. He stopped all at once to nip at her ear.

“Beg me again,” he asked roughly, grinding his erection into her hip. Her breath hitched.

“Please Lucien—”

“Please Lucien what?” He asked, lifting her skirt up her thigh. She looked up at him, mischief reflected in her expression, and then shoved him off her and onto his back.

“Perhaps you’ll beg me,” she replied, straddling his legs so she could unbutton his pants. He was certain he would. She pulled his cock from his pants, humming with soft appreciation before lifting up on her knees to rub the head of him against her slick core.

“Go ahead,” she said with a smile that betrayed her inability to truly punish him. “I’ll wait.”

Lucien reached for her hips and pulled, seating himself fully within her with one breathless stroke. “Please fuck me, Elain.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling loudly, cunt clenched hard around him. “You’re vulgar.”

“I think you like it,” he groaned at the first roll of her hips, fingers snaking beneath her dress to grip her bare skin. “I think you like the way I fuck you…and you like the way I talk about it more.”

“Shut up, Lucien,” she gritted out, head thrown back as she rode him.

“Take off your fucking dress,” he demanded, desperate to see her slide over him. She did as she was told, reaching behind her to quickly untie the laces holding her dress together and pulling it quickly over her head.

“All of it,” he growled when she revealed another layer of under things.

She squeezed tightly around him. “Say please,” she demanded, digging her nails into the flesh of his chest.

“Cauldron, Elain, please take off your clothes,” he begged, his cock throbbing. He liked when she was assertive more than he’d realized.

Elain unsnapped the rest of the cloth, tossing it to the floor and Lucien came flying up, readjusting her in his lap so she was on her knees and his hands cupped her ass, working her over him. He caught a peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked, fueled by the breathy moan that escaped her lips. Her walls fluttered around him and he wondered if she could really be that close so quickly.

He leaned up for a bruising kiss, sweeping his tongue into her mouth to taste her. “Come with me.”

“Shut. Up. Lucien,” she ordered, eyes closed, arms twined around his neck. She was so beautiful, so wet, her breathing ragged; Lucien pressed her breasts up against his chest so she rubbed against his entire body.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Uh huh,” she agreed, her voice a whine. “Lucien, I’m going to—” Her voice broke into a cry, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. Ah, fuck, he thought, cresting upward. His blood burned hot in his veins; something about hearing her come with his name on her lips utterly wrecked him. He thrusted hard, her pulsating cunt sucking him in, holding him, only relenting when he pulled himself out. His sac tightened almost painfully close to his body, release building.

He spilled, painting her insides with his seed, too loud like always. He held her tight, refusing to let go even when they’d both come back down.

“Love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“When you come home, lets accept the mating bond,” she replied with her face still buried in the crook of his neck.

“Anything,” he agreed.

**

Lucien had been gone two days, leaving Elain alone with Tamlin. It wasn’t the first time she’d been alone in the estate with Tamlin but it was by far the tensest. She felt silly walking around with Lucien’s dagger strapped to her thigh while Tamlin went out of his way to avoid her. They couldn’t avoid each other at meals. The first day had been fine. She said nothing, Tamlin said nothing, and that was that.

It was dinner the second day where everything went wrong. Tamlin was in a foul mood, openly brooding while Elain sat in Feyre’s usual spot at the far end of the table. She wasn’t paying attention to him; she’d had a dream the night before about the Autumn Woods and Beron Vanserra, waiting at the end of them expectantly for her. She was unnerved by his face; the dream had felt so life-like, so real that when she woke to the Autumn colors in Lucien’s room, she’d thought she was in Autumn. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling the dream was trying to warn her of something, though of what, she wasn’t sure.

“Elain?” Tamlin asked, voice rough. She looked up, fork hovering next to her lips. “What happened Under the Mountain?”

Her fork clattered to her plate. “What?”

“Between you and Eris Vanserra, I mean,” he continued, his green eyes glittering with malice. “I always wondered…”

A memory, bright and sharp, flooded her consciousness. Eris, walking her to Tamlin so she could hiss coward, of Eris’ dark laughter, his hand on her back guiding her away before Tamlin could say anything. “Why would you ask me that?”

“He wasn’t exactly your captor, was he?” Tamlin mused. Elain’s stomach churned. “He helped you get to Night Court…what happened between you two?”

She shook her head, her throat burning. A smile crept up Tamlin’s face.

“He kept you safe…protected you from Beron…maybe would help you, even now, if you asked him to?”

“Do you want something from Autumn Court?” She asked, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

Tamlin twirled his fork around his hand. “I’m just curious why a male known for his cruelty was so fascinated with a human. Perhaps it’s an Autumn Court trait?”

“You have no right—” She started but Tamlin set his fork to the table loudly.

“You’re in my home. I think I have every right to know what kind of female I dine with.”

“You’re implying—”

“I think Eris looks enough like his brother if you’re on your back in the dark,” Tamlin continued, his gaze pinning her to the spot. She could hear Eris tearing up the room she’d slept in, his whispered demands she scream, how he’d covered the sheets in her blood…. how he’d fallen to his knees and begged her forgiveness.

“Who could blame you,” Tamlin continued, rising from his chair. Elain scooted from the table. “Was he good? As good as his brother, who I hear fucking you night after night after night…? Does Lucien know his brother was there—”

“Stop it,” Elain whispered, backing towards the door. Tamlin waved his hands and the doors on both ends of the room slammed shut, sealed with the magic of the High Lord. They were trapped in there together. Tamlin stepped towards her.

“Why? I think you like power more than you like anything else,” he murmured.

“You’re mad about my sister,” she whispered, backing against the door. “Take it out on her, not me.”

Tamlin shrugged. “Maybe I want to take something that belongs to me.”

Their eyes met, the air between them charged with electricity. “Don’t,” was all Elain said before Tamlin lunched. She screamed, just barely dodging his grasp. She ran around the table towards the other door but Tamlin beat her, catching her roughly by the shoulders, slamming her roughly against the wood. Elain kicked, catching him hard in the gut but Tamlin didn’t relent until she freed the dagger Lucien had given her and sliced it up the side of Tamlin’s cheek.

The doors flew open as Tamlin seemed to come back to reality at the sting of her blade and the sight of blood dripping onto his blue tunic.

“Elain—“ He started but she ran up the stairs just like Lucien had told her to, locking the door behind her. She flung Lucien’s swords off the table by his window, letting them clatter loudly to the floor as she shoved the table against the door, too.

Just like she’d done in Autumn beneath the mountain, Elain ripped the blanket from Lucien’s bed and flew into the bathroom, locking the door again and climbing into the bathtub. She wrapped herself in Lucien’s blanket, dagger still clutched in one hand, buried her face in the cloth, and wept until she fell asleep, ensconced in his scent.

She woke to the bathroom door splintering. She grabbed the dagger just as Lucien strode in, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, his shirt torn, eyes wild. “What happened?” He demanded. Elain scrambled out of the tub to fling her arms around his neck and sob.

“Elain, what happened?” He asked again but she couldn’t speak, her sobs overtaking her until she was gasping for air.

“Sweetheart, you’re scaring me. What happened? Why are you locked in the bathroom?” He murmured; his mouth pressed to her hair.

Feyre appeared in the doorway. “Can I look?” She whispered. Elain had forgotten Feyre, like Rhys, could see into people’s minds. Elain shook her head yes, exhaling when she felt Feyre caress gently against the gate of her thoughts. She didn’t know if she needed to relive the moment but she did anyway, letting Feyre hear everything Tamlin said, how he’d locked the doors, how he’d only stopped when she cut his face.

Feyre dropped to the ground and pulled Elain from Lucien so they could hug. “I’m sorry,” Feyre whispered. “It’s my fault—”

“It’s not,” Elain choked. “But we have to leave, Feyre, we can’t stay—”

“If you want to go, I’ll walk you to the edge of Summer,” Feyre murmured as if Lucien wasn’t there. “You can go with Nesta.”

“And you?” She asked, trying to stop herself from shaking. Feyre glanced over at Lucien, her face streaked with the same dirt his was.

“I’ll meet you when I can.”

Elain looked at Lucien, his face pale, his jaw clenched. He’d go where she asked him to. Elain blinked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.
“I misunderstood what happened between us,” she told Feyre, exhaling her air slowly. “Tamlin didn’t mean anything.”

“You don’t have to—”
“I want to see you take him down,” Elain whispered vehemently. “I want to see you punish him. Swear you will.”

“I swear,” Feyre replied.

“I want to help,” Elain added, shaking out her hands. Feyre’s eyes slid to Lucien.

“My loyalty is to my mate,” Lucien informed her with clenched teeth. “And no one else.”

The three of them sat there for a moment in silence, quietly united in one, singular task.

“I have some ideas,” Feyre murmured, snapping her wrist to slam the bathroom door closed behind them.

They’d destroy Tamlin together.

Chapter Text

It took real effort to pretend like everything was fine every time Elain looked at Tamlin. He was pretending he’d done nothing at all, had offered no apology, and was back to his sad boy, High Lord act that set Elain’s teeth on edge. How anyone could think him good or kind was beyond her. The servants certainly didn’t. She’d learned, in the aftermath, that servants not only talked—they saw everything. The day Lucien came home, Elain slipped into the kitchen to eat a quiet breakfast over the sink and try and calm her nerves. The entire room went silent when she stepped in, all eyes watching her.

“Are you well?” One of the women asked, handing Elain a cup of tea with wide, knowing eyes. She hadn’t meant to cry, didn’t want to manipulate the only good people living in Tamlin’s estate but the softness of her words and the simple gesture of offering Elain something warm made tears slip down her cheeks, even as she shook her head yes.

While Elain wept quietly in Tamlin’s kitchen, Tamlin lost his temper over Feyre, blackening her eye and destroying the good opinion his sentries held of him. Elain met Feyre in the garden, flinching when she saw just how bad Feyre’s face looked.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Feyre murmured, aware the guard at the door could hear her. Chivalry was an art form in Spring and the males prided themselves on how they looked after their females. Feyre was clever, weaponizing that engrained societal expectation against the High Lord of their land. Elain slid her hand around Feyre’s arm, an elder sister reassuring her younger one.

“Of course,” Elain lied, walking quietly through the garden until they were out of ear shot.

“He can go fuck himself,” Feyre hissed the minute she was certain it was just her and Elain.

“What set him off this time?” Elain demanded, bile warring with anger in her throat.

A smug smile crept over Feyre’s features. “Lucien and I returned late because we set the bogge on Dagden and Brannagh.”

“And Tamlin was upset?” Elain scoffed.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “I have a question for you.”

“Ask.”

“How willing would you be to make a scene?” Elain and Feyre shared a look and Elain knew, without having to ask, that Feyre had turned her gaze back to Ianthe now that Tamlin was properly cowed.

“I suppose it depends,” Elain murmured, eyes on her feet. “On what I happened to walk into.”

“The servants think highly of you…consider you one of them,” Feyre told her idly, her head cocked to the side. “I’ve heard their thoughts about you, you know. How angry they were you got caught up in Tamlins fight with Rhys, how awful it must have been for you—”

“They’re right,” Elain replied, trying to hide how bitter she still felt over the whole affair. “After…last evening…a lot of them are wondering if they ought to leave. I think it might set them over the edge to witness the priestess reveal who she really is beneath that fucking hood.”
“Have you talked to Lucien?” Elain asked before she agreed to anything.

“I did…when we were up in his bedroom cleaning up my face. He agreed if you were comfortable.” Feyre’s eye roll irked Elain.

“If she touches him, it might not be pretend,” Elain warned Feyre.

“Good,” was all Feyre replied.

Feyre left Elain to go riding with Bron and Hart and Lucien met Elain just at the steps in the estate, shirtless as he pulled his long hair off his face. She paused for a moment, breath hitching in her throat. “What are you doing?” She asked, suddenly terrified. What had he and Feyre agreed on? Lucien crossed the marble with an easy smile, kissing her so hard he lifted her off the ground.

“I’m going to the training ring to practice my aim. Want to come watch? It’ll be like the old days, hm?” He teased. Elain poked him in the stomach.  

“You can’t wear a shirt?” She teased. Lucien caught her wrist, turning her palm upwards for a kiss.

“Why would I do that when your blush is so lovely?” He asked, his breath hot against her skin. “Come watch me.”

“Are you hoping to be crowned this time?” She asked. Lucien’s smirk widened.

“I am certainly hoping for something—” He stopped, his smile immediately fading to a scowl. Elain looked over her shoulder at Ianthe gliding towards them. The memory of Feyre’s ask, of Feyre’s hope they might further poison Tamlin’s staff to the point of abandoning their post, surged back into her awareness. She stiffened but Lucien remained loose if not cautious.

“Lucien,” she murmured, her eyes caressing his body. Elain clenched her fists at her side. Ianthe didn’t acknowledge Elain at all which was generally fine by Elain, except when Ianthe had her sights set on Lucien.

“You go,” Elain muttered. “I think I’ll see what the children are up to.”
Lucien nodded, his hand brushing over her shoulder as he went. She thought she ought to rethink the entire thing, maybe watch him throw knives at a wall, when she rounded a corner and found Tamlin at the end of the hall.

Bile rose in her throat and her body began trembling at the sight of his frozen green eyes, pinning her in place. She couldn’t do this, she thought desperately, forcing herself to walk, to pass him.

Tamlin caught her wrist, the touch burning her.

“Why haven’t you accepted the mating bond?” He asked, his every word a taunt. She closed her eyes, inhaling softly, and then turned her head to force herself to look him in the face.

“Why hasn’t Feyre had sex with you?” She whispered, her words betraying her fear. She yanked her arm from his grasp and shoved around him, angry he was using his body as a barrier. Tamlin said nothing else, his fury rippling around them but Elain heard his roar of fury and the sound of splintering furniture when she scurried into the kitchen to hide.

“Are you fine, Lady?” A servant asked her apprehensively.

“Yes,” Elain lied.

She’d never been less fine in her life.

**

Let Ianthe touch his chest, let Elain throw a fit. That was what Feyre asked, wasn’t it? She’d seen him with his bandolier of knives, seen the bareness of him, and Lucien assumed he could expect to find her waiting in his bedroom. He hadn’t expected her to circle around to the training grounds and confront him far from prying eyes. Clever female, he thought darkly when he caught her scent on the wind. Lucien spun, knife in hand, and flung in, catching Ianthe’s hood with the blade. The sound of the fabric tearing shattered the peace he’d created and made her scream. His knife lodged itself in a wooden post, spearing blonde strands of hair and silvery blue cloth.

Ianthe dropped her hood from her head, her blue eyes glittering with malice. “Don’t you know better? You could have harmed a lady.”

Lucien half-spun, arms thrown out to gesture around him. “I see no ladies…just a whore,” he replied, spitting the last word. She narrowed her eyes.

“To hear the village females tell it, you are quite familiar with whores.”

Lucien smiled fondly at the memory. “Ah, but there are the whores who I respect, that I cherish, that I would consider friends, and then, of course, there is you.”

“A gentleman to the last,” Ianthe sneered.

“I don’t believe you’d know a gentleman if he threw a knife at your face, priestess.”

Ianthe took a step closer, her eyes drifting towards the knife he’d just pulled from his pants, clutched idly in his hand. He was openly threatening a priestess, an unforgivable crime and one that put his mate in danger if Ianthe wanted to try and separate the two of them.

“You’ve always been on borrowed time, Lucien,” she murmured sweetly, another step closer.

“You sure about that? I suspect I’ll outlive you,” he replied stepping back until he was leaning against the wooden fence, tossing his dagger casually.

She sighed, exasperated. “Think about the power we’d wield together.”

“I’d rather eat shit,” Lucien told her.

Her lip curled over her teeth. “Aren’t you, though?”

He took a step forward, all his amusement gone. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Or what? Will you watch it for me?” She purred, close enough he could cut her throat, if. He wanted. Lucien tossed his dagger again, watching how her eyes followed its path in the air.

“One of these days you’re going run your mouth to the wrong male,” Lucien warned. “I hope I’m there when it happens.”

“To join?” She questioned with a pale, arched brow.

“You’re disgusting,” he spat, stepping around her. Her hand slid over his slick chest, drawing revulsion in its wake.

“It doesn’t bother you that your brother fucked her, then?” She asked innocently behind his back. Lucien snapped. He turned, grabbed Ianthe by the throat, and pinned her against the same fence post he’d just been leaning against. She grabbed his hand, fingernails digging into his skin.

“I could make it look like an animal ate you,” he snarled softly, the tip of his knife pressed against her ribs. “Like you went just a little too far into the woods and a naga found you.”

“So it does bother you,” she gasped. He curled his fingers a little tighter.

“Elain could fuck my whole family and I would still crawl at her feet,” he promised Ianthe, his face inches from hers so there could be no mistaking his words.

“You’re pathetic,” Ianthe accused. Lucien lifted her with one hand until the tips of her toes just brushed the dirt beneath them.

“Are you sure it’s me who’s pathetic? Or is it you, so desperate for power you’d throw yourself at every male you see?”

“You’ll beg for me in the end,” she promised. Lucien squeezed until her words cut off and her eyes went wide.

“I’ll kill you,” he replied, dropping her to the ground. Ianthe coughed loudly, gagging a little bile at his feet. The sight only made him hate her more. She choked out a laugh, as if the entire thing was funny and Lucien wondered if Feyre hadn’t underestimated her opponents. If they all hadn’t.

He walked back to the manor, still radiating with fury, unable to get Ianthe’s simpering voice out of his mind. Her self-assurance she couldn’t be wrong, that she must be wanted because she thought she ought to be, all of it would be amusing if she wasn’t so dangerous. She rivaled Tamlin for power in Spring and could wreck things for him with a wave of her hands.

“Lord Lucien,” a servant interrupted his thoughts the moment he stepped through the front door, her pale green eyes drifting towards the knife he still clutched.

“What is it?” He asked without softening his tone. The servants were Elain’s domain, not his. He’d never known any of their names until she came along and he knew they were aware any kindness he extended was done on her behalf.

“It’s the Lady—”
“Take me to her,” he barked without question. She scurried off, skirts rustling, straight to the kitchen. Lucien could remember a time when Elain just baked happily in the kitchens and he avoided every attempt she made to shove food in his hands, terrified he’d accidentally lock her into something she couldn’t feel. He would have given anything to go back, even if it meant she was merely human.

Anything was better than seeing her braced against a metal table, body shaking while she cried silently. “Elain,” he murmured, grateful when the kitchen cleared out silently. She looked up but didn’t touch him, instead reaching for that long chain around her neck, the same one she wore when she’d been Under the Mountain. Did it offer her comfort, or had it become a nervous habit?

“I want to go home,” she told him with a pallid, exhausted expression. “Take me home.”

He hesitated. Where was home, if not Spring? He’d agreed to help Feyre but he’d never intended to take Elain to Night, even when Feyre had suggested as much.

“Please?” She begged. Was she asking him to take her back to the mortal lands? He wouldn’t. She’d be hurt or worse…and Lucien couldn’t get that little iron ring out of his mind, destroyed but still a looming presence in his mind. What of that male, who’d spent enough time with Elain to love her enough to want to marry her?

“Dawn?” He murmured, pulling her into his chest. “Can you give me two days?”

She shook her head no but there was no choice, not unless they were willing to separate. Elain was hanging by the barest of threads. He could see how hollow her eyes looked, smudged purple from her lack of sleep.

“I didn’t sleep with Eris,” she whispered quietly without answering his question. Lucien had never thought she had; she’d been too friendly with him at the end to have been hurt by Eris. She’d smiled, had laughed, and had even told Eris goodbye when they departed the mountain, hardly the words of a female traumatized by Eris’ hands. Lucien knew Eris’ reputation for cruelty, though it had never quite extended to his lovers. He had a long string of them who spoke of him fondly, which always irked Lucien. Surely Eris wasn’t that skilled.

Besides, Lucien would have scented another male on her, had she fucked someone else…or been forced.

“I know,” he agreed, bending his knees to scoop her into his arms. “I never thought you did.”

She nuzzled into his chest, still trembling. His rage burned, threatened to consume him. Tamlin had taken so much and yet he still kept reaching out his hand for more. “Dawn? Will you come with me?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you,” she promised.

Lucien exhaled softly. As would he.

Chapter Text

“Tamlin is going?” Elain clarified, tucked up against the window seat of her bedroom. Lucien paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair for the hundredth time that morning.

“Who knows how long we’ll be gone—”
“I’m not going if Tamlin is,” she informed Lucien resolutely. Elain refused to go anywhere near Tamlin, not for meals or polite conversation or anything, even when Lucien had promised they could go everywhere together. She didn’t believe it was possible and beyond that, Tamlin was still Lucien’s High Lord. What happened if Tamlin just outright ordered Lucien to leave her? He’d have to.

After the business between Ianthe, Feyre, Tamlin and the whipped sentry, Elain felt she’d made the right choice to stay in her room. She’d intended to join Lucien the next time he went out with the Hybern royals but now Tamlin was going and there was no way Elain would let herself be anywhere near Tamlin when she could be easily dragged off into the woods, lost for hours…at the mercy of his whims.

Lucien clenched his jaw. “Elain—”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, well aware he was about to order her to come with him. Lucien crossed the room, falling at her feet with his usual theatrics.

“I don’t know how long we’ll be gone,” he rasped, very clearly tortured about this choice. “How will I keep you safe?”

“You could stay here until we hear back from your friend in the Dawn Court,” she reminded him with her usual petulance. A muscle jumped in his jaw. They were at an impasse and he knew it. He was supposed to walk out the door in the next ten minutes. He’d spent the night before and now the morning begging her to just come with him but Elain resolutely refused. She wouldn’t be alone with Tamlin and the thought of being able to walk through the estate again offered her more than a little relief. She could go back to the kitchens and run through the gardens without feeling Tamlin’s eyes on her back.

“You have your dagger—”

“And the map,” she promised him with impatience. “I won’t need either of them.”

His face very much betrayed the fact that he did not believe her. “Don’t take it off until I walk back through that door.”

“Of course, Lord,” she murmured with a trace of her old sassiness, hoping to get a rise out of him. The two of them were constantly marinating in their stress, leaving little time for the kind of fun they’d used to have. She was anxious to go to Dawn, not just to escape Spring but to actually be with Lucien again the way they’d once been.

He surged forward, gripping her chin in his hands. “This is the last time I will leave you.”

She believed that. She nodded and kissed him back when his lips crashed over hers.

“I love you,” she promised, her chest aching at the thought of being separated again. He held her face between his hands, forehead pressed against her own.

“See me out?” He asked. She nodded, if only to remind Ianthe one last time that if the priestess tried to touch him, Elain would make her regret it for the rest of her miserable, immortal life. Going to the stables with him required her to see Tamlin, sliding into his saddle with emotionless eyes. The High Lord didn’t look at her at all; he was staring at Feyre.

“Wait,” Elain called when Lucien reluctantly reached for the reins of his horse. She reached into her hair and pulled one of the little white blooms she’d woven in that morning in an attempt to entice him into staying with her. Lucien bowed, allowing Elain to very quickly slide it into his own hair. The mating bond marked them in all the ways Prythian law respected but the flower in his hair marked Lucien as hers in all the ways that truly mattered to the two of them.

“Be safe,” she murmured, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll be back before you have a chance to miss me,” he lied, because Elain missed him already. She hated watching him leave, knowing she was sending him to the wolves with nothing but her younger sister as an ally. Ianthe smiled sweetly at Elain before turning, too. Elain didn’t return the gesture, didn’t bother to pretend to be polite. Ianthe could rot in hell for all she cared. She watched Lucien vanish over the horizon before she went back into the estate, where a flurry of servant activity drove her worries from her mind.

“What’s happening?” She asked. One of the ladies paused, biting her bottom lip.

“We’re leaving, mistress. We can’t stay any longer, not after…”

“All of you?” Elain asked, her stomach sinking with disappointment.

“The Lords will return…your Lord will return for you. You will be fine without us.”

“Will you be fine…without the work?” She asked, watching two small children hurried out of the estate, their parents clutching bags.

“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

And that was that. For the rest of the day, Elain sat on the steps while the estate cleared out, not just of its servants, but the sentries, who were the sons of Tamlin’s courtiers, abandoned their posts. Elain supposed they’d played their parts well, but it still made her uneasy when the evening rolled around and she was utterly alone in the massive estate. She’d been left food that was easily reheatable and all her clothes had been washed and neatly folded which she supposed was a testament to the good will she’d built, but she was still lonely without the sound of children giggling and their mothers gossiping.

Still, she slept like absolute shit that night, burning every candle in Lucien’s room so there was visible light even in the darkness. She was grateful for the weapon not for the first time, although she was loathe to use it. Lucien thought of everything, was somehow always one step ahead of everyone else and she wondered what he imagined she might need the dagger for when she was alone.

Elain woke uneasy, unsettled and certain things were about to go tragically, and terribly wrong. She shook out her hands while she wandered the empty estate, poking through drawers and rooms she’d previously never had access to. Elain read through Tamlin’s documents, left out on his desk, tucking some of the information away for later. Just in case it might be useful…Lucien had taught her as much.

Elain was in the kitchen convincing herself she could relax as the sun began to set over the foothills in the distance. Nothing had gone wrong. It was just her anxiety at being alone and separated from Lucien for the first time since the Cauldron.

Burning, white fear streaked through the bond the moment she’d reassured herself everything was fine. Elain froze, nearly driven to her knees by Lucien’s emotions. Threading through his anger, his fear, his adrenaline, was a thought screamed so loud she could hear his voice in her head.

Run.

She tried to send something back, her own questioning thoughts but the shimmering silk that held them became iron and then nothing at all. She could feel it, hard in her chest the same way she could feel the ribs in her chest. There was nothing alive about it, no longer flexible, a link that reminder her they were together.

Elain collapsed for a second, hand to her chest. Was he hurt? Had he died? She inhaled roughly, trying to gulp down air when a new, more terrifying sound spurred her into action. Tamlin’s roar, the roar of the beast who’d once broken down the door to her family’s cottage. She scrambled to her feet, forgetting everything she’d ever promised Lucien. The bond was dark; for all she knew, he was dead. He’d wanted her to go to Summer and throw herself at the mercy at his contacts but if Elain had to throw herself at anyone’s feet, it would be someone she knew. Someone she trusted.

Elain yanked the silver chain off her neck, dropped it to the floor, crushed the red stone beneath her shoe, and prayed whatever magic Eris Vanserra had imbued it with still worked. Then, without letting herself doubt her plan, Elain ran for the stables with nothing but the dagger on her thigh and the clothes on her back. Even if Eris didn’t come, she’d still go to Autumn and hope Beron was willing to protect her in exchange for everything she knew about Hybern.

“Oh Elaaaaiiinnn,” Jurian voice murmured, his footsteps echoing off the wood of the stable floor. She dropped down, hiding in a stall, hand over her mouth to silence the sound of her breathing. How human, exactly was Jurian? “Elain, I know you’re hiding somewhere on the grounds. Come out and talk.”

“Find her!” Tamlin’s rough voice barked in the distance. Jurian’s boots came closer and closer until his hand curled on the stall door she hid behind.

“What is your plan for her, Lord?” Jurian asked casually, peering into the stall Elain was crouched in. Their eyes met and Elain knew, before Tamlin responded, that Jurian knew exactly what Tamlin would do when he found her.

“Don’t worry about that,” Tamlin replied smoothly, his voice echoing from the stable entrance. “Is she here?”

Jurian stepped away smoothly. “No, not in here. Have you tried the servants’ quarters? She was quite fond of them.”

The sound of their feet became distant and then vanished altogether. She would parse Jurian’s actions out later, darting from the stable without the horse she’d planned to steal. She’d draw too much attention and be caught far too quickly. She needed to go on foot; she could make it to Autumn in a day if she didn’t stop.

Elain slipped from the stable’s, still looking over her shoulder, certain Jurian would betray her. She slammed into a broad mass of muscle. Elain tried to scramble backwards but a hand clamped over her mouth, holding her back to their chest. Tamlin, she thought, tears sliding down her cheeks hotly. He’d caught her. She struggled wildly, sobbing beneath the hand, silently screaming to be let go.

“Stop it,” Eris Vanserra murmured, his voice rich with concern. “What the fuck is wrong Spring?”

Elain twisted roughly, literally falling at Eris’ feet with a sob. “You came,” she cried, body trembling so hard she knew she must sound crazy. “You came.”

Eris crouched and reached for her shoulders, his usual mask of amused cruelty gone, replaced by open concern. “What happened to you?” He demanded.

“I could kill you for this trespass,” Tamlin growled, walking around the stable. Jurian was just behind him, a hand on his sword, his face impassive.

Eris very slowly stood, bringing Elain up with him. He shoved her gently behind his body, one hand held out like a shield. “Did they not teach you how to treat a female in your court?” Eris asked, not bothering to hide his hatred. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing you didn’t,” Tamlin replied smoothly. Elain whimpered, fisting her hands in the back of Eris’ green jacket. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting her eyes and she knew he understood what Tamlin was insinuating.

“Not a good look, Tamlin,” Eris offered blandly, as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

Tamlin took two steps forward, unsheathing his sword the same moment Eris unsheathed his. Eris erupted into flame, his beautiful face one of flame and fury. “Try it,” Eris dared.

“She is a citizen of Spring—”

“She renounced Spring Under the Mountain,” Eris snarled furiously. “And declared her allegiance to Beron on her knees. She was returned to Lucien, an Autumn son by blood and birth, not to you.”

“Did you kill him?” Elain whispered from behind the protection of Eris. Eris burned hotter at the question, his wrath palpable.

“Now who could kill who?” Eris demanded, his every word a threat.

“You’ll end just as your brothers if you do not step off of Spring without the female this very moment,” Tamlin demanded, his canines elongated, his claws fully retracted.

“Who is your High Lord, Elain?” Eris demanded.

“Beron Vanserra,” she said quickly, voice steady and clear.

“Which Court do you reside in?”

“Autumn Court.”

Eris held Elain’s wrist, pulling her to his side. “If Lucien’s gone, I’ll be returning her to her rightful home.”

Eris did not give Tamlin time to offer a rebuttal or attack. The winnowing blackness took them both, slamming them into the chill of Autumn and a scene she’d seen in her dreams. Just at the edge of the forest, surrounded by sentries in Autumn brow, was Beron Vanserra in his crown of gold. He smiled when he saw her, a smile that didn’t meet his eyes though was not the cruel, vicious smile that promised pain.

“Elain Archeron,” his voice beckoned. Eris put his hand on his back, that mask of cold amusement firmly in place. She willed herself not to shake, to stand with her spine straight, and face the High Lord who’d saved her from a painful, miserable death once. “I believe I told you to keep out of trouble.”

“I tried, High Lord,” she murmured, sweeping into a deep bow she held. She remembered how best to approach Beron—head bowed, voice soft.

Beron closed the distance between then and hooked his finger beneath her chin, drawing her up.

“I should have brought you to Autumn…you were human, then. You are lovely, as High Fae, though. Tell me…are you asking for my help again?”

“Yes, High Lord.”

Beron’s brown eyes sparkled with delight. “And what do you have for me, Elain?”
She inhaled softly, prepared to betray all of Spring, the friends she’d made, the people she’d loved. “Tamlin is helping the King of Hybern bring down the wall between us and the humans.”

Rage shocked through Beron’s features. Beside her, Eris went utterly stiff.

“What?” Beron whispered, his eyes sliding towards his eldest son.

“He has the Cauldron,” Elain continued. “It was how I was made. It’s…power is…was zapped but I suppose can be recharged and Hybern plans to take down the wall. Tamlin has been taking a delegation to all the weak spots to determine where they’ll bring it down.”

“I told you to leave Tamlin alive,” Beron reminded Eris, who nodded tightly to his father. “Did you disobey me?”

“No.”

Beron shook his head with disappointment before he turned to Elain. “The rules to living in Autumn have not changed. You will not lie or keep secrets from me. You will tell me everything you know…and you will not cause problems.”

“I understand,” she agreed easily.

Beron gestured for Elain to follow, into the dark brown structure she knew must be the Forest House.

“Welcome back, Elain Archeron.”

Chapter Text

Autumn Court functioned exactly as it had Under the Mountain, though Beron seemed happier and so did his sons. It was a strange duality, but the first time Conall smiled at Elain she almost had a heart attack. Elain wondered what it said about her that she’d slept well for the first time in weeks after Eris showed her to the room she’d be sleeping in, handed her a golden key that allowed her to lock her door from the inside, and then vanished into the massive labyrinth that was the Forest House. There was no Tamlin lurking in the shadows…only Beron, who she thought would leave her alone so long as she didn’t hide anything from him. She’d been open and forthcoming the next morning, answering every question he had while his sons stood just behind him, listening intently with hungry eyes. She held nothing back, told them everything, even betraying her status as Lucien’s mate in the process. It was risky; she saw how Eris cringed when she admitted it. Elain decided to tell Beron hoping it would convince him of her trustworthiness.

She couldn’t help the unease she felt when Beron glanced back at his sons, soft smile on his face, as Elain explained how precarious and volatile Spring was.

“Hybern is our most pressing concern,” Eris murmured as Beron waved Elain from his study. Elain was happy to go, if only to escape the crushing gaze of Beron Vanserra. As always, trying to find any slice of Lucien in the man always left her with a headache and an aching chest. Tanwen Vanserra, the fourth brother, jogged after her, lightly thumbing an axe slung across his chest. She glanced over at the silent man who’d fallen in stride with her. Like his brothers, Tanwen had the same shock of long, red hair and russet eyes his brothers had. She wondered if Beron had given anything to his sons, physically anyway, as she was all too aware of their reputation for cruelty.

“Want to see the garden?” Tanwen asked after a long minute of uncomfortable silence. She hesitated. Was he asking because he planned to kill her, or because he remembered their game of cards Under the Mountain? She’d played a lot of mindless games with Tanwen, Cadmus, and Conall when there was nothing to do but stare at the black slate walls.

“Sure,” she agreed, surprised he remembered that about her. She was surprised any of the Vanserra’s cared about her at all. Tanwen took control of their direction, veering sharply down a brown marble hall, up a flight of stairs that led them from being bathed in soft fae light to the bright sunlight of stained glass, and out…into the stables. Elain hesitated for a moment though Tawen walked over hay strewn wooden floors and into the crisp Autumn afternoon air. Tanwen paused, eyes sweeping the sentries in their brown and green uniforms. He offered up his elbow and Elain took it.

“There is no garden, is there?” She murmured as they walked.

“No garden,” Tanwen confirmed easily, his handsome face slipping into an easy smile. “But the grounds are lovely, don’t you think Lady Elain?”

He wasn’t wrong. Cloudless blue skies bathed a sea of reds, oranges, browns and greens beneath brilliant yellow sunlight. Elain was momentarily stunned; she’d seen the Autumn Woods once in the inky twilight of morning but to see the beauty of Lucien’s former home in broad daylight was entirely another.

“Yes,” she told him breathlessly. Tanwen took a few more steps, taking them out of earshot of the sentries.

“Lucien is in Autumn,” he told her conspiratorially. Elain frowned, reaching for the bond only to be greeted by more iron darkness. “With your sister.”

Why would Feyre and Lucien go to Autumn? There were too many things she didn’t know…but knowing that he was alive and with Feyre made Elain feel better. Elain glanced up at Tanwen, his gleaming smile feline in response. She merely shrugged.

“Eris is bringing him back,” Tanwen told her. “First time in centuries that Lucien will be in our Court as something other than Tamlin’s emissary.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, a chill running up her spine. It was Tanwen’s turn to shrug, glancing over his shoulder at the double axes slung casually, his way of threat.

“If they run straight,” Tanwen told her, pointing over the horizon, “They’d hit summer in half a days time.”

“And if they didn’t?” She asked breathlessly. Tanwen shrugged again.

“They’d be stupid to try and cross the mountains into Winter…but Lucien never was smart, now was he?” Tanwen turned and Elain came with him, looking over her shoulders at the unseeable Summer border she’d snubbed for Autumn. Had Tanwen meant to tell her just how close she was? Had he meant to show her the stables? That was the problem with the Autumn Court. Everything was veiled in thick shrouds of mist and shadow, impossible to penetrate.

Elain decided to wait and see if Eris was successful. He took Cadmus and Conall with him, leaving Elain with just Tanwen for company. Tanwen wasn’t interested in Elain but did seem very interested in a copper haired woman who was very obviously married. Elain spent two very amusing evenings pretending like she wasn’t openly watching Tanwen court disaster. She spent a third night very uncomfortably listening to Beron scream at Tanwen through a closed door while the Lady of the Autumn Court—Amera—pretended nothing strangw was occurring and absolutely destroyed Elain in several games of checkers.

It took Eris two more days to return, bloodied, filthy, and furious. “Illyrians,” he spat without ceremony, flinging open the throne room doors with Cadmus and Conall right at his heels. He’d clearly been stabbed in the stomach, judging by the dried blood stain on his muddy, white shirt. Beron gestured with one hand for his courtier to leave him and when Elain went to follow, Amera gripped her wrist and held her at the little table they were playing cards at.

“What do you mean, Illyrians?” Beron replied, sitting casually atop a brown marble dais in a golden throne.

“That fucking cunt called the Illyrians…they claim she is High Lady of the Night Court,” Eris stated, teeth bared in fury.

Amera’s russet eyes slid to Elain. Elain shrugged in response, just as surprised as the rest of them.

“And your brother?”

Eris snarled. “Gone, with the bitch.”

Beron looked to Elain. “He left his mate behind?”

“I don’t think he believed she was here,” Eris ground out without looking at Elain.

“And you…did you know—”

“No,” Elain breathed, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. “I swear, she never said…she only said she wanted to spy on Hybern.”

Beron nodded for a moment, brown eyes lost in thought. “Get out. All of you,” he added as an after thought. There was no debate. Every single person walked for the gold leaf doors, scattering to the wind. Elain caught up with Eris, who still burned with rage.

“This is not the time, Elain,” Eris snarled when she fell into step with him. “Your fucking bitch of a sister stabbed me.”

Elain didn’t bother asking what Eris had done to deserve such a gesture. She could guess he’d been himself, could assume he’d tried to drag her and Lucien back to Autumn.
“They made it to Night Court?” She asked. Eris rounded on her, grabbing her by the arms and slamming her into the wall behind her. “I’m sure they’re there right now realizing just how right I was when I said you came running to me and not those inbred bastards for help. Lucien’s probably crying as we speak wondering what’s become of his sweet little—”

Elain slapped him. “Don’t you dare make those insinuations,” she whispered, furious Eris, of all people, would suggest such a thing.

“There are far worse things than touching you without your permission, Elain,” Eris replied darkly. “And most of those things exist right outside your bedroom door.”

“Then let me go,” she replied, yanking out of his grip.

Eris laughed dryly. “I think not. Welcome to Autumn Court, sister. If you think Beron is about to release the sister of the High Lady, you’re fucking delusional. You’ll be lucky if he marries you off to Tanwen and calls it a fucking day.”

“What good would dragging them back here have done—”

“I could have gotten you out,” Eris breathed, his words rough. “You and Lucien, straight to Summer. Beron wouldn’t have given a single fuck if the two of you vanished, not if he had—”

“Me for Feyre?”

“You for Feyre,” Eris agreed without a hint of guilt. “The pair of you—” He cut himself off, as though he’d realized what he’d said, that he’d admitted he’d sell the rest of the world out for the people cared for. She could see him lid his feelings.

“It doesn’t matter now. Keep your head down and do exactly as your told.”

Eris strode away, back to the good, High Lords son he was but he’d given Elain what she needed. He’d planned to drag Feyre back to Autumn, to offer her up in exchange for the safety of his youngest brother…and her.

But Tanwen, too, had given Elain the means to her escape days before. Summer, just a half-days ride from Autumn if she could slip past the sentries and make it out. Elain walked back to her bedroom, bedecked in Autumn court browns and gold, a plan forming in her head.

Lucien had wanted her to go to Summer.

Elain would go to Summer.

Chapter Text

In retrospect, Lucien should have guessed Eris wasn’t lying about having Elain. Why make up something so easily disproven? At the time, half-frozen, starving and exhausted, Lucien had rationalized that Eris was trying to lure him back to the Forest House where any number of unknown horrors awaited. He’d rather have died in those mountains than gone home. Elain was in Summer, she knew the way, she had a map. He trusted that she’d understood what he meant when he’d sent her the order to run…but Elain was very much not in Summer and Lucien, now tainted by his association with Feyre, couldn’t have gone to get her even if she was.

He sent feelers to the other courts, hopeful she’d gone somewhere else but Winter, Dawn, and Day hadn’t seen her either. It meant that Elain was either still trapped in Spring and being subjected to the horrors of Tamlin or she’d gone to Autumn for reasons he couldn’t parse out and was being subjected to the horrors of Beron.

Neither scenario made him feel good. In truth, every moment since Feyre had invaded Ianthe’s mind had been a walking nightmare for Lucien. In one fell swoop he lost the one stable home he’d had, his mate, and his sense of peace. He was exhausted but couldn’t bring himself to sleep while he waited for the after effects of the fae bane to wane.

He wrote to Eris, well aware things had gone poorly on that frozen lake and that Eris had come too close to being executed by Cassian…and that Feyre stabbed him. Lucien decided to do what he and Eris had always done when they were young and he fucked up…and just ignore it and instead implore for Eris to let Elain go.

Eris’ response was swift and infuriating.

Lucien,

Get fucked.

Eris.

That letter set off a flurry of them from Eris the next morning, who seemed to enjoy taunting Lucien for not just coming back to Autumn. Lucien figured Eris had been punished brutally by Beron for his failure, and he was venting his frustration. Lucien flipped through them not for the first time, grinding his teeth as he read.

Tanwen is teaching Elain to throw axes. Hope he doesn’t miss.

If I had to choose, I’d have picked Elain and Cadmus but that’s just me.

Conall took Elain to the stables, you think they’re just looking at horses or…?

Fuck you Lucien.

Lucien threw the letters one by one into the fire, flexing his hands angrily in an attempt to hold on to his control. Elain was in Autumn but Elain had been in Autumn before and walked out and Lucien had faith she could do it again. He also knew Elain trusted Eris, shitty as he was and while Lucien wouldn’t have trusted Eris with a peanut butter sandwich, it was clear that whatever happened between Eris and Elain Under the Mountain had bonded them in some strange, unholy capacity.

Besides, Elain was probably having a good time running around with the younglings, most of whom were just the illegitimate children of his elder, fuck up brothers. He hoped she was bonding with his mother, if nothing else. He thought they’d like each other if Beron ever gave them the chance to really spend time together.

Which left Lucien to do fuck all in Night Court. After months of staring at her tattooed hand and privately reminding himself that mating bonds could not be broken, seeing her fall to the floor on sight of Rhysand was…something else. Something Lucien couldn’t stand, if he was being honest with himself. Feyre may have forgiven Rhys for how he treated her beneath the mountain but Lucien sure as fuck hadn’t.

So he tracked down Nesta, his old ally when he was stuck somewhere he didn’t want to be without the female he did want. He found her in Rhy’s massive, private library, curled up in a chair and staring blankly at a wall. Lucien hesitated. Nesta looked just as Elain had when she’d come back from Hybern. Unlike Elain, though…Lucien didn’t think he could hold Nesta until she was well. He turned to leave but she darted up, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t leave me,” she croaked, her eyes still glassy. It was as if she didn’t see him at all, like she saw something he couldn’t. “Please.”

Lucien nodded, gently putting Nesta back in her chair. He propped himself up on the arm, wondering what he should say. She’d been here by herself while Elain and Feyre were in Spring—

“Nesta, did something—”
“Hey Nes!” A booming voice shattered the silence. Nesta cringed as Cassian, the warrior who’d nearly killed Eris, sauntered in with a smirk on his face. He froze when he saw Lucien and Nesta. She reached for Lucien’s arm, gripping his flesh beneath freezing hands. Lucien looked over at Cassian, taking in Cassian’s casual form, unarmed as he clutched a hot mug of what smelled like coffee.

“Go away, Cassian,” Nesta told him dully. Pain flashed across the male’s face, so quick that Lucien might have missed it had he not been looking for any inkling he’d hurt Nesta. Lucien held out his hand for the mug. He knew that look of pain, of longing…of fear. He’d looked the same when Elain came back from Hybern.

Lucien inhaled deeply, ignoring how the porcelain cup burned his hand. Beneath the scent of coffee and soap was a different smell. Rich, tangy…the mixture of salt and something else…something he couldn’t place, not entirely but it hardly mattered. It was the scent of a mating bond. Not his own, the smell of which he knew like he the color of the sky.

It was Cassian’s turn to flinch beneath Lucien’s accusatory stare. Mates. Nesta had a mate in the form of the hulking Illyrian warrior in front of him. It would have been funny had Nesta not been so despondent beside him.

“Drink this,” Lucien told her, shoving the cup into her hands. Nesta scowled…but she took it, looping long fingers through the handle to take a sip. Cassian nodded, relief pouring through his expression.

“You ah…you got a second?” Cassian asked Lucien. Lucien looked back down at Nesta, who didn’t react at all before padding out of the library.

“How do you know her?” Cassian asked, closing the wooden double doors behind him. As if that prevented Nesta from overhearing if she wanted to. Lucien kept his words level, his tone polite. This was a male defending what was his and attempting, in his own way, to care for his mate. Lucien knew those feelings well.

“She was Under the Mountain…she helped me with my wounds.”

Cassian flexed his jaw at the reminded of what Nesta had gone through. “She…did they hurt her or…?”
“She was with Helion,” Lucien told Cassian, who relaxed instantly.

“Oh, thank the Cauldron,” he breathed to himself. Lucien bit back his own jealousy and resentment. Cassian could relax, could sleep easy knowing his mate had been cared for…and perhaps seduced, by the High Lord of Day while Lucien spent three months of torment knowing Beron has his female. He still wondered what Beron had done to her. Elain had never said, had refused to share either from misplaced loyalty or her desire to just forget the incident entirely. It haunted him, though.

“Has she been like this the entire time?” Lucien whispered, pulling Cassian away from the door.

“She uh…she doesn’t like being here,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And it didn’t help that Elain and Feyre were in Spring. She…she had some things to say about Tamlin.”

Lucien bet she did. She’d hated him from the jump. Lucien could see Nesta’s suffering was paining Cassian and wished he could offer sympathy or advice. He’d certainly done a poor job figuring out the mating bond in the early days…Lucien could distinctly recall yelling at Elain while she cried beneath a full moon in Tamlin’s garden. At least Cassian hadn’t done that…he hoped, anyway.

“Maybe you can convince her to eat,” Cassian added with a sigh. “She doesn’t like my company.”

Lucien doubted that very much. He’d seen how Nesta treated the people she hated, had watched her eviscerate Tamlin until the High Lord quaked in his boots anytime human Nesta stepped into a room.

“I can try,” he agreed, well aware that Cassian would do better if he kept trying. Lucien almost told Cassian that what Nesta needed was her mate but he got the very distinct feeling that the mating bond between them was not being acknowledged in any way. He could relate to that.

“I ah…I heard about Elain.”

It was Lucien’s turn to flinch. “She’s resourceful. She’ll get out.”

But Lucien wasn’t entirely sure about that. Lucien was starting to worry there would be a high price to getting Elain out of Beron’s Court.

One he would be expected to pay.

**

“It’s kind of like fire night,” Tanwen explained to Elain, walking her through the grounds of the Forest House preparing for Autumn’s holiest of holidays. Tanwen, unaware—she thought, anyway—was inadvertently helping her plan.

“Uh huh,” she replied, only half listening. Tonight was the only night Beron would be looking the other way, hopefully too drunk to notice if one measly woman slipped out of his notice. His sons, too, would be off looking for company to warm their beds and Elain would be, ideally, in Summer by the time they realized she was missing. She’d spent the last week carefully mapping her escape route down to the second, the trees marked with ribbons she’d been tying in her hair. She knew when the sentries shifted their watch, leaving a gap in which she could slip through, knew exactly how long she could be gone before Eris came looking, where she could hide a horse (which was currently tied far beyond Beron’s gaze, ideally munching on the apples strewn about), and the exact time it would take her to run from the Forest House, through the woods, and onto the horse.

From there, everything would be up to chance. She was already at a disadvantage in the heavy plum and silver gown she wore along with the circlet Lucien’s mother had lovingly set into her hair before crooning that Elain looked like a true Autumn princess. Maybe, she’d conceded though while Amera was daydreaming about Elain and her son coming back to Court to raise a family, Elain was daydreaming about Lucien in Summer.

Shirtless, ideally though she kept all of that firmly to herself. All she’d wanted was to accept the mating bond, settle down somewhere far away from Spring, and live a quiet life. It felt like she was asking too much. She sighed softly, coming back to the present. Tanwen, dressed like his brothers in well-fitted breaches and high collared coats, brushed a lazy strand of red hair from his russet eyes with a grin. A couple court ladies were huddled at the steps of the Forest House, giggling behind their hands as they watched him. Elain might have been annoyed at how everyone seemed to fall at the Vanserras men feet but…she’d seen Lucien naked. She understood though she didn’t want to know if any of the women currently giggling about Tanwen had ever seen Lucien as such.

“Anyway, I have a little gift for you,” Tanwen told her when they’d walked up the dark marble steps into the twisting halls of the Forest House. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim fae lights glimmering overhead. Like always, she reached out to touch the walls, twisted and gnarled to look like trees. Smooth, like everything else. It was merely an artists attempt to make them feel as though they lived inside a deep, foreboding forest instead of the sanitized court of Beron Vanserra.

“I don’t need a gift,” Elain murmured, terrified of whatever nightmare Tanwen was about to pull from his sack of horrors. Right on cue, Tanwen removed one of the axes swinging from his belt and shoved it into Elain’s hands.

“It’s light enough to throw but would still be useful if you needed to break open a males face…Try it out on Conall…let me know how you like it.”

“I said I don’t—” She called after him, holding his axe but Tanwen strolled away, hands in his pockets. Elain sighed. Was it a requirement of living in the Forest House to be an agent of chaos or was that just genetic, she grumbled to herself? If anyone thought her strange for walking through the Forest House carrying a throwing axe, they didn’t comment on it.

Not until the Samhuin ceremony was about to begin. Eris sidled up to her looking like the High Lord himself in his circlet of golden fire and his stiff, green jacket.

“Your mate has been inquiring into your well-being…again,” he murmured without taking his eyes off Beron. Beron walked down the steps of the Forest House draped in a heavy, black fur lined cape towards the forest itself where he would shift into beast and shadow. It honored those they’d lost, somehow though Elain wasn’t entirely sure as to the specifics. All she knew was after Beron finished, the night would turn into drunken revelry.

“I’m sure you eased his concerns,” she replied, well aware Eris was still furious with Lucien. She knew Beron had violently punished Eris for his failure in Winter. It wasn’t Lucien’s fault he didn’t want to return to a place that tried to kill him and it wasn’t his fault Beron was dangerous and violent. Elain wished Eris would put the blame for the stress he felt on Beron’s shoulders, not that she’d ever tell him that. Eris’ mercy and protection could end and she didn’t want to hasten that inevitability anytime soon.

“I’m sure he’s resting easy tonight knowing you are here with his older brothers.”

She hated how Eris constantly implied one of these days any one of the Vanserra sons might just take more than she was offering. They were chaotic and trended towards cruelty but with the exception of the night Beron had ordered Eris to assault her, not one had ever tried despite many, many opportunities to the contrary. It had been her fear one of Eris’ brothers might while she was Under the Mountain but now Elain suspected they’d all rather cut their own hands off than do more than taunt and poke.

“Do you have to do this tonight? There are a good twenty women looking at you right now,” she replied without taking her eyes off Beron Vanerra’s retreating back.

“What else is new,” was Eris’ cocky response. She rolled her eyes. “They bore me.”

“You could always use a mirror for the revel tonight,” she offered sweetly. Eris looked down sharply, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Sheath the claws baby kitten,” he muttered. They fell silent as the full moon emerged from behind inky clouds and Beron shifted dramatically into a thing of rot and death. Elain gasped, hand pressed over her mouth as she looked at the long snouted, fanged monster howling up at the sky. Eris smirked.

“We can’t be pretty all the time, you know,” he murmured.

“Lucien doesn’t look like that,” she hissed back. Eris chucked.

“No, I imagine he’s more golden…but ugly, just like the rest.”

“He’s not a beast at all,” she assured Eris, looking from the hulking, ginger-furred form of Beron.

“Of course he is. He’s the son of a High Lord, is he not?” Eris challenged.

“You’re telling me Tanwen has a beastly form?” She shot back. Eris smiled, glancing over at his younger brother whose hands were hidden beneath the cloak of the woman standing beside him.

“His is more…metaphorical.”

“Are you saying, then, that Lucien is a contender for High Lord?” She crossed her arms over her chest, well aware Lucien was not. Eris stared her down.

“Of course he is.”

“Liar,” Elain hissed. Eris was trying to get a rise out of her and even though she knew what he was doing, she was still playing his game. “If he was, you would have killed him.”

“So true, Elain,” Eris agreed absently, his eyes drifting across the crowd towards a brunette with large, green eyes…though Elain was certain Eris was staring at her heaving chest currently on display despite how cold the air around them was. “I trust you’ll piece it together one of these days…if you’ll excuse me…”

And just like that, Elain was alone. Beron shifted back and Elain turned quickly when she realized he was naked, ducking through the crowd as it began to disperse. Music began playing somewhere as people mingled. She could smell food, set up on the opposite end of her escape route and nearby, heard Cadmus’ booming laugh. No one saw her slip into the tree line. The sound of music covered her boots crunching over leaves as she ran, ripping the ribbons from the low hanging, skeletal branches silhouetted in the moonlight. If they were going to follow her, Elain would not make it easy.

She made it to her horse and the apple orchard without being spotted. She knew, without the revel, she had another ten minutes before someone clocked her absence and came looking. She added another ten for whichever brother looking to realize she wasn’t in the crowd, and five more to trek into the Forest House for her empty bedroom. Five again to find Eris and then twenty for a full sweep. It was the head start she needed. Eris would realize her plan the moment he was certain she hadn’t wandered off somewhere…and Eris had hounds. His dogs were the one thing that scared Elain because they weren’t regular dogs that ran fast and scented better than the Fae could. They were fast, faster than her horse, faster than her, faster than the fleetfooted God himself. If Eris unleashed them before she was far enough away that distance was a competing factor, he’d drag her back to Autumn and Elain would face the real wrath of Beron Vanserra for the first time.

She slid onto the saddle and took off on her stollen stallion, riding the horse as hard as she could without stopping. She’d run the rest of the way if she had to, but the first stretch had to be on horseback.

The moon waned in the sky, more purple than black, when she heard the roar shatter the silence around her, followed by the too-distant sound of snarling dogs. They weren’t close, she reminded herself, urging her horse on again. She’d stopped for a moment to let the animal rest but it was time to go. Her fae hearing betrayed her, made her think they were closer than they were, she reminded herself, though the thought was not comforting.

It was all she could hear. Eris and his hounds, the sound of galloping hooves and the pounding of her own heart. Early morning mist blanketed the leaf strewn landscape, making Autumn seem somehow colder and more ominous than it already was.

She saw the border to Summer the same time she heard Eris scream her name gutturally, with rage. She slid from the saddle of her horse, not intending to steal one of Beron’s horses across another Courts border just in case it gave him license to drag her back. There was a loud, ear splitting whistle and the sound of barking but she didn’t turn back as she ran, stepping across the invisible demarcation that turned dead, chilled straw into bouncy, dew-dropped grass.

Eris caught her a moment later, coming to Summer with her. They tumbled, a tangle of limbs, down one of the strawberry scented hills.

“Get off me!” Elain screamed, kicking him hard in the gut. “You can’t be here!”

“I can be wherever the fuck I want!” Eris snarled, his hand circling her wrist like a vice. “Get up.”

She’d gone utterly dead in his arms, making her difficult and unwieldly to just toss around. “Get up, Elain.”

“No!” She screamed, slamming her fist into his stomach again. Eris dropped her with an off and Elain took off again, running further into Summer. Even in the early morning, the heat, along with the combination of her heavy velvet gown, made moving impossibly hot. It didn’t help that Eris was bound and determined she would be going back.

“You’re coming,” he snarled, catching her around the waist while she squirmed furiously in his grip. “If I have to drag you screaming the whole way!”

“What about—”

“What about nothing!” He roared in response, dropping her at his feet as he drew his sword. “Did you imagine us best friends, Elain? Did you think deep down I was Lucien? That you could trust me because we shared a moment? That, sweet sister, was your mistake.”

Elain slid her hand beneath her gown for the dagger hidden against her thigh. Lucien would marry her on the spot if she told him she’d made Eris bleed with it.

“You saved me from Tamlin,” she reminded him, her voice shaky. Eris laughed darkly.

“Is that your barometer? I didn’t rape you, so I must be someone you can—” She jammed the dagger in his shin before he could finish. Eris howled with fury and on some level, she felt bad because she knew he was better than this, better than forcing her to go back to Autumn with him just because Beron ordered him to.

“ELAIN!” Eris snarled, catching up with her quickly. “You fucking stabbed me!”

She looked down at the dagger still clutched in her hands. Had Lucien known just how much use she would get from such a small weapon. She wished she hadn’t left her axe back at the Forest House. She could have scored easy points with Tanwen if she caught Eris in the face with it.

“Oh, did you think me trustworthy?” She shouted back, turning to face a staggering, bleeding Eris as he followed her deeper into rolling hills. “Did you think because we shared a moment we were best friends?”

Desperation skittered over his face. “Elain—”

“I KNOW!” She screamed back.  “I know it’s a mask but you wear it too well!”

It took her a minute to realize she was sending everything down the mating bond, which had been dark for so long she’d almost forgot how light it used to feel, reverberating in her chest. She didn’t take stock of that feather thrumming against her breast until she felt Lucien’s panic yank against her, so painfully she nearly dropped her weapon and fell to her knees.

Could he hear her? Or did he just get her emotion? Summer, I’m in Summer, she screamed, so loud she couldn’t hear anything around her.

Eris groaned a moment later, stopping in place. Elain backed into something hard. When she turned, she saw the young, handsome face of a High Lord she’d spied on once beneath the mountain. Tarquin stood, his pale eyes staring in open condemnation of Eris Vanserra.

“I could execute you for this,” Tarquin rumbled deeply. Beside him, a woman with white blonde hair withdrew her sword, mimicking the man to his left. All three had the same dark, bronzed skin, the same white blonde hair, the same blue eyes. “Both of you,” Tarquin added.

“I tried to warn you,” Eris gasped to Elain. “Your sister is wanted.”

Eris winnowed away, leaving Elain to face down the High Lord of Summer. He peered down at her, his expression unreadable. What had Feyre done to provoke the ire of Summer, she wondered absently.

What would they do to her now that she was in front of them?

Chapter Text

Elain skittered backwards, palms raised in defense. Was there anywhere in Prythian that was safe for her? She was close to an emotional breakdown, could feel tears burning hot in her throat as Tarquin looked down at her. What had Lucien told her to do, again? She wracked her brain for a moment while Tarquin exchanged a glance with his compatriots.

“Elain Archeron-”

Not Archeron. “Vanserra,” she said quickly, eyes sliding  to the beautiful woman. She saw her wince. “Lucien Vanserra’s mate.”

All three of them closed their eyes for a moment. 

“I just...I want to go home,” she whispered, hating how her voice broke. “Back to Lucien and whatever Feyre did...I had no part in that.”

“Tarquin,” the woman murmured, her voice a warning. He sighed.

“Back to Spring? I can return you-”

“No!” She half-screamed. All three froze again. “To Night.”

Tarquin’s face darkened noticeably. “Has Vanserra switched his loyalty?”
She didn’t know. She hadn’t seen him in what felt like eons. She shrugged. “That’s just...where he is.”
“There will be no returning to Night, and no one from Night is welcome in my Court,” Tarquin rumbled, his beautiful face scrunched, as though granting her sanctuary was physically painful to him. “You may stay out of respect for what Lucien has done in the past for Cressida...and you may leave whenever you wish. You are not my captive.”

Cressida was clearly the woman beside him. She beamed at Tarquin’s words, offering Elain a hand that Elain took with a little reluctance. She wasn’t a prisoner or bound by a High Lord that terrified her but she certainly couldn’t come and go as she pleased. Tarquin seemed to sense her hesitancy.

“The Lord of Winter will be here in two weeks time. Perhaps you might convince him to take you with him...though there is little love lost given what Rhysand did to the young of his court.”

Elain didn’t want to know what, exactly, Feyre’s lover had done that made him so vastly unpopular across the courts. She nodded instead. 

Cressida winnowed them to a breezy, open palace that overlooked the sea. Cerulean blues and sandy whites made the sunbleached palace seem more open than she suspected it was. Tarquin and the others melted away, leaving Cressida, in a gown of that same blue, to walk Elain across floors of cerulean swirled into white. She knew the marble didn’t move and yet when she looked at the swirling pattern, it was as though they’d managed to imbue the glittering ocean just outside into the floors.

“What did Feyre do?” Elain asked. Cressida’s smile slipped.

“Some questions are better left unasked,” the woman counseled. “But...she stole something of great value and she betrayed our Lord’s hospitality and kindness. She has yet to apologize for it, which would go a long way with Tarquin...Night Court has a reputation for unchecked arrogance so I suppose in that regard, she fits right in.”

Elain didn’t argue Cressida’s point, though she didn’t know that she thought Feyre was arrogant. Misguided, maybe but not arrogant. If Feyre took something, she likely believed in the rightness of her actions though Elain though Cressida’s point of apology wasn’t wrong, either. 

She held her other questions, curious as to what Lucien had done to earn Elain’s safety despite her sister’s actions. If Feyre was the black cloud that seemed to follow Elain from court to court, then Lucien was blue skies keeping her dry. She planned to ask in the future, maybe when Tarquin and his close confidants knew they could trust her. Elain had no intention of betraying the Summer Court and regretted that she’d had to betray Autumn. Beron would not forgive her hasty departure and neither would Eris. 

Cressida left Elain alone in a large bedroom with floor to ceiling walls overlooking the sea. Elain sat on the edge of a bed draped in white and gold to stare out at the frothy surf racing towards the glittering sand.. She could hear the sound of laughter, though the view she had of the white sand and the waves rolling up to meet it was empty. Somewhere, though, children were chasing waves and building little sand castles. She wanted to be part of their joy. It had been too long since she’d lived close to the ocean and Elain missed the sight of it desperately. 

She sat in place, watching the sea for longer than she should have. Something old was seeping back to the surface, mingled with the tang of desperation. Sometimes she felt her sadness could swallow her whole, would take her without anyone really noticing she was gone at all. If she kept her smile plastered to her face, would anyone look beyond?

A soft tug against her ribs brought her back. He could feel her again. She’d forgotten, having been cut off for what felt like months. His tug was an answer to her question, a lifeline in the dark.

I care.

Come back to me,

The path was just as unclear as it had been in Autumn, though she didn’t worry Tarquin would behead her out of boredom. He seemed honorable, considering he’d allowed the sister of his enemy to stay in his palace out of respect to Cressida and whatever Lucien had done for her. Two weeks, he’d said, and then the High Lord of Winter would arrive. Winter was closer than Night, and perhaps Lucien would be welcome there. 

If he wasn’t...then Elain would figure something else out. If she had to go to Dawn and Day to get to Lucien, she’d go to Dawn and Day. She’d go back to the mortal lands, she’d take a boat, she’d even hike the distance between Winter and Night if that was what her options boiled down to.

And as she did...she could help him. With Spring no longer a viable candidate for places they could live, and Autumn well out of the question, maybe even after Beron died given that she’d stabbed Eris, she could poke around in the other courts, build allies...find them a home. 

She changed out of her Autumn garb, leaving the heavy, beautiful dress folded neatly onto a nearby chair. She wanted to keep the things she acquired even if the fashion didn’t work outside of the court borders. Autumn’s aesthetic was lovely with its rich hues of purples, reds and gold and the thick fabric everything was made from.

Summer was the opposite. Her dress, pinned with a lovely silver broach over one shoulder, was made of the thinnest, silkiest material. The gown gathered at her waist, defining her torso before pooling to her feet like water spun to thread. Cressida’s hair had fallen down her back and Elain, deferred to Cressida, looking to the beautiful woman to guide her on style. 

Elain wandered the shell-flecked halls, wondering if Tarquin’s palace wasn’t just a childs sandcastle brought to life. Not that she planned to ask him, not when her position felt so precarious.

It was Tarquin she found first, staring out a window with a gold and emerald jeweled crown in his hand. Tarquin was young, she knew both from just looking at him and from the stories she’d heard. It certainly didn’t show on his face; when he turned to look at her with his turquoise eyes, she saw the weight of too many hard decisions looking back. She wondered if he thought her young. 

“Elain Archeron,” he murmured, gesturing for her to walk beside him. She fell into step, despite his long legs. “You look lovely.”

So did he. “Thank you,” she replied, admiring his matching emerald pants and sleeveless tunic, breezy for the heat and lovely beneath the blazing sun overhead. 

“What happened to Spring?” Tarquin asked her, catching her by surprise. Elain nearly tripped over her dress. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, breathless for information regarding Spring. Tarquin was assessing her, trying to determine if she was a liar. 

“It’s not every day that an entire court flees a Lord. There is a rumor that you begged Eris Vanserra, of all people, for safety. I cannot think of anyone who would beg any of the Vanserra’s for sanctuary unless the alternative was truly heinous.”

“It was,” she whispered, hating how she flinched beneath the memories. The movement did not escape Tarquin’s notice. 

“There are a lot of rumors about you, Elain Archeron...about your time in Spring...Under the Mountain...but I confess the only one I’m truly curious about is the one swirling around how a human woman was made into a Fae?”

Elain tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know there were any rumors.”

Tarquins steps slowed. “Many,” his deep voice rumbled. “And for all your sisters' thefts, it didn’t seem she did a very good job preventing your fate.”

“What did she take?” Elain asked him. Tarquin stopped dead in his tracks.

“Something she had no right to...something she might have asked for, might have made Summer her ally rather than her enemy. She and her... mate, I believe? They demand unquestioning loyalty, unwavering support but offer none in return. They are too comfortable letting the rest of Prythian burn in the wake of their secrets only to turn around and become angry that we do not fawn at their brilliance.”

His words were bitter but Elain did not stop him from speaking. Some small part of her agreed with him. Her and Nesta had not been told the full scope of what her and Rhysand’s court meant to do with the half of the book the mortal queens possessed and they’d been repaid for that ignorance with the cauldron. Elain paused.

“You had the other half of the book.” It wasn’t a statement. 

“How well she and her ilk utilized it,’ Tarquin commented with an eyeroll. “I am half-tempted to demand the return of it in exchange for your person.”

“I don’t think it would work,” Elain confessed with the tiniest of smiles. Tarquin stared for a moment and then smiled too, the embodiment of summer itself. There was something so warm, so disarming about him that, despite his admission he’d considered holding her hostage, she still liked him.

“I suspect you’re right, Elain Vanserra.” He was teasing her. She smiled a little wider, ignoring how her heart fluttered at the sound of her name paired with Lucien’s. “Will you tell me the story of how you were made?”

“Will you trust me if I do?” She replied. He offered her another assessing look, though his smile was still playful.

“Lucien Vanserra’s mate, is what they call you. How apt a question for such a female. Tell me what befell you and I will consider offering you my trust.”

She smiled, offering him her hand. “It’s a deal.”

**

The bond was back and Lucien reveled in the sensation, turning the cord over in his chest, plucking at it like a harp string. He wished Elain would too but save for a few moments of her unguarded thoughts tunnelling down, she gave him very little to work with. Still, he knew she was well. Cressieda had written, assuring him of Elain’s safety and how they were enjoying her company. Tarquin, especially, had become fond of Elain in the week since his arrival and Lucien didn’t blame him. Elain could be quite charming when she wanted to be.

He tried not to worry too much about what it meant for her and the High Lord of Summer to strike up a friendship. Tarquin was young and progressive and Elain felt more comfortable among the lesser Fae. Had he caught her running about with his servants? Was she building little sand castles on the beach with toddling summerlings or splashing in warm pools of sapphire colored water while the children paddled about? 

It was Feyre who kept him from meeting her in Summer. He was tainted by his association with her, with his association of the Night Court. No one trusted Rhysand after his performance Under the Mountain and though Lucien had been given some drivel as to why it was necessary, he didn’t blame the other courts at all from wanting to keep him far, far away from their borders.

Elain planned to leave Summer for Winter with Kalias and Viviane. Lucien appealed to Viviane instead of Kalias, as he had a better relationship with Winter’s Lady. After the slaughter of their younglings, Tamlin had sent him with aid for their Court. He assured Viviane he was not working on behalf of the Night Court and had no intention of doing so...which made him adrift not for the first time. 

Not that it mattered. The answer had been absolutely not. Not after his escape with Feyre and certainly not after how Night Court sent soldiers into their borders without consulting Kalias first. It was seen as a gross overstep in a long line of abuses Rhys seemed comfortable perpetrating. Elain was welcome to stay in Winter’s Court, but Lucien was not...at least, not while he resided in Rhysand’s. 

He was in a predicament. Elain couldn’t bounce from court to court forever. Eventually someone would say no, or she’d wind up back in Autumn or Spring. No one was going to allow Night into their sanctuary, not after the affair Under the Mountain and certainly not after how Rhys and Feyre betrayed Tarquin. He needed to go to another court to offer his employ and Dawn was the better prospect.

The problem was the eldest Archeron. Nesta was a shell, hardly alive for anyone but Cassian seemed to notice. Her trauma was eating away at her. Lucien would never understand why, but Nesta would take food if it came from his hands. She ignored Cassian’s requests to eat and no one else tried very hard. Feyre occasionally came upstairs to plead with Nesta but Nesta only stared, either at her books or the wall or the window. 

Leaving Nesta felt tantamount to killing her. Part of him wanted to take her with him, and to do that he’d need both to risk the wrath of not just Rhys and Feyre, but his general, Cassian, too. He’d also have to forego his plans in Dawn and ask Helion to stay in Day. If Nesta was coming with him, he could have the decency to at least take her to people who were familiar...who had once kept her safe. 

He was running two different scenarios at the same time, planning out each one meticulously. It was possible, when he broached the subject with Nesta, she told him to get fucked. He wouldn’t force her to come with him no matter how badly he thought a change of scenery might do her some good. It was clear she was miserable, and clearer still no one cared much about it. Nesta was heading for a breakdown of epic proportions.

Thesan had given him permission to join his court with what felt like a thousand stipulations. He wanted information, more information than Lucien was prepared to give. Some secrets were better off as such and showing too much of his hand left him at a disadvantage. 

Helion was trickier. He wanted Nesta back and viewed her as a member of his Court...but he was not so keen on Lucien. Though he hadn’t said it, Lucien got the sense that Helion very much did not want one of Beron’s sons in his Court, no matter how thoroughly removed Lucien was from Beron and his politics. 

Elain going to Autumn instead of Summer had complicated his relationship with Day. Helion agreed Elain could seek protection in his Court, and half demanded Lucien bring him Nesta, but wanted nothing to do with Autumn, with the messiness of Spring and most definitely with Night. He’d only relented when Lucien wrote a rather snarky letter back, insinuating he might take Nesta to Dawn instead where Thesan could be quite charming when he wanted to be.

Lucien approached Nesta in the library, ignoring how skeletal she was becoming. He knelt beside her, taking a cold hand in his own. 

“Nes,” he murmured. She turned to look at him with dull, unemotional eyes. “Come to see Helion with me.”

She turned her face. “I don’t want to see Helion.”

Lucien sighed softly. “The sunlight will do you some good.”

“I hate bright light.”

What didn’t Nesta hate?

“Fine. Stay here,” he replied, rising to his feet. It was a last ditch attempt, and manipulative to boot but he didn’t care. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

She whipped her head around to look at him, her expression of stone crumpling into fear. “You’re leaving?”

“In the morning,” he agreed, watching her carefully. 

“For how long?”

“Until I have Elain,” he replied easily. 

“Elain would hate it here...she did hate it, the one time we visited before…” She winced at the memory. “She’ll want to stay with Helion.”

He shrugged. It would certainly make his life a lot easier if Elain didn’t want to come back to Night. 

“If you leave...I’ll be alone,” she whispered, the sound of fear coating her words. 

“You have Cassian,” he reminded her gently. Her mate surely was better than the antagonistic friendship he and her possessed.

She shook her head. “I don’t want Cassian.”

Lucien was tempted to unpack that statement with her. She didn’t want a mate? She didn’t want the only male that genuinely cared about her? He suspected there was something else simmering beneath her anger, something Lucien was not equipped to help her with. 

“Come with me, Nesta,” he urged, offering her his hand. “I’ll look out for you and so will Helion. He sees you as a member of his own court, you know. You made an impression.”

She snorted, but the barest hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. 

“What if I don’t want to stay?”

“Then don’t,” he replied. “Come back when you’re ready. You’re not a prisoner-”

“I feel like one,” she admitted, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Is...is Elain taking everything well?”

Yes and no, he thought. She was pretending nothing had changed which wasn’t the same, but she’d also asked to make the mating bond permanent. 

“She’s trying,” he hedged. Nesta’s face became blank again and Lucien thought he’d lost her. He almost knelt again, almost begged her to come with him.

She turned. “Cassian will try and kill you.”

“He can get in line,” Lucien dismissed, offering Nesta his hand. Nesta accepted and Lucien led her through the halls of the House of Wind, catching Cassian’s eyes as he went.

“She’s asked to walk the city,” Lucien lied smoothly before Nesta could get them caught. 

“Do you want company?” He asked eagerly. Nesta’s expression went flat.

“No.”

“Will you take us down?” Lucien requested with some guilt. How shitty was he to steal a males mate and trick him into helping Lucien do it? He buried the feeling when Cassian nodded.

“This is good,” he murmured with some excitement before hoisting Nesta into his arms. Lucien only nodded, watching Cassian vanish into the clouds. He waited with a touch of impatience. Every moment Nesta was alone with Cassian was a moment he might uncover their sneaky plot.

Cassian returned, his hazel eyes shining. “I can’t wait to hear how today goes. You’ll tell me everything, won’t you?”

Lucien vowed he’d send Cassian a letter. “Absolutely.”

It was awkward, like always, to be carried in Cassian’s arms. He never knew where to put his face. Lucien didn’t like the height, but burying his head in Cassian’s chest always made him feel awkward. If he kept his face tilted, they were forced to make prolonged eye contact.

By the time Lucien figured it out, his feet were on the ground beside a too-thin, exhausted Nesta.

“See you two around,” Cassian said with a wink. Lucien nodded and waited until Cassian vanished back into the sky.

“When-”

“Now.”

He winnowed before she could change her mind, slamming into the biggest city of Day: Rhodes. 

“Ready?” He asked her, looking towards the hilltop palace Helion was allowing them to stay. Nesta’s pale cheeks flushed beneath the bright, hot sun.

“Ready.”

Chapter Text

Nesta vanished inside the palace nearly the moment she’d stepped inside and Lucien hadn’t seen her since. It was just as well- he was in a sea of shit. Nesta’s disappearance had not gone unnoticed and to say Cassian was furious would have been an understatement. Rhy seemed more amused than anything. Lucien assured the High Lord Nesta had gone willingly and promised to bring her back the first minute she asked. To his surprise, both Feyre and Rhys were generally fine with her absence. He supposed no one cared what happened to difficult, practically catatonic Nesta if it absolved them of the responsibility of dealing with her.

Lucien had asked Rhys to assure him that Cassian wasn’t going to come charging in and demand her back. Nesta didn’t want the mating bond and more importantly, deserved the chance to come to terms with being Fae before she had a mate shoved down her throat.

That letter had been noticeably left unanswered, which Lucien supposed was its own answer. Cassian might come and if he did, Lucien had no cause to keep Nesta. He’d pin his hopes on the elusive Helion Spell-Cleaver, who had begrudgingly offered him sanctuary in exchange for Nesta. Lucien hadn’t met the High Lord since his arrival two days prior, which suited him just fine. If the High Lord didn’t want anything from him, he could waste his time trying to get Elain back.

Tarquin was not receptive to the idea which irked Lucien endlessly. He stared at the latest letter from the young High Lord of Summer that detailed why Tarquin thought Elain should remain in his court, and  she’d made no indication to the contrary that she wanted to leave at all. That he believed. He was willing to bet she was playing them like a fiddle, and had the entirety of his court wrapped around her finger.

Lucien missed her. He wanted to see her, wanted to touch her again. He had half a mind to go marching into Summer himself and just get her, but given how much trouble Feyre and Rhys had caused in Summer, he wasn’t sure that was the best course of action. He knew Kallias planned to meet with Tarquin and Lucien hoped Elain might bounce into Winter Court, where Lucien could meet her. 

Nesta reappeared on her third day in a pretty, spaghetti strapped white dress and her long hair, so usually tightly bound, half undone around her shoulders. She was still painfully thin, still looked too haunted to be believably happy, but there was color on her cheeks and a smattering of freckles on her shoulders. 

“Helion has a pool,” Nesta told him almost shyly and he wondered what Helion had possibly done to chip at her icy exterior. “Do you want to swim?”

He nodded though he didn’t, not really. What he wanted was her sister but barring that, he had promised to help Nesta heal and to that end, he found himself walking along sunbaked tile, bare feet burning against the heat, clad in nothing but a loose pair of dark shorts. Generally he would have preferred to swim naked but he didn’t want to give Nesta an aneurysm and the Archeron’s were still very, very modest despite being made. 

Nesta was waiting in a bright green floaty holding a sweating glass of liquid against her bare stomach. Lucien waded into the temperate water, bracing himself against the edge of the floatation. Nesta squealed when water flooded in and half-heartedly kicked him away, for all the good it did. Lucien held fast, drawing his legs up to paddle them around the gigantic rectangle that overlooked the actual ocean.

“We could have gone to the beach,” he reminded her, wondering if she liked the ocean as much as her younger sister. Judging by how her nose scrunched, he didn’t think so. 

“I don’t like salt water,” she sniffed, as if the pool beneath them wasn’t also a salt water pool. Still, Lucien said nothing because at least Nesta was talking, was participating in life again. 

“Tell me about it,” she asked when they reached the golden edge of the pool. It was so deep here even Lucien’s long legs could not skim the blue and white tiled bottom. He kicked gently off the edge, floating them back across again.

“About what?” He questioned.

“The mating bond. What is it like?” She asked. He wondered if she couldn’t feel it as strongly as he and Elain did and what that meant for Nesta and Cassian. 

“Do you feel it?” He asked.

“Like a whisper,” she replied, her free hand brushing across her exposed rib cage. “Like a noose.”

He nodded, fear spearing his chest. Did Elain feel like that, too? He swallowed his nerves. “In Prythian, females decide about the mating bond.”

It was Nesta’s turn to offer up her fear. “What do you mean...females-” she blanched at the term, like Elain so often did- “decide?”

“Ah...in some places, a fem-a woman belongs to the man she is mated to the moment the bond is connected. That was outlawed across Prythian, though not all courts abide by it...Night does, though...Day, too.”

Nesta draped her hair over the edge of her floaty, letting the tips soak up clear pool water. “And if I didn’t want it?”

Lucien flinched beneath the weight of the question. Every part of him rebelled at answering, to betray another male in such a fashion. He swallowed, reminding himself that Elain had promised to accept it when they were together again. Perhaps in Day, surrounded by her sister. 

“You could reject the bond,” he admitted to her. Nesta’s eyes became sharp, almost clear for the first time since he’d left her beneath the mountain.

“How?” She asked him breathlessly. Lucien shrugged, helpless in that regard.

“It’s rumor only. I have never heard of anyone who actually did.”

For good reason. Lucien was told it drove males mad and females experienced no small amount of pain, too. “Helion would know, with all his libraries and scholars.”

Nesta snorted. “Yes, I’ve met his scholars. I was expecting...not the woman he sent me.”

Lucien would unpack that statement later. “Ask Helion, then. I’m sure he would consider it a personal favor but Nesta…”

Their eyes met and he knew she understood his hesitation. The mating bond was everything to a male in Prythian. It was rare, cherished, sacred.

“He is your other half...your match...an equal in every way.”

“And if I choose differently?” She asked Lucien frostily with a flash of temper. Never let it be said that Lucien hadn’t tried. He was sure Cassian wouldn’t agree, but Lucien intended to at least make Nesta understand the gravity of the new culture she’d been thrust into before she made a choice.

“Just...take some time to think about it. You don’t have to decide anything today.”

“I didn’t realize you liked Cassian so much,” she bit, her tone very much implying that perhaps Lucien could be mated to Cassian. Lucien masked his concern with amusement. It was an old game between them, one that had always blurred the boundaries between enemies and friends.

“Perhaps I do. Or maybe you’re looking for something to pin your anger to and Cassian is a conviennent target.”

Nesta scowled and Lucien braced himself for her rage. “Elain should have married the human.”

OOF. Lucien swallowed his urge to tell her to go fuck himself, in part because he knew Elain had been bound to him from the moment they met, and there was no fucking way she’d have married a human.

Not with the way he’d been fucking her, anyway.

“Maybe,” he agreed, daring Nesta to try again. “That hardly changes what’s happening here. Now,” he added.

Nesta opened her mouth, helplessness flashing over her features before she slammed the lid of her emotions shut. She needed time and space and people who could give her room to scream and throw and break. She needed to be able to figure out who she was now without the expectations of a soul mate breathing down her neck. 

“I don’t want to be Fae,” she whispered, so soft her words were nearly lost to the wind. Lucien reached between them and took her hand, unable to say anything comforting at all. There were no words that could undo what had been stolen from her, what she’d lost. What his kind had thoughtlessly taken from her  in a war she’d never meant to participate in. 

He stayed, instead, floating her from one of the pool to the other in silence. 

Two friends and nothing more. 

**

Elain had to admit she liked summer almost as much as she liked Tarquin. Had she never met Lucien or there’d been no mating bond, she suspected she could love him, too. Tarquin was kind in a way that seemed counter to Fae's nature, and progressive in all the ways she appreciated. She saw the lesser Fae, a remnant of her time as a human, in Spring Court but Tarquin saw them too. He wanted to elevate them, make them equals and Elain wanted to stay and help. It was why she rebuffed Kallias when he came, well aware she’d privately delighted Tarquin when she agreed to stay.

Outwardly, he claimed he kept her as a debt for her sister's betrayal but Elain was not Feyre. Tarquin could trust her...and she thought perhaps he did trust her. It was odd to be part of a functioning court with a High Lord who seemed passionate about the work he did and the people he served. 

The only problem was her prolonged absence from Lucien. It was the longest they’d been separated since she’d gone back to the mortal lands and the mating bond chafed. Beyond that, Lucien made her happy and she loved him more than she loved anything, including herself.

He couldn’t come to Summer, according to Tarquin, who she suspected was deeply grateful for the excuse to bar the youngest Vanserra from his court. Lucien had, depending on who was asked, had taken (or kidnapped) Nesta to Day Court. Elain was well aware that it was almost impossible to force Nesta to do something she didn’t want to, and if Lucien had truly taken her against her will she would have fought him until he was nothing but bones scattered to the wind.

Nesta wanted to go to Day Court. Elain suspected Helion had something to do with it; to hear Nesta speak of him was to hear her discuss the kindness of a friend, of someone who saw her not as cold and cruel but cunning and intelligent. 

She also trusted Lucien, which made him a good choice to accompany Nesta. Still, Elain felt little pangs of jealousy when she went to an empty bed yet again, thinking of her sister and Lucien chumming it up in Helion’s court.  

She woke one morning to Tarquin waiting just outside her door, his expression grave. She liked him better when he was laughing or smiling though she said nothing at all. They fell into step, walking towards the steps that would lead to breakfast.

“You were in Hybern,” he began, his words delicate. Elain hoped she hid her cringe well. “How ah...what was it-”

“It was bad,” she told him gently. “Why are you asking me?” Why now, she wanted to add.

“Your sister and her mate want to meet with all the High Lords to discuss Hybern. She owes me a blood debt and I am trying to decide how I’d like to respond.”

Fair, she thought privately. “Have things gotten worse?”

“They certainly aren’t getting better,” Tarquin offered darkly. “Spring is our neighbor, I…”

Summer and Autumn were easy targets, given both were still bloody and bruised from Amarantha. Elain  kept her head down though she knew, without needing a preamble, what was coming next. 

“All this for one female,” Tarquin mused. “Do you think your sister or Tamlin will make amends for the lives we will surely lose?”

Elain knew better than to argue, knew better than to try and change Tarquin’s mind about Feyre. Even if he agreed to the meeting of High Lords, even if he took back his rubies and allowed Feyre and Rhys safe passage back into Summer, he would always dislike them both. She suspected Tarquin felt burned from the deception, how naive he’d been in the face of the much older High Lord and the humiliation he felt in being tricked. Feyre had done a little too much flirting, had made Tarquin think she was interested and even Elain could not deny the cruelty of Feyre’s actions. 

“You should go,” Elain told him, putting a hand on his warm, bare forearm. “Hear what’s being said.”

“I don’t want to be bullied into more war,” Tarquin grumbled, stopping suddenly to look at her. “My people are tired.”

“And if war is inevitable?” She questioned. “Or, worse, unavoidable? Wouldn’t it be better to go with allies?”

Tarquin rubbed his eyes. “I never wanted to be High Lord, you know.”

It sounded like no one did, save for the worst of the worst. Elain wondered absently if Beron had wanted to be High Lord or if it, too, had been thrust upon him. That was a question she’d never ask, even if she had the opportunity. The less she knew about Beron, and the less he thought of her, the better. 

“This meeting is being held in Helion’s Court,” Tarquin added with an arched brow. Elain’s stomach soared at the news.

“Can I go?” She asked him, her hope pinging through her rapidly. Tarquin sighed.

“Helion won’t give you back,” he lamented softly. 

“Am I to be your prisoner forever, then?” She questioned. He offered her a wry smile.

“You were never my prisoner, Elain Archeron. Only my friend.”

“And I always will be,” she promised. “No matter which Court I end up in.”

“Well...perhaps consider Summer, when it’s all said and done.” Tarquin smiled so sweetly and Elain wondered if he might be the kind of High Lord who didn’t fight his battles with steel and ash. Maybe Tarquin would be on the of the newer High Lords who ushered in a new age in Prythian, one that offered a different path forward than the one they’d all walked so far.

“You’ll go ahead of me to Day. I know you’re hoping to see Lucien Vanserra and I don’t want to stand in the way of love but I am also hoping I can trust you to be my eyes and ears before I arrive? Just...let me know the general mood and keep any surprises from being thrust upon me?”

“Of course,” she agreed, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “You saved me from Autumn, you’ve given me your home...this is the very least of what I could do in return.”

Tarquin’s smile was dazzling. “Your kindness is, as always, overwhelming Elain.”

Elain couldn’t resist hugging Tarquin, who was receptive to the gesture, however human it might have been. She didn’t care. Of all the courts she’d been to, his was her favorite. She couldn’t imagine liking Winter, Dawn, or Day half as much as she liked Summer. Tarquin was warm and kind and fair and Elain wanted him to like the Archeron name. She could undo Feyre’s damage, she promised herself, skipping off to the beach to play with the younglings. 

True to his word, Tarquin winnowed Elain to the gates of Helion’s shining, glimmering city. Much like Summer, Rhodes was hot and the architecture seemed designed to offset that much as possible, given the domed, white and blue painted buildings. At the very top of the hill was Helion’s glittering sandstone palace overlooking the brilliant ocean beyond. Everything about Rhodes seemed to exist in service of the brilliant yellow sun overhead. 

She wondered absently, climbing up cobble-stone streets, if it wouldn’t have been better to put her in Night Court and see what Rhys and Feyre had planned. She was grateful Tarquin hadn’t asked, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she might learn. Elain cared about Tarquin but more importantly, she was desperate to see Lucien again. 

Elain took a deep breath just outside the palace, her stomach jumpy and then stepped inside.

Right back to her mate. 

Chapter Text

Elain made it just inside when something exploded into her vision. It was a memory except it wasn’t. It was visceral, almost painful, and vivid in it’s recall. Summer, she was looking at Summer she thought with a gasp, able to still feel the cool marble of the Day Court palace beneath her hands. 

“It’s burning,” she gasped out loud, the feel of warm hands on her arms. “Burning, burning, Summer is burning-” She could see dark armored soldiers sweeping through summer with curved steel blades, cutting a path of blood and flesh though Adriata. She could hear screaming, could smell the acrid smoke left in the soldiers' wake. “Summer is burning-”

Hands yanked and the memory slipped, replaced by amber eyes and onyx hair. A golden crown of glittering sunlight betrayed him as High Lord of Day, Helion Spell-Cleaver. “Summer,” she told him, reaching for his muscled arms, desperate to get a message back to Tarquin. “I have to tell Tarquin, have to warn him-”

“Elain Archeron, what is going on?” Helion asked, his eyes searching her face as though he could see beyond her flesh. Elain paused, some of her urgency slipping into concern. What had just happened? 

“I…” She trailed off because she didn’t know. She’d never had anything like that happen to her in her life. “Will you warn Tarquin?”

“That...Summer is burning?” Helion hedged, clearly suspicious.

“That Summer will be invaded,” she breathed, hoping her expression conveyed the depth of her certainty. “Please...I...I know it will happen.” 

Helion nodded, carefully pulling her back to her feet. “I will send word now, courtesy of Elain Archeron.”

Elain sighed softly but Helion wasn’t done. “Has that happened before?”
“No. Just this once.”

 “And...you were made, were you not? In the same Cauldron as your sister?”
She hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Yes.”

“If it happens again, will you inform me? I may do some research, if you don’t mind?”

She shrugged. Now that it was over, Elain didn’t really care what Helion did. She nodded, smoothing out her turquoise skirt. 

“Your sister is by the pool. I’ll take you to her,” Helion said, still watching her from the corner of his eye. He offered Elain his arm which she took almost greedily, her excitement peaking in her chest. She hadn’t seen Nesta since they’d been in Hybern. She knew Lucien had brought her to Day with him but the circumstances in which he’d had to make that choice had never really crossed her mind.

Nesta lay on a pink inflatable raft beneath a wide, white brimmed hat reading a book. She peered over the pages when Helion’s sandals clacked on the wet tile, announcing his arrival. Her face went slack when she saw Elain and immediately began paddling towards the ladder. Elain froze, stunned at the sight of her sister’s pale, emaciated frame.

“What happened to her?” She gasped, more to herself than to Helion.

“She’s gained quite a bit of weight,” Helion murmured in response, his handsome face darkening with anger. He turned, leaving Elain and Nesta to their reunion. Nesta grappled for Elain, crushing her with surprising strength into a hug. 

“You look tan,” was the first thing Nesta said, her words thick with restrained tears. Elain felt sick; Nesta was practically bone in her grasp. How had anyone let her get so bad? Had Feyre known? 

“What happened to you?” Elain asked, unable to conceal her terror. She cupped her elder sister's face, searching those blue-gray eyes. “You look…”

Nesta’s joy at seeing Elain vanished abruptly, hidden behind the mask she wore. 

“Hybern happened,” she said dully, pulling her face from Elain’s grasp. Elain’s guilt washed through her as Nesta continued. “You don’t think about it?”

She did...and she didn’t. Life had moved at a non-stop pace that Elain hadn’t had time to really consider everything that happened. She’d been so consumed with staying safe in Spring and then Autumn and Summer that she’d never really been able to sit down and think about Hybern. Maybe that was for the best, given how haunted Nesta seemed.

“Sometimes,” Elain admitted, taking a step backwards when Nesta suddenly surged towards her. 

“Really? You’re fine?” Nesta demanded, taking two more stalking steps. Something seemed to blaze in her eyes, something cold and made of smoke. “After all the screaming and begging you’re the normal one and I’m fucked up?”

That stung, Elain thought, her foot nearly slipping off the edge of the patio and into Helion’s pool. She gasped a little, arms swinging to keep herself balanced. 

“No I’m not fine, Nesta,” Elain breathed, fear creeping into her stomach. She tugged on the mating bond, nervous Nesta would send her careening into the pool behind them to prove a point. Elain wasn’t ready to be submerged in water and had managed  to avoid it entirely up until that moment. “I haven’t had a chance to breathe, let alone think about what happened. We’re together now, okay? I’m here, we’ll get through this together.”

Nesta shook her head, anger replaced by anguish. “Elain I...what if…”

“You’re not,” Elain insisted to her sister. “You’re not broken, Nesta.”

Nesta inhaled sharply and backed away, letting Elain skitter away from the edge, far from the glimmering, shadowed edge. 

“Tell me about the mating bond,” Nesta said quickly, as though she thought they might be overheard. “What does it feel like for you?”
“Like a cord,” Elain replied, rubbing along her ribcage. Nesta, too, rubbed her own. Nesta’s face fell.

“How do you stand it?”

“I…” Her voice trailed off as Lucien rounded the corner and appeared at the far edge of the pool. Time slowed as she looked, drinking in his tan skin and red hair tumbling over his sleeveless silver tunic. Lucien froze, staring at her with an open mouth for a moment before he strode towards her and yanked her roughly into his body. She felt frantic as she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder as he lifted her off her feet. 

“You’re back,” he murmured, his fingers digging into her skin. Was she crying? It took her a moment  to realize she was. Over his shoulder, Elain could see her elder sister watching with openly curious eyes, free of malice or mocking. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nesta promised, side-stepping the pair of them before Elain could protest. Lucien didn’t seem to notice at all. She wanted to ask Lucien what had happened from someone who was on the outside and might  be less biased, but his lips slanted over hers and everything that had happened since she arrived, Helion, the vision, Nesta- it all just melted away.

Melted into Lucien.

**

Lucien’s body hadn’t forgotten Elain- how she felt, the way she moved, the taste of her. Instinctually, Lucien met each little gasp with deft fingers, met her hips when they ground against his own, swept his tongue through her mouth, licking her own. Emotionally, though, he was raw and felt almost untested. He’d gotten her into his room and no further. He couldn’t stand the thought of another second apart. He peeled her out of the beautiful turquoise dress that betrayed Summer fashion. Off, off, off, he thought wildly, shredding her underthings and reveling in the sound of ripped seams and her mewling protests. He had her pinned between his body and the white wall trimmed in Day Court yellow, her pretty, freckled body a work of art all her own. 

“The bed, Lucien,” she gasped as his mouth trailed down her jaw. He chuckled darkly, palming her breasts as he sank to his knees before her. 

“Later,” he promised, hooking one of her legs over his shoulders. He used one hand to hold her by the hip, keeping her from toppling over and the other to knead the tender flesh of her thigh. He wanted to taste her, to eat until she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, until her legs trembled around his face. Then, and only then, he thought, would he take her to the bed and fuck her like an animal. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he breathed a moment before burying his face between her thighs. She squealed overhead, the sound reverberating through his twitching cock rubbing painfully against the fabric of his trousers. She hadn’t changed; she was still sweet, practically decadent on his tongue. It was the distance that made him feel as though this were his first time licking her. He felt like a young male with his first female, almost quick off the mark and eager to please. He was eager, and if he came too fast, he’d fuck her again, and again, and again, until they were both raw and exhausted without a drop of fluid left between them. 

Elain moaned loudly overhead, her fingers gathering up his hair as he licked broad circles over her clit, ignoring her entrance altogether. She’d have his cock or nothing at all. Her hips tried to urge him down, to slide his tongue into her, to fuck her with his mouth but Lucien stayed where he was, working her into a frenzy before pulling away and letting her come back down with near sobbing frustration.

“Lucien please,” she begged overhead, her legs trembling as he licked her up towards the peak he knew she so desperately wanted to fall from. “Please, please-”

And Lucien never had been good at denying her what she wanted. The leg draped over his shoulder tightened, her hips bucking wildly until she screamed, her wetness covering his face as she came. Lucien didn’t stop, even when her hands scrambled into his hair and tried to tug. She was keening, her words high pitched as she spoke his name, half plea, half prayer. 

Again, his mind demanded of the swollen, sensitive bud. She did, not even a minute later, twisting desperately to try and escape him. He let her go long enough to pull the buttons from his pants. He’d meant to fling her over his shoulder and drag her to the bed but Elain was on her knees, shoving him to his back and yanking his pants off his hips, over his legs and into the pile of clothes that contained her dress. She crawled up him, licking the broad side of his shaft once with a wicked look before straightening. She hovered over him, her pretty, pink cunt gliding over the head of his twitching, aching cock.

“Take off the shirt, Lucien,” she demanded, her voice a little raw from screaming. She crouched back when he surged forward, nearly plunging himself into her in the process. She was crafty, his little fox. He smiled, yanking the tunic over his head and adding it to their growing pile of nearby clothes. She pushed him back to the white and gold rug beneath them, her fingernails digging into his flesh. She rubbed her slick cunt against him, a tease of what she’d feel like once he was buried inside her.

It was his turn to beg. “Elain, please-” He choked on his words when she slid down him quickly, seating him in her body with one fluid stroke. She seemed tighter, somehow, though still familiar to him the way home always was. He knew this place by virtue of loving her. He might have held himself there forever were he not already on edge and desperate for release. There would be time to make love to her later, to draw things out and have her the way she deserved. 

In that moment, all she got was the feral animal he so often devolved into the moment he was in her presence. He reached for her hips just as she rolled forward, her long hair tickling his stomach. Heat bloomed  in his belly and pleasure pooled in his tightening sac. She was still quivering from his mouth, twitching around his hard, hot cock. He needed more of her than the soft like undulations she wanted to give him. Lucien thrust upwards, nearly coming at the sight of her dark, lust stained eyes and her breasts bouncing in time with his cock. He needed more of her, needed to fuck her harder, needed her to scream until she was hoarse and boneless, a puddle alongside him.

He needed her to admit she’d been just as bereft without him. He was tired of being parted, of the distance that the world seemed so obsessed with forcing them to maintain. They were at their best when they were together and they always had been. 

“More,” she pleaded, her walls fluttering around him. She needed more, he thought wildly, nearly snapping his teeth at her words. She maintained the pace above him, sliding up and down like a vice on his cock, covering him with proof of her desire, head thrown back with pleasure.

He let his thumb circle her soaking clit, still bright red from his earlier ministrations. She squirmed, her rhythm erratic, when he touched the little bud. 

“Come for me,” he growled, mere seconds away from coming himself. She did, either by virtue of a mating bond that demanded she yield to his demands or his own closeness. He felt her squeeze around him as she slid back down, heard her scream and Lucien’s whole body exploded in white hot pleasure. He grabbed her, holding her over top of him as he pumped himself as deep as he could get into her body.

She collapsed on top of  his chest, sweaty and panting. “Again,” she whispered into his skin, nipping along the skin of his neck. 

“Impatient, insatiable thing,” he teased, his own breath ragged. 

“I missed you,” she told him, leaning over him, his cock still very much inside her, to kiss him. She sighed sweetly against his face. Lucien wrapped his arms around her body.

“I love you,” he told her, wishing he could convey how he felt better. Those words didn’t seem enough, they seemed like too little and yet that was all he had. She smiled, fingers stroking his face.

She opened her mouth to reply when her eyes suddenly clouded over. Her body went rigid, sliding off him to the floor. Lucien caught her before her head could hit the marble. She trembled in his grasp, her skin ice cold and stock still. It was as though every muscle in her body had become taut all at once. 

“Elain,” he shook her softly, terrified at what he saw. Why did her eyes look like that? What had happened to her while she’d been away from him? Someone had hurt her, but who? Was it Tamlin? Beron? One of his brothers? Lucien was going to be sick as he scrambled up off the floor, Elain in his arms, and walked her to the bed. 

“She’s crying, crying,” Elain told him, her voice strangely devoid of emotion. “Everyone thinks she’s dead...crying.”

“Elain,” Lucien begged desperately, terrified at the milky blue that covered her eyes. “Elain, sweetheart, look at me.”

“She’s not dead...only changed, like me. Changed. Different, as I was.”

Lucien shook her again, bringing his flame to the surface of his hands, not to burn her, but to shock her back to reality. As he did, he raced down the bond desperately, trying to figure out what was wrong. Fog greeted him, thick and impossible to penetrate though it didn’t matter. A moment later Elain blinked, the soft, fawn colored brown back. Lucien clutched her painfully to his chest as she gulped down air.

“I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.”

“Elain, it was a dream-” Lucien blanched but Elain continued.

“It was angry...angry something was taken. So it took something from them as punishment.”

“Elain,” Lucien begged again, his desperation apparent. 

“She needs help,” Elain whispered before her voice broke. “Lucien...what’s wrong with me?”

He stroked her hair, his stomach churning.

He didn’t know. 

Chapter Text

Elain couldn’t remember the last time she slept. She was terrified to close her eyes, or what she might see if she did. She was consumed with images that didn’t belong to her. She’d begged Lucien not to tell anyone though she knew it was eating at him. He was bearing the brunt of whatever was happening and she could see it was taking a toll. Lucien, so typically laid back and well dressed, seemed exhausted and unkempt. She wasn’t sleeping but neither was he and when he did, it took nothing but the barest of touches to wake him.
The only positive was Nesta, who had barreled in the moment Lucien told her and hadn’t left since. Nesta’s looming presence was bad for Elain’s sex life but good for Nesta, who seemed to have found purpose in taking care of someone. Nesta had begun eating and reading again and Elain hated that she hoped they never figured out what was wrong, so long as Nesta continued her upward climb. 

The downside was Feyre and Rhys and their looming High Lords meeting. Lucien had vanished for a bit, off on some errand for a friend in the Day Court and when he returned he was quieter than before. Almost moody and Elain worried Feyre and Rhys had said something to him regarding Nesta. 

“You need to see Helion,” Nesta practically growled when another vision of the screaming woman invaded her senses and took her to the ground. When she came back, both Lucien and Nesta were crouched in front of her with twin looks of fear gazing back. “He’s the High Lord of libraries, he’ll know what this is..”

That was the problem, though. Elain wasn’t sure anything could fix it. The Cauldron had promised to give her something and Elain was beginning to suspect this was what she’d been given. Visions of the past or future, she couldn’t tell but she knew there was something inside her that didn’t belong. Something that hadn’t existed before.

“No, no Helion,” Elain gasped, still desperate to squash whatever this was. Too Fae, her mind screamed. This is too fae. She’d been doing a good job pretending everything was normal and acknowledging...whatever was happening was like a clanging bell reminding her that she wasn’t human at all. 

Lucien sighed with exasperation but Nesta assessed with those cool, gray eyes that told Elain Nesta knew exactly why she didn’t want Helion to know. “Maybe he can stop it,” Nesta murmured.

Lucien turned to look at the pair of them sharply.

“Did you ask him to…?” To make you human again?

“He said it wasn’t possible,” Nesta replied flatly, some of the color vacating her skin. “Feyre’s friend Amren did, too.”

Elain exhaled a shaky breath, looking over at a frozen Lucien. She knew this was a best case scenario for him, despite the circumstances in which it happened. He’d been agonizing over her death and now he didn’t have to. They both felt the mating bond now. There was a real future between them now...and Elain wanted it...but she didn’t want to be Faerie. She hadn’t admitted that to Lucien, unable to hurt him but Elain wanted life to go back to the way it was before she was shoved into that Cauldron and looking at Nesta, she knew it never would. 

She could feel Lucien peering into the bond, looking for an answer only to withdraw sharply as though he’d been burned. She opened her mouth to tell him he shouldn’t look if he didn’t want his feelings hurt but she was too tired. Nesta offered Elain a hand, pulling her to her feet. 

“C’mon. Helion can help. I’ll take you to him.”

Nesta shot Lucien a furtive look. He walked to Elain, pressed his lips to her forehead, and offered her the saddest smile she’d ever seen. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. Elain caught his hand, reveling in the warmth  of his skin.

“Love you,” she murmured. That was always true. He offered her a pained smile and let her go, dragged by the wrist through the stunning marble halls of Helion’s palace. Nesta seemed to know exactly where Helion was and for one wild moment, Elain wondered if the Cauldron hadn’t gotten it wrong and it was Helion and Nesta were mates. She barged into his private room like she’d been there before and the High Lord turned to look at her.

He smiled and Elain froze.

“No,” she whispered, her heart pounding in her chest. Nesta went stock still beside her. 

“No?” Helion, still grinning, looked the pair of them up and down. Nesta dug her nails into Elain’s skin as a warning.

Shut. Up. 

The High Lord, with his broad bare chest and gleaming, dark skin, seemed to glow like he’d swallowed sunlight. Muscular, thick thighs were half hidden beneath a leather pteruges, his feet encased in golden sandals. There was a snake cuff on one of his powerful biceps and golden cuffs around each of his wrists. He was absurdly handsome in a too-familiar way. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before but seeing Helion smile, watching him saunter towards her with his nose, his jaw, his cheekbones…

Lucien. She was staring at Lucien’s body, the same thick thighs, the same broad shoulders, the way they walked, the way their hair fell around their shoulders. Nesta’s fingernails practically drew blood. 

“Helion,” Nesta said, her voice smooth. “We need help.”

“Anything for you,” Helion agreed, brushing his knuckles over Nesta’s cheek. It was so overtly affectionate and despite how Nesta scowled, Elain saw warmth bloom on her sister's cheeks. Nesta had been with Helion Under the Mountain...did she know? Did Helion know? How did Lucien not know, given he was literally in Helion’s court? 

“It’s for Elain,” Nesta interrupted. “She’s seeing things.”

The smile faded from Helion’s face, his amber eyes focusing intently on her. “Ah yes, I believe about the Summer Court.”

“Is Tarquin okay?” Elain asked quickly, hoping Helion would say yes. He grimaced, gesturing for Elain to take a seat in a white chair positioned to the side of his fireplace. 

“Summer was attacked by Hybern,” he told her, dragging a chair from across the room to sit across from her and Nesta. Elain’s stomach dropped. “What else have you been seeing?”

“Nonsense,” Nesta said quickly. Helion’s expression shifted. He crossed one leg over the other, his arms draped over the back of his chair and Elain flinched, unable to see anything but Lucien in Spring, sitting in Tamlin’s drawing room in the exact same position as he stared her down. 

“Tell me,” he instructed and Elain shivered at the richness in his voice. Deep, just like Lucien. There was something comforting about Helion, knowing he and Lucien shared a face. She’d always told Lucien everything, even when she hadn’t liked him. Why not Helion, too? Helion closed his eyes halfway through Elain’s description and she knew without asking Helion understood what was happening.

“You’re a Seer,” he said, exhaling a breath. “So strange...Seer’s are typically confined to Day Court.”

She was going to vomit. What were the odds a Seer, whose powers typically belonged to Helion’s Court, would belong to the mate of what she suspected was the heir of Day Court? Her whole life was a big, cosmic joke. 

“I don’t want to be a Seer,” she told Helion flatly. He chuckled, Lucien’s laugh, and Elain stood abruptly. Nesta looked at her, alarmed. 

“No one wants to be a Seer,” Helion told her, for all it mattered.

“Undo it,” Elain demanded. Helion’s expression darkened.

“Undo magic the Cauldron gave you? I would sooner cut off my own hands.”

She spun on her heel and stormed out, Nesta right behind her. Nesta caught her halfway back to the room she shared with Lucien.

“Did you know?” Elain demanded before Nesta could say a word to her. “Say you didn’t.”

Nesta’s cheeks inflamed. “Of course I knew. I saw it Under the Mountain.”

“How could you keep this secret?” Elain asked, furious with the world and the unfairness of it all. “He cares about you.”

“Because I saw his fucking mother,” Nesta hissed, dragging Elain behind a pillar. “What the fuck do you think Beron would do if he ever found out his wife had an affair, hm? That woman was one breeze from blowing into dust. Whatever happened between her and Helion doesn’t need to be dredged back up-”

“You let him bring you here!” Elain shrieked. “You let him bring you to Day Court. How could you, Nesta?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it then,” Nesta admitted. “Helion hates the Vanserra’s...doesn’t want anything to do with Lucien...I just thought…”

Elain flinched. Both of Lucien’s fathers hated him. “I can’t keep this secret.”

“You’re playing with forces bigger than us,” Nesta warned but Elain wasn’t listening. She flung open the bedroom door where Lucien was waiting, a hand in his long, red hair.

“Well?” He asked. 

“She’s a Seer,” Nesta said quickly. Lucien turned fully to Elain and began to cross the room for her.

“Helion is your father,” Elain added, unable to keep her thoughts contained a moment later. Lucien faltered.

“What?”

Chapter Text

Elain blinked. “Helion is your father,” she repeated, as though those words made any sense strung together. He frowned and turned to Nesta. 

“What happened in that meeting?” He asked, unable to make sense of Elain in that moment. 

“Nothing interesting,” she replied with a sigh. Elain grabbed her elder sister's arm and held her in place.

“Tell him,” she demanded. “I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were,” Nesta snapped before turning back to Lucien. “I uh...you never noticed?”

“Noticed what, exactly?” He asked, his heart beginning to race. He couldn’t remember ever really looking at the High Lord and certainly not long enough to notice any familial relation. “He told you?”
“It’s really obvious,” Elain whispered, dropping her sisters hand to walk to him. “You two have the same face.”

Lucien couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stay, didn’t want to stay and see what the pair of them claimed was so obvious anyone could see it. If Elain and Nesta knew from appearances alone...did that mean Beron would, too? No, he consoled himself. No, if Beron knew both he and his mother would have died long before. 

Only...only hadn’t Beron tried before? After Jesminda, when Lucien renounced his claim to the throne hadn’t his father declared open season on his life? And hadn’t Tanwen once claimed he was the cage that held their mother? He hadn’t understood it...but what if Beron kept them both to keep his pride in tact.

“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice rich with authority he didn’t feel. Nesta scowled and Elain gaped but Lucien would not stay anywhere that might endanger his mother. He wouldn’t say a word to Helion, wouldn’t look at him. He’d claim plausible deniability until he couldn’t for a moment longer. 

“Leaving?” Elain asked, walking towards him. “Don’t you want to meet-”

“No,” he cut her off. “Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Pack up your things. Both of you.”

“You can’t make me go back,” Nesta grumbled.

“You can come back with me or you can wait for Cassian to drag you back,” Lucien replied. It was enough to send Nesta out of the room silently. Elain had only just arrived and he felt more than a little bad forcing her right back out. One day he’d settle them both somewhere far, far away from the bullshit that seemed unending. 

“Lucien,” she whispered, holding his face in her hands. “How can you leave?”

“Would you condemn your mother to die just to have a father?” He replied, running a thumb over her lips. Seer. That’s what Nesta had said. A cauldron blessed Seer. They ought to be focused on her and her magic, not him and his life. 

“How would he know?” She asked but Lucien didn’t trust Helion to keep the secret...assuming he didn’t just already know. After all, Helion had never liked him. Perhaps he’d wanted nothing to do with a female that  wasn’t willing to leave her marriage and, to that end, her bastard child, too. Maybe he and Beron had some kind of arrangement. Lucien was more than willing to villainize Helion if it kept Beron’s eyes looking elsewhere. He very much doubted his father wanted Lucien’s parentage to be the subject  of gossip. 

They left without a word of goodbye. Even Nesta didn’t argue when Lucien walked them out and winnowed them back to Night. Lucien hadn’t considered, in his bid to escape, what might be waiting for him when he returned to the House of Wind. It turned out Cassian and Azriel were, the pair just happening upon them the moment the three arrived. 

“Lucien,” Nesta, unaware that Cassian was just behind her. “Helion said I could stay. Please.”

Lucien saw how Cassian flinched even as he came closer, his siphons flashing his anger. 

“You’re a son of a bitch,” Cassian interrupted Nesta’s pleas a moment before his fist connected with Lucien’s face. Pain erupted behind his eyes though for a moment all he heard was the crunch of bone and the rush of blood.Elain screamed and Nesta snarled, shoving Cassian away from Lucien even as Azriel reached for his brother's arms.  “I helped you!”

“I wanted to leave, Cassian!” Nesta yelled, hands still firm on his chest as Elain fussed over Lucien’s bleeding face. 

“Without saying a word?” Cassian demanded, some of his hurt leaching into his voice. Nesta scowled. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” she hissed. Azriel and Cassian both flinched at her words. Even Lucien, who was in an immense amount of pain thanks to Cassian’s fist, felt a little bad given Nesta’s open rejection. It didn’t matter. A moment later Rhys and Feyre were standing in front of the five of them with anxious eyes.

“You’re back,” Feyre breathed, reaching for a bloodied Elain. Rhys stared at Cassian, communicating something wordlessly that made Cassian take flight without a look back. Rhys turned to Lucien, his nose already healing despite the blood that coated over his face. “Everything well in Day?”

Lucien wondered if Rhys didn’t know, too. He merely shrugged. “Elain is a Seer,” he said instead, reaching out his hand for his mate. Elain glanced at Lucien, letting him pull her back towards his body. Rhys’ eyebrows shot skyward and Lucien knew the High Lord was wondering how he could use that knowledge to his advantage. 

Lucien merely sighed. He felt bone tired and out of his depth. He was juggling too much, trying to keep everything from collapsing in on itself. 

“I’m here to help with this war,” he told Rhys. “And Elain will need help, too.”

Elain squeezed his hand. At least they were together.

**

Elain stared open-mouthed at Lucien. “What do you mean, leaving?” They’d just reunited and now he planned to go track down some foreign army that might not even exist? Based on rumors and one vision? “I’m coming with you.”

“No,” he said firmly, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re safer here. I’ll move faster on my own.”

Ouch, she thought. Realistically she knew he was right but Elain was tired of being separated. “Please, Lucien. I can help.” 

This was Feyre and Rhysand's fault. Elain just knew it. They’d whisked him away the second he got home for some secretive meeting Elain had been left out of. She hadn’t cared at the time, exhausted and frustrated as she was. But Feyre returned, wanting to know about the visions and Rhys had stood in the doorway, talking silently with Feyre in that way that threatened to drive Elain insane.

Just say what you’re thinking, she wanted to scream. Now she knew. Lucien would run off, chasing some hidden place with people who very clearly did not want to be found and Elain…she’d wait. Like she always did. Resentment bloomed in her throat. 

His fingers drummed on his arm. “Hey. When this is all over I swear I won’t leave you again.”

As if that meant anything to her. Who knew how long this would even take? What if he was searching for years? What if he died and this was the last time she ever saw him? What if-

“I can feel your thoughts,” he told her, wincing slightly. “Neither of us will die.”

“You don’t know that,” she murmured. 

“Feyre will never agree and you know it. Besides...Nesta needs you here. She’s still struggling with...everything.”

Elain wanted to scream at him though she swallowed the urge. Who wasn’t? Nesta wasn’t the only one shoved in that Cauldron, wasn’t the only one with powers she didn’t know how to control. Elain felt like she hadn’t had a moment to think or breathe, let alone just wallow in her own trauma. 

She felt selfish for thinking it at all. She had Lucien, someone she trusted before she’d ever felt the mating bond and Nesta had...her. While Cassian might have been fond of Nesta before, might have felt the pull like Lucien had, Nesta had not liked anything faerie and had been wary of Cassian at best.

Chained to a man she didn’t want...to a life she didn’t want. Elain sighed, conceding defeat. “This is the last time I want to tell you goodbye,” she told him. Lucien loosened his arms and she walked towards him, letting him envelop her in a hug. 

“Me too,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “Promise you won’t do anything reckless.”

She scoffed into his chest, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent. “Me?”

“Yes you,” he replied, walking her back towards the bed. “I don’t want to come home and find out you decided to become a war hero.”

“I find that highly unlikely,” she promised, pressing her lips to his neck. 

“Mm,” he hummed in response, his fingers reaching for the laces of her dress. Did he even remember what he’d been talking about? She started to push away his hands but Lucien kept up.

“Give me something to remember you by,” he teased, deftly undoing them and pushing her dress down her shoulders.

“Don’t you have a whole year’s worth of memories?” She demanded. Lucien reached towards her hair and pulled out the comb that kept her curls out of her face. 

“They’re fuzzy. I barely remember what you look like undressed.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she chided, standing before him in just her underthings. “Is it just me undressing?”

Lucien smirked, all traces of his apprehension gone. “Can’t resist looking at my perfect form one last time?”

She reached for her dress with an eye roll but Lucien caught her, tossing her to the bed. It was with an excruciating slowness he undid his clothes until he stood before her, gleaming like a bronzed god, every inch of him hardened muscle. 

“I changed my mind. Take me with you,” she said breathlessly as he crawled up the bed. Lucien chuckled. 

“You’re not bored of me?” He asked her, settling on his back and pulling her onto his chest. 

“Should I be?” She asked, running her nails up and down his stomach. 

Lucien seemed to consider that for a moment, his eyes locked on her breasts, freed from the shift she wore. They were both naked, both aroused and yet she made no move to do more than straddle him, her fingers drawing idle patterns on his skin. 

“I keep thinking about your sister,” he confessed after a moment, rubbing one of her arms. “And how trapped she feels with a mate. Do you?”

“No,” she said instantly. Lucien was the only thing that made sense in her new life and new body. “If I had to have a mate, I’m glad it was you.”

His smile was warm. “I wish I could go back in time and tell the female who once told me she was digging my grave that one day she’d beg me to fuck her.”

“You’re a real prick sometimes,” Elain chided. “I might still dig you one.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” he replied, running his hands over her thighs. She shivered beneath his touch. “Do you really want to accept the bond?”

She’d almost forgotten. Elain bit her bottom lip, wondering if he’d forego marriage because the mating bond was enough. She still wanted all the same things she’d wanted as a human. She wanted a husband and a family and she wanted it the way humans got those things. Did she have to give up everything to this new life? 

He took her hand. “I’ll give you everything you want,” he promised, sitting up so she was positioned squarely in his lap, his erection pressed against her stomach. “Tell me what you want. Marriage? Done. A house? Anywhere in the world. Anything, Elain…”

“It means that much?” She asked, her eyes pinging between the flame smoldering in his russet colored eye and the mechanical, golden one that clicked softly as he watched her.

“It means everything. You mean everything and you always have,” he swore, his lips pressing against her so sweetly she melted into the touch. 

“Promise?” She asked when their lips parted, nuzzling his nose softly.

“Promise,” he agreed. “When I return, I’ll show you exactly what I mean.”

“Don’t go,” she asked again, even as she lifted herself up on her knees and Lucien repositioned his erection. 

“What kind of coward would I be if I stayed?” He breathed, mouth inches from her own. 

“I don’t care about that,” she told him, sliding slowly down the length of him. “We’re always saying goodbye.”

Lucien groaned in response, rocking his hips. She shoved him back to the bed, digging her nails into his skin. “I promised to make you my wife once. I intend to uphold that.”

It was the most arousing thing he could have said to her. She moaned softly in response, letting her hair fall around her face. 

“We’ll live by the ocean,” he continued, his words thick with his own desire. Need was uncoiling slowly in her belly as she worked over him, grinding her clit into his hips as she rolled her own. Lucien’s hands ghosted over the curve of her ass and up the sides over her body before palming her breasts, playing absently with her nipples. The sensation was electric, urging her to move faster and drag herself over that proverbial edge. 

Still, there was a sadness to her release even when Lucien shot back up, still buried within her, to crush her against his chest. 

“One last goodbye,” he swore, his breath hot on her neck. “And then never again.”

Elain nodded, aware there was no use arguing with him. She just had to hope they’d both come through the impending war alive and in one piece. 

She wasn’t convinced they both would. 

Chapter Text

Elain should have known, when Lucien left to track down some hidden, potentially fake army, that she’d be drafted to participate, too. Unlike Lucien, who was at least given a choice, Elain was not. Not a true choice and not one either her or Nesta would have made in better circumstances. Made by the Cauldron, Elain and Nesta were weapons that could be utilized and, in the end, they’d agreed with very little cajoling. If either Rhys or Feyre knew of Elain’s resentment, they kept their mouths shut about it. 

Nesta coped the way she always had: lashing out at anyone and everyone. When Devlon, one of the Illyrians, accused Nesta of being a witch she merely barred her teeth at him and agreed which seemed to annoy Cassian more than anyone. Elain thought Nesta truly enjoyed making him squirm, in trying to see just how far she could push him. Cassian took everything, though at times he could match Nesta’s cruelty in a way that made Elain want to slap shame into him. Nesta was a traumatized woman and Cassian had five hundred years on her. Elain saw how Rhys looked the other way, how Feyre flinched yet said nothing, how Mor’s pretty lips would twitch with amusement whenever Cassian gave Nesta as good as she got. She didn’t need Feyre’s mind reading ability to know they all thought Nesta deserved to be humbled, that her lack of care for Feyre as children and her cold, iron will now meant she ought to be broken down. 

Elain resented that, too. She resented how Feyre’s new family acted as though they were somehow the authority on the lives all three of them had led when they were children but  most of all, she hated how five hundred years were made equal to not even a quarter of a century of life. Nesta was twenty two and Cassian five hundred. 

She complained about it to Azriel, who at least listened. “Why can’t he be the bigger person?” She’d asked one night, her blue cloak wrapped tight around her body. She thought of Lucien, who’d seen her at her miserable and worst and had never told her he hated her, had never insulted her. Sure, he’d yelled back but any time Elain ever got too lost in the darkness, he’d always been waiting with a patient hand to pull her back out.

“Why should he have to be?” Azriel replied, looking up at the inky sky overhead. As if her question were silly and the request itself, that a man older than four generations of Elain’s family, offer her traumatized sister the barest hint of compassion, absurd. “Maybe Nesta should watch what she says.”

Elain looked up at Azriel sharply, taking in his beautiful, chiseled face through narrowed eyes. “And Cassian? He’s allowed to say whatever cruel thing he likes if she started it?”

Azriel crossed his arms over his leather clad chest as he surveyed her. “Seems fair to me.”

Cassian walked out of the tent, his face betraying he’d heard everything. He mirrored his brother's stance, daring her to challenge the two of them. As if she hadn’t stared down Beron himself and lied to the High Lord’s face. 

“This is why she prefers Helion and Day, to you and Night,” Elain murmured, aware her words punctured the armor that masked Cassian’s feelings so well.  “And if you can’t find a way to offer her grace after what we went through in that Cauldron…you’ll deserve everything you get when this is all over.”

Cassian’s tanned face paled. He surged forward for Elain’s arm, stopping her. “What did happen?”

Elain looked up at the pair of winged warriors and told them something she hadn’t even told Lucien. “We died in there…and it was slow.”

Cassian let go of her arm as though she’d burned him and Elain vanished back into her tent where Nesta was curled, eyes open. When she saw Elain come in she raised an arm and Elain joined her in the bed wordlessly.

Thank you, she felt Nesta’s embrace say. Elain squeezed her elder sister’s hand, the only your welcome she would offer.

Elain knew, though Cassian did not, that every time he charged into battle, Nesta came out to watch, her eyes following him even when Elain lost sight or could no longer stomach the brutality. She said nothing after each battle, retreating before he caught her but Elain knew, guessed, even what Nesta could not yet admit. It wasn’t love, not really but it could be, with a little care and patience. Nesta worried for him, her unwanted mate perhaps not as unwanted as she’d led the rest of them to believe.
Cassian, it seemed, took nothing of what Elain said to heart even when Nesta betrayed some of her feelings when he was injured.

“You’re hurt?” Nesta had asked as Mor bandaged one of his wrists.

“Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta stormed away and Elain tried to catch Cassian’s eye but it was Azriel who looked back with a grimace, as if he finally understood what she’d meant that night when she asked Cassian to be the bigger person. Nesta had tried, and Cassian had rebuffed her to soothe his wounded pride. Why couldn’t Azriel have been Nesta’s mate, she wondered despondently. She thought the shadow singer could have matched Nesta’s silent rage, could have weathered Nesta’s storm without needing to make her feel so bad. 

It was Mor, though, that Azriel wanted just as sure as it was Nesta that Cassian wanted. Perhaps it was all a roll of the dice when it came to mates. She could have asked why Cassian when almost anyone seemed better, even as she recognized something matched between the two. Cassian, just like her sister, offered her an apologetic kiss on the cheek later that night. “I’ll try harder,” he promised just as Nesta had done when Elain chided her over her treatment of their father. Elain nodded, well aware Cassian’s temper and sense of justice would always win out any duty to be kind or put his pride aside. 

Elain and Nesta helped with the wounded, alongside Feyre and Mor. Elain found it kept her thoughts of Lucien at bay and prevented her from catastrophizing. He was alive and unharmed, given the bond still humming in her chest. She wished he was with her, that he could explain why the battles were fought the way they were or, barring that, she wished she could see him day in and day out the way Feyre saw Rhys. Elain did as she was asked, constantly looking for Hybern’s massive, hidden army to give them an edge. Nesta was asked if she could feel or find the Cauldron. 

Elain suspected it was the Cauldron itself that clouded her sight though she still didn’t understand what being a Seer entailed, entirely. It sent Feyre looking for answers outside of their war camp, back to the Suriel only she seemed to be able to catch. Elain had Seen that, at least. Or, some version of it. She understood, later, that what she was the Surial dying when she heard Mor telling the rest of Feyre’s court. Elain and Nesta stood outside, listening to how Ianthe died…listened to Mor tell Cassian and Azriel and Amren what she’d done to Lucien before the two vanished into Autumn, just outside of Elain’s reach. How the woman had bound him, how she’d touched him…

Elain’s anger opened her up for the first time, made her magic a palpable thing. Nesta was too focused on Cassian, badly wounded in the wake of Feyre’s disappearance, nearly killed from the look of it, to notice what was happening with Elain.

The wind began to speak to her, both in her waking hours and her sleep. Elain, it murmured as though it were another shadow of Azriel’s, switching allegiance. Elain, I can help you. 

And Elain, who’d been in Prythian long enough to know strange voices carried on the wind only meant trouble, answered whenever she heard it. Dead, she thought softly, her lips forming the words silently. I want them all dead.

The same question came, each time she asked. What will you give me?

She knew better than to offer anything at all, knew from Lucien that she should be specific. All she saw, every time she closed her eyes, was Ianthe’s hands on Lucien’s skin. He hadn’t told her, hadn’t said and that hurt her more. She’d told him everything, left nothing out even when it shamed her and he’d kept that secret, as if he didn’t trust her with it. 

Every day, with more dead piling around her, Elain listened to that voice as she set bone and bandaged wounds, as she whispered prayers over the dead and stayed with the dying until they passed. Elain was tired.

She’d had enough. What will you give me, Elain, Elain. I will give you what you ask, what will you give me in return? Elain, Elain…

She looked up at the gray, sunless sky. “Whatever you ask,” she whispered back. She felt the air around her sigh sweetly, ruffling her hair. The wind remained for days, still murmuring a song that felt familiar, a tune she almost knew in a voice she could just make out? 

Nesta scryed in place of Elain, alone without asking if Elain would prefer, going too deep to look for the Cauldron. Nesta had taken too much, though only Feyre and Elain truly knew the depth of which Nesta had fallen within  and what she’d clawed back out. It was foolish of Amren to ask Nesta to scry, to open that channel though Elain didn’t breathe a word of rebuttal. 

In retrospect, keeping secrets was a mistake. She heard him, at first in her dreams. Elain, Lucien murmured, his molten red hair blowing gently over his tanned face. I need your help. 

She’d opened her eyes, rubbing her face as she tried to recall what she’d seen. Was it a vision, or just a dream? 

“Elain,” she heard Lucien whisper again. She slid on her boots and grabbed her blue cloak, following the sound of his voice, the smell of his body.

“Lucien?” She whispered back, catching sight of glinting gold in the night. He was just out of reach, gesturing for her to follow. “When did you get back?”

She was jogging, her boots squelching through frigid mud as she made her way to a line of trees. She nearly caught him, hand outstretched. Her cloak snagged on a branch as a gust of wind sucked her up, taking her out of the camp…straight back to the Cauldron. Elain collapsed atop a granite dais where the sound of pained screams rattled through her chest.

The King of Hybern stood, his dark eyes surprised. Beside him, Elain recognized Jurian the traitor, his face an equal mix of stunned amusement. 

“Well isn’t this a pretty little surprise?” Hybern asked, rising from his black, makeshift throne. Outside, the sound of screaming intensified. She closed her eyes against it. “Are you a gift?”

Punishment, she knew. Nesta had taken too much from the Cauldron…now the Cauldron would take something back. 

Jurian’s eyes flashed with warning as Hybern approached, taking in her appearance, still clad in her nightgown. “We must stop meeting like this,” he purred, trailing a hand over her exposed collarbone. She didn’t move, eyes fixed on Jurian. He’d helped her once, in a strange and round about way. His expression seemed to demand her silence.

Hybern turned to Jurian. “Should I hang her up with her brethren?”

Jurian shrugged, as though the whole thing bored him. “She’s hardly human. The Cauldron brought her…perhaps she could be a useful lure to the esteemed Lady of Night.”

High Lady, Elain thought snidely. 

“Fascinating thought,” Hybern murmured, his eyes roving her body as though she were a meal he planned to devour. She’d seen that look before in Tamlin’s eyes, understood the threat. She doubted Jurian could do much to stop his King, if that was what was coming.

Hybern snapped his fingers and heavy, amethyst chains clamped around her wrists. The sight made her long for Lucien, who could have unbound her just as easily.

“Take her, and the Cauldron, somewhere better hidden. I want that brain dead sister of hers to winnow in at my feet just as she did.”

Jurian walked her out into the night where the source of the screaming became apparent. Elain’s feet dug into the ground at the sight of the naked woman being hung up, her body stretched painfully and covered with wounds in various states of healing. Beside her, other bodies sagged beneath the weight of decay.

“Keep walking,” Jurian muttered, walking her to an empty tent. He shoved her to the ground and left, returning with a group of Fae soldiers hauling the Cauldron. Jurian dismissed the soldiers, rounding on Elain with a shake of his head. He couldn’t say anything helpful so he said nothing at all, though his expression told her enough.

You’re going to die here.

The wind chuckled softly in her ear, inaudible to Jurian. She could feel it, the edges of her mind blurring, a vision trying to force itself to the front of her consciousness. She gave in the moment he was gone, and watched as she crept silently behind the King of Hybern, a cool, heavy blade held in her hand. The vision seemed to guide her, to tell her exactly where to step, exactly how to raise her hand.

She plunged, the feeling of blood and bone giving beneath the steel. Heard the sound of choked air, of a gurgling gasp. There was no one or nothing else but Elain and Hybern and the shadows that once hid her.

Kill them all, the wind murmured when she returned to reality. And I shall give you peace. 

She supposed that was why she didn’t cry, didn’t plead or beg even when Hybern returned later that day to torment and taunt her. She barely remembered Feyre and Azriel’s rescue; she remembered her surprise Azriel had come for her at all, and kicking one of Hyberns' beasts, an animal that reminded her suspiciously of a Naga, to its death. 

Elain waited three days to find Azriel, sickened when she saw the state of his healing, yet shredded and torn wings. He peered up at her through unreadable hazel eyes and scooted his large, muscular body so she could sit beside him on the cot.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she told him, her eyes drifting to his wings. She noticed he tucked his hands beneath his body, out of her view. She’d seen the scarring and never thought anything of it. Did he think she found him repulsive because of it?

“I did,” he disagreed, allowing her to tug out his arm and clasp his hand. “There is already so much ugliness and you are…” He trailed off, color staining his cheeks. Her stomach churned softly at the implication that he found her beautiful enough to warrant rescuing even though she knew she shouldn’t. 

“Well…thank you,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. Azriel dropped his gaze to some fixed spot in his tent and she knew she should leave. Maybe it was the constant shock or the trauma of being surrounded by death and dying, but Azriel was quiet. His presence was undemanding, his voice soft. Elain remained, eating a quiet dinner with Azriel until it was solidly night and staying would draw the wrong kind of attention. 

They continued on, plodding through mud and the wet as they made their way back to the village she, Feyre, and Nesta had once grown up in. Gone, it was all gone, burned to a husk. Elain’s eyes found her once lush garden nothing more than embers. It was personal, destroying not just the estate but the village itself. Elain tried not to let herself dwell on it.

Elain was grateful for Viviane, the Lady of Winter, and her solution to the skintight leathers both Feyre and Nesta changed into as they approached the battle Hybern would make their last stand on. The pants were still leather but the thigh length blue surcoat with white fur-trimmed collar made her feel more like herself, like Elain and not…whoever she was expected to become. Elain didn’t care if the coat was too warm for the weather at hand. 

“Take this,” Cassian told Elain, handing her a heavy bladed knife, similar to the one he’d given Nesta. Elain felt her body go cold as she stared down, her mind flipping through memories of Tamlin coming at her and the knife Lucien had given her slicing across his cheek. No more weapons.

Azriel nudged Cassian to the side, his hazel eyes gleaming, and handed Elain the blade she’d seen in her vision when Hybern had her. “This is Truth-Teller,” he said softly, his hazel eyes searching her own. “I won’t be using it today–so I want you to.”

His wings had healed, though long, white scars extended the length of them and Elain knew he wasn’t strong enough for battle, for flight. Elain had heard how Mor begged him not to fight and that he’d relented. 

She looked at the obsidian hilt, took in the runes on the scabbard. The weapon that would impale Hybern. The wind picked up, caressing her cheek like a lover. Take it, it murmured. 

“It has never failed me once. Some people say it is magic and will always strike true. It will serve you well.”

“I–I don’t know how to use it–” She admitted, the weight of accepting the weapon settling on her shoulders. This meant something to Azriel and to accept it was acknowledging what had begun simmering beneath the surface, had begun to hang in the air between them. She wasn’t sure she wanted that, not when the mating bond was still beating softly in her chest, reminding her of the mate and the man she was waiting to return to her.

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” Feyre interrupted. Elain let her fingers curl around the blade, the knowledge that she’d use it to stab Hybern heavy in her chest. She looked up at Azriel, his hand still lingering, his gaze intense even as Cassian stared, gaping.

They continued their march, Azriel and Elain walking in step silently beside the other. She held his knife, gripped so tight her fingers ached. They exchanged a glance when they arrived in the spot and then Azriel left her, joining his brothers and Feyre while Elain went to Nesta.

“Do you wish it had been him?” Nesta whispered, her eyes shifting towards Helion in his gleaming white and gold leather armor. “Instead of…”

Elain looked to Azriel, his back to her and thought of how much simpler things would be if he had been. When Lucien returned… if Lucien returned, there was still so much left to deal with, things she wished she didn’t have to address at all. They’d leave Night Court, leave Feyre and Nesta behind and even if everything wrapped up with a tidy, neat bow, Elain very much doubted they’d ever return. She’d always be separated. 

And yet…while there was a certain peace that trailed behind Azriel, it was the peace that came with oblivious, crushing darkness. She wanted the peace a new sun offered, breaking over the horizon to chase away the night. Lucien was Azriel’s opposite, the sun to his moon and she thought if the Mother had chosen different, she’d still crave Lucien’s warmth.

“No,” she replied honestly. “I’m glad it was Lucien.”

Nesta bit her bottom lip and Elain could see her sister wished she’d answered differently. She was drawn to Cassian the same way Elain was drawn to Lucien. Others might have been interesting, might have been enticing, but she’d always return to the home Cassian offered.

“You think Lucien will be mad when he finds out I fucked his dad?”

Elain burst out laughing for the first time since they’d left Velaris. Azriel and Cassian both turned to look over their shoulders, curious as to what Elain had found so funny. 

She stood atop a grassy knoll with her sisters as the battle began. Nesta clasped her hands when Cassian entered the fray, her gray eyes tracking him. Elain didn’t want to watch at all, wished she could skip to the ending. She dreaded what she knew was coming and wished she knew more. Knew the when, the why. She watched Kallias for a time, shredding his enemies with sharp ice before turning to Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer she was so fond of in his shimmering, fishscale leathers. 

A horn from the North followed by a loud rip through the world brought Autumn, Spring, and more humans…led by Jurian himself. Eris Vanserra stepped out of the tear on the knoll, his russet eyes gleaming from beneath his silver armor, a crimson cape fluttering behind him. He grinned when he saw her and held up his hands in truce. 

“You came,” Elain murmured when Eris sidled up beside her for just a moment.

“Couldn’t risk you preferring the Lord of Summer to me…or being stabbed. Again.”

Both Nesta and Feyre went wide eyed at his words. Elain hugged Eris awkwardly, throwing her body around his armor while Azriel glowered in response.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Eris smiled, tweaking her cheek.
“Nah,” he replied before vanishing, joining his brothers at the front line. 

Feyre was watching a different creature plow a path through the bodies. They were going to the Cauldron to disable it. Three made beings, all called to the same magic. “This way,” Feyre gestured. Elain took one last look at Autumn, the Vanserras burning their way through Hyberns army with gleeful, cruel expressions. Amren came with them. Feyre had glamored them, allowing them to skirt the southern edge. 

They might have made it had it not been for Nesta. She inhaled sharply as she stumbled, dragging Amren to the ground with her. Elain could feel it, too. The Cauldron’s magic called to the three of them, beckoned them.

Hybern was rousing its magic. Elain closed her eyes, unwilling to see what that kind of power could do in the hands of someone like Hybern but Nesta…Nesta saw exactly what Elain saw. Saw that gaping mouth pointed at their army. At Cassian.

“CASSIAN!” She screamed, raising herself up on her elbows with bloodless lips. Her braid had shaken loose, her hair wild around her face as she looked for him.

“CASSIAN!” Nesta screamed again, scrambling to her feet. “CASSIAN! CASSIAN!” 

Nesta tumbled back to the ground and Elain’s knees buckled beneath the weight of the magic around them. Nesta writhed as the earth split and pure, undiluted magic burst from behind Hyberns lines. It destroyed Feyre’s glamor, the shields they’d been using to hold back Hybern, Helion’s spells. It destroyed the Illyrian warriors and Cassian–Cassian was halfway to Nesta when the Cauldron erupted. Should have been dead, Elain thought in a daze. The Cauldron took out their supernatural help. The Weaver, the Bone Carver…gone in a blink. Nesta trembled and Elain doubled over, Amren catching the loose ends of her hair a moment before she vomited into the grass. They were losing. They were going to lose. How could they possibly defeat that, go against something so powerfully magic? None of them moved for a moment as they watched Helion and Kalias and Tarquin struggle to hold the line, watched Beron and Tamlin attempt to push back the southern flank. Feyre was crying and Elain knew it was over. She looked over Nestas head to Azriel, who watched her with a gleam in his eye, his mouth set in a hard line. They were all over, though she suspected Rhysand and his brothers would try and save her and her sisters.

A dozen horns sounded from the sea and in slow motion, it seemed everyone stopped for a moment to turn and look at the armada coming towards them. Cassian reached for Nesta the same moment Azriel caught her, hauling her against his body.

“When I say, you run,” Azriel’s cold voice whispered in her ear. She still had his blade–Had he forgotten? She couldn’t, not while she had his sword. Not when she’d made that promise with the wind, the same wind that curled gently around her, avoiding Azriel entirely. 

It was the Seraphim. Azriel let Elain go, given permission to join the battle by Rhys as Feyre and Nesta devised a plan to disable the Cauldron. Elain looked towards the sea, towards the golden bird of fire she’d once seen in a vision, to the white winged warriors that had come to join them.

Lucien. Somewhere on that shore, Lucien waited. She could feel him in her chest, feel his heart echoing through the sound of clanging metal and dying screams. She could feel him urging her not to move, could feel his whispered promise.

I’m coming for you.

Remembered the promise she’d made not to do anything stupid. No one saw her slip from her place to follow behind Nesta, urged by a curling summer wind. Truth-Teller seemed to vibrate in her hand, aware of what was waiting. 

Come, come, that voice crooned sweetly as she stepped through carnage unseen. Let me make things right. Let me give you peace.

It was hypnotic, the words, the world. She seemed to exist outside of it. Once she began to turn, feeling a violent tug in her chest but the warm wind soothed the ache to be with Lucien, to touch him one last time.

Do not look back. Look ahead. Look only ahead. Come, Elain. Come, come…

Elain could see everything as it happened, even as she walked. She was no longer of the world but a thing made, something else, something that existed outside of the normal bounds. If she’d wanted, she thought she could see the past just as clearly as she saw the present. Saw the future. She was numb to the events unfolding. She heard the crack in her father’s spine, saw him drop like a fly. She watched Cassian and Nesta fight, watched Cassian push the King of Hybern into the same trees Elain now stalked through, nothing but shadow and mist. Elain listened to Nesta promise to kill Hybern as he promised to hurt her, to brutalize her body the way only men could before he carved out her power. She watched them dance around the other, watched Cassian’s bones break and Hybern slap her sister across the face so hard she fell to the ground. 

Anger, you feel anger, that voice whispered and some of her numbness bled away, replaced by burning rage. Anger, use the anger. 

Her eyes unclouded and the world returned when she arrived, standing behind the King as her sister and Cassian clutched each other at his feet. They’d die, she thought furiously, blocking everything else out. Truth-Teller hummed as she quietly unsheathed it, her eyes shifting from that dark, swirling magic in Hyberns hands to his neck. She knew what came next.

“Don’t you touch my sister,” she said as she slammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through his neck. She brought her lips to his ear to speak the words, a lovers caress. Blood sprayed into her face, onto her hands, on the coat Viviane had given her. Hybern’s knees buckled and Nesta surged forward. 

Elain went to Cassian, who grinned as he watched Nesta hack off his head. Elain’s emotions returned, the wind emptied and gone without so much as a goodbye.

And her father…Elain twisted to look at him.

She screamed.

Chapter Text

Lucien could feel Elain in his chest, could feel her emptiness just as sure as he felt her anger. Whatever she was doing, whatever she felt, it was so far from the bounds of the Elain he knew so well. Months, he’d been gone, hunting Vassa, tracking down that fucking Seraphim army. It had taken every ounce of training born at Beron’s feet to convince them to join, and every minute they sailed, Lucien prayed they didn’t arrive a day too late. 

Right on time, he’d realized with horror as he plunged into the fray. Lucien had only one goal; get to his mate. He cut a path of carnage, disgusted and horrified at what he found on that battlefield. More than once, Lucien was nearly overwhelmed by everything, the sheer amount of death around him.

He couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop, not until that blinding white light shot out around them, wiping the last of Hybern from the face of the world. He watched for a moment as pure, undiluted pain poured into his throat. Not his pain–Elain’s. 

He ran, then. Lucien didn’t stop running, even when his lungs burned and his legs shook. He didn’t know what the pain she felt and if it was fatal or not. All Lucien knew was he felt it just as surely as she did. He heard the talk as he went, of the rumors already circling the camp.

Of who made that final, killing blow.

He found her beside a patch of singed earth, her bloody face streaked with tears as she stood beside Feyre and Nesta. She still held a familiar looking weapon, one he’d seen strapped to the shadowsinger. Lucien didn’t care. He slowed his steps and her head snapped up, turning until she found him. She took a step, and then another and if Lucien hadn’t been so exhausted he would have run, too. Elain slammed into him, her arms wrapped tight around his neck and, despite the strong stench of blood that coated her, he could still find that familiar, comforting scent of honey and sunlight. 

“You came,” she sobbed as they sank to the ground. Lucien didn’t think his legs could hold him another second. 

“You promised,” he reminded her, pushing her matted, dirty hair from her still beautiful face. “You said I wouldn’t come home to find you a war hero.”

And she laughed, at that, even as tears slid down her cheeks. “I want to go home, Lucien,” she wept into his ruined shirt. He wondered where that even was anymore, now that he was banished from Spring and unable to return to Autumn. 

He didn’t argue with her, didn’t say anything at all as he swept her up, letting her press her body into his side, one arm draped over his arm. It was as if whatever had fueled her was gone and had sapped her of her strength. They stayed in her old, ruined manor, given a room that Feyre murmured had been Elain’s for a brief period of time. Lucien had bathed her, draining the water more than once before he removed every inch of grime and blood. He’d raided her wardrobe, picking the dress he thought was the nicest, though in truth, Lucien thought all the human dresses were ugly. He dressed her and put her to bed and then he watched from a rain soaked chair in the corner, musty from drying in the sun. Alive, she’s alive–  

The mating bond chanted over and over, willing him to settle, to join her. To claim her. She smelled of other males and the instinctual part of him desperately wanted to rectify that. Wanted everyone to know she belonged to him. Lucien shoved that aside as he wondered what she’d gone through over the weeks he’d been gone. What had fractured, what had been compounded atop wounds she’d never truly gotten the chance to heal? 

He could feel what was broken through the bond, could taste her despair, her hurt, her loneliness. He couldn’t sleep, too busy soaking in guilt. He regretted that at the High Lords meeting, where Feyre attempted to rebuild bonds that had been destroyed long before she’d ever drawn her first breath. It would take more than this to rebuild them. Still, he felt hope that perhaps it was a first step.

He went with her to Velaris, blinking against the peace. Elain, too, stared wide-eyed when they appeared, hands clasped as they walked to the House of Wind. Azriel took Elain up while Rhys took Lucien, arriving a minute after she did. Elain’s eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed when he stepped into the cozy, mountainside palace and he wondered for a moment what the pair had spoken of. He shook away the jealous feelings, reminding himself that Elain was still allowed to have male friends. The mating bond tried to rob him of his senses but Lucien was rational. His mate was friendly and kind and other people recognized that. If Azriel had become a friend, if he made her feel safe, Lucien welcomed that.

Rhys and Feyre offered them separate rooms and Lucien was too pleased when Elain immediately dropped onto his bed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Tell me everything,” she murmured. Lucien did, letting himself weave a tale that he knew she would enjoy. Lucien wanted to introduce Elain to Vassa just as soon as she felt up to traveling, wanted Elain to like the human Queen as much as he did. Vassa was warm like Elain, but brasher, more direct. He’d thought more than once they would be good friends. Elain might soften Vassa while Vassa might sharpen Elain. 

She told him, too, of her time in the camp though Lucien got the sense she left things out she thought he wouldn’t approve of. If she engaged in more heroics, perhaps it was better not to know. Hearing her escape Hybern’s camp and kicking one of his beasts to death with nothing but her foot while Azriel attempted not to plunge from the sky was all Lucien could handle. 

Elain stared at him as he changed into something to sleep in, her brown eyes wide with a question he didn’t want to answer. “So…did you happen to see Helion yesterday?”

He winced. Yes, he’d seen Helion. Had studied the male for the first time in his life and had nearly been sick with what he found. Surely there had to be some rational explanation, he’d thought, yet he found none that explained why their faces looked so similar, Lucien had shoved all thoughts of his parentage from his mind to focus on Elain.

“Let’s talk about you–” She waved him off with an eye roll.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she told him quickly. “You don’t have to acknowledge it, if you don’t want to. It’s just…I think Helion might be receptive?”

“And my mother?” Lucien asked quickly, his tone sharper than he’d meant. Elain didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She pressed. 

“What’s there to say, Elain? That I don’t know if my mother and Helion were in love or had a fling or what? That I have no idea if she even knows I belong to him, if my father knows…if Helion knows? What if she told him and he wanted nothing to do with me? I just…there are too many unknowns.”

“You really think he would have left you there in Autumn if he knew?” Elain asked softly, scooting towards the end of the bed. Lucien shrugged helplessly, joining her.

“Maybe? I just…we just fought a war, Elain. I can’t…I can’t do anything else.”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his body. “You don’t have to do anything besides love me,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Easy enough,” he teased, some of his dread fading. He almost reminded her of her promise to accept the bond, wanting a distraction in the form of the frenzy. He stopped himself when he considered how little he wanted to remember this night as part of the best night of his life. He also thought it was wrong, in a way, to cajole his way into sinking inside her, no matter how badly he so desperately wanted to take comfort in her physical body. 

He left her in his bed when she fell asleep to seek out Rhysand. Rhys was in his study, bright eyed but as outwardly exhausted as Lucien felt. He looked up when Lucien slipped in. 

“You ready to play emissary again?” The High Lord asked without preamble. The two males assessed the other, sizing each other up to look for weakness.

“I am at your disposal for as long as my mate wishes to remain.”

Rhys nodded thoughtfully. “Spring is fucking ruined and the humans…the humans are a problem. You know Vassa. Could you keep an eye on what is happening within her court?”

Lucien scoffed at the word court. She was a cursed Queen, her court a joke. “I’m sure I could manage.”

“And Spring?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and Lucien had to work not to grind his teeth. “I could try.”

“It’s not ideal but…but if Beron took advantage–”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you sent your mate to destroy it.” Lucien couldn’t help his words, his bitterness misdirected. Rhys’ eyes flashed with warning. 

“You’ll report to Azriel when you’re gone? He wants them at least twice weekly.”

Lucien suppressed an eyeroll. “Are you asking me to station myself in these places?'' He'd take Elain, if that were the case. Rhys seemed to understand the question.

“No. Just…when you’re gone, if it’s longer than a day.”

“Fine. But my help is conditional. I am not part of your court. I serve only my mate.”

Rhys waved a hand, as if to say yeah, yeah. 

“I look forward to spending more time with you.”

Of that, Lucien very much doubted.

**

Elain had sworn she and Lucien would not be separated again, but even Elain had her limits. She would not go back to Spring. Lucien planned for two weeks or less, long enough to help Tamlin regain favor with his nobles but not so long Tamlin thought them friends. She hadn’t protested at all. In truth, she was glad for some space and some time to breathe. Since being shoved in that Cauldron, Elain had felt nothing but stress and fear, even in moments of happiness. With Hybern gone, it seemed like peace might be a real thing. 

Velaris required some rebuilding and even though Elain felt useless, she did her best. She began replanting what was destroyed; trees and bushes, grass and pretty plants. It wasn’t much, but it was honest work and she was proud of herself. It helped her sleep better, kept her nightmares at bay. In time, Elain regretted not telling Lucien what she was feeling. She thought he could understand.

With days left until he returned, she began sitting out on an open terrace in the House of Wind, wrapped in a blanket. Azriel began to join her, sitting in silence. She noted how he made his steps louder, heavier and how he shifted around every 

once and while. It was almost as if he were human instead of Fae and wasn’t preternaturally still like the rest of them. His shadows never accompanied him and she sometimes wondered where they ran off to.

The pair were sitting beneath a setting sun when the sounds of Cassian and Nesta floated towards them.

“-Fuck you mean leaving? With what money?” Cassian shouted. Elain winced.

“Did you forget I was an heiress before I was shoved into the Cauldron? I can go anywhere I want!”

Azriel and Elain exchanged a glance. “What’s so fucking wrong with staying right here?” Cassian demanded, his voice coming closer.

“I don’t want to live under Rhysand’s–”

“Watch what you say about him!” Cassian growled, interrupting Nesta’s words. Anxiety began to churn in Elain’s stomach.

“You think anything that isn’t licking his boots is an insult! He’s your brother, not mine! I don’t want to live under his house! Why can’t I want my own place?” She screamed back, her frustration evident. Elain stood but Azriel held up his hand, a silent command for her to stay.

“And do what?” Cassian yelled. They were close to the door Azriel and Elain hid behind.
“Anything! How am I supposed to figure out this new life with you constantly telling me what I should be doing, how I should be feeling? I can’t stand it, can’t stand any of it–”
“Can’t stand me?” He replied angrily. “Is that it?”

“You’re a stranger to me,” Nesta said flatly. 

“And why is that?” Cassian roared. Elain surged towards the door but Azriel physically stopped her, his hazel eyes glinting. His expression told her his opinion. Don’t get involved.

“Why should I want to? You haven’t been exactly nice.”

“Oh, well pardon me for not coddling the girl who couldn’t be bothered to go into the woods when her younger sister–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Nesta shrieked. Elain shoved past Azriel and flung open the door. Just down the hall, at the top of the steps, Cassian towered over a pink cheeked Nesta, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “What the fuck do you know about that time? You have no right to lecture me!”

“Then who does–”

“We had a father,” Elain murmured softly. Cassian immediately spun, catching Azriel just behind Elain. “Where is your anger for him?”

Nesta flinched at the memory. Cassian scowled. “She was the eldest.”

“And?” Nesta seethed. 

“And you did nothing–”

“Who cooked?!” Nesta demanded, drawing his eyes from Elain. “Who cleaned, who mended clothes and washed laundry and chopped wood and every other little fucking chore you have no concept for because you’re male and don’t value the things females do to run a household! Do you suppose we ate that meat bloody and raw? That we ran about naked? That our home was mud and nothing else? I was sixteen!  Why is Feyre a child but I’m an adult woman who should have shouldered all the burdens? Why can you sympathize with her but not me?”

Cassian was resolutely quiet. Nesta took a breath. “You don’t value women, you don’t value the work we do and you don’t value me. Why should I bother trying to know you when the only reason you’re even interested in me is because–”

Nesta cut herself off, looking over at Elain. Elain gestured for Nesta to come to her but Nesta held her ground.
“Say it,” Cassian growled softly.

“Fuck you,” Nesta retorted. “As far as I’m concerned, this is nothing, and it will never be anything for as long as you act like this.”

She turned on her heel, her navy dress spinning around her when Cassian said, his voice breaking, “You left me.”

Nesta froze. “What?” She replied without turning.

“When…after the Cauldron. You were a shell and I was trying so hard…Nes, I used to check on you in the middle of the night. I was so afraid you were going to kill yourself. And then…and then Lucien came and you just vanished with him and I don’t understand why. Why him? Why not me? I…the only time you talk to me is if you’re mad.”

Azriel stiffened beside Elain, as if the mention of Lucien was painful to him. She made a note to ask if Lucien had done something offensive even as Azriel put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to lead her away.

“He’s my brother,” Nesta replied, turning a little. “I can’t do this right now–”

“Then when? When can you–”
“I don’t know!” She told him desperately. “I just…I need space, alright?” And with that, Nesta took off, practically running down the steps. Azriel shoved Elain back to the terrace before Cassian could turn on them. Cool air slapped her in the face.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Azriel murmured, running a hand through his dark hair. “It's between them.”

“He’s cruel,” Elain accused, taking a step towards Azriel. “Mates should be kind.”

Azriel’s expression darkened. “It wasn’t our place.”

“Then he shouldn’t talk about things he doesn’t know anything about,” she replied, wishing she could make her voice sound half as lethal. “You don’t know what it was like.”

Azriel took a step towards her, forcing her to really look up. “Tell me.”

“We were ladies until father lost his money and then…and then we weren’t. He was injured badly, but even if he wasn’t I don’t think…it was like he lost his will to live. We survived off the money left after we sold everything else and then Feyre went into the woods and Nesta took over most of the domestic chores and I took over caring for father.”

Azriel reached towards her, picking up a curl between his fingers. “That must have been hard.”

“He had his carvings and I tried so hard to cheer him up, to keep him going but I was angry, too. I was so angry all the time and I couldn’t say anything because Feyre and Nesta were too and I thought if father knew I was mad he’d…” A tear slid down her cheek as Elain’s memory shifted to Hybern snapping her father’s neck. She closed her eyes, ignoring how Azriel’s knuckles brushed against her cheek, wiping the wetness away. “It was practically a relief when Tamlin came.”

It was as if she could feel his rage, icy and cold. She looked up, surprised at how lethal he looked. “Why did he take you? The curse demanded Feyre. Why you?”

Their eyes locked and Elain suddenly felt the weight of everything slam down on her, all at once. She spun, inhaling sharply but it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough air for her lungs, for her body. Horror after horror washed over her, cascading like waves on the sand. She could see it all so clearly, Tamlin and the way he looked at her, the naga, the mountain, Eris, the war…Elain fell to her knees, semi-aware she was heaving loudly. She felt a soft tug on the bond and Lucien’s concern.

Are you okay?

Elain braced herself against the terracotta tile as Azriel crouched beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “I can’t,” she gasped, unable to get another word out. She was being crushed, thought it might kill her.

She felt him lift her, could almost hear the soothing sounds coming from his lips but the world was dark. Ugly. Elain swore she felt that warm wind gently caress her face, thought she heard it whisper Let me take care of you.

Wishful thinking. Elain felt like she was choking, drowning again in the ageless deep that had once taken her. Lost to the Cauldron, to the ages…to herself. Everything was too cold, too dark.

“What happened?” A familiar male voice demanded, cutting through her despair. Warmth, she thought, opening an eye.

Lucien, his eyes blackened, his lip cut and bruised. She cried out when she saw him, horrified at the condition of him for her place in Azriel’s arms. She couldn’t get the words out as she reached for him. Azriel and Lucien were speaking, though the roaring in her ears made it impossible to hear what was being said. Lucien was tense, his eyes locked on hers and Azriel was cold, his grip tight around her. 

Rhysand and Feyre joined them, Feyre’s eyes wide. Azriel set Elain to the ground, a mistake she thought wildly as her legs gave way. Lucien caught her before she hit the floor, rushing forward, his typically tanned face pale. There was more murmuring, more talking but Elain wasn’t listening.

“You’re warm,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Bright light was chasing out some of the screaming in her head, replacing the nightmares with something softer. Lucien, in the garden, in her bed, the snapping of the bond. She felt one of his hands in her hair and she sighed, blowing out her anxiety.

“She needs rest,” Azriel was saying, his words tight and angry “And quiet.”

“Agreed,” Lucien murmured appreciatively. “Maybe a room with bigger windows for sunlight?”

“I could do that,” Feyre said quickly. “A fire, maybe?”

“I can do that,” Lucien said, his voice strangely devoid of humor. 

Lucien followed Feyre away from the room Elain had been sleeping in, down winding halls until they arrived at a nearly identical room with more windows instead of bigger ones. Feyre hesitated. “Maybe Azriel is right, Lucien. Maybe…maybe you should let her sleep without all this bright light–”

“No!” She gasped out quickly, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t lock me in the dark.”

Lucien sighed. “It’s fine, Feyre.” 

“You know where we are…” She left them with another worried look. Lucien set Elain on the bed just long enough to climb up behind her and wrap his arms and legs around her body. He buried his face in her hair. 

“What happened?” He asked after a long minute of silence. 

“He asked why Tamlin took me and…” And my mind made me recognize what he’d planned to do to me.

Lucien kissed her scalp. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I missed you,” she replied, twisting to look at him. He was still beautiful, practically ethereal, which made his injuries all the more stark. She reached up to touch his lip and Lucien winced beneath the pain.

“Did Tamlin do this to you?” She whispered. Lucien swallowed.

“He’s ah…we have some things to work through.”

“Don’t go back,” she asked, twining her arms around his neck. “Stay here with me. Please.”

“For now,” he promised. “I’ll be all healed up in the morning, besides. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Then who will?” She asked. Lucien stroked her face. 

“Beautiful, sweet thing. You need rest.”

“I need you,” she replied, unable to deny that Lucien was the only thing capable of banishing the darkness that constantly threatened her. He shifted, giving her space to lie down. He stayed beside her, his skin glowing ever so faintly. She wondered if he noticed it.

“You have me. Always.”

Chapter Text

“Stop giggling,” Lucien complained, his voice barely audible. He held her hand as they crept through the house of wind, up to the tallest level where Lucien had found a bedroom he swore hadn’t been used in decades. Elain would have gone anywhere with him at that point. They’d been trying to spend time alone together from the first moment they arrived, but it seemed like her sisters and her sister’s court could smell them like bloodhounds. Nowhere and no time of day was safe. Elain was losing her mind a little. 

Lucien pulled open the door and dragged her in, kissing her the second the door snicked shut behind them. Elain sighed softly against his mouth, raking her fingers through the ends of his hair. 

“Take off your dress,” he whispered, his hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. She made a noise of protest.

“I don’t want to rush.” 

Lucien braced his hands on either side of her body, forehead nearly pressed against her own. “I’ll lose my mind if Azriel walks in on us half-naked again.”

“He really should learn to knock,” she agreed, slowly pulling the laces from the neck of his shirt. “But I was thinking maybe I could run downstairs…grab something to eat? I could feed it to you in bed and we could stay here for a day or a week or–”

Lucien’s mouth was against hers again, rough and desperate. They’d been trying to accept the bond ever since her breakdown. Elain hoped it might help stave away the darkness that seemed to lurk at the edges of her mind. She was also hoping he might propose if she did, and they could have an actual wedding. She’d been dropping little hints constantly, for all the good it had done her so far. 

“Go,” he whispered, reaching for the door handle. “Quickly.”

Elain kissed him again, grinning as he looked down at her with his desperate, dark eyes. She ducked beneath his arm and slipped out of the room, barely making a noise despite the swishy material of her dress. Down, down, down she went, the only one awake in those twilight hours. 

Not even the servants were up yet. Elain slipped into the kitchen and found some of the bread rolls she’d made the night before neatly sealed against the air. That was good enough, right? If he wanted a whole feast, he’d have to marry her. 

She grabbed three, unsure just how much he needed to take, and walked back to the kitchen door and straight into the waiting arms of Azriel. “Good morning,” she said, surprised to see him awake so early. Azriel’s eyes drifted from her face to her hands and the bread rolls she clutched. 

“Early morning snack?” He asked, clearly amused. 

“Something like that,” she agreed, her mind drifting towards Lucien. “Did you just get back?”

He’d been gone a few days doing cauldron knew what. She was curious if he’d tell her… after she saw Lucien. 

“A couple minutes ago. I was thinking I’d go grab breakfast in the city…do you want to join?”

“Another day,” she agreed, her mind immediately thinking of the crepes she’d had with a grump Nesta two days earlier. 

“Are you sure? It’s on me,” he pressed, his voice incredibly tempting. She shifted from one foot to the other and Azriel’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

“What about lunch?” She suggested, well aware there would be no lunch for her. Azriel opened his mouth to respond when Lucien and Feyre stepped into the kitchen, Feyre’s arm looped through a very grumpy Lucien’s.

“You’re awake! And back!” Feyre cried, clearly pleased to see both Elain and Azriel. Lucien’s eyes zeroed in on her hands holding the bread rolls, his disappointment palpable. “I found Lucien in the hall and was trying to convince him to come to breakfast with me.”

“So funny, Azriel was doing the same thing,” Elain replied, setting her bread back on the dark counter. Lucien reached for the wall as though his legs threatened to give out on him. 

“Just breakfast,” Lucien said hoarsely, staring at Elain. “And then I think I’ll go out and rent my own apartment.”

Feyre’s face fell as Elain’s brightened. “You don’t want to live with us?”

“It’s…crowded,” Lucien hedged. “And with my weird hours…I would hate to impose.”

“You’re not,” Feyre promised but Elain knew exactly why Lucien wanted his own space. Being alone was impossible. Excitement fluttered through her. They’d really be alone for the first time ever. No Tamlin breathing down their neck, no well-meaning sisters trying to bond, just Elain and Lucien. The thought excited her. 

“I’ll change and then we’ll go?” Elain murmured, slipping past Azriel. She was buzzing with electricity as she climbed the stairs to the room she and Lucien were sharing, the one with the large windows that let in sunlight. Elain almost missed Spring…where it not for Tamlin, she thought she might have been aching to get back.

Elain flung open her closet, already settled on a butter yellow dress, when warm wind fluttered around her. Close your eyes, it whispered. Elain did, though only to banish it.

“Go away,” she whispered, counting slowly to five. She swallowed and opened her eyes, reaching for the yellow dress. She reached for the ties of the white night dress she’d been wearing but…she was in black. 

“That’s weird,” she murmured, running her hands down the soft fabric. Where had she gotten it? The bottom was heavy and when she reached to touch the fabric, she realized it was wet. Elain frowned, turning for the door a moment before Lucien stepped in, his expression frustrated.

“There you are,” he grumbled. “You ditched me at breakfast.”

“No I didn’t,” she replied.

“Oh? You had some other important business, then?” He asked, walking towards her with a sultry expression. She let him pull her against him, let him brush his mouth against hers.

“Want to see the apartment I purchased this afternoon?”

This afternoon? She thought, panic flooding through her. “Lucien…what time is it?”
“Nearly eight,” he replied, his mouth gently covering hers. Fourteen hours. Elain was missing fourteen hours. She opened her mouth to tell him and then snapped it shut quickly. Surely there was a reason for her missing time, some reasonable explanation. Her trauma, perhaps? She didn’t want to worry Lucien, not when they had a chance to finally be alone. 

“Should I cook something, then? Break in the new kitchen?” She asked but her tone wasn’t half as sultry as it had been that morning. 

“I’ll take you to the market in the morning. You can have whatever you like,” he promised with another kiss. 

“Perfect. Hey…I need just five minutes and then we can go.”

“Take your time,” Lucien said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Elain smiled before stepping out of the room. She practically ran down the hall to a door she’d never once knocked on.

He heard her before she raised her fist. Azriel answered, dressed like he always was in black. His eyes appraised her in the matching color and she wondered what he made of it. 

“Do you have a second?”

He stepped out of the doorway, silently inviting her inside. Elain went, surprised by how bare Azriel’s private room was. He was the mirror opposite to Lucien, who seemed to take great pride in decorating. She liked the silver bedspread he had, but outside of a bed and some other functional furniture, the room could have belonged to anyone. 

“Whats going on?” He asked, standing surprisingly close. There was an emotion on his face she thought she’d seen before, though she couldn’t place. Elain swallowed hard.

“I’m missing fourteen hours of my day,” she whispered. “You can’t tell anyone I just…do you know where I was?”

“I’m not stalking you, Elain,” he replied, some ice injected into his words.

“Can you? I don’t want to worry anyone…I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

Azriel nodded. “I’ll see what I can find…but I’m not going to follow you.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

He nodded. 

“Swear it,” she demanded fiercely. They’d all been through enough. She wanted peace and she would have it. 

He held on his hand and Elain took it, surprised by how cold his skin was. “I swear.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

She stepped back to the door but Azriel caught her around the elbow, spinning her back to face him. “Stay here…with your family, I mean. You’re safer with all of us.”

“I’ll be back,” she promised, gently pulling her elbow from his hand. 

“You’re not safe with him.” It was an accusation, one she chose to ignore.

“Thank you for your help,” she murmured, slipping from his room.

Back to Lucien.

**

Lucien left a sleeping Elain in their apartment to discuss a letter from Jurian. Eris was lurking around, and if Eris was around, that almost certainly meant Beron was up to something. He didn’t want to deal with his brother or his father and certainly didn’t want to leave Elain given they’d finally just settled into their apartment. He knew Rhys was going to want him to do something. Perhaps he’d bring her with him. It would buy him time, at any rate. Lucien had been carrying a ring around in his pocket for weeks, now, trying to work up the nerve to ask Elain to marry him. He didn’t know why he was so scared–it was obvious she was in love with him. It was also obvious she desperately wanted him to ask her to marry him.

She’d been dropping little hints for weeks, hardly subtle even by Elain’s standards. He’d caught her looking at a little shop display of lacy white wedding dresses and he almost told her to just get one. The problem was he wanted to do it right. He’d only do it once and he wanted the memory to burn the same way he knew it would when she accepted  the bond. 

He strolled into the River House, expecting to find Rhys in his study. He was…and he wasn’t alone.

“You need to stay away from her,” Rhys’ voice growled. Lucien stopped, curious. He assumed that Rhys was talking to Cassian. What had he done to Nesta this time? 

“You can’t order me to do that,” came Azriel’s cold, furious voice. Lucien’s interest was piqued. 

“Oh, I can and I will. If Lucien finds you’re pursuing her, he has every right to defend the bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the blood duel.”

Lucien’s blood went immediately cold. Azriel was pursuing Elain? Maybe it was wrong, but his first thought was Rhys had to be joking. He flipped through his memories, trying to find something that indicated Azriel was interested, but Lucien could think of very little. He didn’t pay much attention to Azriel…though, when Elain had her breakdown, Azriel had demanded he take her somewhere safe, somewhere dark, and it had only been Feyre and Rhys’ presence that caused him to back down. Azriel hadn’t let her go, even when Elain reached for Lucien, until Feyre told him to. And how often had Azriel walked in on them when they were trying to be alone…?
“That’s an Autumn Court tradition,” Azriel dismissed. Lucien struggled to contain his anger. What had happened while he’d been away? His mind thought of Tamlin, pursuing Elain despite knowing she lacked interest. Lucien’s anger heightened. Had Elain kept it a secret to keep the peace? Or did she not know? He couldn’t decide which upset him more.

“Lucien, as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it of you,” Rhys retorted angrily.

“I’ll defeat him with little effort,” came Azriel’s arrogant response. Fire burned over Lucien’s skin, uncontrolled for just a moment before he swallowed his feelings. He wanted to hear this conversation play out and losing his temper wasn’t going to help. Lucien had been trained to collect information and he called on every ounce of it to keep them from realizing he lurked just down the hall.

“I know,” Rhys replied. “And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace or alliances we have, not only with Autumn Court, but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa. So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for, but stay away from her.”

A snarl was all that answered Rhys.

“Snarl all you want. But if I see you panting after her again I will make you regret it.”

Lucien heard boots on the marble, walking closer to the door. They’d open it and see him standing there. Lucien liked the effect of it. He waited, arms crossed over his chest.

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?” Azriel asked suddenly, his hand half-turning the door knob. 

“What of Mor, Az?” Rhys replied, not answering the question. A loud roaring in Lucien’s head was making it almost impossible for him to concentrate. She’d been his mate long before she was ever put in the Cauldron. He’d suspected the minute she stepped into Spring. How could Azriel think the Cauldron decided? Fate had, long before.

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that two of my brothers are with those sisters yet the third was given to another?”

“You believe you deserve to be her mate?” Came the horrified question from Rhys’ mouth. Lucien, too, felt his anger shift into cold sickness.

“I think Lucien will never be good enough for her,” came Azriel’s cold response. He turned the handle and stepped into the hall, his eyes locking with the very male he’d just said wasn’t good enough for Elain. Azriel froze, some of the color draining from his face. Lucien offered Azriel the faintest bow, unwilling to consider the male his rival. 

A moment later Rhysand appeared, his violet eyes exhausted and guarded. “Lucien.”

“Rhysand,” Lucien replied, unable to deny that, as far as shrewd, political moves went, Rhys knew what he was doing. Rhysand didn’t need to ask Lucien what he’d heard. Lucien’s posture betrayed him. “A letter, from Jurian.”

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe as Rhysand came towards Lucien. He took the letter and Lucien waited, never taking his eyes off the High Lord. He’d adopted an expression of boredom and why shouldn’t he? Azriel could scheme all he liked, could hate Lucien until he died. Elain was still in Lucien’s bed, was still hinting to Lucien she wanted to marry him, was still his mate. 

“Any thoughts as to why Eris is suddenly so interested in the human lands?”

Lucien shrugged intentionally and Rhys narrowed his eyes. They weren’t friends. He was there because of Feyre, and then Elain. He’d helped Rhys as a favor to Elain but he’d just as soon leave as he’d stay. 

“I need you to go,” Rhys said as Azriel slipped away. Lucien wondered if the male had given Azriel a silent command or Azriel couldn’t stand the tension. 

“To the human lands?” Lucien replied, one eyebrow arched. As if daring Rhysand to give him a command knowing full well one of his brothers was attempting to fuck his mate. Rhys sighed. 

“Send Elain with Nesta, if it concerns you.”

“Why should it?” Lucien asked. “If she wanted any other male, she could have them. Surely you’ve seen her face.”

Rhysand sighed, exasperated. “Great. Then we’re settled?”

“Absolutely,” Lucien lied before turning on his heel. 

“You can send your reports to me, if you–”

“Azriel is just fine,” Lucien said over his shoulder, enjoying the thought of intentionally irritating Azriel. “I have no problem with him.”

Besides, Lucien had every intention of bringing Elain with him.

Chapter Text

“At least we’ll have privacy here,” Elain murmured appreciatively. Lucien had one hand on the small of her back, his other holding the strap of the bag that held their belongings. He’d been quieter than usual since he’d come back from Rhysand’s and she was glad she’d convinced him to let her tag along.

It was selfish, in a way. She was hoping whatever had caused her temporary loss of memory could be cured with a change of scenery. She’d been prepared to get on her knees and beg, both with her words and her mouth, but Lucien required little convincing in the end. He was more concerned about logistics than anything else, and Elain knew he’d left early in the morning to try and convince Nesta to join them.

Elain didn’t need to ask how it went. She’d gone to Nesta enough times to know that Nesta was drunk more often than not and surrounded by strange men. Elain had tried, but Nesta was determined to shut them all out. Elain planned to ask Lucien to take Nesta back to Helion when they returned…Nesta loved the High Lord of Day in her own unique way. Perhaps she needed sunlight, too.

“Don’t count on it,” Lucien told her wryly, walking Elain up the gravel drive towards the large, stone estate Vassa was currently holding court in. 

“Oh?” Elain asked, looking up at the handsome man she so badly wanted to strip naked. She’d do it if she had to shove him into the woods and fuck him atop a bed of leaves and brambles. Surely the humans would understand.

The door swung open but instead of a servant, it was Vassa who answered. She screeched loudly and flung her body into Lucien’s with such force he staggered backwards. 

“You’re back!” She cried gleefully, her bright copper hair glimmering beneath soft, glowing lights. She was a lit match in the darkness around them.

Vassa pulled out of his embrace just as quickly as she’d jumped into it only to pull Elain into a bone crunching hug. “You’re so pretty. Is he treating you well? Because I’ll fuck him up if he’s being a dick.”

“You’re scaring her, Vas,” drawled Jurian from just inside the foyer. Elain forgot about Vassa again as she locked eyes with Jurian. His amused expression softened just a little when he saw her.
“Surprise,” he added and though she knew she’d see him, it hit her how many memories she had of Jurian being both utterly smug and strangely kind. “Don’t worry…I never told Lucien how we really met.”

He offered Elain a wink as he took Lucien’s bag while Vassa bounced between the two of them, her blue eyes dancing with delight. “Tell us now!” She said, expecting a silly story. 

“Do not,” Lucien growled, perhaps guessing it was an ugly memory. 

“Now who is scary?” Vassa teased. “Elain, I put you in a room right next to me.”

“They obviously want to share one,” Jurian told Vassa, closing the door behind them.

“They obviously want you to shut the fuck up,” Vassa retorted sweetly. “A lady needs her own space.”

“What would you know about being a lady?” Jurian demanded. Elain looked up at Lucien who merely shrugged, as if to say it’s always like this. Elain slid her hand into Lucien’s, revelling in the warmth of his skin. Vassa and Jurian continued to bicker as Elain took in the estate Lucien walked her through. It reminded her, in a lot of ways, like her father’s former estate, the one Tamlin had paid for. The floors were a pale brown set in a herringbone pattern Elain found mesmerizing. High ceilings held glittering chandeliers, illuminating the dark, stone walls. In the main seating area, Elain was delighted to find a bright pink couch, the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. 

Up an unfussy flight of steps revealed a host of bedrooms, a study that belonged to Jurian, a library that Vassa said belonged to everyone, and the room that Vassa had put Elain in with the expressed hope it would make them better friends. Elain found the mortal Queen’s optimism endearing, even if Vassa made her a little nervous. She wasn’t used to a woman just saying whatever she thought at any given moment. Part of her was envious of Vassa, too. She wished she could be more like that. 

Vassa demanded Jurian take Lucien away before shutting herself in Elain’s room. Vassa flopped onto the brown framed bed, wrinkling a bright, multicolored quilt. Elain set her bag onto the circular, braided white rug as she ran her hands over the dresser at the far end of the room before sitting in a nice, gray chair. 

“Lucien talked about you constantly when he was away,” Vassa told Elain, twisting onto her side. “I’ve wanted to meet you since…forever, really.”

“What did he say?” She asked, curious. 

Vassa grinned. “He was really sappy. Your dad used to beg him to stop talking. It was always, Elain is so funny, she’s so smart, she’s so pretty, just on an endless loop until someone tried to shove him off the edge of a boat.”

Elain laughed. “He said that?”

Vassa nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “I uh…I wanted to meet you for different reasons, though. Your dad…he was so wonderful. So kind…he was like my father and I started thinking of you as a sister before we ever met. I uh…I was really sorry to hear of his death. I still grieve it.”

Elain felt a prickle of jealousy run through her body. Vassa had gotten her father at his absolute best. Of course she loved him…Elain’s memories, her feelings were more complicated. “I always welcome more sisters,” Elain said instead. Her baggage didn’t need to be set at Vassa’s feet, not when Vassa was dealing with so much already. “Anyway. Enjoy your stay here! Ignore Jurian, he’s just grumpy! We have extensive gardens if you want to check them out in the morning.”

Elain grinned. “That would be nice.” 

Vassa bounced out of the room, leaving Elain to unpack. She hefted her back onto the top of the dresser and unbuttoned the bag when a familiar gust of warm wind blew around her, blowing her hair into her face.

Close your eyes, it murmured. Panic flooded Elain’s body.

“No,” she whispered back even as her eyes fluttered shut in spite of her best effort to keep them open. It took her a moment, a mere beat, to force them back open and Elain nearly vomited when she saw bright morning light pouring into the room. Her clothes were unchanged, at least and her clothes unpacked. Maybe, she reasoned, she’d unpacked and fallen asleep?

You’re going crazy, her mind whispered softly. 

Elain changed into a lilac colored dress before walking out of her bedroom. On her way down, Elain passed Jurian in his studio rifling through stacks of paper on a messy desk. He glanced over when she passed, his hair mussed as though he’d been running a hand through it. “Sleep well?” He asked her when she paused in the doorway.

“Yes,” she lied. “I guess you didn’t?”
He sighed. “Don’t tell Vassa I lost something else. She’ll never let me live it down…she’s been trying to get me to be more organized for weeks.”

Cold crept into Elain’s chest. “What did you lose?” She asked. He looked back at his desk.

“Nothing you should worry about. Lucien’s probably downstairs still. I think he wanted to show you the garden.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. She had the strangest sensation she’d seen the inside of Jurian’s office before…had touched the same things he’d touched. “Uh…could I borrow a piece of paper?”

“Sure,” he agreed, offering her a piece of his personal stationary and a pen to go with it. Elain looked around the cramped office, her eyes drifting over book cases of dusty books and boxes stacked up the ceiling. She could see fingerprints in the dust, as if someone had dragged their fingers over them. 

Elain returned to her room, writing a quick letter to Azriel explaining what had happened and asking if he’d found anything new. She sealed it and rushed to the kitchen where Lucien was eating a sandwich.

“Send this to Azriel for me,” she said breathlessly. Lucien frowned for a moment.

“Azriel?”

“Yes. It’s important,” she promised, wondering why he seemed slightly put out. Still, Lucien didn’t ask any further questions as he took her letter and vanished it with a quick burst of magic. Her anxiety eased just a little. Azriel would know. He’d validate her feeling that this was just her having a nervous breakdown. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked, turning back to the wooden countertops. She watched him reach for a green apple, slice it in pieces, and push them towards her. “I came to see you but you were out.”

“I was in bed?” She asked him, hope rushing over her. He nodded.

Lucien nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Out like a light. I guess you needed some serious sleep, it’s past noon now.”

Elain could have wept for all the relief she felt. She reached up to kiss him when a little pop interrupted them. Lucien looked down at the counter. 

“He’s written you back,” Lucien told her, sliding the envelope towards her. Elain grabbed it, expecting him to tell her that he’d found nothing and she was fine. 

Elain-

I have not checked into your missing time and have no intention of doing so. I will not be thinking of this further. Do not write to me again.

-Azriel

Elain felt her heart begin to race. Tears pricked against her eyes as she crumpled the letter in her hand. Had she done something to make him angry? He’d promised two days earlier, he’d been so nice about it. He’d sworn. What had changed?

“Elain? Sweetheart, why are you crying?” Lucien asked, reaching for her shoulders. Elain took a breath. 

“I’m not crying…Azriel told me not to write him again. I don’t understand…I thought we were friends?”

She wasn’t crying though she wanted to. The words were sticky in her throat. Lucien cocked his head to the side for a moment, studying her. His golden eyes clicked rapidly, looking her up and down.

“Friends?” He asked. She frowned.

“Yes, friends,” she replied with a little too much bite. Was Lucien jealous? After everything? She found the idea insulting that he would think she had any kind of feelings for Azriel. 

Lucien sighed. “He said that because Rhysand forbade him from going anywhere near you.”

Elain paused. “Why would he do that?”

Lucien inhaled slowly as cold horror slid through her body. “Oh…oh no.”

She’d guessed he had a little crush on her during the war. Hadn’t she sought him out, too? His quiet presence had been comforting. Had he misread her? 

Lucien sucked in another breath and told Elain everything. Anger replaced her horror when she heard Azriel ask why she hadn’t been given to him, and moreso when she heard Lucien tell her Azriel thought Lucien was not good enough for her. If anything, it had always been the other way around though in truth, she’d always considered them very well matched. 

She gave Lucien the letter to burn, watching it turn to ash in his hand. “Perhaps, if it had been Rhysand who got you first, you would have chosen differently,” he told her when she hopped up on the counter. She gestured for him to come to her, holding his head against her breasts.