Chapter Text
No one had asked her a question in the last hour.
Elain traced her finger along the rim of her glass, the food from her dinner sinking to the bottom of her gut. The conversation flowed beyond her, as if she were ten feet under the water and everyone else was shouting above. Vaguely, her ears caught wisps of their words, fervent discussions about Nesta and Cassian’s upcoming mating ceremony, to now the more heated back and forth matters pertaining to the Spring Court. She had labored over this dinner, muscles sore from rolling bread early at dawn, had prepped the menu and place settings with Cerridwin and Nuala, and yet, she realized with a heavy twist to her stomach—without her, there would still be a dinner. The realization felt like wet clothes she couldn’t take off. Without her, there wouldn't be a significant change to the evening, not a single outcome would be different from her family’s usual political verbal warfare, their intimate camaraderie always moving too boldly and too loudly for her to find a foothold to join—
“What do you think, Elain?”
The sound of her name felt as if she had been ripped from the water straight to the surface for air that was not hers. She blinked, looking up from the table to find every set of eyes on her. It didn’t matter if he was a stranger, she would know that him from anywhere. The timbre of his voice, especially when his tongue was in possession of her name, was like being swallowed by the sun— Lucien.
She opened her mouth to speak, yet nothing came out. Only the sound of his heartbeat rang between her ears. What had they been speaking about? From across the table, with an elegance impossible to ignore, her mate didn’t miss a beat. “I was curious to know your thoughts on the situation regarding the impending insufficient harvest in the Spring Court. Do you think there are human lords in the mortal lands who would be receptive to potential trade in aiding Spring?”
“I see,” Elain glanced around quickly, an embarrassed flush forming at her chest as she realized they were all waiting on her, the silent pause hanging awkwardly in the air. She was used to asking questions, to being the one who wasn’t fully privy to all of the information. She was unaccustomed to being on the other side of the question. It was not that anybody in the Inner Circle meant to be unkind, but nobody had ever gone out of their way to include her in any considerations.
Her eyes darted from Nesta’s scowl, to the way Feyre’s nose pinched when she was silently communicating with her mate, to Rhysand’s raised eyebrow, Azriel’s skittering shadows, even Mor and Amren and Cassian’s faces reflected something evaluating, as if preparing to measure her up with whatever it was that was to leave her mouth next.
Until her eyes landed back at Lucien, who was instead looking at her as if she had something valuable to offer.
She sat up straighter and cleared her throat. “While it is possible some relations have changed since we lived there last, I do believe there are several lords who would be inclined to trade their harvest with the fae of Spring. The Bassetts and the Dormunds in particular come to mind—I recall tension as a neighboring family had recently negotiated a larger control of the trade. They would be eager for business, especially if Spring could afford to trade in a manner of horses and livestock, anything that is not so evidently magical. I think the allyship after the war has opened more doors.”
When she finished speaking, she felt out of breath, for she could not remember the last time she had spoken quite so much on these occasions. It may well have been the most words she had ever spoken to her mate as well. It was just a dinner conversation, edged in casual politics surrounded by a table of influential members of the court, and yet, the way Lucien’s mismatched eyes of melted gold and flame were set solely on hers made it feel incredibly intimate.
“Very well, Elain.” Rhysand’s voice snapped her head in his direction. “I hope the emissary was taking good notes as we should ideally prepare for this possible scenario with the mortal lands.”
The sound of their conversation continued on, their eyes quickly drifting away from Elain as another disagreement was made. As she settled back in her chair, into the safe outskirts of their discourse, she chose to focus on that soft rhythm of his heartbeat that mirrored the dull ache throbbing at the golden thread tied to her rib.
She could not name the moment it happened. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it. Elain had nearly missed it because of the fantasies she had wholeheartedly believed her entire life—that these moments were grand and all encompassing and world shattering.
How terribly ordinary. And yet—
He had considered her.
He had always considered her.
Elain felt something in her chest unfurl at the thought, a bud awakening after years in the darkness. It came the way one could not predict the exact first day of Spring after a harsh, never ending winter. She had always known this day would come. From the moment she saw him kneeling with his cloak in hand she knew that it would be incredibly easy to love him. It was just a matter of when. She had resisted for as long as she could—and now that burning fire had finally melted the last of the snow, and here she stood, a single stem in its place.
Perhaps she was finally ready to bloom.
As she risked a glance at Lucien across the table, she quickly realized that to bloom was to also unravel. Her cheeks flushed. The walls she had spent so long building were crumbling, his sharp jaw and the jeweled rings on his knuckles knocking them down stone by stone. When did it get so hot in here?
Elain stood and excused herself, turning before she could see Lucien’s face crack with a slight frown at her sudden departure.
She had barely made it through the kitchen doors when she crashed into the counter. Hold yourself together, she screamed inside her head. This was exactly what she had been avoiding all this time—
He would be her undoing.
*
Third time’s the charm.
That’s what Elain kept telling herself as she prepared for Solstice, picking nervously at her nails. This would be the third Solstice in which Lucien would be in attendance. And this time she promised herself, she would finally be ready to engage with her mate.
It had been several weeks since she had silently made her decision at the dinner. He had not been back since and she had only broken a wooden rolling pin in frustration. She eyed the box on the floor next to her feet, leaning over to adjust the red ribbon for the tenth time in the last minute. And this time she would finally have a gift in return.
The enchanted gloves he had given the first year had been too soon after Grayson, too intimately thoughtful in a way no one had ever thought to give her, forcing a quiver of betrayal in her chest. They fit too perfectly as they slid over her hands in the comfort of her room that she had angrily ripped them off in a moment of madness and flung them into a trunk under her bed, never to be worn again.
The second gift Lucien had gifted her were the pearl earrings. She remembered, with enough agony that she could scream into her hands at the memory, how she had shirked any reaction as her fingers opened the small box to reveal beautiful, simple pearl earrings. A favorite of hers, the truth taunting her from the box where they sat in her hands.
Her muscles had frozen with fear—an abysmal, dreadful fear that if she even glanced at him, she would begin to fall. She felt so strongly, something primal and ancient beyond her understanding, that it was only a lifetime of stubborn, human etiquette that restrained her mouth from opening. There were no words, no hints of gratitude, even though she felt his disappointment and longing echo down the bond. Why can’t you see? She wanted to scream. Why can’t you see what you do to me?
But she hadn’t been ready. Not yet, anyhow. Not when her humanity still visited in her dreams, Grayson’s name now just a faint memory. Her grief still took up too much room in her heart. She was still putting the pieces of herself back together. So she cast her eyes away, rebellious in the only way Elain could afford to be—in silence.
This was a new year, she told herself. A new opportunity.
Third time’s the charm.
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Feyre’s voice interrupted from the reverie in the living room. Nyx was on her hip, a small note in her other free hand. She didn’t need her sister to read it before the tears began gathering in the corner of her eyes. The sharp scent from his handwriting, the mingling of appeasement and guilt in Feyre’s eyes, his noticeable absence, it said it all. “Lucien apologizes but has sent a note saying he regretfully isn’t able to join us this year for Solstice…”
Elain choked out a heart-wrenching sob, her long curls flying behind her as she ran up the stairs, leaving the rest of the house thoroughly confused.
“Were those…tears of joy?” Cassian asked the stunned room, only to be met by Nesta’s quick slap to his arm.
It wasn’t long before her sisters had found their way into her room where she had thrown herself miserably onto the bed.
Nesta’s hands hovered over her shoulder, unsure of the best manner to proceed, while Feyre had sat herself on the far edge of the bed, tucking her feet beneath her legs. “Elain, tell us what happened. Did he do something to hurt you—”
Elain’s red and puffy face emerged from her hands, wallops of tears cascading down her cheeks. “ No!” she shuddered between breaths. “I had a Solstice gift for him.” With a shaking hand, she pointed to the box next to her, giving her sisters permission to look at it themselves. Nesta lifted the lid and both sisters peered inside.
“It’s a plant.” Nesta’s tone suggested her patience was quickly waning.
“It’s an ivy plant.” Elain huffed, frustrated they weren’t understanding the magnitude of the moment.
Feyre scooted closer, reaching for her distraught sister’s hand. “Elain, are you trying to tell us that you are possibly open to your mating bond with Lucien?” Nesta’s narrowed eyes whipped from one sister to the other, finally placing a hand on Elain’s shoulder as she began to nod between her sobs.
“I think it may be too late for us, that I was a wretch for far too long and now he wants nothing to do with me—” Elain blurted out in a teary confession to her sisters. There was a beat, as the sisters looked at each other, and for a moment, Elain could have imagined they were back in their dusty cabin, that this bed could have been theirs as it once was, long ago. Oldest and youngest sister glanced at each other with a firm nod. Nesta, face like stone, hissed. “Then there is only one thing left to do. You must thoroughly and ardently court him.”
Elain’s tears stopped rolling down her face with utter confusion. “Court him?”
“You need to seduce Lucien,” Feyre clarified with a feral grin.
She could have thrown the gift in her hands at Feyre’s head.
“Feyre. I was going to give him a plant for his Solstice gift. How in the gods name am I going to seduce him?”
Everything was beginning to move out of her control before Elain could finish wiping her tears away. Her sisters were silently communicating a plan in their heads. Nesta was re-wrapping the gift while Feyre rubbed her hands together, looking rather pleased with herself. “It’s rather simple, Elain. It’s still Solstice. You’re going to deliver it to him yourself. Now fix your hair, we’re going to the mortal lands.”
*
Elain had nearly begged her sisters to take her back several times. She had considered locking herself in the bathroom for the remainder of the night. It was evident her sisters knew this as they both had death grips on each side of her arms, as if she was still at risk of running away when they winnowed right in front of the manor in the human realm.
She contemplated throwing up into the rose bushes, but instead held the box tighter to her chest.
“Elain,” Feyre’s face softened, turning to her sister with tenderness as they moved forward in sync. “This is a good thing you’re doing.”
Nesta’s voice was gentle, the one she only reserved for the middle sister. “It’s worth it.” Elain knew they spoke of the mating bond, the very one bound permanently to both their souls. The eldest Archeron cleared her throat. “Now, chin up, Elain, and make it quick. It’s always best to leave them wanting more.”
The door to the manor was suddenly in front of her.
Before Elain could find the courage to open her mouth, Feyre’s fist was knocking loudly against the wood before pushing her forward while the two of them stepped back.
A barrage of thoughts nearly knocked her over at the knees. What in the gods name was she doing here? Was she truly ready? What would he even think of her? How does one even court a male? What was she going to say to him—
The cold air that had flooded her lungs escaped her entirely as the door opened. Lucien appeared, his metal eye whirring rapidly at first sight of them in the doorway. “Elain—” He quickly glanced at her sisters behind her, and she sensed his worry growing rapidly in his chest, thanks to the quick pace of his heartbeat. “Is everything alright? What’s going on?”
Elain licked her lips, taking a moment to drink the entirety of his tall, muscular frame that engulfed the opening. She had never seen him so casual, so relaxed in his attire and still utterly perfect. A very painful kick from behind to her calf brought her back to reality.
“I—I—have your Solstice gift!” She squeaked, pushing it forward into his unexpected hands. He blinked in what she imagined was confusion and dismay. It was flooding their bond between them. If she could have taken her scarf and wrung her own neck she would have at that moment.
A flash of red and brown behind Lucien’s frame caught her attention. Vassa and Jurian pretended to look rather busy staring at the paintings on the wall in the nearby foyer.
Her eyes were brought back to Lucien. “Please open it,” she gestured to the box in his hands.
She could see him hesitate, the lingering mist of cloudy air from where her breath met the cold floating between them. “I must confess, I wasn’t expecting this, Lady.” His knuckles were white on the box. From behind Elain, Nesta hissed under her breath, she said open it. Lucien swallowed and finally his fingers began to move, pulling at the red ribbon.
“It’s an ivy plant. I grew it myself for you.” He said nothing as he pulled the plant outside of the box, its long green vines and pointed leaves cascading down. The pot was tiled with blues, oranges, reds, and yellows. It had reminded her of a morning sunrise, her favorite time of the day. “I wasn’t sure if you had a green thumb or not, or if you even enjoyed plants at all, so I chose something hardy and rather easy to grow, hopefully it does well here. I also rather like what ivy plants symbolize so I hope that— ouch—”
Another kick to the calf cut off her rambling. She threw her sisters a nasty glare over her shoulder, however both found their fingernails quite fascinating to even spare her a look.
Lucien looked up at her, a leaf between his fingers. “It’s lovely, thank you.”
Elain gave him a small tight smile, knowing that if she opened her mouth again she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from grabbing him by the shoulders to ensure he understood exactly what she meant. That she loved the humble ivy plant because of its symbolism for devotion and loyalty. That even in the harshest of winters, the evergreen ivy was the fervent reminder of the spring to come . It climbed the highest walls and persisted against all obstacles. It reminded her of him.
Instead, she clasped her hands together. Feyre leaned over her shoulder, a hand in the air. “Happy Solstice, Lucien!” He waved back, his teeth flashing behind his smile. “Happy birthday, Feyre.” He gave a nod to Nesta who was already grabbing Elain by the hand.
She watched Lucien over her shoulder, the golden thread that bound them together humming ever so softly, a song urging her to run straight back to him. Their eyes were locked on each other until everything faded to black, her world blurring while stepping back into the River House, sister in each hand.
When they arrived back in the living room to where the party had continued on without them, they were greeted with absolute silence. A few uncomfortable glances were shared around the room.
Mor’s bright voice cut through it like steel. “Wine?”
Elain collapsed into the empty armchair by the fireplace.
“I need something much stronger.”
If their collective hollers made her smile, she pretended to hide it under her hands.
*
Elain awoke the next morning with a hangover and a package at her door.
She ripped open the delicately wrapped box, her hands lifting up a beautiful, pale green dress, white trims stitched with sunflowers, and a thin rosy pink belt tied across the middle. If Lucien dressed exactly as Elain would have chosen for a male, then his own tastes perfectly mirrored her own. It was casual, yet elegant. Perfect for the day or to escape to the gardens.
A note slipped from the box. Happy belated Solstice. This made me think of you. —Lucien Vanserra
She caught herself sniffing the note like an absolute madwoman before panic set in. This was it—there was no going back. She was to court her mate. Somehow and some way. She needed to make this right.
*
This was actually a terrible idea.
It could only be divine punishment, Elain mused. After ignoring and resisting the mating bond for as long as she had, it felt like wildfire was simmering beneath her skin. How had Lucien survived all this time? Elain tugged at the now too-high neckline of her modest dress. She was regretting that now too. Especially after Amren had taken one look at it this morning and made a remark along the lines of isn’t Lucien a rake and not a monk?
Ah well. There was also the issue that he was currently sitting across from her in the parlor.
Lucien sipped his tea politely. She had waited exactly a week to invite him for tea. Perhaps it was her human heart, but this is what courting meant from her own experiences. It was rather nerve wracking to be the female in control of said courting, but her sisters assured her it was a perfectly fae thing to do. Now there was the matter of their conflicting suggestions for said courting that troubled Elain; Nesta had rolled her eyes and shoved a particularly filthy romance novel into her arms and said honestly just take off your clothes and be done with it while Feyre had suggested she show interest in Lucien’s hobbies, such as hunting and fishing.
Elain had pinched her nose at both. This needed to be romantic was the problem or it wouldn’t work at all.
“I wanted to say thank you again for the gift, it was beautiful. I must admit you have quite the eye for clothes.” Elain opened her mouth to say something else, but found herself stuck at what hung in the air. Quite the eye. The eye. His eye. “Oh. Oh dear, that didn’t quite come out right—I didn’t mean it like that—I—”
Lucien laughed with a shake of his head. “There is nothing to worry about.”
Panic did not escape her. Why was this so hard? When she was a human, it was easy to draw the attention of potential suitors, and even easier to keep their attention. Grayson had pursued her in all the appropriate manners of courtship. Yet, if she were being honest with herself, Elain knew she had played an equal role in the courtship. The careful subtleties she had planted to allow Grayson to think it was all his idea and that he was in full control. A certain smile, the strategic touch to his arm, the precisely timed blush or remark.
She just needed to adjust her chess pieces to court Lucien.
You need to get to know him , she told herself and squared her shoulders.
“How did it happen?” Elain gestured to her own eye to indicate what she meant. He frowned, slowly placing his tea cup on the saucer.
“You are familiar with Amarantha? Under the Mountain?” Elain nodded at his questions, waiting for him to continue. “I made the mistake of telling her to—er— go back to the shit hole she had crawled out of —ahem—” She could see he was rather embarrassed as he muttered it under her breath, sheepishly looking away from her gaze.
“You’ll have to forgive me, lady. I often have a rather foolish tendency to speak before thinking of the consequences.”
He pursed his lips into a smile, but Elain only read sadness plainly across his face. “Foolish, perhaps. It is also possible that one could consider it bravery instead. To speak what others are afraid to say is not an easy task. I certainly wished I possessed more of that tendency for my own sake.”
It would certainly make her life different, wouldn’t it? Where the silence of perfection had been her fortress, her safe, reliable, lonely fortress. He blinked at her as she regarded him. If only she could tell him everything she felt. If only he would share more of that foolish mouth around her.
“May I?” Before she had even finished asking the question, she was leaning forward on the table, a hand outstretched just over his scar. She could sense his unease, the heat of his skin radiating to her palm as it hovered near his face. He gave her a small nod of permission.
Elain held her breath. With her pointer finger, she slowly traced the tip across his eyebrow, feeling the ridges of where his scar began above his eye. Delicately, her palm slid to cradle his cheek, her thumb caressing the lines that ran through his flesh below his eye. The world seemed to melt away as their skin kissed. As if she had blown the air out of a candle’s flame. His cheek sank into her fingers.
She studied his handsome face like she would a painting.
From his scar, to his golden eye, whirring and buzzing intensely as they bore into her own face. The lines of his face were strong—almost cruel if it weren’t for the tenderness carved into his features by time and pain. Had she ever truly looked at anyone so closely, so intensely before? These were not his deepest scars, she sensed. She memorized the flickers of amber in his russet eye. Her fingertips tickled against the tip of his pointed ear, knuckles brushing against that molten red hair.
Her eyes followed down the bridge of his nose to the fullness of his lips. Elain could feel Lucien swallow.
He was so beautiful. She had always known, but to hold it in her hands was another thing—
Elain flinched, her grip tightening on his face. Her eyes hazed over as a sharp vision took over her sight. His beautiful, scarred face was peering up at her from between her legs. Lucien kneeled before her. Elain was entirely bare and seated in a formal chair, presenting her wet entrance to him, her knees hitched up on the armrests. Her legs trembled as his fingers glided from her ankles, to her calves, to her thighs. Then he dove his head closer to her core, a hot tongue licking a long, deep stripe to her core—
She was snapped back to reality, the vision escaping behind her eyes, revealing Lucien’s furrowed brow and concern in the present. “Are you alright, lady?” Elain snapped her hand back as though he had burned her. Her heart was racing, her cheeks were flushed, and she felt as though she had climbed the stairs to the House of Wind. “I—I’m fine!” She squeaked. “Just a vision is all.”
Immediately, she regretted her decision. Since when did she go around speaking before thinking? She was unraveling as the room felt like it was on fire with how hot it was, prompting her to fan herself with a hand. “Was…was it about me?” Lucien asked quietly.
“What? No,” Elain choked out, fumbling with the teacups. “It was a vision about….dinner. Yes. Dinner. Very mundane. It happens occasionally. I—I’m going to get us some more—uh—tea!” She stood abrubtly, racing to the kitchen as if she hadn’t just seen Lucien devour her like she was said menu item for dinner.
*
As the seasons changed, winter to spring, things between Elain and Lucien remained the same. By Elain’s definition, that meant he had neither kissed her nor fallen madly in love with her.
Her attempts at courting had been varied but mostly depended on an invitation to spend time together where she would eagerly hope for something to happen. She had even braved an occasion where she invited herself to the Spring Court to explore the lands by horseback. This backfired immediately—the sight of Lucien in his tall riding boots and cream trousers had her out of breath before they even reached the stalls. She could barely hold a conversation upon seeing his powerful thighs pushed against the leather saddle. And when he had used his strong hands to grab her by the waist to assist her off the horse, she had flushed so deeply he had genuine concern the warming weather was making her faint.
Elain couldn’t remember a damn thing about the blasted Spring Court scenery, so that had been a total waste as well. After that fiasco, she had decided to keep courting to the Night Court territory.
Which is how she found herself sharing a blanket with Lucien in the privacy of her gardens behind the River House.
Seduce him, seduce him, seduce him. It was the vibration of the bond singing at her rib in symphony with Feyre’s loudly whispered reminders prior to his arrival. Elain was barefoot without her usual stockings, her dress casually pushed up to her knees as she laid her legs out across the blanket. It was the most forward she had ever presented herself, especially in the presence of her mate. She had no idea if it was working. The breeze kissed her skin. The sun shined down. And she couldn’t shake the rightness of the moment as she lifted her head to the sky to soak in the light.
Lucien was dressed a bit more casually as well, donning a simple green tunic with his brown pants and boots. He rested one arm on his upright knee, the other one lazily outstretched before him.
It wasn’t simply that he was handsome that made her eagerly await each visit now. No, it was much more. She craved the light of his smile, how it filled her bones with a warmth she had never known. Elain delighted in the sound of his voice, wishing she could wrap herself in the poetry of his words. Patiently, she had been trying to chip away at his perpetual politeness, his dutiful restraint, and couldn’t deny she was captivated most by the brazen words that left his charming mouth when he allowed it.
But most of all, it was still his apt consideration.
Where others before him, mostly Grayson and Azriel, had looked upon her gardens in these moments with muted admiration and indulgent compliments— pretty flowers, beautiful garden, how lovely, just like you— he had seen beyond the surface.
“The labor of your work is exquisite, lady.”
Lucien pointed out what he believed were particularly ingenious decisions of her landscaping placements. He marveled at the array of colors she had skillfully managed to make her petunias bloom. He accurately guessed that she must wake before dawn each day to accomplish all of the pruning. Elain tucked a hair behind her ear and could not meet his eye as a faint smile graced his lips. He regarded her, and she felt that same eye that had painstakingly considered her garden now digging into her very soul.
“You care. About life, beauty, and the wellbeing of others—very deeply. Don’t you, lady?”
Elain looked up at him through her eyelashes, leaning slightly closer to him. He saw her. She regarded him in return. Soaked him up like she would the sun, his gaze as pleasant as the light on her skin. “I think that’s something we have in common,” Elain whispered, lifting her chin as her eyes trailed to his mouth.
She could sense him lean forward slowly, so achingly slow that his fiery red hair ghosted her shoulder as he neared her waiting lips.
It happened rather quickly.
When he was just a breath away, a painful sting erupted on her exposed calf. “ Ow !” Elain’s head abruptly bobbed down, colliding directly with Lucien’s face. “ Oh, fuck!” She heard him cry out.
It was right then, as she gripped the bee sting on her leg with tears running down her face, while Lucien did his very best to stop the blood gushing out of his nose, that Elain decided she was not cut out for courting.
*
Elain glanced at Lucien walking next to her, eternally grateful he had been able to heal his handsome nose since she had last seen him. They walked along the Sidra, another one of her latest attempts at progressing their relationship.
“Do you enjoy living in Velaris?” Lucien’s voice was smooth like velvet. He had his hands in his pockets, his hair tied back in a braid. His long legs moved slowly to accommodate her pace.
“I do, but I do not have much to compare it to, except for when I was human. From what I hear, Velaris is beautiful, and I have found happiness here.” She was looking off into the river, watching the current flow as a faint memory crossed her mind — how she had once contemplated walking into the water to drown as a newly transformed fae. That felt oceans away from where she stood now.
“What about you? Are you happy in — ” she frowned as she struggled to place him. The emissary without a home. Between here, the mortal realm, the Spring Court, his forsaken Autumn Court…where did the male even land? His smile was gracious in understanding. “I am as happy as one can be in my situation. Although, nothing compares to my time spent with you.”
They shared a small smile, quickly looking away at each other.
“I must admit, I could see myself living somewhere else one day. That there is some place greater for me.” With you, with you, with you. Her heart thundered. Elain halted, her fingers grazing a rose bush growing along the path. It was beautiful and she had always admired it on her walks.
“Something greater?” Lucien turned to her, his voice nearly hoarse. Elain smiled, giving a nod. “Yes, something greater.” With a careful snap, she broke a rose bud from the stem, the deep red a near perfect match for his own hair. A nervousness that was not her own shuddered across the bond. What was he fretting? What was eating at him? She meant to tell him that something greater was a simple cottage wherever the sunrise was the best, where the hallways of her home were never silent, always filled with a boisterous love, padding feet that led to her gardens. But the pressing need to alleviate his nerves grew heavier and heavier, till her hands were reaching up to tuck the rose to his ear.
“There,” Elain clasped her hands, satisfied with her work. “Perfect.”
She meant to tell him all this. But before she could, he bowed his head, a guilty look darkening across his face as he tapped his temple in show. “Apologies, lady, the High Lord himself is asking for a meeting. I have some rather important updates for him.”
As he winnowed away, she looked back at the river, and contemplated jumping in, if only to wash the feeling he was lying away.
*
“How is courting Lucien Vanserra going?”
Elain nearly growled as Cassian wrapped his arm around her, a sloshing drink in his other hand almost spilling on her. He quickly brought both hands up defensively after Nesta elbowed him in the gut. Elain glared at her sister who didn’t even bother to look guilty for sharing her secret with her mate. “Whoa, whoa, there,” the Illyrian spoke as if she were a small animal that he only just now remembered possessed sharp teeth. “I only ask because…well…you’re here and he’s over there.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder to the banquet area across the Winter Court’s hall. She didn’t have to look to know he was referring to her mate—she couldn’t not be constantly aware of his heartbeat drumming a song that begged for her to join.
“Can I give you some advice, little sister?” Cassian’s face slipped from teasing brother-in-law to one of a general intimately familiar with utter devastation and the strategy of war. Elain couldn’t help but nod, almost afraid. He leaned in closer. “Jealousy is a powerful weapon.”
Her brown, wide eyes asked how? The general shrugged with a knowing smirk, as if to say, that’s for you to decide.
Elain was very familiar with the tool of jealousy. As a human, jealousy permeated through the social scene, a convenient weapon to wield in the endless endeavor for courtship and marriage. She understood the power of dancing with another bachelor under the watchful gaze of a potential suitor. However, when it came to matters of her mate, it felt less like a weapon and more like a self inflicting wound.
But she was desperate.
And Elain, if anything, was particularly skilled at suffering.
From where she could see Lucien speaking to some other dignitary, her eyes trailed to the other side of the room, where they found another red-haired male. Elain set her target, ignoring Nesta hissing her name in warning, and snatched Cassian’s glass to throw the amber colored alcohol back in a quick shot. She would need the liquid courage to face Eris Vanserra. Squaring her shoulders, she marched over to where the eldest brother stood.
“Would you like to dance?” Upon taking her in, his russet eyes flared.
“Well, well, well Elain Archeron, how very nice to meet you finally.”
“We’ve met before,” she frowned. Had he already forgotten her? Nervously, she glanced back to see if Lucien was watching. Eris didn’t miss it.
“No, I’m afraid I haven’t met this Elain before. The one with teeth.” He flashed his own canines in what she could only imagine resembled a smile.
“You’ve come to the right place,” he said with a step closer. Elain looked up at him, a weapon forged from the forest itself, sharp enough to cut down an oak tree. He made eye contact with the band, mouthing a command along with a quick gesture of his hand. It made sense the only suitable dance partner to accomplish her task was another general . He turned back to her, offering an open hand that might as well have been a sword. As the instruments began to adjust and transition to the new song, her ears picked up on the beginning notes to a popular Autumn Court dance. The air in the ballroom seemed to hold its singular breath; it possessed a reputation for being both difficult and thoroughly romantic.
“Remember, I’m not my sister Nesta.” Elain nervously whispered to Eris.
“I’m very aware.” She glanced at him, finding his posture perfectly straight, his eyes set on the mostly cleared out dance floor ahead of them, as if the crowd was hesitant to join themselves. Hand-in-hand they walked to the center, where he gave her a soft and polite kiss to her hand.
There was no going back.
It was not his mouth pressing on her skin that shot lightning through her body, but rather the inescapable pull at her rib. One so strong it was not meant to be ignored. Lucien. It could have knocked her from her feet if it weren’t for his brother’s strong hands and locked gaze. “Whatever you do, do not look at him. Only me. Or this won’t work.”
Elain had learned this dance before, although it had always been intimidating. It was a dance meant to be smooth yet decisive. Fiery yet graceful. She swallowed, feeling nervous. Eris stepped closer, their hands clasping in position, and pulled her in until their chests touched. One of his hands rested on her back between her shoulder blades, her own on his shoulder, as their elbows rested against each other, parallel to the floor. The other arm was outstretched, like an arrow shooting across the hall. She imagined it landing on Lucien’s heart.
She was certainly not her older sister. Nesta was a Valkyrie through and through, even in heels in a ballroom. But Elain was a quick study. Slow, slow, quick, quick— she followed the beats. Between the two of them, it was clear Eris held a cutthroat finesse, however, he slowed his steps to match her pace, every muscle movement deliberate. Without a word, he guided her, sweeping the pair across the floor, his long legs conquering the ballroom in big strides as he gracefully turned and turned her.
There was not a single red hair out of place. Surely, all eyes were on him as she did her very best to keep up, a small misstep here and there. But the aching throb in her ribcage meant someone couldn’t keep his eyes off her and that was all that mattered right now.
They twisted in and out in succession, her vision jumping from Eris’s profile to his eyes back to his jawline. Firm, sharp movements. He never faltered, which encouraged her to follow his command—she resisted every urge to look to Lucien.
Eris looked at her fondly in those glimpses. All part of the performance no doubt. He stopped her spin midway and tugged her back so her spine met his chest. Eris’s nose ghosted her cheek with a whisper. “Keep it up, Archeron. You’ve got him right where you want him.” How could he be so sure? She wasn’t sure who was using who in truth. On her tiptoes, he turned her in a wide circle, pulling her back so they were facing each other again.
The Night Court had made it clear to never trust Eris Vanserra. But in this moment, she trusted the fact he was not going to let her fail. Perhaps they shared the means to an end, that he simply wanted to outplay his younger brother. But the respectful, yet light pressure of his hands on her back, her hands, the faint touches to her waist, said otherwise. From a distance, he looked intimate, close, nearly romantic. A predator taking advantage of his brother’s mate. But inches from him, her chest pressed against his, she could have sworn there was a kindness to him. When she stumbled, he made up for it with his footwork, adjusting in half-seconds, in ways only she could notice. Where Lucien held light behind his eyes, Eris held cinders, as if all they needed were a spark.
They were in sync. In total coordination.
When they reached the finale of their dance, he finished with an exaggerated drop to his knee, her hand cradled in his own, ensuring that every pair of eyes would land on her. A talented strategist.
“I’ve never desired a younger sister, but that was a pleasant surprise,” he muttered into her hand, lips skimming over her skin once again before rising to his tall frame. There was faint applause in the background, but she could barely hear it over her mate’s pounding heartbeat, a fist beating against the door now.
“Thank you for your help—” She was about to thank him for the dance when Lucien appeared immediately by her shoulder. The plan had worked.
“Lady,” he gave her a nod, though it was evident his polite face was barely concealing the rage behind his eyes. “Eris.” His brother’s name sounded more like a growl than greeting.
Eris smirked with satisfaction at Elain.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Lucien turned pointedly to his brother, a snarl forming at his lips. “I do apologize brother,” Eris bowed to Elain. “After dancing with me, Lady Elain will surely be disappointed with any and all future partners. Especially any other Vanserras.”
If she didn’t softly reach out to touch Lucien’s arm, she’s not sure it wouldn’t have ended in possible bloodshed. Only this time it certainly wouldn’t be Lucien with the broken nose.
“Did you want to dance?” Elain looked to Lucien. Her emotions felt swollen and crazed at the sight of his jealousy.
“Only if you’ll still have me.” The anger melted away quickly as his eyes found hers.
“Gladly. I am sure I was a disappointment to your brother after he has experienced dancing with Nesta. I do not compare,” she reached for his hand, resuming the same position as the dance prior. “Besides, it is not skill that makes a good dance partner.”
Lucien tilted his head. “Pray tell, then what is?”
“A connection,” Elain beamed.
Lucien pulled her closer with a graceful tug, their chests touching, rising and falling with each breath. “I couldn’t agree with you more.” Her heart was singing with excitement and anticipation.
It only all came crashing down with disappointment when they finished and he bowed deeply, only to turn on his heel into the crowd behind them. Which meant Eris had now kissed her more times than he had so far.
Somewhere nearby, a table of onlookers donned in black and gray shades, audibly groaned, the clink of money being thrown onto the center of the table.
*
Elain was done with courting Lucien.
She had wiped her frustrated tears away and attempted to dig her hands into the very golden thread that bound them both. When Elain reached deep inside, running her hands along the bond, she found she met a taut resistance at the end of it. Perhaps this wall of his had always been there but she had foolishly never looked until now. She felt as if she were running wildly through the forest, lost in the endless trees, circling round and round with no end in sight. How would she break through? How would she find him? Was it too late for them?
All that running led her to the House of Wind, frantically wringing her hands as she waited for him to open the door to the guest room.
The voices from the hallway told her that he had finally arrived.
As she trembled with nerves for her plan, there was only one certainty: Lucien was worth it.
“Elain?” Lucien held the door open, glancing over his shoulder with confusion. “I was told I was supposed to find Rhysand here…” She didn’t move from where she stood in front of the fireplace. Instead, she waved her hand, beckoning him to come over. “Actually, it is I who wanted to speak with you.”
As if the slightest movement of her hand could cast a spell, her mate came to her in just a few large strides across the room.
“I don’t understand,” Lucien’s golden eye was frantic now, a nervous tic she had picked up on by now.
She almost felt bad she had to resort to kidnapping. Almost.
Elain used her newfound fae strength to shove Lucien by the chest into the claw-footed chair next to the fireplace. He landed in the chair, where the House of Wind instantly used its magic to summon a cord of rope to tie around his wrists and ankles. Momentarily stunned, he blinked up at Elain, strands of hair falling over his russet eye.
Thank you, house. Elain muttered under her breath. She should probably also thank Nesta for the idea.
“Lucien,” she could feel her cheeks turning furiously red, a warm mixture of guilt, nerves, and excitement. She stepped closer to the chair, between his open legs. Gently, she leaned over to tuck his loose hair behind his pointed ear, her fingers brushing against a golden earring.
“Elain,” he rasped, and she could sense his heart racing now, the fire behind them growing by the second, no doubt due to him.
“It seems my efforts to court you have gone unnoticed,” she cleared her throat before sliding into his lap, seating herself on his muscular legs. Next to her, Lucien held his breath. Elain ran a finger down his forearm until it reached the knotted rope. “Say the word and I’ll release you. Otherwise, we are going to finally figure this out.”
She looked up from her eyelashes and raised an eyebrow at him. A muscle in his jaw feathered; his fists clenched open and closed from where they were strapped down, painfully as he could not touch her. Lucien stared and stared.
“Your efforts were not unnoticed,” he licked his lips, his voice low but unsteady. “The truth is that I was afraid you were going to change your mind about me. I am not sure I would have been able to handle having you then losing you. For so long you hated me—”
Elain grabbed his face, swinging her leg over to straddle him. He stiffened. Everywhere. “I never hated you,” Elain breathed, pressing her lips to his scarred cheek. “I never hated you.” She kissed his jaw, her nostrils flaring as she grinded her hips, feeling his hardness brush against her core as he flung his head back, an unbridled groan erupting from his mouth.
“I hated what you did to me when I wasn’t ready for you—” A kiss to the center of his throat.
“I hated how good you were to me when I didn’t deserve it—” A kiss to the exposed skin of chest, right where his shirt dipped open.
“I hated what this all meant when I had yet to understand it.”
Elain leaned forward, capturing his lips to kiss him fiercely. And once again she melted like snow, but this time it was wildfire blazing through her, ravaging her whole. They shared a moan, his tongue sliding against hers. Both her fists possessively gripped handfuls of his hair. She could hear the ropes straining against the force of his limbs as he kissed her hungrily. She had never kissed someone like this before—had never felt so alive despite the tsunami of fire threatening to drown her lungs.
She broke free for air, sliding from his lap to crouch at the floor, which elicited a rumbling growl from Lucien at her sudden absence. “This is going to be my last attempt to court you.” Coyly, her fingers traveled to the drawstrings of his pants, pulling them slowly. “Hopefully this time it works?”
“Elain—” A warning.
Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, she opened the front of his pants just enough to allow his cock to pop out from his waistband. Lucien opened his mouth to argue, but Elain stole all of his words by wrapping her dainty fingers around his thick cock. As he cursed, she relished the way he throbbed beneath her touch. He strained harder against the rope. With a curious tongue, she licked along his length, starting at the bottom to travel higher and higher until it hovered at the tip.
Looking up from where her mouth was a hairsbreadth from his cock, she licked her lips and gave him a smile.
Lucien’s russet eye was blown wide, his knuckles white from gripping the chair. Faintly, she smelled smoke. Elain wrapped her lips around him, filling her mouth as much as she could before pulling back out, leaving behind a strand of spit connecting her mouth to the tip of his cock.
“Fuck, Elain—”
A levee broke between the two of them. The scales were tipped. A flood that could not be stopped. The bond surged, starving, voracious, and demanding. Their golden thread was now thoroughly tied around them both and not ready to let go. Too long ignored, too long empty. It pulled them tightly.
In an instant, Lucien’s fire incinerated the bindings, his now free hands madly reaching for Elain. His fingers bruised her as he pulled her into his lap. A wildness was etched across his face, one that could only be born by nature itself. “You have tortured me long enough with your courting, now it is my turn.”
Perhaps courting wasn’t so hard after all, Elain mused, before Lucien ripped her bodice open in a swift tear.
She just needed to survive whatever was next.